Mighty Girl
My face.

contact: maggie at mightygirl dot net

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Bryan Mason
Heather Armstrong
Matthew Baldwin
Sarah Brown
Heather Champ
Matt Haughey
Eden Kennedy
Jason Kottke
Merlin Mann's 5ives
Obscure Store and Reading Room
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3.28.02 MMM, TASTES LIKE...
San Francisco moment:
I walked to work this morning. Taste of Leather is having a Spring clearance sale.

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3.26.02 RELATED
Lane is working on his 20 things project and needs help. He wants you to send him a short set of directions (walk until you see a tree, turn left, etc.), and when he gets to the end of your instructions, he'll take a picture. Here's the page with the details.

I participated in the last 20 things swap. My artlet is the thumbnail in the top left corner. (I know I posted this awhile ago, but I took the link down because the site wasn't officially open for the viewing public. Oops.)

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Boy 1: Where are you from?
Me: San Francisco.
Boy 1: I've visited San Francisco.
Boy 2: Is that a euphemism?

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3.21.02 VALUE ADD
I’m afraid of heights. My new dentist is in an old building with an elevator that has mesh walls. I didn’t realize the elevator was of the see-through variety until I’d already climbed aboard, pushed my floor, and begun to hum. By the time I noticed the swaying cables of the elevator next to me, it was too late. I was well on my way to the sixth floor.

I concentrated on breathing, closed my eyes, and clutched the railing behind me. The elevator stopped. I stepped forward to the doors, but they didn’t open. I pressed the convenient little "door open" button. Nope. I pressed it with authority. The button ignored me. I watched as the elevator next to me zoomed past with its passengers. They stopped, and disembarked, about five feet above me. My transparent elevator was dangling between floors.

As panic rose in my throat, I pressed the alarm bell. Nothing. I pressed the intercom. Nothing. I glanced around nervously, then yelled at the person behind me on the stairwell. (I could see him, you see. Just as I could see the swaying, decaying cables above me, and the 300-foot drop below me.) He didn’t respond. After about five minutes, another elevator zoomed past me. I yelled out to its occupants.

The elevator stopped between floors!
Are you serious?

A few minutes (hours, millennia) later, the security guard ascended the stairs behind me.

Well, I’ll be. There you are.
I didn’t see you get in. I would have stopped you. They’re doing repair work.
What? What’s wrong with the elevator?
Wasn’t working right.
How? Like, what’s wrong? I mean, OK… Can they turn it back on?
Maybe, I’ll see.

Twenty minutes later, I was lying supine on the floor, sweating. The lights came back on, the floor started to hum, and the elevator edged upward.

By the time I got in to my dentist appointment, I was shaking. I had some enamel drilled and some plastic items put in my mouth that weren’t there before. It was almost comforting.

On the way out, the dentist was headed for lunch. He held the elevator door open for me.

I took the stairs.

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3.20.02 GOOD IDEA
Rarely is an organizational tool methodical enough to satisfy me. Jason Fried of Signal vs. Noise has done the trick with his new book collection organizer, Singlefile. Now I'm doomed to hours in front of the monitor typing in every good quote from every book I've ever read. (Via kottke.)

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3.19.02 VALUE
Last night there was a woman on “Antiques Roadshow” who had very long hair. She had, in fact, never cut her hair. Perhaps unsurprisingly, this woman was fascinated with hair and hair-related products. She had a collection of jewelry that had been made from hair. Other people’s hair. The hair of dead strangers. As I wrestled with my gag reflex, the appraiser told her the collection was valued at $4,000 to $6,000.

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When I was in Junior High, I was looking to fill an elective and the guidance counselor cajoled me into taking an emotional-sensitivity class that she’d developed. Whenever one student said something nasty to another, the counselor would snap, “I heard a put down. Two put-ups, please.” Whereupon, the kid would laugh long and hard, then find a way to disguise two more insults as compliments. “Nice pants, I’m way into rainbow stripes. I also like your eye shadow. It’s really…purple.” Then we closed our eyes and listened to Simon and Garfunkel.

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Josh is nice. Josh is available. I like him. Josh is in sight of earning his Ph.D at Berkeley in Genetics. He could engineer the perfect child. Pictured here is his winning smile. Also pictured, his exceptional abdomen. (Josh made me take down the picture of his exceptional abdomen. Boo.) Josh is embarrassed. See Josh blush. He plays soccer. Right now he is reading George Orwell's biography. Well, not right now. Right now we're getting drunk with a large group of friends. Later, Josh will read George Orwell's biography. With keen interest. With intent. Josh is a man who reads with intent. You should date him if you are a girl who likes to date boys. E-mail Josh at datejosh@yahoo.com. I'll pay for the date. (As long as the date is very, very cheap.) Hooray!

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Hey, Dave. ‘Sup?… Absolutely… Pizza, light cheese? I’m down. (Turns to friend.) You down with pizza, light cheese? (Friend nods)… We’re down… Kay. Cool, dude… Peace

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In San Francisco, when people don’t want outdated computer components (or bedroom sets), they put them out on the street in hopes that someone will take them away. I was walking by a school this weekend when I saw two boys coming up the street with an old printer. They were stalking around a recessed playground where a young couple was playing basketball.

The courtyard was about 15 feet below street level. The boy holding the printer was looking around nervously; the other one was yelling, “Drop it! Drop it!” I knew the printer would smash spectacularly, I also envisioned some of its smaller component parts flying up into the basketball players eyes. So I mustered my most adult voice and yelled:

“HEY! Don’t drop that there, you might hit those people... Drop it, like, over there.”

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Scenario: A young man and woman discuss two mutual acquaintances who’ve just had a romantic rendezvous.

Him: He’s dirty.
Her: Dirty?
Him: Dirdy birdy.
Her: Uh-oh. Someone’s gonna be fightin’ the fungus.

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