Mighty Girl
My face.

contact: maggie at mightygirl dot net

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I read:
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
Post Secret
Andrea Scher
Melissa Summers
Evany Thomas

We sit down at the table, and it tilts dramatically, sloshing our drinks.

-See? This is why it sucks that bars don’t give out matchbooks anymore.
-So you could use it to prop the leg?
-Just get some guy’s number and use whatever he gives you.
-Do people put numbers on matchbooks anymore? That would make me twice as likely to go out with someone, just for the nostalgia factor. Except it would pretty much mean he’s a smoker.
-What if he carried matches around solely for the purpose of lighting incense?
-Oooo. The ultimate deal breaker.

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The best parts of Margaret Atwood's The Blind Assassin:

"She went in for Culture, which gave her a certain moral authority. It wouldn't now; but people believed, then, that Culture could make you better—a better person. They believed it could uplift you, or the women believed it. They hadn't yet seen Hitler at the opera house."

"An old walrus-faced waiter attended to me; he had the knack of pouring the coffee and the hot milk from two jugs, held high in the air, and I found this entrancing, as if he were a child's magician. One day he said to me —he had some English—'Why are you sad?'
'I'm not sad,' I said, and began to cry. Sympathy from strangers can be ruinous."

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6.23.05 IN THE NEWS
Something amusing:
"Largest Ice Pop Has Its Moment"

Something magic:
"Lions Free Kidnapped Girl"

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(Bryan and I prepare an extra good dinner. As we're cleaning up, I break into song.)

Delicious Dinner, I like you a lot!
Delicious Dinner, served up piping hot!
Delicious Dinner, you're so good for me!
Delicious Dinner, you're extra tasty!

(Bryan ignores me, continues to wash dishes. I approach his back and sing louder, incorporating various distraction techniques like jazz hands and bump-grind. I slow the song to a kick-line tempo.)

De-li-ci-ous Din-ner, you are the best!
De-li-ci-ous Din-ner, surpass all the rest!
De-li-ci-ous Din-ner, I'm your biggest fan!
De-li-ci-ous Din-ner, not straight from the can!

(Pause. Conversation ensues.)

-Baby, you're ignoring the Delicious Dinner song. It's your verse.
-I think this is a one-woman show.
-I cannot accept that.
-Big finish!

(Bryan steps away from the sink, turns his palms upward and begins to raise his arms for the end-of-song, triumphant, above-head V. We sing in unison.)


(Bryan turns back to sink. Stage lights fade.)

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6.14.05 OMINOUS
"Attorney: Jackson will be more careful"
From here out, he will require small boys to wear gloves before viewing his pornography.

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This is a good poem. If you love it too, buy Alison Hawthorne Deming's book, Genius Loci:

For the Thief

Thank you for leaving the desk and the chair,
the books, snapshots and piano.
I've heard of moving van robberies—
coming home from work to percussion
of empty rooms. Thank you for
leaving the trapped air
that softens the blunt edge of my day.
What's mine - the hum of identity—
still surrounds me,
though the electronics
are gone and the jewelry
that was too precious to wear.
Thank you for not spraying
the walls with coke or with piss.
Thank you being a professional,
tidy and quick, entering with a clean
silent cut, not wasting your time
or mine with vandalism or assault.
When my mother was robbed
the closets and drawers were dumped
on the floor. All that was stolen were
towels that had hung in her bathroom.
Her neighbors, the police said, had
lost their cookware. Better our houses
become someone's mall than shooting range.
With my cousins, one in New York took
a knife-blade against her throat.
Another in Madrid was dragged
three blocks by her hair. Thank you
for knowing what you were here for,
for tending to your business without rage.

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Ace Hotel, Seattle
Originally uploaded by MaggieMason.

-Uh. I'm not seeing our return flight here.
-Did we book it?
-Let's stay another night.

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Our hotel room in Seattle smells like smoke, so I spray some pear room spray that I picked up on sale at a mall in Illinois. Not having much (read, any) experience with room spray, I give several spritzes while waiting for the scent to materialize.

Did I say several? I mean, like, two dozen.

Bryan looks up from his computer quizzically, and then begins to choke. He covers his nose with his shirt. "What?" I ask, standing several inches above him in the hotel-room atmosphere.

And then it hits me. Eau de Bartlett Pear so potent that I can taste it. My tongue and lips actually begin to sting. I wait for the Wall of Pear to dissipate. I keep waiting. My eyes start to water. Bryan glares at me from beneath his T-shirt.

Later that morning, we meet a friend for breakfast. As we climb into his car, I become distinctly aware of my own pearyness. I am Pearrific, Peartastic, Pearlicious. I smell like a ten-dollar hooker with a day job at Potpourri World. And now our friend's car smells that way too. Sorry about that, dude.

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We leave the house groggy at 4 a.m. to catch our plane. The streets are wide and quiet, empty of cars. Something about the morning is vaguely menacing, the air is too still.

At a stoplight, two men are talking in the low light. The larger one reaches out suddenly and punches the other in the eye. The surprised party assumes a boxing stance, readying for the next blow. His opponent turns away and strides up the street. Stupefied, the smaller man watches him depart, and then reaches up to cradle his eye as we roll past.

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6.3.05 WE'RE BACK!

Originally uploaded by MaggieMason.

I have been asleep for four days. Wherever you live, Australia is almost certainly better, if only because of the constant threat of being bitten by something venomous. It gives you perspective.

Tomorrow, we leave for Quincy, Illinois where Bryan's uncle is hosting a golf tournament. From there, it's on to Seattle, where Bryan is hosting a workshop and I am getting drunk with Mr. Baldwin, his wife, and his baby. (That kid can drink.)

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