Shakin’ My Lady Lumps

That title is my homage to Alanis Morisette, who did right by all women when she parodied The Black-Eyed Peas’ annoying song where Fergie bleats in double-time about her “lumps,” “humps,” and “trunks,” and patters through such deathless prose as “Watcha gonna do with all them ass/All them ass inside them jeans.”

This morning I took all the ass inside my jeans for an hour-long jog-walk around our lovely park neighborhood while On the Media chattered in my skull through my groovy new iPod, then tonight did a serious hour bouncing my lumps through an intense aerobics workout at the church, to the back-beat of every good disco song from the 1980s. In between, I wrote my very first Current Cites review, spoke with a friend, fleshed out a proposal, sent out four (four!) essays to tony lit rags, sent off a few more enquiries, followed a lead for another writing gig, spent two hours with the local ISP straightening out long-standing issues with the church’s email accounts, and did not hang the bird feeder.

I suspect tomorrow will be another day I get up early, work hard, exercise at least once, and do not hang the bird feeder. I am not complaining. I plan to write another proposal, send out three more essays and several more enquiries, work on my Techsource piece about Sophie, and keep chasing down the institute interested in my class. My lumps like staying busy.

I’d really like to do a creative piece in Sophie as the focus of my Techsource piece–I have my first public piece in mind, a meditation on chocolate pecan pie–but I’m overdue for Techsource, so I may crank it out with a very tiny Sophie piece as part of it.

Someone today commented (not meanly) about my “obsession” with Sophie. Yeah, baby, I know I want it! Eventually, I’m going to do a piece in praise of technolust. I know people warn against it, but where would we be without obsessive enthusiasts? You don’t have to act on every feeling–like Jimmy Carter, I have frequently lusted in my heart, though in my case it was in aisle 5 at Fry’s–but every new technology (printing press, airplane, Treo 650, Sophie) needs someone who murmurs, “Me. Need. Shiny.” We’re the ones who forgive the beta software its minor transgressions; see the potential while the bugs outweigh the features; believe in the new new thing in a fresh way that the developers who have been working on it since day 1 just can’t any more.

I’m now going to squeeze all them ass into my pink flannel jammies with the flamingoes–not to embarress a friend, but I bought these PJs at CostCo after visiting Roy in his office in 2001, and don’t ask me why I remember that because I don’t know either (I also bought a stepladder and a bottle of wine)–and collapse in front of CSI Miami, the silliest of crime shows.