Stupid having-a-conscience and wanting-to-make-a-difference and Quaker-education and such. I soooooo wanted to sleep in the last couple of days, but haven't because I've been out being a good citizen and crap. It's very annoying.

Friday was the Chicago Choral Artists garage sale, which involved me getting up far too early, driving on the expressway during rush hour (and the traffic reports don't do me a damn bit of good, because I know the expressways by the numbers -- 94, 90, 290, 55, etc.-- not the names -- Stevenson, Dan Ryan, Eisenhower, Kennedy, etc.), sitting in traffic, schlepping mountains of stuff out of the garage, beating back crowds of garage-sale junkies who tried going through the stuff before the sale was even open, hanging out in the heat, and generally living out the worst of retail. They made a bunch of money, however, and this is pretty much my last commitment to the group, so it's all good.

What is it with the rabid garage sale people? They're like locusts. We'd advertised the sale to start at 9 a.m. At 8 a.m., we started taking stuff out of the garage. And the crowds descended.

Me: We're not really set up yet, and the ad said 9 a.m.
Rabid Garage Sale Junkie: Oh, that's ok, I don't mind.
Me: [thinking] Of course you don't mind, you're the one being a twerp.
RGSJ: I won't get in your way.
Me: Uh...
RGSJ starts burrowing into boxes so only the feet are visible, salivating and growling. Emerges clutching something in sweaty little hand.
RGSJ: How much is this?
Me: $2.
RGSJ: That much? That's ridiculous. How about 50 cents?
Me: Um, no, it's marked at $2.
RGSJ: Well, I go to a lot of garage sales, and that's far too much. You'll never sell it.
Me: I'd be more willing to believe you and bargain with you if this were, say, the end of the second day of the sale, rather than before the sale has even opened.
RGSJ goes off in a huff, looking for someone less crotchety to browbeat.

There's a reason I never did well in retail.

This morning,it was a block cleanup for our neighborhood association. Alas, it was not our block. I went anyway, only to discover that the alderman's office had screwed up and not given up supplies. As I was tired and cranky and hot, I was secretly pleased -- I was this close to singing out "Oh well, I might as well just go home...." when one of the block residents said something to the effect of "Well, to hell with it -- we've got brooms and rakes, let's just use our own equipment!" Dammit. So I swept the street in 90-degree heat and full sun this morning. Stupid civic responsibility complex....

All right, who knows anything about travel in France? Specifically, if I'm going to be in Paris, and I want to go to Mont St. Michel and the Normandy beaches, should I do it as two day trips, or go to one, stay overnight, go to the other, then come back to Paris? Or what?

I spent much of the day working on my "please hire me" site. It's getting there. I have to get a bunch of stuff scanned, though (as soon as I find it). Sigh.

The folks I did the proofreading for called back and asked me to take on another job. Whoo-hoo!

Stay tuned, because soon I will be posting details of an exciting new contest....

Ugh. Wacky icky summer cold thing. My head wants to explode. Grff.

We've got a new Mormon in the basement -- he's from Chile. I wish they'd let me know beforehand. Oh well.

Interview yesterday. I think it went ok. I don't know. My wacky icky summer cold thing was starting to take hold, and I was concentrating on not sneezing on anyone. Bleh.

sjerslix: Hey, I might get an amazon package at the office. If it comes through, can you e-mail me of give me a call?
Singley: indeed
Singley: oh, wait, was it the porn mags? they came last week.
Singley: didn't know you were into those sorts of things
sjerslix: heh. I assume they're, um, used by now.
Singley: hehe
sjerslix: I was actually looking for a job, thank you.
sjerslix: Porn needs proofing too
Singley: Sarah Jersild: Making Porn Pithy.

Don't worry mom. I'm not really looking for a job in porn. But wouldn't that be a fabulous tagline on a business card?

Jude and Chad are in town as Chad becomes Dr. Chad, Math-Ph.D. Woman. Last night, we found the perfect way to celebrate: Sock Puppet Showgirls.

Yes, a group of us went out to see a 30-minute rendition of the god-awful movie Showgirls as performed by sock puppets, the premiere offering from Harvey Finklestein's Institute of Whimsical, Fantastical and Marvelous Puppet Masterage. I cannot recommend it enough (assuming you are the sort of person who wants to see a bad movie re-enacted by sock puppets. Which, I imagine, many of you are.)

The theater was tiny -- it "seats" 40 people, but has 12 chairs. The rest of us were packed together on the floor, hunkered down Indian-style, like some sort of hell-spawn re-visioning of Romper Room with booze. (Did I mention it was BYOB?) What is a natural position for 4-year-olds isn't quite so graceful for twisted quasi-hipster 20- and 30-somethings: when the lights came back up, underneath the cheers and applause, there was much moaning of "Oh, my ass!" and "My back hurts!" and "My foot's asleep" and such. But it was so, so worth it.

Have you seen Showgirls? It's bad. Really, really, bad. I've only seen it because Lotti forced me to (Jane still has post-traumatic shock issues from that night), and, to be honest, because I'm an aficionado of horrible movies, otherwise known as a glutton for punishment. For those who have not seen the movie, I hope that Mr. Finklestein, that erudite, cultured, masterful hunkahunka burning felt-covered love, will indulge me by allowing me to quote his synopsis from the program:

"Showgirls" is a timeless story that tries to answer the age-old question, "Is she or isn't she a whore?"

We first meet our heroine Nomi as she is hitchhiking her way to Las Vegas to find fame and fortune. With as much guts as she has glitter, she starts on her quest. Soon Nomi make a friend that gives her a place to stay and helps her get a job at the sleazy strip club Cheetahs.

But jiggling and humping is not all our heroine wants from Sin City. Nomi gets a chance to see the popular "Goddess" show at the Stardust Hotel and in the vein of such classic films as "All About Eve," the drama begins.

Nomi and the star of the show, Crystal, have a love-hate-gyrate relationship that erupts in a powerful dance sequence that will leave you breathless.

Nomi continues her struggle to prove that she is a dancer and not a whore by using any means necessary.

And that pretty much sums it up.

You may wonder how the intricate dance numbers (not to mention sex scenes) translate to the world of sock-puppetry. The answer: Exceedingly well. It helps that Nomi's dancing and/or eroticism was pretty much epitomized by the word "flail"; nonetheless, the choreography remains remarkably true to that of the Joe Eszterhas-penned epic. The sets are likewise intricately rendered, and the costumes and hair-styling are remarkable true to life (or whatever was supposed to be represented in that movie).

As I said, I highly recommend this theatrical outing. It helps to have seen the movie (if only because that means the good-aesthetic-taste center of your brain has already been removed), but even sickos who haven't had the pleasure will enjoy the show. It's playing at 10:40 p.m. at The Side Studio, 1520 W. Jarvis Ave. -- right off the Jarvis stop on the Red line. If you want one of the precious chairs, get there first -- we arrived at the theater as the cast was entering at 10 p.m., but missed our chance by going to get check out the alcohol selection at Jarvis Liquors down the street. For more information, you can e-mail the ever-charming Mr. Finklestein at Harveyfinklestein@yahoo.com. He's a charming (and pulse-quickening) correspondent.