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• photos •
• little loves • Eddie Cibrian's Dimples
Because c'mon! Shame on Invasion's slowburn peril for not providing them a more frequent showcase. Wentworth Miller
He's my boyfriend. He is. No, he just is. He's all green-eyed, widow's-peaked, melting-pot hotness and oiled-massage voice. He's it. • past loves • |
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Most of my weekend added up to Absolute Zero. I didn't make any progress on my redonkulous Netflix list, nor see any of the six films at the LCC that I'm interested in -- and that's just at the LCC. I didn't sift through the piles on my floor for interesting stuff to add to my found art collage (don't ask), nor even pick up that one piece of work I've had at home for six weeks now and haven't even looked at, though I really really keep meaning to get it done. It will probably find its way into my collage at some point. On the plus side, I restocked my supply of kim chee and ate some barbeque ribs. I saw Office Space on Bravo, the original Cape Fear on TCM (it always seems somehow more depraved than modern films, doesn't it?) and Adam Brody's "Declare Yourself" commercial half a dozen times. He's just damn adorable, even with the questionable facial hair. 
What's interesting to me though, are the disasters that can befall me without leaving the apartment.Friday night, after cable went out, I thought I was going to sit back in the dark and enjoy the kickass thunderstorm. There was lightning and everything, which our Weather Bubble™ usually cancels out. Alas, when I heard water running somewhere in my bedroom, the fun of the storm was effectively over. I spent an hour trying to save the towels, clothes, sheets, tools and art supplies in my mini-closet from the water that was flooding it. I had towels on the floor, though the carpet was already soaked through, and two pans switching in and out to catch whatever wasn't sheeting down the walls. I dumped three quarters of a gallon of disgusting brown water into my big cleaning bucket -- and that was only what I could catch and then not spill on myself. I didn't get to sleep until 4 o'clock. 
Sunday morning, I decided to go to the grocery store and thought I'd better have a shower. While my intense conditioner was doing its thing for three minutes, I went about shaving my legs. Now, I've been performing this eternal task for well over a decade. I have not injured myself majorly or bloodily since high school. I'm a pro -- swoop, swoop, swoop, done.The downside to being blasé about the whole thing is, however, evident. How come no one ever tells you a disposable, lilac Bic with dual-strip moisturizers can shave off your fingernail if your head's not in the game? jlb | 01:18 Last night at the Jackson Red Line stop, for an awful, glorious moment, I thought that Hilariously Bad Rapper, who entertains rush hour commuters most weeknights, had given up performing his signature song. In it he recreates a phone conversation between himself and a woman named Shaquida. He performs both parts -- Shaquida's part in a high, faux feminine voice. It's truly hilarious, and I was sad that he might have abandoned it. When I reached the platform, he was repeatedly crooning "On and on and on and on / I'm all alone / On and on and on and on" over an obviously self-produced, 80s-style R&B sort of musical track consisting of some synth drum beats and an electronic keyboard melody. I could almost see him slaving over his Casio at home! Slipped in there somewhere was also a lesson for us all that "God the Father" is the father of "the Jews / blacks and whites," and the subsequent entreaty that we all need to "come together." But just when I was worried he'd gotten too in touch with his inner Luther, he shifted into the infamous, if foreshortened, phone conversation rap -- just at the new, mellow pace. It's impossible to recreate it here in all its glory, but I can tell you that Shaquida expresses a desire to come over and "kick it" with HBR, which he declines. Shaquida then makes some innocuous statement about getting together with her "girlfiends" instead and, since HBR misinterprets this to mean she's bisexual, he throws her an invite. Then the song is over. Priceless. After the song last night, HBR was about to do another one "for the ladies," but had to break for an incoming train to pick up and go again. So he switched it up, saying, "Fellas, I know y'all waitin' on a song," before choosing a different track. Bear in mind that absolutely no one seemed to be actively waiting on anything he had to offer -- except some skeevy black kid with a do-rag made out of a T-shirt and his white trash homegirl who wore a white push-up bra with a pink tube top over it. But on second glance, they seemed to just be laughing at him. jlb | 18:11 Oh, I'm sorry. I think I accidentally posted on someone else's site yesterday. Though I'm here to say that, sadly, there is no more grocery wisdom in twenty-eight than there was in twenty-seven. get back in town i wanna paint it black wanna get around easy living crowd so flat said it all before they try to kick it, their feet fall asleep jlb | 16:46 This morning? If I shift my gaze to the left and just a bit heavenward, I can see my own eyelid!  That is my natural deathly pallor, by the way, not just a trick of the light. 
Not only is it Day Two of Hideous Freak Eye, it is also the second day of the feces infestation of the #9 bus stop at Ashland and Irving Park. That's not from a pigeon, people -- unless it's a pigeon the likes of which has never been seen."There were feces everywhere." "What are feces?" "Baby mice." "Awww!" i'm here with N-O-R-E and can't nobody rip a club like we put em up put em up (up) get your set and put em up put em up (up) jlb | 10:59 Check it.  That's a sexy left eye! And that's after I iced it for fifteen minutes this morning. It's so swollen that it feels like when you're exhausted and your eyelids get heavy. Thus, my body seems to think it's permanent naptime today. The dark circles are all natural. The #9 bus passes First Baptist Congregational every morning. Their sign on the corner once read "Lunch with Jesus" which I thought was spectacular. How nice of Jesus to take time out of his busy schedule to sit down for a sandwich everyday at 60 N. Ashland! The sign now reads "God Cares" and references "I Peter: 5-7." Isn't "God Cares" the overarching theme of Christianity? Does a specific Bible verse really need to be pointed out to people? Maybe it's for the uninitiated. But are those people very likely to leaf through a Bible because a sign suggested it? Perhaps it's for the denizens of the Viceroy across the street. Do rooms in transient hotels come with Bibles? you know it's okay, i'm kinda happy here for now i think i've finally grown up and got myself a lover now and if i ever come home and i i think i will i hope you're gonna wanna hang at my place on sunday still oh yeah i hope you will jlb | 13:54 It's not a terribly good movie (yeah, good luck in the Hollywood remake, Buffy!), but -- and I am duly ashamed to admit this -- Ju-On has kept me from sleeping for two nights now. It's not that the film is all that scary. I distinctly recall thinking halfway into it that it was pretty low-key and nonsensical (natch pretty much for the Asian horror films I've seen thus far). But something about it got to me because I've been unable to fall asleep much before 4:00 a.m. since Sunday afternoon's viewing. I've been going to bed pretty late anyway, but then I lie there trying to sleep and suddenly all I can think is something akin to, Lord, what will I do if I suddenly hear that guttural/growl-y noise from the movie? I know it's stupid, but I can't stop. I have to touch one of the sleeping cats to make sure they haven't abandoned me. I figure it's good to have cats because they will sense the supernatural danger before I do. Then some time during the hours I lie there, I usually have to pee. This is the really crucial moment because it's not that far from my bed to the toilet, but I just know that when I sit up and turn toward the bathroom, the murdered wife ghost will be dragging her creepy ass through my bedroom door in that severely disconcerting, inhuman crawling way she has. OH GOD, THE CRAWLING! Complete with crackly bone noises. That really fucked my shit up apparently. Check out the international trailer. It's in Japanese, but it's way better than the trailer for Lion's Gate's U.S. release, complete with cheesy English-language voiceover. There are, thankfully, only brief glimpses of THE CRAWLING. jlb | 17:00 
Shut up, Garden State jewel case!This just makes me want to pirate you out of spite! In fact, I think I'll burn a copy for Girl-Bart right this very second! On a CD-R stolen from my place of business! Ha! Please do not construe this as an indictment against the Garden State soundtrack itself, which is kickin'...in a heartfelt, moody kind of way. And I'm as surprised as you are that I don't dislike the Bonnie Somerville track. Yes, that Bonnie Somerville, of whose craptacular O.C. character TWoP recapper Demian once wrote: The Homewrecking Slut -- get this -- crawls across the various documents spread out on the floor on her hands and knees in order to flash about three yards of ass crack at Sandy, like, underwear, harlot. Look into it.Yeah, her. The movie is also lovely (right up until the unfortunately explicit denouement) and I recommend you all go see it. You won't even hate Natalie Portman. I promise. So let go Jump in Oh well what you waiting for? It's alright Cuz there's beauty in the breakdown jlb | 14:22 The really hilarious thing about watching Grease at 4:30 in the morning is that they edit out anything mildly dirty -- even song lyrics! "Grease Lightning" was about forty seconds long. It's freaking 4:30 in the morning! Who's awake at this hour that needs to be protected from the following exchange -- which happens to be my very most favorite in the whole movie and was cruelly edited out? Danny: "Bite the weenie, Riz." Rizzo: "With relish!" jlb | 04:28 Please note the time of this post. Let me tell you about my exciting night/morning. Around 1:50 a.m., my clothes and bedclothes newly laundered (By the way, you should see the condition of our laundry room after today's storms. I'm beginning to suspect the whole building may be sinking into the ancient lakeside sand dunes it is built upon.), I had just finished reading my email and was ready to go to bed. Scooter came over to me, looking a bit queasy, so I picked him up to get him off the carpet before he could yak for the third time today. When I set him down on the kitchen tile, he went limp and fell on his head. Then he started opening his mouth really wide like he wanted to vomit but couldn't. I freaked a little because he couldn't stand up and I thought maybe he couldn't breathe or something. I tried to stick my finger down his throat in case there was something in there. He didn't like that. I called 411 and got a number and an address of Chicago Vet Emergency Services. Then I called Yellow Cab. By that time, Scooter was walking around and had curled up in the box he hides in when he's not feeling well. I ran around getting dressed and cleaning the cat carrier until the cab arrived. I only had six dollars in cash and the cabbie's credit card machine wasn't working, so, sorry, Cab #4266! He got stiffed for $1.70. The CVES people were very nice, even though we took them away from their late night dinner of frozen peas (?) and watching Olympic swimming. There's apparently nothing wrong with Scooter, who was, of course, running around all chipper and making the staff ask if they could take him home. (He's such a slut!) The doctor said his throwing up may have made him lightheaded because it lowered his blood pressure. Who knew cats got dizzy? So another twenty minutes waiting for another cab and Scooter cried (again) for the entire ride home. I tipped the poor cabbie ten dollars on a nine-dollar cab ride because he had to listen to it. But here's the best -- and saddest -- part. When we came down Kenmore, there were three police cars and a paddy wagon in the street. As I was walking up to the door of my building, three huge cops came out! The lobby was a mess -- mail and phone books strewn about, mud and scuff marks everywhere. Scooter and I encountered another cop in the stairwell. Dude, WHAT WENT DOWN? It's no fair that someone called a paddy wagon to my building at two o'clock in the morning and I wasn't home! All for a dizzy feline! Damn it! Now I'm considering whether it's worth it to get any sleep before work tomorrow. Hey, Grease is on for the third time today! Maybe I'll just watch that until it's time for breakfast. But oh! Those suh-uh-mer Niiiiiiiii-hiiiiiiiiights! Rizzo's totally, like, thirty-four years old! jlb | 04:00 
Why did having a couple Boddington's, some chicken nachos, and spinach-artichoke dip with friends last night at Corcoran's put "Man in the Box" in my head? I mean, that's weird, right? It's not just me that thinks so?I'm the man in the box Buried in my shit Won't you come and save me Save me jlb | 18:53 There is one word to describe The Village: ASSY. Wait, let me bold that. ASSY. Yeah, that looks about right. M. Night Shyamalan hates retarded people. He seems to condone fearmongering and mendacity in the service of...I don't know, innocence? And the ham-handed, totally transparent "this is our world post-9/11" statement he was making? I don't even want to think about it. Just a big, steaming pile of crap that I nonetheless went to see because the man makes intriguing trailers like gangbusters and Joaquin Phoenix kind of rules. Okay, I admit that I liked the 60 seconds of the film in which Joaquin gets stabbed. Not because he got stabbed but because you're looking at two consecutive close-up shots, thinking, "Something awful just happened. I wonder what just...Oh, crap! That's terrible." And then it got worse. But 60 seconds does not a feature film make. I also saw it because I had to get to the Biograph before they turn it into a stage-play theatre instead of an ultra-low budget, first-run movie house. They were all out of Junior Mints, but my belly was full of sake shio aki and tofu tempura from Ringo up the street. On my way home, I saw a homeless man with his stolen shopping cart full of crap hanging across the street from IHOP and talking on his mobile. jlb | 23:32 It appears to be the Summer of the Rockin' Sequel. 
Notes on The Bourne Supremacy:• Despite resembling the source material even less than the original, it is crazy better than said film. • I think I fell a little bit in love with Matt Damon as he fended off a knife-wielding attacker with a rolled-up magazine. How could you not, really? • Dear Paul Greengrass, I dig you. You have a cool surname. In Bloody Sunday, you introduced me to the greatness that is James Nesbitt. You have improved upon also-cool Doug Liman's Bourne by a figure of...hmm...let's say, ten. But would it have killed you to spring for a tripod? Honestly, dude. Shaky Cam works for the action-y stuff, but when there are just two people talking on a verandah in the hot Indian night? Tripod. Look into it. • I'm a bit put off by the death of Franka. Though they made her useless in these films, she's still awesome and she didn't deserve to get offed in the first fifteen minutes. Her character doesn't die in the book; she is the core of Jason Bourne's humanity. Without her, he's just a super-scary, double bad-ass, all-around killing machine (with amnesia). Perhaps if the film had followed the books a little more closely, her relationship with Bourne could have served the same purpose. Then he wouldn't have to suffer flashbacks that confirm him as a total wuss-spy, or have awkward heart-to-hearts with frightened Russian girls to let us know he's not a robot. • Speaking of Russian girls, Oksana Akinshina is just as heartbreakingly beautiful as she was in the excellent and crushing Lilja 4-ever. • Speaking of beauty, I'm so glad they saw fit to use pretty Kiwi, Karl Urban, to greater effect in this film than they did Hot British Man (Effortlessly Bondian Variety), Clive Owen, in the original. • I love you, Final Car Chase! I wanna have, like, ten thousand of your babies! • Before the film started, I was in the Village bathroom and looking at this floor tile made me really dizzy.  jlb | 23:14 So I'm on the #9 bus this morning when it passes a gas station parking lot. A "For Sale" car in the lot catches my eye and, believe me, I cannot explain why I am now obsessed with this car. It's the AMC Eagle, folks. WTF? I don't even know what "AMC" stands for. And as far as I can tell, it hasn't been manufactured since the late 80s. But I want one. Look at it. Explain to me why I love it a little bit.  Spying this car reminded me that I've been thinking of adding a section here about things for which I cannot rightfully articulate my devotion. Maybe I'll get on that. jlb | 15:13 |
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• the glow •
What stars? That's the glow, baby. • distractions •
Pale & Hairy in CA
Tomato Nation
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