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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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The Power of Making Exact Change
I slipped a $20 bill through the little slot beneath the supposedly bulletproof glass. 
The clerk looked at it, looked at me and, in all seriousness, asked, "You got a quarter?"Um, not yet, Brain Trust. In other news...Why, yes, that is Christian, virgin, Amazing Racer Brandon modelling Hooters apparel. My day? She is made. there's nothing really doing in the High Street there's nothing very pretty in the square there's nothing yummy cooking in the snack bar there's nothing kind of swinging like my hair jlb | 16:16
Alterna-Header
I sat down, started reading Süskind's Perfume -- which is depressing the hell outta me because I can't smell (less smells, more murders!) -- and almost immediately I felt sick to my stomach. Why? I had a sudden vision of myself running that last segment of the walkway and totally wiping out as I reached the platform. I felt my foot catch on something, the panic that I couldn't catch myself and the impact of my face on the concrete of the platform. I felt my teeth breaking and everything. It was so disturbing! It was as if I was remembering it happening; it was that familiar. Totally eerie. 
I'm convinced it actually happened in an alternate reality -- and for some reason the fabric between this reality and that one was thin enough at that moment for me to know about it.Or I've just been cramming too much Farscape into too short a time. Mmm, John Crichton. i am thinking it's a sign that the freckles in our eyes are mirror images and when we kiss they're perfectly aligned jlb | 23:20
Stream of Semi-consciousness
St. Mary of the Lake kids in their matching red sweatsuits are already enjoying recess in Buena Circle Park. I guess when your school day ends at 2:30pm, you get to go outside at 9:15am? Two little first-graders -- one boy, one girl -- are facing each other, hanging straight-armed from the monkey bars, shouting back and forth, "Babatunde! Babatunde!" I guess it's possible they know all about West African drum legends at the tender age of six. The African rhythm, call-and-answer style of their shouting reminds me exactly of the scene in The Power of One where PeeKay beats the African boxer on his own turf and Gideon Duma gets the whole township to chant about The Rainmaker. The leaves of the (honey? black?) locust trees on the southern part of Kenmore are turning yellow intermittently. They look like they've been decorated with ribbons for a party. As usual, I miss the #80 bus by approximately 15 seconds. If I ran around the corner of the building at the end of the block, I could pound on the side before it has time to pull away...but I don't because running is for chumps and walking another half-mile to the #9 stop is good for me. A guy in a peacoat (boy, do I need to get shopping for a winter coat!) is wandering Wunder Cemetery, reading headstones. I'd like to take the day off and do the same -- take a camera or three (digital, 35mm, Polaroid) and get gloomy shots of graves and such. In Wunder, by the way, in the last couple weeks, a shallow grave was unearthed containing body parts wrapped in a plastic bag. How ingenious to dispose of your kill in a cemetery! Examination of the remains showed the body was professionally embalmed, though, so...what? World's cheapest cemetery burial? Someone's credit limit ran out after the formaldehyde but before the shovels? A lesson in what really happens to that $9000 casket you just paid for? Or is the cemetery caretaker as creepy as the Lurking Wood-Panel Station Wagon of Creepiness would suggest? As usual, I miss the #9 bus by half a block (though I hit all the crosswalks just right!) because I'm puzzling over the 94.7 (The Zone!) billboard towering between the automatic car wash and the José Rizal Center. The model's head is conveniently cut off, but I guess I'm supposed to think it's some skanky girl in a skanky Korn tank and skanky miniskirt -- except the giant breasts belie Man Pelvis, muscular forearms and the most unfortunate Man Hands on a supposed woman ever. When I board the next #9 to come by, the cranky driver immediately says to me, "I hate strollers!" Word, lady. Alas, she's not talking about strollers in the bus aisle, but the stroller connected to the idiot mother talking on a mobile that almost got her ass run over by the bus just seconds before it pulled into the stop. I'm not sure why the stroller is the object of Cranky Driver's wrath in this case, but word anyway. It's hotter on the bus than it was last week on a different #9 that was so hot (how hot was it?) a passenger got off one stop after boarding -- not by pulling the bell, but shouting a bus-length at the driver, "Can I get off this sauna?!" Word, sir. Having wrestled with the CTA heating situation multiple winters now, I'm dressed in layers and armed with public trans passenger resignation and a binder to put my hair up. I enjoy watching subsequent passengers struggle to slide open windows that have been locked since all buses were kitted up with A/C. The trick to (inadequately) lessening the stultifying heat is to sit as near the aisle as possible. Window seats are directly under the heating vents and are likely to cause nausea (in me) and copious vomiting (if I don't get off the bus for a ten-minute breather now and then). There's an intermittent breeze blowing from somewhere (the emergency escape hatch in the roof?) today. I realize of a sudden that another passenger has gone forward to speak to Cranky Driver about the heat. Mistake! She pulls the bus over at Fullerton and walks the length of the aisle, snapping open the vent windows near the ceiling and gifting us with the following: "Ladies and gentleman, it's cold outside so the heat comes on. I can't control it. The windows are locked so they don't be opened. When the bus breaks down, overheats, we'll be stuck." I understand that the temperature control is automatic, but you'd think it could be calibrated somewhat. It's 55°F cold, not 10°F cold. Even at 10°F, heat of this magnitude is uncalled for. Interestingly, she appears not to have been exaggerating for effect about a possible open window-related breakdown. By the time we reach First Baptist Congregational, the bus in idle is vibrating so bad it reminds me of the close-up on Tyler Durden toward the end of Fight Club that oscillates back and forth while the soundtrack goes all wonky like a skipping record. I am Jack's complete lack of surprise. At work I impulsively buy a couple old-school Mellencamp songs from iTunes, and "Pink Houses" depresses the crap right outta me. The 80s were no party, but I don't think things felt quite so hopeless then. What would it feel like to actually like this country again? oh but ain’t that america, for you and me ain’t that america, we’re something to see baby ain’t that america, home of the free little pink houses for you and me jlb | 11:56
The Only Prescription Is More Cowbell
jlb | 13:44
Stroke for a Day
The two times she's filled cavities (today included) I cannot feel the left side of my face from my chin to my eyeball afterwards. Today, my upper lip is also all swollen (from the injection, I guess), so, not only do I look like a stroke victim, I look like a stroke victim that got punched in the mouth. Sexy! And I got to walk home three-plus miles not only probably drooling saliva and blood (because the drill totally slipped off the tooth at one point and dug around in my gums for a second) but likely dribbling snot as well -- because allergies are making my nose run, and I can't feel my nose to know when to snuffle it all back! Double sexy! To cap off the experience, I wasn't three storefronts from the dentist's office after my appointment, when a short, extremely pretty woman came out of a little convenience store, smiled and greeted me. I said "hi" back and kept walking. She kept pace with me, said she was going to lunch, asked me if I was going back to school or if I worked, etc., while I'm thinking, "Okay, crazy lady, I don't even know you!" It wasn't until we wished each other a nice day and parted at Nan's Chinese & Sushi Bar that I realized she was my dentist. What?! Lay off me. Her hair wasn't pulled back, she wasn't wearing her smock or face mask and, honestly, I've probably never once looked her in the eye during an appointment. Like I said, she's breezy and I'm just there to get my teeth cleaned. So that's me: half-paralyzed, leaking fluids and completely antisocial. I'm a triple threat! jlb | 14:07
No Gabbing Zone
Only gab seems such an integral part of the salon experience that I start to wonder if I'm disappointing the stylist when I just sit there and let him to do his thing. And I really don't want to disappoint fabulously gay Henry because his shampoos are the best head massages in the world! 
To Hate:That girl on the sidewalk sneering into her mobile, "She's so fucking optimistic." Like, are you the jaded cynic character in a hipper-than-thou slacker movie, missy? Who in the real world regards optimism with such vile derision? Sheesh. And take off that striped sweater vest, please. It's so not the 80s. To Dig: John Hannah and his sexy accent on my TV for two whole hours, and the guy at Katachi who draws smiley faces on the containers of free maki. jlb | 20:41 |
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• the glow •
What stars? That's the glow, baby. • distractions •
Pale & Hairy in CA
Tomato Nation
Television Without Pity
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