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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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British Euphemisms Are Both Gentle and Mean
(And I know it was meant to be because Office Space was on TV Friday night after it happened.) So, good riddance, Initech! Too bad you couldn't find a way to take away my managerial title before casting me aside. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Ten weeks severance package! HAHAHAHAHA! Can you hear me laughing all the way to April? jlb | 17:00
I Am SimCity's Bitch
Unfortunately, building cities for Sims I never see snuck right on it to take its place. I've created, built up and run into the ground five cities since last Tuesday afternoon. It sounds like hard work, but cleaning out a burgeoning city's coffers and then asking its residents and businesses to build them back up via exorbitant taxation is surprisingly simple. And swiftly accomplished. The good times never last forever, though, and when my various mayoral aliases have been left staring down true financial blackholes (including a negative $47K that was so not my fault), my merciful god alias(es) have stepped in to visit death and destruction upon the struggling communities. Believe me, it's better for all involved! Because after the thoughtfully placed volcano has improbably risen up from beneath the high school (a hellmouth, perhaps?), after the lava has stopped flowing and the numerous fires have mostly died away, the god alias(es) have taken the doomed cities and all their inhabitants up into the sky in a shower of pretty silver sparkles and a final, blinding white light of utter obliteration. What? You want all those people to toil in the mines and get taxed 20% for their troubles? A giant metal robot attack here or there before being wiped completely from the earth is a blessing in comparison. Anyhow. I have few distractions from these important matters. Who would want to leave the house on a relatively lovely weekend? That would involve getting dressed and I'm pretty sure I'm wearing my last pair of underwear for the third day in a row. I did, however, tear myself away to watch two new hours of 24 last night. Poor, poor Lukas Haas! He's been unwittingly putting himself in mortal danger ever since he was a small Amish boy. Rumspringa was not kind to him. He's living in L.A. now, illegally downloading software and stumbling upon massive terrorist plots from which only Kiefer can save us. I wonder if Kelly McGillis knows. She was pretty liberal by Amish standards, but I'm not sure she would approve. Not slightly related, I think I've found the perfect job to supplement The Fat Guy's coach captaining: Meter maid! C'mon, you know you want to. There's plenty of aerobic exercise involved, you get to wear a shiny silver star on your coat and you'll carry around a law-enforcing contraption that's the evil love child of those electronic board things UPS workers carry and a Speak & Spell. And if the little wizened man I saw this morning -- who walked like his knees aren't going to decompose anywhere near as soon as the rest of him -- can do it ... Finally, two (actually existing, not computer-simulated) city notes: • City residents already get too many phonebooks that they're never going to use. In fact, 90% of them never get picked up from the building lobby in which they were optimistically left for the taking. They do local news story filler about this situation. Yet no superfluous free phonebook has ever been as useless as those in the three giant stacks currently mouldering for their fourth week in my building lobby. Why, pray tell? Because they are business-to-business phonebooks. Yeah. Just because they read "Rogers Park" or "Uptown" on the cover doesn't automatically make them useful to us civilians who work for The Man. Why not deliver them to the dude who owns the building? He's actually running, ya know, a business. He'd probably just prefer to receive a single copy, though. • I can't figure out why the bus stop outside the K-Mart parking lot in my old East Village neighborhood is referred to by the disembodied, pedantic bus announcer as "Bauwans." There's no cross street there so named. You've got Blackhawk to the north, Milwaukee to the south, Dunkin Donuts, new condos, my beloved coin laundry of yore (secado gratis con lavador, baby), but nothing overt to which "Bauwans" could refer. In other cases on the #9 route when a meaningful name is lacking, the CTA just uses a stop's physical location (e.g., 2650 North), so why "Bauwans?" It's got mystery (obviously) but how cool would it be for the talking bus to announce "Ghetto K-Mart" as the next stop? jlb | 15:39
The Morning After
    
jlb | 11:33 |
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• the glow •
What stars? That's the glow, baby. • distractions •
Pale & Hairy in CA
Tomato Nation
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