Brain sandwiches still on some menus, via Salon.
A picture is worth a thousand words.
As you can see from the image above (not the sandwich, the other one!), I have Inner Beauty, oh yes I do. But I’ve also been having a wicked case of the Mondays, and I realized last night that this is directly correlated to how long I’ve been neglecting to apply makeup! Sure, there were other traumatic events, like a half-assed moving/living situation, illness, and job loss. But honestly, it all comes down to the upward curl of my lashes, the highlight on my brow bone. I was a fool to think I had no one to impress, because in doing so I’ve failed to impress myself.
So let this serve as a warning: spackle ye cheekbones while ye may. Go get a haircut, and a real job, lest you find yourself planted on the couch wearing sweats for the next 8 months, drooling as Dr. Phil chastises you for eating the Kraft Dinner cheese packets right out of the box.
Whoa people, you don’t want to know what’s been coming out of my head lately. This is the sick that just won’t quit. It’s the time of the year when I start obsessing, thinking I must have HIV, oh why oh why did I ever do those things with all those sailors? Then I realize “ohhhh, I get ragingly ill every single year at this time, and every year I convince myself I have some dreadful auto-immune problem.” I have this sick schedule down. First we start off with a cold in October. Then the first two weeks of December are a total wash with some sort of strep-like thing. Finally, things cap off in January or early february with a bout of bronchitis. Sure, one year I bucked the trend and got pneumonia in November, but really that was just to get out of going to the symphony. I had an assignment to review a performance of some Mahler, and damned if I didn’t end up getting to review Being John Malkovich instead. Make up work, boo yeah. Lower culture, holla back.
Speaking of culture, I read a book. It happens. It was pretty good, even with all the Writing. Middlesex. I am sure Sofia Coppola has already optioned it. I shed a wee tear at the end. One little detail just absolutely killed me. No, I’m not going to tell you what it was. Freaking read it, then maybe we’ll talk. It’s got Detroit, it’s got incest, it’s got hermaphrodites, it’s out in paperback. What’s not to like?
That brain up there really is mine. I used to volunteer for any medical study involving an MRI in college. I love x-ray vision. I’ve been thinking a lot about what a bummer it is to be human meat. I’d totally go for being a brain in a jar, except then I couldn’t play at being attractive on weekends. Although the MRI tech did say I have lovely, perfectly formed ventricles. I have another shot that shows them. They look just like butterflies.