1. I luv watching Turk do the BBD dance. Happy happy. I always loved that song (the actual "Poison" video is a little too...D*ck in a Box, even for somebody who loves sometimes embarrassing old hip-hop). It's the bass! Not to get too far into why, but it's always the bass, esp. with that snare/high-hat/ring-ting overlay. I'm such a suckah.
2. I actually met somebody last week whose father is a blacksmith. An actual iron-smashing, sweating, horseshoe-banging blacksmith. Really, how neato is that, is all that I have to say. How cool.
3. Super delish: the house smoked salmon with mustard creme fraiche potato salad appetizer at Bin 36. In a moment of ¡WinePanic! I ordered oaked Chardonnay with it, but I woulda liked it better un-oaked mit.
4. Can't currently get over, among others: Slick Rick or The Steve Miller Band. Yootoob yootoob. I amuse myself sometimes imagining navigating my everyday life (or anybody's) talking like Slick Rick: making gyn appointments, chit-chatting with cashiers, taking communion at church. Hee HEE. So much sass.
5. I can no longer masquerade as Donnie Van Zant. I thwacked 5-6" off my hair in a fit of exhilarated exasperation at the sheer...impenetrability of the mess, even after pouring in a whole bottle of conditioner. Was growing dreads no matter what I did. It *looked* fine when up--I could take a tiny rubber band and secure just the very outside of it all in a tiny lil knot uptop and look like a Victorian housekeeper, with a big pouffy skein on my head, *without* any ratting necessary, but I'd take it down and....Medea. So it's gone, and hair is much chastened. Makes sense in the new economy, eh. I sometimes have fantasies about living on a Greek island and cuttin all my hair off, letting this scalp see sun for once in its Midwestern life, rubbing olive oil into it. I'm definitely one of those people with bleached-white-houses-on-Greek-island-hillside escape fantasies. All very abstract and full of blocks of color (blue, white, maybe some others.). Why am I talking about this? oh yeah, WINTER'S HERE. Feels like it, at least.
6. It goes against everything learned and unlearned about fashion, but I am flirting naughtily with the idea of a...muu muu! Authentic Hawaiian type, but a you-kids-get-off-my-lawn garment, nonetheless. Some aspect of this gesture falls under the idea of reclamation, since it's the garment fat girls cast off in order to wear our cute tight Torrid tops and all that. I dunno, they seem dang handy to me. Kinda pretty/fun. I'm tempted.