Leaving for DC in a day. Won't be posting for a bit. Don't miss me too much, suckers.
But if you really can't take it, here's something to distract you:
You're welcome.
Bye.
Seriously. It came in a gift bag from a theatre benefit I attended last night. It's a "unisex blend of bergamot and vanilla-infused musk combined with natural patchouli, mandarin and nutmeg oils." It smells like the hot hippie boy with whom I had a brief affair during our college production of Godspell.
I wasn't sure if it was seriously dog perfume or just some marketing gimmick, so I went to the website. It's real.
I don't know what makes me more depressed; the fact that some people actually desire to mask the smell of their pet with a haut fragrance that has the word "sexy" in the name, or the fact that I'm sitting here on my couch in a tank top and superman undershorts smelling like a sexy dog. Both, I guess.
Who is this scent supposed to attract? There can only be two choices, humans or dogs, right? One would think if it were for dogs it would smell more like ground beef or crotch. And I'm sure I'm not the only human for whom the smell is particularly associative. It has that late-night dirty-futon gentle-sweat thing going on...
Highly disturbing, friends.
"Why are we concerned with art? To cross our frontiers, exceed our
limitations, fill our emptiness -- fulfill ourselves. This is not a condition but a process in which what is dark in us slowly becomes transparent. In this struggle with one's own truth, this effort to peel off the life-mask, the theatre, with its full-fleshed perceptivity, has always seemed to me a place of provocation. It is capable of challenging itself and its audience by violating accepted stereotypes of vision, feeling, and judgment - more jarring because it is imaged in the human organism's breath, body, and inner impulses. This defiance of taboo, this transgression, provides the shock which rips off the mask, enabling us to give ourselves nakedly to something which is impossible to define but which contains Eros and Caritas."
--Jerzy Grotowski, Towards a Poor Theatre
FINALLY. A sexy subservient robot who will tend to your every whim AND convince you she is quietly, desperately in love with you. No annoying skin problems, no complaining incessantly about her weight, no obnoxious clinginess or spontaneous 4am therapy sessions. With delightfully Asian facial features, *just* ambiguous enough to keep those twitchy liberals guessing. And did I mention she's waterproof?
Thank you, Phillips!
I mean, sure, I'm already married. And she's dating that dude from the Paddingtons, sort-of. And she probably would need someone over 5'1".
But if she didn't like me just a teeny bit, why does she keep flirting with me in every single magazine I pick up?
Oh Agyness. I hate the way you spell your name, and those jeans are kind of stupid. But you rock me. Be mine?
...but I was curious to see if anyone had ever come across this kind of hairdo before. If it can be considered a hairdo, that is, and not a hairhat, which might be a different genre of head decoration altogether....
The gal is no stranger to the outlandish 'do, as a quick Google images search proves, but this... this is... inexplicable... demented... and perfect maybe?
And note the dress with the severed doll heads squirting blood.
I think I'm in hate love awe a state of existential frailty.
This gal's photos. She used to be a fashion photographer. I think she has a show coming up in NYC.
In other news, I just made a huge pot of ass soup. That's when you throw everything left in the fridge into a pot with some broth and just cook the hell out of it. It tastes like ass, but it's generally healthy and at least you have some food for a few days.
Suck it, Rachel Ray.
