The Vatican is banning gay priests:
the colours in your head
The Vatican is banning gay priests:
So last night, I'm lying in bed while Jon is out brushing his teeth, and I get a phone call. It's Chris. He requests to come up and show me something, but I make him wait until Jon is back from attenting to his oral and facial hygiene (turns out that he uses more facial products than I do, folks-- facewash, toner, skin smoother (that you have to wait and let dry!) and moisturiser to my facewash, occasional use of toner, and night cream. And my skin is still softer. Hah!) We chat for a little while, then Jon at long last makes his return and agrees.
I'm listening to TV on the Radio right now. TV on the Radio make me happy. As do The Unicorns.
So... I was surfing around when I came across an ad that said "[Name] Skydiving Academy-- Free Skydiving lessons while our instructors go through training!"
My boyfriend, he manages to look hot even in tighty whiteys. This is talent, my friends. Very few men can pass this test. And he manages to stick to the more Calvin Klein model end of the spectrum, rather than the hairy Italian-American wifebeater side (I guess I could be called Italian-American, so I can say stuff like that with reckless abandon. Hah!). Mmm.
I was doing looking through Postsecret, seeing what was up this week, when I came across this posting.
Last line of Calum's email:
On further consideration, the subject heading "What's up?" should not have been overly inspiring. Perhaps I should procrastinate more in order to ponder this further...
I just was going through email backlog when I stumbled across the first email from Jon, asking me to coffee. I decided to be a giant dork and look at the time signature (also so I could place that in time and figure out how long we've been dating... three weeks.) Turns out he emailed me shortly after midnight on Sunday, October 9th (or rather since it was after midnight it went over into the Monday.) after meeting me the day before, and me and Chris leaving his place. Less than 22 hours! Flattering, in a psycho-female deductive logic way.
Ladies and Gentlemen...
For some reason, back in the day, Crispin Glover (Marty's dad in Back to the Future) deemed that all the world was lacking was an art film, crafted lovingly by his creepy self. I lay the trailer down before you (not really safe for work.)
I just complimented a complete stranger on the absolute adorability of their child. Admittedly, it was a darling little girl, with fat cheeks and a little rosebud mouth made for slobbery kisses (in a non-pedophilic way. You know what I mean) all trussed up in a red and yellow hat and a big big scarf, but where have these maternal urges come from, all of a sudden? I'm beaming at babies, and cooing over children's clothing, and... it somehow just doesn't compute. I'm supposed to be all hard and cool, staying away from children because they'll bespoil my carefully planned ensembles. Nannies are my byword. Children? Cute, but... you know.
Continuing the whole orthodontia thing, I just wanted to comment on the fact that my bottom teeth are disgustingly crooked. A couple years back, I slipped while leading a climb and whacked my chin on an outcropping (though still completed the route, blood streaming onto my shirt. Hott.) and as a result I have a scar underneath my chin. What I didn't realise was that my teeth had been moved slightly out of alignment, and then, as they were held in place by a metal band (now, thankfully, removed), they continued to shift around this bizarre fulcrum until the teeth on either side of it had put their roots together like a V, forcing my poor other tooth to project backwards. I'm terrified it's going to fall out at some point. There's always the fear when I'm eating something that my tooth has just popped on out.
I got to go see The Passenger by Antonioni the other day for The Crimson, as it's being revived, and I get to review it. Perks of comping: the press pass and early screenings. I'm not going to put a full review on here, because I have to do this later on for The Crimson itself, but suffice it to say that it was a truly great movie-- Jack Nicholson at the very glorious height of his powers (the movie came out in 1975, the year he made One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, and right after he was in Chinatown) [I can't be bothered to link anymore... if you're curious, you know where IMDb is. Go use it.] and Maria Schneider, the baby-woman of Last Tango in Paris fame. The film was perfect in the way that is special to art films from the Seventies-- stunning visuals, with a blue, tan and white colour scheme, and perfect pacing. Not over-much happens, though it is a plot that could lend itself quite easily to lots of action, but the choice is wise, as it aids in the whole alienation and self-examination theme that would be over done if excess were piled on. Basically, David Locke (Nicholson), a disillusioned journalist doing an investigation on guerrilla warfare in a mysterious country in Northern Africa, finds that the only other man in his hotel has died, and so decides to let go of his old life and switch identities. He also takes the address book of his fellow-traveler, and decides to keep his appointments in Germany and Spain. Turns out that this fine fellow was a gun-runner for the guerrillas, so Locke is now involved in the war he was previously observing.
I grew disgusted with the state of my smile today, and so donned my trusty old retainer that has been kicking around the bottom of my beauty case ever since I got it back in uhhhh... 2000. Excruciating pain aside, it's firstly rather sad that my teeth move about this easily, and then secondly very sad that my mother shelled out big bucks to have me end up with a crappy bite and a big gap between my front teeth. Admittedly, it's a smaller gap than used to be there, back in my rabbitlike younger days, and I no longer have the uneven front tooth chippage caused by the unfortunate guy in my fourth grade class swinging his swimming goggles into my mouth while we were in the pool during the class trip to Normandy, but frankly, I have awful teeth. I would make a horrible horse.