Sunday, January 13, 2008
Friday, January 11, 2008
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
Provence: As the waiter sets a tiny dish of olives next to your wineglass, you smile "Merci" and shade your eyes against the afternoon sun while looking up the road winding its way through a warm field of lavender stretching away over the hill. Tickled by the breeze, the hem of your frock flutters and dust whispers across the toes peeping out of the new tangerine shoes. "Where is he?" you wonder, glancing at your watch. A buzz in the lazy air shivers a bit louder, then louder still as it becomes the growl of a somewhat elderly motorcycle. "Un autre verre de vin, s'il vous plait", you say to the waiter. "Daniel! I wondered if you'd ever get here!"
The next email from The Redhead. Attached is another wonderful pair of shoes from Anthropologie (pink Mary Jane flats, with little eyelet-cut holes-- whee!):
From: yer "soeur"
Provence, deux: A slanting sliver of sunlight beneath the bathroom door. A hiss of water, clank of pipes, whisper of a razor on his cheek. Linen skirt smooth against your legs as you slip into the pink shoes. "Oui?" you call to the quiet tap at the door. "Madame, un mimosa ou deux?" "Deux, merci," you say, and pull the windows open to a brilliant day.
I'm guessing the fellow shaving in the bath is again:
Le Roux et moi mangeons de l'un de l'autre, vous voyez ?
Sunday, January 06, 2008
Hot or cold, red sauce, meat sauce, olive oil, with vegetables, basil, or just gorgeous, velvety cheese-- it simply doesn't matter. Pasta is the ultimate comfort food and like a good shoe, goes with anything.
You know, each time I Google My Husband Russell Crowe, I find yet another picture of him that becomes a favorite. This is today's choice. He looks relaxed and casual and kind of scruffy/messy.
*Whispering* Oh, Russell-- if you were here with me, my love, I am sure I wouldn't know what to do with you.
Hm. Wait... okay. Yes I would. Never mind.
The other night a friend asked me, "If you had only $20.00 left in the world, how would you spend it?" I answered, "I would go to a used book store and buy a bunch of books." I love to read, feel the heft of the book in my hands, smell the pages, relish the story, and often lose myself in what I'm reading. It is my only true escape.
To me, lust is not sinful, at least as it applies in my life-- my quiet, uneventful, largely celibate life. Screw Thomas Aquinas and his little list of the Seven Deadlies! I'm keeping lust close to me, thank you very much, and it's a cheap, cheap thrill.
Thursday, January 03, 2008
Thaaaaat's right... My Husband Russell Crowe's movie, 3:10 to Yuma, is coming out on DVD.
Note the tagline: "Time Waits for One Man". It should've read: "T-Bone Waits for One Man."
As I've mentioned before, dear readers, I have a rich fantasy life.
There's only one reason why these guys take the steroids and hormones; they want to be faster and stronger than anyone else on the field. Because players can't be those things just by sheer talent and athleticism, they get an edge over other players by shooting up the stuff.
So why do these athletes feel the need to be faster and stronger than anyone else? It's not because of their inherent competitive natures. It's the money, baby! If they're faster and stronger than other players, they'll get the contract from the ball club that'll make them rich and famous. They'll get the hitting record. They'll get the good press. They'll get the attention and adulation from fans. They'll get the money.
Barry Bonds has been haunted by rumors of steroid use for many years. After being outed once again in Mitchell's report, Bonds stubbornly said for the umpteenth time, "I've never taken steroids". He thinks that if he keeps denying it, the public will eventually believe him. Bonds also knows his hitting record would be forever sullied with an asterisk if he said he made the record while taking performance-enhancing drugs. If he didn't have his record, he would certainly lose the money and respect he apparently craves. Greed. Again.
Why don't the ball clubs punish their players by firing them for lying and cheating? Because it's the money, honey! If the clubs don't have big players in their lineup, who would come to see the games? Nobody! If nobody comes to the games, how will the clubowners get rich? They won't! The club owners want their share of the pie, so it goes around and around. Corruption. Cheating. Greed.
Politicians are greedy assholes too. You think this war in Iraq is about "terr-ists"? No. It's about control of the Middle East's oil. Greed.
Those assholes who ran Enron into the ground? All those employees who worked for that corporation-- their pensions gone. Everything they worked for, gone. Why? Because the folks that ran Enron decided they wanted more money, so they used the pension plan and retirement money set aside for their employees to pad their own stupid wallets and fund their ridiculously opulent lifestyles. Greed.
I can't describe to you the difficulty I've had writing this post because I hate the concept of greed so much. I've revised, revised, revised and I still find greed such a repulsive subject, I hate to even give it another bit of effort.
Simply put, greed sucks.