that does not compute
Out this window, at least this winter, it is perpetually around 4:30 pm…it's that gray and dingy and soul-wearying. There's not even anyone smoking in a dirty undershirt on the fire escape of the transient hotel, which is my main landscape feature on workdays. Damn.
Of course I should be working, but the gray winter 4:30 pm-ness seems to have infected my brain as well, I have a strange oppressive sort of headache.
For those of you in Chicago and environs, I just found out that WTTW (our PBS, channel 11) is re-running this great documentary Friday night. It's called Smile Pretty and it's a truly frightening look inside the demented world of child beauty pageants. Highly recommended.
I just called Kat and left a robot song on her voice mail. It went like this: beep boop beep beep beep beep beep boop. I only sang the first verse.
Old B-52s is ever so much fun. I'd forgotten how much I like “Rock Lobster.” Love those jangly New Wave guitars.
beep. boop.
—mimi smartypants