Aight, folkers - here's the deal. I promise to write about my weekend at the beach, at a cancer conference, but I can't get back into this until I finish the Wire season 3. Just got the discs courtesy of KB, and the show still rocks, so I've got a late night or two left. A couple of quick parting thoughts, though:
1) 'member the porn stars at my gym? So I happened to pass by one of these chicks on the treadmill (they're easy to pass when they have no lateral translocation) - and guess what piece of classic American literature this woman hailing from the land of plunging necklines was reading -- our very own Danielle Steele. Now I'm convinced she's in the adult industry. Basically she's either got the reading skill level necessary for RL Stein or Boxcar children, or she's looking for some new scenarios for roles onthe silver screen in Ms. Steele's steamy descriptions. Oh, and the other one that's always dressing a bit too comfortably for the gym... she rolled in yesterday with about a 4 inch triangle skirt looking like something an American Gladiator on ecstasy would wear.
2) 'member how I said the personal hygene here often leaves something to be desired (in many cases it leaves me desiring a car air freshener)? - well it's not just men here. As I may or may not have eluded to, there are a fair number of what we would describe as hippies up in this, and they are usually not to be outdone by each other's stench. I passed one girl today, who had a bit of a lean to her, w/ one arm out a bit, as if directing the permeation of her organs' respiration towards passerbyes, one of whom I had the misfortune of being. In essence, the repugnancy smelled to me to be a combination of my gym shoes, old pepperoni aged in a swamp, and cheese curdled from dinosaur milk.
Back to the wire - one.
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