19 September 2001 - 11:35 a.m.

Here's a story for ya: The other day, Barbara (my boss' boss and my landlady) was walking down the street, only to have someone ask her if she was "from one of those countries where they wear hats."

"Actually," she said, whipping off her baseball cap to reveal a chemo-bald head, "I'm from the country of cancer."

B is afraid that maybe her answer was not quite appropriate. I say work it, Ms. Thang (or Dr. Thang, technically.) If not having blue eyes in this country means that anyone on the street gets to harrass you, you might as well carry around the proper rhetorical ammunition to put the bastards in their proper places.

See, there really are reasons I can't quit my job. Da Boss-Lady may certainly have the potential to be a bitch, but Barbara is undeniably the shit.

My cat just spent five minutes sniffing my eyeball. Ack! I guess that's what I get for rinsing my contacts in fish oil. What a freak. "Because that's all a cat can be in this world... a beautiful little freak,,," Can I just say that Mia Farrow ruined Daisy Buchanan for me? I really question the wisdom of showing high school students film versions of books they have just read, particularly when they reduce Fitzgerald into such wooden-sounding crap. (No disrespect meant toward Mr. Sam Waterson.) And I hate to admit it, but Mia is probably the main reason I forgave Woody Allen so quickly after the whole Soon-Yi business - I was just so glad Mia Farrow wasn't going to be in any more of his films! Is that bad feminism? I guess. But bad feminism for bad acting seems a fiar enough trade to me.

What I'm wearing:

What I'm reading:

What I'm doing after this: