1. "levar burton" asshole
This just makes me laugh, plain and simple. Levar Burton played a brief, un-influential role in my recent professional life. I never thought of Geordie LaForge as an asshole but I love the idea of the genius behind Reading Rainbow being a real son of a bitch. Wow, before I could even post this I received a random email with the subject line: “Levar Burton: Library Prophet” and a link to this inspirational video.
2. teens thimself wet the bed
They had me at bedwetting but I was fascinated by the bizarro invented personal pronoun. Thimself? Why not? I went through a phase where I thought dreampt was the spelling of the past tense of dream.
3. biggie was so nice to me today he bought me tea in bed and cooked dinner and bought me cheese and delicious biscuits and he bought me mini orange eggs. Oh and i had delicious beer waiting for me. My biggie is good, i do love him.
I’m acclimating nicely to my new job. These stats about English speakers typically using two words as search terms would be the type of thing I’d have to cull data from if it were newly released and not from 2005. But this being a blog, it doesn’t matter so much, I’m just trying to illustrate a point. 47 search terms?! Not so typical. I can only speculate that Googling such an unwieldy passage was a plagiarism testing technique. Though who would cop that fine literature to pass off as their own handiwork is beyond me. Biggie does sound great, though.
4. scaredy cat stalker / henry thomas cheated on first wife
This uncapitalized misguided query makes me sad. I’ve been thinking on it for a few months now. It makes me sad because I have absolutely no fucking idea if Henry Thomas cheated on his first wife, Kelly Hill, though sudden remarriage lends itself to the theory. And it makes me sad because a decade ago I would’ve been on top of such an event, but now I’m ineffectual, half the stalker I used to be.
I was just out (to be precise, this was written last Thursday not tonight, Tuesday—I have a procrastination problem) with a college friend of James’s and her husband and other college friends of theirs who hadn’t seen each other in years (which is likely contributing greatly to the rambling nature of this post—five beers will do that) and none of them are hideous people or anything but this couple has a four-year-old and they were remarking about never being out this late (8:30pm) and getting mp3s from a young guy at work because they don’t have any idea what to listen to and I’m like this is mid-thirties? I don’t have a bedtime (technically, that’s not true. I force myself to sleep before 1:15am to get seven hours before 8:15am when I have to wake up. Maybe I’m insane, I just compared notes with a coworker who lives down the street and catches the subway at the same stop I do at 9:20am and she’s able to go to the neighborhood gym at 6:30am, which blew me away. I’m lazy, I guess), I like to at least pretend to keep up with music but beyond that…I don’t know.
Occasionally, I still get sparks from strangers even if I don’t scrutinize all of H.T.’s comings and goings like I used to. I’d actually questioned my aliveness recently—I just don’t gaga over random boys much these days. I wondered if I’d grown complacent, it’s not like I’m married with kids, but I’m not “out there” either, completely out of the line of fire.
Then this evening I saw the hottest human (I think the individual was male) I’ve encountered in years, on the freaking J train of all places. Seriously, this boy was so scary pretty that I almost said something to him (what, was the problem). I had a camera in my bag too but I’m not bold or sassy like that, only if I was like 22 and Asian could get away with that shit. I’m not so great at painting verbal pictures so it’s hard for me to convey why this androgynous person was so inexplicably alluring.
I knew it was a boy, they were impossibly slim hipped, clad in tight color crayon blue pants, not navy, bright cerulean blue, and a black stocking cap which doesn’t sound attractive and I swear the hat had a metal pin, er brooch, if you will, on it and that sounds horrible, and white leather tennis shoes with Velcro not laces. Sort of slouchy, streamlined punky but effete.
And then I started thinking that they were a girl again. I couldn’t stop staring (fortunately for this freak of nature I was snapped back to reality by the large rumped woman who forced her way into the smidgen of space next to me and literally sat on the outer half of my thigh, inducing a denim-on-denim Indian burn). No, their hands and feet were too big for a girl. But the face was disturbingly feminine despite the strong jaw and large nose, with the smoothest skin ever, pubescent like the mystery person could be teenage but was more likely somewhere in their early twenties. My criteria hasn’t changed much in a decade, he/she/it had all the classics: sandy blonde with a mole just below their left eye, such a weakness, that coloring. He was so right on that he couldn’t possibly be straight. I couldn’t imagine a guy into girls being so delicate and perfect like a real life shojo manga character mixed with a fresh, modern Stephen Pastel (who’s remained dreamy looking for two decades—no small feat).
It reminded me of a time in the late ‘90s when my sister and I became fixated on an androgynous figure in a trenchcoat, pegged plaid slacks, wingtips, with a dirty blonde bob, carrying a ‘60s suitcase on the light rail in Portland. We were pretty sure it was a boy but he was so girlie too, like a ‘70s tomboy Jodie Foster. We ended up trailing the wispy creature all over downtown that afternoon. Because it was Portland, a small town, we crossed paths again a few years later. My friend in college, Adam, also became enamored/had a relationship with this enigma, a boy it turned out named Charlie, who last I heard still lived with his parents (and his boyfriend) in Gresham, despite now being in his thirties. That’s so NW.
So no, I don’t know if Henry Thomas cheated on his first wife. But I was baffled that he was suddenly married to a blonde toothy girl then all of a sudden was married to a German brunette who was knocked up. I measure myself against others, even grown up child stars, so it’s weirded me out that in the time frame that I met H.T. accidentally in person over eight years ago that he’s been married twice and had a child and I’m still single. I’m not sure who’s more stunted.