9,861 days of artless charm.
1,408.714 weeks of heart-stealing talent.
324 months of keen intellect, mostly expressed in confounding verbal spirals.
27 years of loveliness in every form.
Happy birthday, baby. I love you.
(Real posts will resume shortly. I swear.)
Against you,
what defense?
That any mere mortal
breathe in air
charged by your presence
not exhale it, now your slave
No
To keep muscles engaged
thighs,
calves,
back,
neck
not fall to knees
and hands
but stand to meet
your deserving gaze
This, perhaps.
But so, while the heart
having any human quality
beats faster
dizzying
squeezing
a seething, wounded thing
its rhythm, permanently altered
suffused
conquered
No, no defense
but the only one afforded:
physical denial
circumstance
cruel, mean truth.
(I promise, I really will work on that other topic today. You know how it is sometimes--Jake just suddenly demanded some adoration from me this morning. He can be very intense and...imperative. Best to do as he commands.)
Photo: Esquire, via IHJ.
Congratulations of a sort are in order for royandronnie, who last night committed to shell out twenty thousand dollars for the privilege of spending an afternoon with Jake Gyllenhaal. Things started heating up just before 3 pm yesterday, with the competing bids of rammzoo, who apparently couldn't quite swing ten grand. That's when jiblumen stepped in and gave royandronnie a real run for her money, literally. Bidding trickled over into the final ten minutes of the auction, pushing the close time back by ten minutes per bid, though when I refreshed the page it looked more like a total of fifteen to me.
There's some confusion in the fandom over the ultimate outcome of last year's auction, no one able to remember hearing any account of the actual "date" with Jake. I'll be keeping an eye out for different results this time around. Check out the bid history for yourself. Marvel at the deep pockets of fanfic writers. Contemplate a change of career. Prepare for the coming apocalypse.
That is, for me, a serious amount of money. As Jake's price climbed, I began to imagine what I could do if I had that much disposable cash to my name. Here's a brief list of
Things I could do with $20,000
Happy birthday to Jake's big sister, Maggie Gyllenhaal! Maggie turns 30 today.
This makes me happy. Esquire calls Jake Gyllenhaal's performance in Rendition one of six Performances of the Year in their December issue.
Looks like Jeff Wells at Hollywood Elsewhere would have gone with option number three in my poll at right.
It's not that Gyllenhaal plays his Egypt-based CIA guy badly or ineffectively, but that Egypt-based CIA guy is written as such a revoltingly passive wuss....For me, Gyllenhaal's inactivity is infuriating. He's not just a guy doing nothing, but an emblem of do-nothing types the world over.He sounds like he's blaming Jake for Douglas's actions, or inaction, as the case may be, which misses the point entirely. If you found him infuriating or revolting, Jeff, then he kicked ass, because you were supposed to feel all those things.
And Wells's statement about what Douglas's character lacks expresses precisely why Jake's was an incredibly difficult role, and why his performance was that much more worthy of praise. I'm glad the editors of Esquire recognized that, even if Wells doesn't.
Meanwhile, it looks like Jake's about to become the subject of a sniping showdown. Slash writer (it's amazing the things you can learn while browsing around Jake's fandom) royandronnie's opening bid remains the only one so far, and the auction ends at 6 pm EST. At least, I'm sorta hoping it will be sniped. Well, I mean, I totally will understand if no one can afford to bid $5,500, because I can't, but I guess I'd like to see the promise of his company bring in more than the bare minimum for the charity of his choice. Plus it would be fun to watch and see just how crazy Jake can make people.
Please prepare to sigh deeply and feel the overwhelming urge to drop everything in favor of watching one of Jake's movies, like, now, before you check out this Film Experience post by Nathaniel R.
Sigh.
New pics of Jake back in Beverly Hills showed up yesterday while I was completely removed from computer access, naturally. Sometimes it really does feel like he's heard our comments; for example, the recent references to the longevity of some items in his wardrobe. That shirt is at least three years old. The jeans go back at least two years, as do those goofy shoes. Together, the ensemble perfectly highlights his cuddly/sexy vibe. It would not work on anyone who isn't Jake Gyllenhaal.
Some things in life, I just don't want to know about, but they find me anyway, frequently by accident while following my Jake news routine. This morning I can add knowledge of the existence of House M.D. slash to that list. Hey, I love me some House (Hugh Laurie is one of those men who turns me on without my clearly understanding why), and I've always been a fan of Robert Sean Leonard, but, I don't care to go there. I guess I shouldn't be surprised, since the whole slash thing started off with the exceptionally unsexy (to me) pairing of Kirk and Spock. At least House and Wilson don't make me want to recommend the writer of said fics receive electroconvulsive therapy. It's good that I have these lovely images of Jake to erase the mental ones conjured by my unfortunate discovery.
Yesterday I made a discovery of a different kind. I was attending a mandatory annual "meeting" for work, which is really more of a party designed to let all the staff in the district meet and give them a screwoff day to boost morale, and when I lined up for the buffet lunch, I was behind a gentleman from our marketing section with whom I've spoken many times over the course of my job. He turned to me and mentioned that the last time he was at my office, he'd noticed a photo of Jake Gyllenhaal on my desk. Was I a fan? He was immediately graced with my involuntary Gyllenhaalic blush and I grinned. "Are you?" I asked him, and after a second's hesitation, he said he was indeed. We shared an endless stream of barely coherent gushing about Jake that covered Donnie Darko, his visits to Ellen, Brokeback Mountain, Rendition and Zodiac. Before he left, he'd written down my recommendations for Jake movie rentals. It was a warm experience on an otherwise Jakeless afternoon.
All photos: IHJ.
Days like today, when I'm sitting at work and completely uninterested in doing any aspect of my job, I find myself loading the same web pages over and over again, looking for news of Jake that doesn't consist solely of rehashings of paraphrasings of sightings posted only so that the author can get those keywords into the stream again for the day. I couldn't begin to tell you what I'm expecting to find, but it beats the hell out of updating attendance records and scheduling interviews. I did feel a perverse glee when I confirmed that Lions for Lambs currently has a 26% rating at Rotten Tomatoes, which makes Rendition's 45% seem positively glowing by comparison.
One of the things that happens when you pass out in the shower and then tearfully confess to your family that you have been severely depressed for a while is that the ER doctor tells you to see a therapist. This is different from seeing the psychiatrist who has been prescribing your antidepressants for about seventeen years, because the pill doctor's job is to fix your brain chemistry. The therapist's job is to make you think about stuff. I think about stuff too much already, so I was never helped by or interested in therapy. But considering how badly the latest depression scared me, it seemed like a good idea to comply, so I went yesterday.
When the doctor asked me what type of man I'm interested in, I laughed and plucked my Jake in '08 t-shirt away from my chest. "This guy, right here," I told him. He was amused and not overly concerned. He also didn't recognize Jake, which really didn't bother me, as he may not get out to the movies much. But when we talked about my complete lack of romantic interaction, he pointed at Jake on my chest and asked, "If he came up to you tomorrow and asked you out, would you accept?"
And the question was so apt, I gave the most honest answer I could: I don't know.
Because my problem is, and always has been, my perception of myself. If Jake Gyllenhaal wanted to be with me, could I let myself trust his judgment that I was, in fact, worthy of him? I wish I could just shout an emphatic yes, yes, YES! in reply, but I'm not there yet. It's something I have to continue to work on. The FedEx delivery guy that came in the office this morning seemed a little weak in the knees; he looked like I feel when I stumble upon someone who really attracts me. He wasn't bad, either. But who knows. Maybe he just ate a tainted Egg McMuffin this morning.
Of course, being approached by Jake for a date is quite a different issue from winning one in a charity auction, but it did make me wonder what it is I think I'd say to the man if given that chance. His ACLU of Southern California price is currently holding at $5,000. I don't blame Jake that the opening bid was far too high, because for all I know it was based on the results of last year's auction, and in either case I'm sure Jake had fuckall to do with setting the number. For that price, Jake ought to be cooking and serving the lunch.
I wonder if he's even seen the auction's headline. It appears to have been written by someone who scanned the fan sites and forums for ideas. Or, hell, maybe Jake's incredible appeal is just that universal and simple. Do other male celebrities get called beautiful by random observers? I mean, it's my word of choice for Jake, too, but I'm rather biased. Anyway, what would we talk about? He's already answered my cilantro question. Honestly, I love Donnie Darko, but I don't need Jake to explain it to me. Maybe I could explain it to him. Oh, and I could ask him what the story is with all those sneakers. But then he'd know just how creepily interested in his life I really am.
Auction photo thumbnailed from Charity Folks. Other photos found in assorted places on the web.
We're all thinking it: how many pairs of sneakers does Jake have, and just what does he do with them all?
I have a theory about this one, but it has absolutely no basis in reality whatsoever. Just something that sounds good to me, so I'm sticking with it until he makes a statement disproving it. My theory later. First, let's talk about...
Here's something I've been compiling in my head for a few days. I finally had a chance to start putting it down while I was in the doctor's office waiting room this morning. Please, settle back now and enjoy...
Attention Jake Gyllenhaal: Ten Reasons Why You Should Marry Me
I tremble with the need to touch you.
This ache, long savored,
swells, filling my being
at the sight of your photographed image.
That you don't understand what your pictures bring
is part of the uncanny grace that makes you worth looking at.
So much of what you are is reflected
in glimpses, snapped
like this one
capturing a moment
of shyness
of sweetness
of subtle, tantalizing mischief
as the photographer no doubt has directed this half-naked stance.
So far beyond the mere aesthetic,
your profound beauty,
and it radiates through every still frame,
every candid exposure;
your expression says you think this photo will be pure beefcake, silly.
I see it with my heart.
Not a man without his shirt
but a man, full of humility, and humor, and a desire to please.
That is the genius of this photograph: it captures the essence of you.
And that is why I tremble.
My aching, yes, to caress the dark swirls on golden skin
and in doing, touch the man inside. You.
Photo by Mario Testino, as featured in Let Me in, by way of jakegyllenhaalfan.com.
I'm trying to remain positive about this. (Being positive about anything at this hour when my mood has not yet risen to a completely functional elevation is daunting, so hopefully you'll understand if I fail to sound enthusiastic.) There's more news this morning, courtesy of the Hollywood Reporter, about that mysterious project Variety mentioned the other day. According to them, both Jake Gyllenhaal and Jessica Biel are "attached" to Nailed, a "risque political satire" to be directed by David O. Russell.
Risque political satire.
That sounds refreshing, actually. Except the political part. I love Jake's selectivity and principled choices, but he's already being pigeonholed by some critics as too political. Anyway, that's not the point. The point I was gonna make has to do with HR's description of the plot.
Biel would play Sammy Joyce, a socially awkward small-town receptionist who has a nail accidentally shot into her head by a clumsy workman, eliciting wild sexual urges.Ugh.
The uninsured Joyce goes on a crusade to Washington to fight for the rights of the bizarrely injured. She meets an immoral congressman (Gyllenhaal) who takes advantage of her sex drive and capitalizes on her crusade as Joyce heads into her own career in politics.
For those who are wondering why I'm not on my knees thanking god or whatever powers responsible that Jake is guaranteed to have a sex scene if this movie happens, please allow me to explain. No, actually, I think this Cinema Blend post effectively demonstrates it well enough. I'm not saying I make the same assumption that Josh Tyler has, only that his take is completely reasonable and probably not unique.
Meanwhile, there's confusion about whether Brothers has already begun filming, like, last week, or today, or when. IMDb still says principal photography begins on November 27, while posters to the site's message board say trailers for the actors are already setup onsite at the College of Santa Fe in New Mexico. That Jake suddenly shaved off the beard he's been telling everyone was grown specifically for this movie has certainly added to the confusion. My friends know I always thought the beard was premature anyway, probably half for some kind of Brothers pre-production and half for the orneriness of keeping it when everyone seemed to be complaining. Whether the beard was only needed for scenes that have already been filmed, will reappear soon, or was never meant for the movie to begin with (maybe he just said that to stop people from asking about it), it's nice to have something vitally important to debate again.
What you want and what is the truth are always two different things. -- Jake GyllenhaalSweetheart, I couldn't have said it better myself.
Anyway, as you can see, I'm here, having not killed myself as promised. It's hard to estimate just how strangers reading my words have interpreted my depression; some would say I should not worry about what others think of me, but I'm suddenly feeling the need to express a very important fact about what's been happening to me. I want everyone to know, and understand, the truth: I was not made suicidal by the sudden revelation that Jake Gyllenhaal was romantically involved with someone.
I've been depressed for most of my life, clinically. On medication, which you may have noticed me joking about more than once. When the chemicals in your brain are imbalanced like mine, almost anything can trigger a deep trough, a black period in which life literally loses all meaning. In this case, the last in a series of mental health tripwires was my self-assessment in the wake of my reaction to the relationship "news." Unfortunately, knowing why you are depressed does not, contrary to what might seem logical, make the depression go away. My medication has been adjusted, and while the improvement so far can more likely be attributed to yet another mood swing than the meds, I feel better knowing I will feel better.
To my great relief, in fact, I have been grinning, laughing and squeeing over Jake all day long. The concept that he might actually be as wonderful as he seems is no longer irrationally unsettling to me. I still love him, more than ever, and I'm grateful all over again for the pleasure he brings to my life. Wanting to be with him won't make it come true, but it fills the gaps with a perfect sweetness.I never imagined I could be so at home in a completely new place as I was this past weekend with my beloved friend, Charlene. She made me feel welcome, in her home and in her town, and it was the most I've relaxed in a good many years. Thank you, my separated-at-birth other sister, for the vacation I so desperately needed.
Charlene, me, and Powder[T]hat is the point of this movie -- to make you think. That is exactly what all the luke-warm and negative reviewers don't want to do, and don't want you to do.Yes, I said I felt somewhat unsatisfied by the film myself, but I can now confirm, having seen it a third time, that it does indeed get better with every viewing. It probably should embarrass me to confess this, but I still get a chill every time Isabella El-Ibrahimi shrieks at Corrine Whitman to just tell her that her husband is okay. True, some people get a similar chill when they hear fingernails scraped down a chalkboard, but the moment works for me, and I didn't think it would. Anyway, even if you skip Norton's review, please check out his link to an article from the New York Times about a real-life "war on terror" whistleblower whose efforts prove that perhaps Douglas Freeman's actions were not so far-fetched after all.
Oh, then my internet provider irritated the hell out of me by failing to pick up the new DNS record for IHeartJakeMedia following their domain expiration a few days ago. I'm way behind on downloading Jake images, and that didn't help matters. Things are finally in place as they should be, but it will take me a whole weekend to catch up.
Remember, I'm going to be away for a few days starting tomorrow. So if I don't come in to post something, it's not proof that I've slit my wrists. Honest.
This is a poem I wrote for my very treasured friend, Charlene, back in April. I can't imagine anything more appropriate to leave you with while she and I meet for the first time and celebrate a friendship that we both owe to none other than Jake Gyllenhaal.
What does love mean?
Who decides when it's love
and when it's something else?
Can you tell me it's not love
just because I've never met him,
never had a conversation,
never stood in his presence?
Because I can't touch him,
can't hold him,
can't comfort him when things overwhelm?
Because I've never watched him walk away
and wondered if he'd ever come back?
Does love have qualifications?
Don't speak these other words to me--
infatuation, idolization, fandom, lust!
--and condescend to tell me that they describe what I feel
My love is as real as any other
A living, hoping, screaming thing
You cannot squeeze my feelings into one of your neatly labeled boxes just to make yourself feel better
So you, who say I do not love:
can you say to me that you do?
And how does it feel?
Do you think about him at the most random moments
(what funny thing would he say about this? or
I wonder if he's happy right now)?
Do you cry, and laugh, and sigh for him?
Do you wish him all the joys, big and small, that life may hold?
Do you marvel at the beauty of the human being he is?
Love and reason are strangers to each other
Rationality and emotion, only passing acquaintances
And all this pain,
and craziness,
and euphoria
that propels me through my waking hours
However irrational, however unreasonable
However misunderstood and derided by you
Is as precious to me as any secret
and as real as any truth
This is my heart
and it loves
Photo: IHJ.
Disclaimer: Anyone who feels they might be offended to read the honest, confused, irrelevant and disturbed reactions of a strange fan, please leave now. You won't like this. And you can't leave me nasty comments because registration is required, so you might as well move along.
Just when I thought my head couldn't get any more fucked up.
I've been battling a migraine for the past five days, and now I know why. It was the harbinger of abysmal, soulcrushing depression to come.
It's not like this is a complete shock. Except it is, in its way, because of all the denials. Except those denials weren't really denials, were they? They were carefully worded dodges, witty retorts and (in her case) intimidating refusals to answer bolstered by publicists crawling around on all fours during interviews. I have actually been telling myself for weeks that I would be relieved if Jake made a relationship public, because then, all the speculation would be over, Jake could go about his business and stop facing the irrelevant questions that reporters and talk show hosts had no right to ask. I thought I wanted this.
So why does it hurt?
Jake Gyllenhaal does not owe us anything, least of all any kind of insight into his private life. But for someone like me, who has staunchly defended his right to privacy and even suggested that some people were a little overeager to believe the tabloids, it's like a dirty trick. Hah! You tell people to stop speculating about me? Here's what you get: proof that those tabloids actually were right. Now I must resign myself to never doubting another bloody word I read attributed to US Weekly, People and OK.
I guess this means we should all be bracing ourselves for Brokeback 2?
Sigh.
What the hell, Jake? Don't you understand? You're far too special to be sharing yourself with another Hollywood type, no matter how respectable she may appear to be. You are supposed to be with me. Only me, forever. I'm the only one who knows how truly unique you are, who appreciates all your little quirks, who noticed the gray spot in your beard before you did, who dreams of you not because you're the most beautiful man in the world, but because you are sweet, and dorky, and funny, and warm, and sometimes a bit of a prick, and frequently can't articulate your way out of a paper bag, and more than anyone real in my life, you feel like a friend. See, I've only ever really loved my friends. I'm not one of those women who has friendships with one type of man but prefers another as a partner. I don't lust after the bad boy or the guy who treats me the worst. I might even be unique myself, because I don't know anyone else who has been alone her entire life, always the friend, never the girlfriend or lover. Never the lover. I can't be with just anyone. It has to be someone I love and trust. There have only been a few men who fit that description, and they were the best friends I ever had, but that's as far as it could go for them: friendship.
I am confused by fans I see online talking about jealousy over this, who clearly have partners in their real lives. If I had someone, I wouldn't fucking be here. Yes, Jake is talented, and I'd still enjoy his movies, but I wouldn't need him. And I do need him. He's my surrogate boyfriend, the lover I don't have, the fantasy man. That he's probably been seeing someone for months while I successfully used him in this fashion might rationally sound like a reason to relax, but I'm here to tell you it hasn't helped me.
I'm not particularly concerned with whether or not you like me. 'Cause I live to like you, and...and I can't like you any more. -- Duckie Dale (Jon Cryer), Pretty in Pink
Here's yet another great interview with Jake from London, this time in the Daily Mail. Today's lighthearted gem of a quote comes in response to the question of who Jake would like to be stuck in an elevator with. He sidesteps this neatly, as we have come to expect, by instead talking about the crazy interview he did with Susan Sarandon for Moonlight Mile, a portion of which took place in the ladies' room of a Manhattan restaurant.
I discovered two things that day: that the floor in a woman's bathroom is colder than the floor in the men's. And, believe me, I've spent a lot of time on the floor of a men's bathroom so I should know!
What, was he standing there barefoot? Positively priceless, darling. Now we'll have lots of blog posts in the next week about Jake Gyllenhaal's intimate knowledge of men's room floors. At least he didn't say they were airport men's rooms.
Apparently he either has managed to avoid exposure to the redundant and conflicting agendas of the worst offenders, or recognizes that they do not represent all of us, because he has kind words for his fans in general. And in case anyone still doubted it, Jake confirms that he loves that red carpet attention, so I hope our Xenia and Kate screamed their lungs out for him in Rome. I'd love to scream for him, too, but I'd prefer to do it in a more private setting.
Yes, I'm going to talk about what I thought of Rendition.
First, go read this interview with Jake from the Telegraph, done while he was in London. On the one hand, it has terrific elements than any good interview should: description of Jake's posture, clothing (guess which well-worn, big-necked ensemble?) and oh god, voice ("gentle with dark undercurrents"--can I cut that phrase out and put it under my pillow?), evidence that the writer has actually done some research, and questions pertinent to the reason they're both there: Rendition. On the other, it's full of extraneous stuff; recycled facts from that research I just mentioned, and a completely unnecessary probing into Jake's sexuality that proves the interviewer is one of those people who...well, he's one of those people. Plus either transatlantic flight made Jake two inches taller, or this guy just guessed it wrong. Everyone does says he seems taller than they imagined.
So, Rendition.
I wish I could rave about it, say that it was unequivocally the best movie I've seen since Zodiac, but this isn't that kind of movie. I attended a Friday night showing and left the theater somewhat unsatisfied. Thinking it was probably due to all the pent up expectation, and the vaguely arctic temperature in the theater that made it hard to focus, I decided to see it again this afternoon. Besides, I really wanted another, undistracted look at Douglas Freeman. Hey, I'm nothing if not honest.
On second viewing, I did feel more involved in the story, but not as much as I thought I should have been. Maybe that's because I wanted it to be something it couldn't: a revelation. Unlike the majority of the intended audience, I have already read enough about the policy of extraordinary rendition and its purported place in the defense of national security. Rendition didn't tell me anything I didn't already know. At least this time, I did feel moved by several scenes, and my overall impression is that this is a movie that will grow on me with each additional viewing, much like Jarhead.
What I can enthusiastically endorse is Jake's performance. My bias notwithstanding, it's a Hollywood irony that while few critics seem to know what the film's motives were, the role of Douglas Freeman struck me as typical Oscar fodder. WDW was right in that this really is Jake's movie, despite its trying to be so much more. His is the character that makes the biggest connection, who reveals multiple dimensions to the audience. All the performances were excellent, but for me no one shone like Jake with his flimsy professional facade after the bombing and barely-contained self-loathing during the events that follow. More than anything else, what I walked out of that theater feeling this afternoon was an intense pride. As with most of his movies, the box office numbers will be irrelevant; Jake Gyllenhaal has proved again that he is a phenomenal actor, and he'll have work in Hollywood for as long as he wants it.
All photos: IHJ.
Another twelve hours before I will finally watch Rendition. That is, if I don't get sent home from work early for doing everything wrong because I am mentally elsewhere. Would that be a good or a bad thing?
Ellen DeGeneres is one of the kindest, sweetest people I've ever seen, so hearing her call Jake Gyllenhaal her friend gave me such a warm mushy feeling I almost cried.* I know that's because of my hormones, but it still made me very happy. Hearing her say what I already knew--that he "might just be the perfect man"--didn't feel bad, either.
Oh, so much to savor in this visit with Ellen, I haven't even absorbed all of it yet. Jake conceding that he'd take off his pants before he took off...what? His shirt? Let the speculation on why begin. Jake dangerously playful with a big knife; Jake like an excited kid in the kitchen, grabbing at the chicken in the refrigerator before the clock started; Jake sounding absolutely sincere when he gushed "I've always wanted to do this!" Jake ordering Ellen around like Gordon Ramsay, only charming; Jake eagerly grabbing the wine and gulping it with both hands on the glass.
Sigh.
There's so much I want to say today, but I'm afraid to keep going on and on...I may never stop.
Ten and a half hours remain now until I see Rendition.
Vanessa Farquharson's interview with Jake finally was published this morning at the National Post. Even if she hadn't declared in so many words her crush on him, she revealed the level of her interest by referring to his "perfectly formed" hand. This is the kind of talk that goes on in the fangirliest of forums, like here, here, and here. I know because I'm one of the fangirls.
(Update: I just noticed that Vanessa has erroneously identified IHJ rather than the brilliant Jake Watch as the originators of the Jake in '08 campaign. Is there no justice for PG and bpb? Should I write to the National Post?)
Following on the heels of these two items in the Washington Post is a similar Q-and-A with Peter Sarsgaard. I'm sure this means there's more with Peter elsewhere in the paper, and I'll go find it later.
What am I avoiding here?
The truth: I am afraid of not liking this movie. This is a rotten side effect of my constant pursuit of news that contains the name Jake Gyllenhaal, because just about every reviewer has indicated their opinion within the title or opening line of their review (as is good practice). No, I don't usually take the word of film critics on any movie, but I have to admit having been affected by the negativity I've exposed myself to over the past week.
More than that, I am irrationally but nonetheless deeply concerned for Jake and his happiness. What shines clear and true through all the interviews we've seen this week is that Jake is very much a genuine, sensitive young man; there is no magical mithril celebrity armor protecting him from the bullshit of Hollywood, he is not slick and polished. He is consistently shy when complimented about his physique and sincerely uninterested in impressing anyone with his own political opinions, preferring to focus on his job as an actor. In short, he appears to be a vulnerable, sweet, uncommon human being. I don't know any men like this personally. None who are available, anyway. Which is why I've been alone all my life.
About nine and a half hours to go.
Perhaps the very thing that I know to be causing all this artificial (yes, I recognize it for what it is) angst will actually help me tonight when I sit down in the theater. I'm so emotionally susceptible right now, it's probably the best time to watch Rendition, because even if it sucks, I'll be swept away.
*In fact I did cry later when Ellen told the car jumper about his Nike deal. I am seriously at the mercy of my endocrine system.
All photos: IHJ.
 I put down my book, The Meaning of Zen, and see the cat smiling into her fur as she delicately combs it with her rough pink tongue. Cat, I would lend you this book to study but it appears you have already read it. She looks up and gives me her full gaze. Don't be ridiculous, she purrs, I wrote it. --"Miao," Dilys Laing |
