flickr is having a massage? I want a fucking massage!
I do. I've wanted one for months. Will continue wanting one. Until rich.

So the apartment's all furnished and I was totes going to post funny pictures, but at the moment, I can't. Instead, go read Hal's musical interlude., which I love more than I can ever fully articulate.  As some of you may or may not know, I am the slightly proud everythinger (much better than writer/composer/producer/director/editor, I wish I had thought of it at credits time) of a lesbian musical short.  For the sake of shits, giggles, and love of queer SFers, I'm posting the lyrics to the opening number, which is not my favorite, but Hal's interlude instantly brought it to mind.  (Wesleyan readers: stop now.  You know what's coming.  You've been warned.)

I went home for Thanksgiving
They said, Honey, where's your man?
We want a big nice wedding
We want those children, grand

Honey, you're so pretty
Honey, you're so smart
It's not hard to find a husband
It's a system, not an art

I put down the gravy
I looked them in the eye
Said I'll never find a husband
I'll never find a guy
'cause

I like breasts
Oo, I like thighs
You cant' find those
on guys...

I like women 

Ma called me the next morning
Said, Honey, where's your head?
You're sister's upstairs crying
Your father wont' leave bed

I'm calling as your mother
I'm calling as your friend
What exactly are you thinking?
Did you give up on men?

I held tight the receiver
I didn't want to yell
But the only thing that I could say was
Mama, go to hell

I like breasts
Oo, I like thighs
You can't find those
On guys...

I like women

Someday, I swear, soon, there will be a DVD.  And yes, my mother, other parental units, etc have seen it.  My mom liked it a good bit, or so she says.

I am so effing tired.  I spent all day yelling at evil car men.  Yeah, my car needed a new clutch and just about everything else and they keep screwing up.  I had to call my dad and ask if I should get angry.  He said yes.  So I did my best.   I'm terrible at being angry, because I just feel bad about it and keep thinking about how they're talking about what a bitch I am.  George Saunders blames his need to be liked on Catholicism.  I'll jump on that wagon.  I still am kind of shocked by the parts of the New Testament where Jesus gets angry.  Jesus isn't allowed to be angry.  That's mean.  And mean is a sin.  Or are the men who keep screwing up your car an offense in the eye of god?

Deep thoughts.

This would probably be an appropriate time to post the lyrics of the next number, "Hey Jesus, Leave me Alone" and then I could start talking about my love life, and we could close with "I Love Love (It Don't Love Me)" but, well, there's only so much self-indulgence even a live journal can take.  I'll be shocked if this entry even allows itself to be posted.

Quick cultural relevance: The Constant Gardener was good.  Three Extremes is an excellenct case-study in what goes right (and wrong) when crazy asian horror directors are told to be "extreme."  I've started Black Juice.  Oh, yeah.  It's good.  Though I feel like I haven't been hooked yet.  I'm hard to hook lately.  Too much driving.  Or something.