bisous a tous

Merry Valentine's.

/e

* swoon *

Right. Friend and I are in mid-tussle over whether Richard his-middle-name-is-fuckin'-Crispin Armitage is gay.

This began while we were scornfully watching the Grammy's and trying to get her baby to sleep and I, aware of our mutual appreciation of oh-my-god-Armitage's many attributes, thought it would be mere amusement to mention he might be gay.

This caused my friend to unleash a shriek, fury and sorrow hitherto unknown. I might as well have said Gerard Butler had been in town and did not come call on/service my friend.

Now, my theory is based on a cursory look for photos of Mr. Armitage — after another argument about his height. (Yes, we might seem obsessed with men we-do-not-and-shall-never-know but you must recall friend has recently had a baby, she is overly tired and when spending time together there has been much watching of Victorian-ish fillums, starring the likes of he. That, and she is obsessed with making lists of famous men she'd not kick out of bed.)

What I noticed, cursorily, was a distinct lack of photos of he with a woman or other. Nor mention of relationship status. Shocking given his appeal and British tabloids.

I was left wondering the impact there might be, still, on a manly man's declaration of same-sex preference; friend L. is saddened this may mean he will never darken her door.

Obviously she's delusional; if he were ever in town he'd visit me. Man, that nose. I can forgive his blue eyes.

No Cleopatra baths for me

I have lost yet another pearl earring. This fills me with more sadness and devastation than should be possible over a simple possession (that is not one's laptop).

*sigh*

It is obvious many think of pearls as staid and dull; to me they are organic bundles of beautiful sensuality. Not only are they formed naturally (out of an irritation, no less) but their tone is multi-faceted, subtle, yet deep. They warm to the temperature of my skin when worn. They glow and sometimes sparkle with the subtlety of skin flushed with heat. When I touch them they are warm, strong, delicate and circular without being too perfect. I love them.

Sadly, in a fit of uncharacteristic superstition, I believe buying pearls for one's self bring years of sorrow. Ludicrous, yes.

Am going to have to gird myself against this more and try, try to actually purchase some myself for my efforts today came up against a surprisingly strong determination it was *wrong*. Sigh. All I want is a simple, round stud pair, though what I have been seeking for years are a pair of drop round pearl earrings, falling just below the earlobe.

They're not expensive. Though I worry buying them myself will change my sentiment towards them, as much as I shall fight against it.

More work to be done. Silly me.

the one you / fell for / makes it / seem juvenile

delish.

Dies Irae

Someone filmed our concert of Mozart's Requiem at the Notre Dame Basilica in Montreal and posted it to Youtube. Here is one of my favourite parts for your listening pleasure.

My hair is a proverbial weed. I'm giving up on having a coherent haircut. It's ludicrous.

Justy going to let it grow.

"Give me down to there, hair!, shoulder length or longer. Here baby, there mama, Everywhere daddy daddy, Hair, hair, hair, hair, hair, hair, hair, Grow it, show it Long as I can grow it, My hair."

today

"Our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good we oft might win by fearing to attempt."
— Measure for Measure, Act 1 scene 4, Shakespeare