To Live Endive by the Bay

Spotted on the side of a truck for a produce company on my way into work:

"Lettuce Romaine in Your Heart"

This is exactly the sort of depravity you can expect with an unarugulated advertising industry. If we ever get around to cleaning things up, they're going to be sorrel.

Project Hairway 2

Project Runway is back, for its last season before the Lifetime crapocalypse! In honor of the event, I am returning with my tradition of judging the contestants by their hair:

Kellie
Beehive, tattoos, black clothes-- it's kind of like if Amy Winehouse discovered deep conditioning and sandwiches.









Joe
"Hey, did you know there are guys who are, get this, attracted to women? No, seriously, it's like, genetic or something. Anyway, sometimes we have hair like this."






Kenley
Bettie Page, of course. Retro chicks always go for Bettie Page. Whatever; wake me up when someone turns up styled like Frederick Handley Page.







Jennifer
The kind of long, straight style that would make Nick on What Not to Wear repeatedly use the phrase "security blanket."









Terri
Hey Terri, Donna Summer called. She was going to ask for her hair back, but then she decided it looked pretty good on you, so she's letting it slide. I'd stay away from the one-shoulder shirts though, just to be on the safe side.





Blayne

My first impression: kinda cool fifty-something aging-surfer-dude. Actual fact twenty-seven year-old designer.
Seriously, buddy, the tanning booth is not your friend.






Suede
Some people look to past fashion icons for their hair choices, some draw inspiration from art or nature. And some people, apparently, style themselves after a home pregnancy test.

(This season: Suede. Next season: Naugahyde.)



Leanne
The kind of long, straight style that would make. . . Wait, didn't I already do this one?








Keith

When the first thing you do when you wake up in the morning is to take a nice, refreshing swig of vodka, your grooming regimen had better be fairly simple.




Stella
One box Clairol Nice N' Easy hair color in 124 (Blue-black): $7.99
One Supercuts basic trim-and-bangs: 19.95
Knowing what an alternate-universe Cher who never made it big and got all the plastic surgery, and instead lived out her days busing tables at a leather bar in Duluth would look like: Priceless.




Korto
And in the category of Even I'm Not That Stupid: Me making fun of her hair. Next!







Daniel
Fine, go ahead and hide that headsuit under a jaunty hat. You still can't stop me from commenting on that artfully cultivated stubble, can you?
Seriously, do you have a special razor setting for that, or what?





Emily
On the other hand, why bother with hats when you can make your own ski cap out of hair? I guess when you're a designer, everything is material.






Jerell
Wait, this guy was on the show? Seriously? Huh.







Jerry, Wesley

Okay, guys, listen. Just because you take a bit of your hair and make it stand up in the middle does not mean you have "style". Try again.

Redwood City Crime Wave!

From my work email inbox this morning:

"There have been reports that thieves have recently been stealing the catalytic converters of certain vehicles, especially Toyota pickup trucks and SUVs, in the Redwood City area. These thieves go under a target vehicle and quickly remove the converter with special tools. At least two such thefts have occurred in [our] complex in the past few weeks – one of them last Friday in the parking lot in front of building H."


The thrills, they never end.

Nodule Update

I got a call from the endocrinologist this afternoon, confirm that, unlike the rest of me, the thyroid nodule is entirely benign. Which means that I will be living with a surprisingly large lump in my neck for the foreseeable future, but I can deal with that, because it also means that I will be living with a thyroid gland. So, all's well that ends well, and we now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.

I'm keeping the shoes, though.

Oh. My God. Shoes.

Dear Federal Government,

Thank you very much for the lovely economic stimulus check. As it happens, I've been having a fairly stressful week, and your letter was just what I needed to make it better. Particularly since the someone mentioned to me yesterday that Barney's (the intimidatingly fancy department store, not the burger place with the excellent curly fries) was having a sale. So, since I was out anyway, I happened to wander by there, and picked up a little something for myself:



Cameron thinks I'm insane, but he won't admit it. But what was I going to do? They were on second markdown.

Economically Yours,
Daisy

Lump in My Throat

I have made it thus far in my life without ever considering my thyroid gland. It's not that I was uncaring towards it, I just figured it would do its job, whatever that is, and I would do mine and we would do just fine. So when I was at the doctor's the a couple of weeks ago getting a general checkup and she said, "I think there's a bump here; you should go see this endocrinologist I know," I thought, "Cool, I've never been to an endocrinologist before. I wonder what that's like?"

It turns out it's like going to the doctor's, only you don't have to get undressed and the goop they put on the ultrasound reader is uncomfortably cold. So it wasn't that bad, but the upshot was that I have a nodule in my thyroid gland, about four centimeters by two by two. Which apparently isn't that uncommon, though I'm kind of surprised I never realized it was there. I mean, that's about as big as an ermine skull. You'd think I'd notice an extra ermine skull.

Anyway, the doctor assured me that this item was probably benign, but since "probably" isn't one of those words that is sufficient in this situation I had to get it biopsied. (Which spellcheck doesn't seem to think is a word, but whatever.) Which is why, at ten o'clock this morning, I was wandering around Washington Hospital in Fremont, wondering were I was supposed to be going for this and why a hospital would have spots for valet parking. (Do they have uniforms? How much do you tip?) Things got easier when I figured out I was in the wrong building and I ended up being no more than moderately late, which is pretty good for me.

Post-paperwork, I was fetched by a nurse with a pronounced New Yawk accent who gave me a clever but confusing three-sleeved wrap top to change into, arranged me on a gurney and marked out the offending area with a blue Sharpie while we waited for the doctor. And waited. And waited some more, because doctors are busy. It was okay though, I got a chance to catch up on my sleep.

He did show up, of course, and seemed very pleasant, even if the first thing he did was to inject a shot of local anaesthesia by sticking a needle about a foot into my neck and leaving it there for about half an hour. (Estimations based on unpleasantness of experience and not necessarily accurate measurements.) Then he did the biopsy, which felt a lot like if someone were to numb your neck, then repeatedly root around in your thyroid gland with a sharp object.

Eventually it did end, and the pathologist decided she had enough material to work with and I was free to go, the little cluster of puncture marks on my neck making me look like I have been attacked by a tiny, inept vampire. And attempted to ward it off by drawing a cross with a Sharpie. (I feel like there might be a story in there. Not sure if it's any good.)

Then, since it was well into the morning and I hadn't been allowed to eat anything beforehand, I went and got myself a smoothie, which was delicious.

Wait, Who Am I Again?

Have you ever spent an evening simultaneously reading Go Fug Yourself and watching Deadliest Catch? Because, let me tell you, that is some serious mental disconnect there.

Sure, It Seems Normal Enough

But how many zoos can you think of where the patrons are encouraged to eat the exhibits?