I haven't been to the grocery store in three weeks, but it turns out you can live indefinitely on delivery pizza, café sandwiches, and cookies.
I've been working late into the evenings and coming in on weekends, not so much because of some sudden conscientious drive to sweat and toil, but in a kind of funked stupor.
This site proves that I can spend hours at a time--feckless hours--staring at David Hewlett's face and Photoshopping him unto the last hurrah, my record being twenty subtle and pointless variations of a single image using image adjustments and filters. Saved variations, of course. Unsaved tweaks are even more minute and endless. My current wallpaper:
Google image search is also dangerous and I now have 20 pictures of Julian McMahon, fortysomething of Viggo, and a hard-to-explain 7 of Ron Perlman. I have a rich and heteroclitic fantasy life. Strangely, heteroclitic doesn't mean anything like what it suggests.
Posts I've been meaning to make. The one where I:
Ramble about how first-season Profiler is still good. Popcorn watching. Serial killers. Julian McMahon.
Create McSweeneyesque absurdist stories from spam subject lines: This Secret Built a Small Empire; Re: Octavio; The Fit Go Half Renaissance; Marina, the Russian Girl; Get Your Own Replica; Stun Her with a Rolex!