Poor Viktor Yushchenko! I've seen his face so many times this week and sadly, the foremost thought I had was how I could use this current event as a joke in conversation. "His face was like a Yushchenko," or "That was bad, I mean chloracne bad." And then there's something terribly interesting about the whole episode, that makes you think of From Russia With Love and the possibility that S.P.E.C.T.R.E.'s involved...
I've had a stunning week that ran the full gamut of emotions. The glittering candles of Dolce and the stiff drinks at Pearl, the Latrec-like chaos of Bar Marmont and its oddball patrons ("I'm a security guard for... oh I can't tell you but she played Cleopatra."), all with my best partner-in-crime, Po. Hide and Coral Tree and Thai Town and rediscovering Eve's incomparable wisdom at El Floridita. Saying the F-word in front of my mom and her gently patting me on the back, saying in Chinese, "I notice that you like to say bad words a lot!" Waiting interminably outside just to buy a $0.60 piece of Taiwanese egg cake. Fending past the Christmas pandemonium at Target, all worth it when I glimpsed two old ladies shopping for adult diapers together. And delightful banter with Jose, sharing Dells and mochas and Wi-Fi.
And at the end of it all, there was Stella. Sweet Stella with her honesty and patience, who need only cast a glance to calm you. "I'll say a prayer for Dozer.. and for you." And that's enough.
posted by Lucy Sloan @ 1:17 AM
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