An off-the-top-of-my-head list by Sera.
1. Supplements you drip into your Fiji water that turn it crazy colors which freak out the people sitting near you in the park. Like: dark green? That’s not a color you want to see in someone’s water bottle. But I’m chloro-loading, baby.
2. The fact that every now and then, something wildly popular is actually worth the hype.
3. Bulldogs: when they roll upside down? Gravity makes them smile.
4. In the cheese section at the grocery store … so very many cheeses. Yes, I am lactarded. I don’t care. I’m willing to suffer.
5. The paradox of laser-clear-eyed brilliance and total-fucking-batshititide that is being a visionary. Well, more to the point, the people who document true visionaries, so my friends and I can watch movies about what they did. And go weepy bananas in the theater.
5. Watching Simon sing his fool ass off.
So, it took me a minute to get to bloggin’, but I must mention that we had a Classic Rock Singalong the other day, on the occasion of Simon’s twenty-somethingth birthday.
It was pretty awesome. For instance, VHJ inner-circlite Mollie wore this super-skintight red zip-up Dickie Girl cover-all situation that made her look like a poster girl for the war effort, or an ad for motor oil, or a zipper fetishist’s wet dream. She led us in a rousing rendition of “Hotel California.” It was a sort of post-postmodern "Happy Birthday Mr. President" moment.
What Molly looked like: a faithful recreation.What else? Simon rocked out. That’s the major headline. I drank beer with his ravishing Jewess bride and her striking sister, and as the evening wore on and our inhibitions wore off, the singing got louder and louder. I keep telling you, these Singalongs have a cleansing effect. They’re like primal scream therapy, but hipper.That’s the news from the Very Hot front. We’ve been singing, having birthdays, imbibing, sucking the marrow out of summer. There’s no soul-rattling politico-religious wrap-up to this entry. It was really just an excuse to post a couple pix and shout-out our dear, sweet, panty-snappingly hot Sime. More soon. Ish.