The scent magnet (i.e. my hair) is full tonight: chocolate, vanilla, smoke and old perfume/Coriandre. Yesterday I thought It's been a while since my hair smelled like fixer. Soon my hair should be reeking of fixer as I should be in my fucking darkroom making art and not just documenting the artwork of others via my camera and my head/words.
Lead boy colleague wrote to me an email that says I should know better than to contact you on Mondays, Tuesdays and Wednesdays because you are a witch on those days.
Which got me to thinking about the translation of Hansel and Gretel that I read online yesterday to write up the upcoming dance production of same name.
H & G had it real bad and if you are ever feeling sorry for yourself you should think of those poor little children whose dad was pussywhipped and the stepmother wanted them outsville and they were left to die in the woods but found their way back and then it happened again and they didn't find their way back and they met a witch who fattened up Hansel and she tried to gas Gretel to death and those were some savvy kids and they got the hell out of there after robbing the witch's stash of jewels and they find their pussywhipped dad again and lo and behold their horrible stepmom croaked and they all live onwards, happily or not we just don't know.
Here's a fact I learned today that I know I'll never forget:
Islamically-approved butchers butcher animals after first looking into the eyes of the doomed and then kill them whilst they face east/Mecca.
That and that Hitler loved golden showers - I'll never forget.
Here's a link to the fine fine Italian restaurant where I ate the best meal of my life.
Love from this perfect perfect sphere I am in at this moment.

Random ruminations of varying import.
As U2 warbles on the pop rock station (here's an antidotal link to horrifying pop) which moments ago had me quietly puking into the office's corner (in lieu of changing it I suffer, an anthropological experiment of sorts) over yonder, I think of the report of their SuperDuperBowel performance. I was informed that they are still using their heart-shaped stage and in the midst of their set they erected two "towers" with the names of those 3K Lost Ones. The person reporting this was disturbed by the "towers" and that they were dropped dramatically to the ground at song's end. Wonder: was it their song "Stuck in a Moment" - the one where HEWSON (Bono's real-live name!) is the football player who misses the big kick, Scott Norwood-style. What's with these Celtic pop rockers and football, it's not even their type of football.
Onward to better music: Luna (omigosh thee Luna) is releasing a new cd, Romantica.
The shiny happy magazine piece is done, euphoria floats about in the cockles of my caffeine-drenched brain folds.