May 19, 2008

HOUNDS OF LOVE

Fed Exed from Chicago: Ben and Morgan made me the new issue of Hit it or Quit it, and what a read it is! Full color timeline of Rob't Downey Jr.'s career rendered in marker and lots of collages and celebrity news and stickers. It was just like being home, but sadly, sans rap tacos--surely, still in the pipeline.

Todays news: My dad's physical therapist looks like mid-eighties Rickie Lee Jones, in that way that Rickie looks like Joni Mitchell. That same long slope from the corners of her lips to her nose. Her area code is Manhattan but her accent is full of long, dragging A's that are pure El Monte.

After I told him I was afraid of wearing drugstore sunglasses since I saw the Chinese-lead-paint recall signs taped to the eyeglass towers at Walgreens, for fear of eyeball cancer, Little Nate responded genuinely: "wow, you keep it really real." HE also used the words "raw" and "blunt". Father Yod feelgood hangs heavy on the dreamcatcher kids, still, decades on. I'm accidentally harshing mellows with talk of eye cancer and opinions.

Glendale looks like El Paso Texas with more going on. More gothing on. I wind up at the Target there most everyday and all the girls are wearing skull tees. Fashiony, not Danzig-y. Oppressive sunshine and deaths head meet in the mall parking lot.

The difference between the midwest and LA that I noticed most first: in the midwest if you are inshape-skinny and very tan and have long blond hair you're likely a stripper. In LA it just means you are an alive regular person. I somehow forgot in the 11 years since I lived here. Not be all glass houses, cuz in 1996 I looked like Malibu Skipper, too.

Posted by Jessica at May 19, 2008 07:24 PM | TrackBack