a short sweet list of people who are going to hell

*yawn*stretchstretch*

*breaks out the ole rusty snarkwriting muscle*

*takes a sip of water*

Ahem ... 

PEOPLE WHO ARE GOING TO HELL

(that you might not think of immediately – could be your neighbors, anybody. terrifying)

• Every landlord I’ve ever had
• Prison wardens
• Everybody who doesn’t read
• Dentists
• Boring people* **
• Cat slanderers
• Fruit stickerers
• Meter maids*
• Republicans
• The inventor of the car alarm
• People who say “irregardless”
• Shoe eschewers
• Birkenstock enthusiasts
• Morning people*
• Happy joggers
• AM radio talk show hosts
• Drivers who don't use their blinkers
• Anyone who owns so little music they don’t need to categorize it
• Bottle non-recyclers*
• Clowns*
• Cheaters (dictators, dopers, line cutters)
• Unannounced visitors*
• Perfume overdoers
• Basically most people who have never had a mohawk*
• Some popes, but not Pope Francis
• Leaf blower operators
• 50 item buyers in express lines, but that one’s pretty obvious
• Mark Zuckerberg
• Comic artists who don’t give women enough clothes
• Writers who don’t give women enough lines
• Producers who don’t give actresses enough money
• People who take up two parking spots on purpose
• Dog poop non-scoopers (obviously; one offense is sufficient though, which is important to note)
• Everyone (owners, investors, bus boys, mailmen, hosts) involved in the day to day function of restaurants that quit serving brunch fifteen minutes early (or ever, potentially) or serve fake maple syrup
• People over 30 who don’t own a Ramones album, unless they were raised by wolves
• Richard Spencer (made being a nazi fashionable; ruined the undercut hairdo) < duh
• People who sell their old punk t-shirts on eBay*
• Mimes (no reason)

*Some offenses can be lessened by campaigning to pass the ERA, recycling bottles, working at a soup kitchen, or writing an essay (pro or con) about the Oxford comma

**Meant in the literal use of the adjective "boring," not for ex. to indicate employees of The Boring Company

And it turns out Mitch McConnell is Satan, actually, so sorry if I just ruined your day.

what's weirder?

.. that I heard Rod Stewart's "Do Ya Think I'm Sexy" two separate times today, from two entirely unrelated sources?

or: that my eight year old nephew is reading Great Expectations?

curses!

Urgh .. I missed the ninth inning of game four (& last) of the world series! I had to work at the yoga studio at 8:30 p.m. and couldn’t get anyone to cover my shift .. it’s ok .. the Red Sox swept, but surely it’ll happen again .. they’ve won twice now in 86 years ..

Here’s the laundromat where I was watching the game (up until inning eight, anyway). Check out the wallpaper .. a genuine relic from the early 70s, at least.




And speaking of wallpaper, I watched The Exorcist (for the first time! although I had seen the stairs in D.C. many years ago, and they are creepy in and of themselves) over the weekend, and silk damask will never be the same. I have to admit to being this sort of realist: I was far more icked out by the blood spurting out of Regan’s neck when they prepped her for the cat scan than by her head spinning all the way round and her self-violation with a crucifix, which had people vomiting and fainting in theaters in 1973, probably the same year someone was installing that wallpaper in my laundromat.

Happy Halloween.

I have no plans (yet?) to go anywhere or do anything, but I have vintage wedding dresses acting as curtains in my bedroom, and so donning one of them at the last minute (and therefore being, as Trish suggested, commitment – ooh, scary) is always a possibility, should anything interesting come up. In L.A. practically anything is interesting on Halloween, I should clarify; but I mean should anything that actually interests me come up, which is not bloody likely, since I'm wont to be more interested in chasing cats around the house and reading books meant for five year olds than socializing. Who knows though? Really ... anything could happen, at any time.


look at these eerie photos of small town life by Gregory Crewdson.






I've seen his photos before and thought, when trying to make sense of them, that aliens must have landed and then walked off with everyone's equilibrium. But those two pictures are of my home town. In fact, the second one is the actual street I lived on for my so-called formative (junior high and high school) years. And I can tell you with relative certainty that we were all devoid of equilibrium in the first place, and he was merely photographing what got swept under the carpet, namely a looming sense that we were really all nearly corpses and could spend days standing in the middle of the road in the rain, counting our digits for reassurance and unaware of having been sucked into an enormous black hole. I guess aliens could have been to blame.

Now I've traded it all for strip malls.