Yeah, yeah, yeah. I have a patient who suddenly improved dramatically after she went on palliative care, and one who has an interesting bacterial infection, and I just saw a patient at the grocery store who was given a 30% chance of living four years ago, but I'm not in the mood to talk about work.
I'm in the mood for fluff, simply because.
So. On to the fluff:
Allure magazine might be the best fluff rag ever. Especially this month's, where they concentrate on hair. Who could do better than hair? I mean, there's a column by a redhead, and one by a blonde, and they go through the evolution of Debbie Harry's and Twiggy's haircuts. Go. Buy it. Get some Mallomars or some Cheetos too, while you're at it.
Being in Montreal during a heat wave left me with an addiction to two things: San Pelligrino mineral water and S. Pelligrino lemonade-in-a-can. The former is good for hydration before a night of bitty baby grilled octopi and endive; the latter is good for the morning after, when you're walking along the canal with a baguette and some triple-cream brie, looking for a place to stop and eat. Unfortunately, you can't get the lemonade within 30 miles of here, which means I'm going to have to make a pilgrimage to the Foncy Food Place on Sunday.
Who thought of the Ben & Jerry's flavor Black & Tan? I mean, really. Cream stout and chocolate? Yick. Vermonty Python, though, is excellent--and since the fudge cows are moisture-resistant, you and your significant other can flick them at one another. You can even make the little cow say, in a squeaky little cow voice, "I don't know!" before you flip it across the table with an "AAAAAAUUUUUGH!!"
I bought a Maybelline two-pencil set of eyebrow color today in the "Auburn" shade. Wish me luck. Review to follow.
Speaking of which, why doesn't anybody make straight brown stinkin' mascara any more? Used to be you could get the stuff, but now the only manufacturers are weird off-shoot brands that smear down to your chin after five seconds.
Burt's Bees Lip Shimmer, continuing the makeup discussion, is the best. Lipcolor. Evah. Get the "Coffee" shade--the others are too pink.
I have hired, wait for it, a personal trainer.
Because I am tired of having my back fat rub against my hip fat, and because I don't want to look like a licorice jellybean while wandering down the aisle at Beloved Sister's wedding. More importantly, I'm beginning to fear for my health and my job security because of lack of muscle mass and achy feet. So I've hired a cheerful drill instructor to show up at the house three times a week and kick my butt. My first appointment is on Saturday.
Beer Review: Independence Pale Ale, out of Austin, Texas, is great stuff if you can get it. It's produced by Independence Brewing, which is a small enough company that they use plain bottle caps and (I think) put them on with an antiquated capper. (You can tell these things after dating a guy who brews his own.) Also, if you want to know what Chef Boy's Winter Warmer tastes like, pick up a sixer of Ten Years Alt from Victory Brewing, and increase the abv% to 10.1. It's like a Tootsie Roll with a kick. (Shrimpy, that last was for you. "Small dogs dipped in Maudite", indeed.)
Amusing Montreal Story: as Jennifer and Joey and I were walking through Little Italy at 10:30 pm (things really begin to get started then), we passed a restaurant with a rooftop terrace. There was a man playing accordion amidst the diners--and playing "Volare", believe it or not. Just across the street was another restaurant, this one with awnings over the window and a second-floor apartment with a deck in the back. The deck, therefore, was even with the awnings. A small dog, a Jack Russell terrier mix by the looks of him, had come out to run along the awnings and inspect the restaurant's patrons and bark at them until he was called back by his owner.
It's scenes like that that make me thankful for whomever it is that's writing the soundtrack for my life. There may be nothing better than being full of home-made pasta and ricotta cheese and basil tomato sauce and walking with grocery bags full of nifty things past groups of gazing men in the warm summer evening. Unless it's doing so in the company of two of the coolest, smartest, wisest people you've ever met.
And finally, a note for any north-of-the-border readers I might have: What It's Like When It's Really Hot....
(Trying to explain 42* C to a Canadian is difficult. This is the best I can do.)
1. Everything dies. Even if you water it. Even if it's in the shade.
2. Nobody goes out between 1100 and 1700, or else they'll die, too.
3. Your produce wilts in the car on the way from the grocery. At 6 am.
4. Learning French seems preferable to getting into a car whose steering wheel is so hot your palms will blister if you grab it.
Medical Stuff next time, I promise.