Without realizing it fully until perhaps last night, I've long connoted wet hair with the act of showering and general cleanliness. It's probably the reason that when I wake up in the morning, splashing water on my face and running my hands through my hair is enough to make me feel revitalized. The association is so strong that, essentially it doesn't feel as if I've showered at all if I fail to dampen my hair.
While I write, I'm watching the BBC production of Pride and Prejudice and I need a quick aside to say that it's pretty fabulous. I will probably have to re-read the book. It's no doubt what landed Firth in arguably his best work, 2003's What a Girl Wants.
Until Friday I'd also taken to wearing a 50-cent chain, as in those you might find in a grocery store vending machine, rather than one worn by the famous rapper. While Curtis and I are of similar builds physically, our styles are quite different. My necklace actually looks a lot like this instead, and my wife beaters tend to be made by Fruit of the Loom. Whenever I see those lovely fruits, I can't help but be reminded of then-Pirate Randall Simon's infraction against a sausage.
Friday I was lucky enough to throwdown with Bobby Flay. Translation: I ate at the Mesa Grill in Manhattan and it was excellent. Bobby was actually in attendance as well, which is probably a semi-regular occurrence anyway. BF may lose every throwdown he enters on the Food Network, but his restaurant gets it done; the food was almost universally delicious. The lone exception was the feces-infused poppyseed and who-knows-the-hell Napolean, which still leaves 13/14 successes from among the foodables I tasted while on the premises. Another thing is that I may hate overuse of the word sexy, but man do I ever love to say "infused." So it goes.