Jean Simmons died. Age 80.

She was so beautiful, and a favorite of mine. I liked her paired with Deborah Kerr (another fav) early in her career. Jean was married to Stewart Granger for a while.

From the NYT obit:

Those who knew her said she was generous, modest and unassuming. According to Mr. Granger, Ms. Simmons called Audrey Hepburn after she saw her in “Roman Holiday” — in a role Ms. Simmons might have had — to say, “I wanted to hate you, but I have to tell you I wouldn’t have been half as good.”

eta: Oops, I had forgotten that she does the older voice of Sophie in Howl's Moving Castle.

She rocked a pixie cut for a little while in the mid-fifties too.

Jean Simmons died. Age 80.

Aww. Now I feel the need to track down my copy of "Guys and Dolls".

Hot Young Waiter told me he'd been wondering what happened to me (the host/hostess has been seating me in other sections), joked about me stepping out with other restaurants, and generally hung around chatting and asking me questions about myself today. This is not helping me get over my crush.

The circa 2005-2006 Jared Padalecki haircut he's now adopted is a noble effort in that direction, though.

Steph:

I saw this and thought of you Trader Joes = grammar nerds

Huh. On the one hand you totally want to respect subjecting wait staff to unwanted attentions. On the other hand when the signals are this strong, is there a non-harassing way to hint that you'd like to ask him out? I guess the thing is that it would really be crushing if it turned out this was just professional flirting, and from then on you might be uncomfortable coming and he might be uncomfortable having you as a customer. But that really does sound like interest. Dunno, hope someone more socially ept than me has some thoughts. (Not that you are not in that large group of people socially more ept than me. But someone not right in the middle of the sitch might have some thoughts that you don't.)

> It's about the mom.

You know little E is destined to grow up and discover Manic Panic, piercings, and tattoos.

My mom said the same thing about my half-brother A. I hardly know him, but he's getting closer to that age. I hope so.

I have 787 posts to meara. This is what I did with my Saturday: caught up on B.org. Not that that's a bad thing. I've been so stressed out by work this week, I needed a day to do Nothing.

Let's start with sloths and poo.

Even if they defecate only once a week, why climb all the way down to the ground for it? Why not just let gravity do the work?

I think it's because if they let go from a branch, the droppings would make noise as it dropped through the leaves and branches onto the ground, and noise alerts predators to your yummy presence. I recall reading an article somewhere - NatGeo or Smithsonian, probably - that sloths only "go" when it's raining, also to cover the noise. Maybe that was a particular species of sloth. As I remember it, the sloths' handlers were going nuts trying to understand why the sloths wouldn't go, and they discovered the secret by accident one day when the sloths were clinging to a clothesline and the humans were bathing them with hoses.

My next WiFi name will be StopThrowingTrashInMyYard or perhaps TurnDownYourDamnCarStereoYouGhettoWannabe

Two of the worst decisions with the most far-reaching impacts were: (1) defining political contributions with free speech; (2) treating corporations as if they had individual rights.

This is the scariest thing I've heard all year. If these poeple have their way, pretty soon this country will be made up of soulless corporations, the soulless humans who run and profit boundlessly from them, and the despairing slave-drones who work for them, and nothing else.

New Zealand, you say? Eh, I'm over 45; no country's gonna want me. I guess I'm going down with this ship.

Well, the silver lining to those 2 things are that now Dems don't have to kiss Lieberman's ass (though god knows they'll probably continue to do so), and -- because of the campaign funding clusterfuck -- I never have to donate to a political campaign again. Ever. Because what's the fucking point?

Silver's a bit tarished, but it's all the silver we've got.

And when my grandma did it, she would whack me with the brush for crying when it hurt!

Oh, wow, Sophia, we had the same grandma!

Cashmere, I admire the hell out of you for just being straightforward with her like that.

Me, too, and also for not holding her head in a blender.

Connie, I love that story about your college friend lopping off her too-long hair. Empowerment in action.

Sometimes I bring a back-up book.

That's the only thing I use my Kindle for.

(Note to self: Occasionally move things when you clean.)

If you can't see it or smell it, it isn't there. (That? That right there is why I hire a cleaning service.)

AND I look like crap.

I have noticed that when beautiful women say they look like crap? They don't.

One little corner of my bedroom is clean. I took another break and now I must dive back in. The goal is get it de-cluttered and the whole place vacuumed today.

I HAVE LEFT THE HOUSE!

Whoot! There apparently still is a whole world out there. It is mysteriously very very white and also slippery, but there it is.

I ate lunch at pizza hut and bought soy milk, butter, and popcorn, and now feel that all is well with the world. Two hours until I have to leave for Saturday night church, about which I still feel fairly dubious. And I also didn't practice this whole week because I was convinced I wasn't going. Oops.

But I am in SO MUCH of a better mood now that I've broken out. The dog is too. And the SO is cleaning his studio, so I'm guessing he feels better too.