Aww.
Sweet, isn't it? Full view of the godawful sideburns, and everything. Luna is quite the most photogenic kid I've ever encountered.
Rather less sweet, what with rag curls setting in a messy turban wrap and everything, but there you are... It should be good for a smirk, at least.
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I'm still trying to digest Tinitus this past weekend, Portion Control and Fixmer MacCarthy especially. They were so good. Douglas McCarthy was so sexy - I'm having a crush on him, again, which felt rather like the good parts of being sixteen, again. The whole event also brought on a heavy attack of olde skoole rivethead nostalgia, for my part, so I'm sewing a pair of black jodhpurs with leather accents for myself, and Andreas has promised to fix up my old 20-holes for me - the poor, stupid bastard, he has no idea of what he's up for... he wasn't at Arvika in 2000, so he has absolutely no concept of the amounts of four-year-old mud that cover not only the outside, but also very much the inside of those boots. Ha.
I saw a freaky documentary on TV tonight about vaginal plastic surgery. I know, I couldn't believe it either... and what really got me about the whole bizarre nine yards was that not once did they even mention things like squeeze exercises, or geisha balls, or anything like that - they talked about vaginas as if they were completely passive and inert, with no muscles or anything. They made it seem like the only option for women with urine leakage, stretching and other post-natal problems is surgery - which is absurd.
I also found it rather funny that while "everybody" seem to be stuffing their lips with collagen, female genital cosmetic surgery seems to focus almost entirely on making the labia (especially the inner pair) as small, smooth and unconspicuous as possible.
Bah.
Rather less sweet, what with rag curls setting in a messy turban wrap and everything, but there you are... It should be good for a smirk, at least.
---
I'm still trying to digest Tinitus this past weekend, Portion Control and Fixmer MacCarthy especially. They were so good. Douglas McCarthy was so sexy - I'm having a crush on him, again, which felt rather like the good parts of being sixteen, again. The whole event also brought on a heavy attack of olde skoole rivethead nostalgia, for my part, so I'm sewing a pair of black jodhpurs with leather accents for myself, and Andreas has promised to fix up my old 20-holes for me - the poor, stupid bastard, he has no idea of what he's up for... he wasn't at Arvika in 2000, so he has absolutely no concept of the amounts of four-year-old mud that cover not only the outside, but also very much the inside of those boots. Ha.
I saw a freaky documentary on TV tonight about vaginal plastic surgery. I know, I couldn't believe it either... and what really got me about the whole bizarre nine yards was that not once did they even mention things like squeeze exercises, or geisha balls, or anything like that - they talked about vaginas as if they were completely passive and inert, with no muscles or anything. They made it seem like the only option for women with urine leakage, stretching and other post-natal problems is surgery - which is absurd.
I also found it rather funny that while "everybody" seem to be stuffing their lips with collagen, female genital cosmetic surgery seems to focus almost entirely on making the labia (especially the inner pair) as small, smooth and unconspicuous as possible.
Bah.