Archive for May 3rd, 2007
links for 2007-05-03
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Value is still evident in International Markets
Growth and Value, nice.
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must be tough.
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it are!
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Ashton Kutcher should be my babydaddy.
Demi makes this boy look *good*
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This year marks the 30th anniversary of the popular movie Saturday Night Fever. Magnum and Slate present the world of disco from the 1960s to the 1980s.
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new legowelt project.
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i knew this…
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Waste that Expensive Moleskine Paper!
why? i guess i’m not geek enough…
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super cool.
Mike Gravel on The Colbert Report
“there’s nothing to win.”
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Disco Dancin’ Pictures.
This year marks the 30th anniversary of the popular movie Saturday Night Fever. Magnum and Slate present the world of disco from the 1960s to the 1980s.
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Just a Crush
Well, well, well.
Just look at you, walking into this dreary bar and lighting the place up like the noonday sun at midnight, twirling a lock of your long auburn hair pensively as you search the room—for what?
For a soul mate, perhaps?
(I know, I know—I hate that phrase, too. Maybe that will end up being one of those things we both hate.) Maybe a few weeks from now, lying in your bed on a Sunday morning, I’ll ask you, “What’s your least favorite word or phrase?,” and you’ll say, “ ‘Soul mate,’ ” and I’ll laugh till you say, “What? Tell me!,” and I’ll tell you how I knew that from the moment I first laid eyes on you, and then we’ll have sex again.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. You haven’t even noticed me yet. That’s O.K. I can wait.
Maybe when your gaze settles on me, and we lock eyes in that mutual Hitchcockian tunnel-vision effect where the camera is, like, pushing in at the same time it zooms out, or however they do that, you’ll come sit down next to me and we’ll—
Now you’ve spotted the friends you came to meet. They look like good friends.
Maybe they’ll be my friends, too.
Our friends.
Your eyes just came to life like emeralds lit by subterranean torches, and as you move across the room toward your friends you shriek at them, “What the fuck is up, yo?,” in a voice so piercing that the entire bar goes silent for a moment, and I have to check my glasses to make sure the lenses didn’t crack. You continue to bellow your every utterance (including the lines “Jagermeister is the bomb, dawg!” and “Just ’cause I’m a white girl don’t mean I don’t got some serious junk in the trunk!” and “Random! Random! Random!”), and the bartender leans in and whispers something to his bar back, and they look at you and laugh.
You must be a regular here.
(Duration of crush: seventeen seconds.)
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