Lag

It's not a big thing, this time. Not the constant drowsiness of getting to L.A. in September 2009; Nor is it, thankfully, headaches and stomach cramps like last Christmas in Greece. But if ever I've -soberly- felt like my brain should partake in the Special Olympics, that time is now.

Things I Blame on Jet Lag

1. Trying 6 pairs of 32" waist shorts at Topman to find none of them fit.
   
2. Thinking I could hear my own pair of comfy 32s crying on the floor.
3. Ordering tomato, mozzarella and basil gnocchi to receive spaghetti carbonara.
4. Enjoying Get Him to The Greek (first 90 minutes).
5. Hating Get Him to The Greek (last 19 minutes)
6. This post.

And my foot just fell asleep for no discernible reason. Excellent.

Lady Gaga - Alejandro

So, Lady Gaga is a dictator's wife, king's daughter or dictatrix queen in her own right and the guy dies and she mourns with her grief pipe and widow's goggles on (as you do) and then she's a red vinyl nun who eats her rosary and a white vinyl saint with an inverted crotch-cross, while also fucking some ladydudes in the butt without taking her underwear off (as you do) and then she kinda goes dark ABBA and sprouts titrifles (or are they bayonipples?) and she has Tootie's haircut and then... she becomes part of the revolution maybe and gives a big guerrilla rousing speech while pantsless (as she does) and then she's a marionette and a dude has a golden gun penis and the film itself burns because that's what being Lady Gaga is all about.

Bring on the summer.