Reactionary

I couldn’t bring myself to go elsewhere due to my being newly massaged. Since I have yet to acquire a personal masseuse who will be at my beck and call every day, I don’t want to ruin the effect for as long as I can get away with. Hence it’s Saturday and I’m home and I’m working on the website.

It was a great massage. I felt things creak and snap that had been out of place for so long they no longer remembered where they lived. I love that spa. And today, I finally figured out what the scent in the air is and what they’ve been using on me. Lavender. I didn’t get it until today because the therapist actually told me what she was putting into the custom massage blend and I had the wherewithal to remember after an hour of being kneaded. I found my arm smelled like the air they have wafting around the building and then I found a candle that matched, just for confirmation. I’m not the kind of person who knows what things smell like, what they’re good for, etc. Lore is low on my knowledge list. I just know I don’t like things that smell like food or anything sweet. Now I think I’m going to become one of those people who ask for certain essential oils at their aromatherapy massages. Lavender, please. Isn’t it a flower? I guess I always thought it would smell sweeter, more annoying, like rose.

The one downfall of the massage was there were no hot towels. How could that be? Maybe it’s the therapist who doesn’t use hot towels? Can I ask for someone else next time to be sure? Would that be considered cheating?

Worse than the hot towels’ absence was my stupid belly flop on the sidewalk a block away from my apartment building. Now I have a bruise on my left knee. Good thing I didn’t tear any clothing. Damn rude awakening. Damn Donald Pliner shoes that are Made in the Mountains of Italy. I wish I could resign myself to the common American style called Poor Street Urchin. But I can’t.

Links for the Day:

A symptom of a nation’s depression. No one will take a day off. It’s like one of the old nurses at work said to me the other day about a certain schedule being better for the employer. I can’t believe she said that to me. I don’t exist to please my employer. It’s amazing as well that Americans can work so hard at the expense of everything so they can afford hunks of junk they never enjoy and yet manage to remain so poorly informed. If anyone needs to visit other countries, it’s Americans. I agree the country itself has numerous beautiful places to see, my parents made sure I saw them, but the mind of the rest of the world is only visible if you, well, visit it.

For the record, I think the New York Times is an outstanding newspaper.

The first letter on childhood obesity hits it right on the head. PC language is the enemy of truth. I hate when I hear “large” or “heavy” being pushed as appropriate adjectives. A golf umbrella is large. A box of books is heavy. People who roll out over the top of their pants are fat. And Americans’ children are fatter and fatter and lazier and lazier. I saw a 63-pound two-year-old once. Besides the Michelin Man, there was no other word for the child than FAT, FAT, FAT. Medically, he was morbidly obese… at 2.

On a positive note, I’m loving the Colbert Report I get via iTunes thanks to it airing so late at night.

The Philly Inquirer also had a special letters section concerning the new airport regulations on carry-on luggage. I heartily disagree with John, agree with the first half of Stacia, and agree with Vicki. My take is if this takes care of Bin Hogs (you know who you are), then good. I’m happy about that. No lip gloss, though. I agree terrorists should be caught before they strike. The whole new regulations seem like knee jerk reactions to something that’s already happened. Once one avenue of opportunity is found, they’ll just find another one.

Posted on August 19th, 2006 under Life, News •  Print •  Email • RSS 2.0 feed • Leave a response, or trackback