Word to everything, I never felt anything like it, not a single analogue in all my days on earth: the intense shift in temperature that happened when I walked out of a well air-conditioned terminal at Sky Harbor Airport into the sweltering, stifling, car-fumed inferno of Phoenix. It was flagrance that slapped my face like an open palm. Heat that felt extraterrestrial or at least dystopic. Heat that was itself an unwelcoming. Just how hot was it? On the real, I never checked, but I didn't have to, for my brief empirical research confirmed it was dangerous, dangerous, mortal. That was last Sunday, a day when Phoenix reached 115 degrees. For those of you who love statistics, that was the seventeenth day that Phoenix recorded a temperature of 110 or more. |
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"People say 'oh, you fucked up your career,' but they're talking about the career they had in mind for me." |
| Today's hearing provided perhaps the most poignant moment in the sorry history of the current House of Representatives. |
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| My friends always laugh at me. They say, "It's usually the failed actors who go into porn. You were doing well. Why'd you do it?" I wasn't overly sexual as a child. My first time watching porn was when I was 11. My friend knew the password to get porn on his TV. He put it on and there were two people having sex on a Harley-Davidson. I was floored. I can't believe I'm watching two people do this. I wasn't fixated on it, though. If anything, it made me uncomfortable. I lost my virginity when I was 14 and dated that girl for the next three years. When I was 22, I got a growth spurt and that's when everything changed. |
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| Watches can be expensive. Like, crazy expensive. Spend-your-salary-on-it expensive. Some of those watches are asking for what they're worth, like Steve McQueen's Rolex, which as much for an art collection as it is something to wear. And if you've got the money to burn, have your way with luxury watches. |
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| From far away she looks like a sprite stuck in a nimbus, a punk angel, a mod collaborator, a waif, a defrocked nun, or maybe a planetary alien. I could go on, but the truth is, Sinéad O'Connor's head is a sucker trap. You can't leave it out. It's too hot a signifier. But let me say this: The first thing you notice when you get close enough to Sinéad O'Connor to study her stubbled scalp is that there are little nicks in it, little white punctuation marks where the hair doesn't grow. The nicks are distracting and kind of cute, kind of endearing, marring the perfect solemn weirdness of her perfectly shaped skull. She understands the kind of attention her shaved head gets. She has absolutely no coyness about it. "It's different when you're a woman," she says in her very soft Irish lilt. "Let's face it, if I had long blond hair and big tits and I wore stilettos, that's what they'd be thinking about, they wouldn't be thinking about what I said. They wouldn't particularly give a shit, and I wouldn't be saying what I was saying in the first place." |
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