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Nov. 19th, 2013 11:35 amSo, I went to the dermatologist yesterday, because I have reached the point in my life where I'm so fair-skinned they want me to wear SPF 50 on a daily basis. SPF 50 is some kind of post-apocalyptic shit, that's what they wear in scifi films where we don't have an ozone layer at all anymore. And now I apparently need to wear it daily.
I used to be able to tan. I don't really anymore. I just freckle hard until I look tanned from all the freckles, and then it goes straight to debilitating sunburn. Thanks, Nordic-Irish ancestors!
On the way back from the dermatologist, who in my case is at the University of Chicago Medical Center, I passed a little plaque randomly set in the edge of a parking lot. Apparently it marked a childhood home of Ronald Reagan.
It was a terribly surreal moment; for one, a plaque on a parking lot, and then bam sudden Ronald Reagan, and then it wasn't the birthplace or even the childhood home, it was just a childhood home. Someone not only had to know that he lived there for a single year in 1914, but had to care enough that when it was knocked down, they arranged for a plaque to be placed there, on what is now a University of Chicago parking lot.
Once in a while humanity is just baffling.
At any rate, I am broadcasting to you today from R's place, my former apartment, where I am hiding from the plumber who is fixing the toilet at mine. R dropped off his keys on the way to work, and I came over here about half an hour later. Then we texted.
Me: Thank you for the keys! I had to pee really badly.
R: No problem. Wish I was there! For hanging out, not peeing.
Bless his heart.
I used to be able to tan. I don't really anymore. I just freckle hard until I look tanned from all the freckles, and then it goes straight to debilitating sunburn. Thanks, Nordic-Irish ancestors!
On the way back from the dermatologist, who in my case is at the University of Chicago Medical Center, I passed a little plaque randomly set in the edge of a parking lot. Apparently it marked a childhood home of Ronald Reagan.
It was a terribly surreal moment; for one, a plaque on a parking lot, and then bam sudden Ronald Reagan, and then it wasn't the birthplace or even the childhood home, it was just a childhood home. Someone not only had to know that he lived there for a single year in 1914, but had to care enough that when it was knocked down, they arranged for a plaque to be placed there, on what is now a University of Chicago parking lot.
Once in a while humanity is just baffling.
At any rate, I am broadcasting to you today from R's place, my former apartment, where I am hiding from the plumber who is fixing the toilet at mine. R dropped off his keys on the way to work, and I came over here about half an hour later. Then we texted.
Me: Thank you for the keys! I had to pee really badly.
R: No problem. Wish I was there! For hanging out, not peeing.
Bless his heart.
