Suicide Hearthrobs

So it's like this, y'all:

My boyfriend moved to Toronto. Although it's probably not the primary activity of choice for couples who have been seperated for over a year, we're on the couch nonstop, watching Planet Earth. (Although Alex and I both admit that apart from the awesome time lapses that Planet Earth offers up, Attenborough's Life On Earth from 1979 is far superior. If you're a Planet Earth fan, download this series NOW and actually learn something rather than being subjected to the same dry narration about wildebeests migrating.)

Planet Earth marathons are interspered by three hour interviews with conspiracy theorists, meetings on display copy and some more solid time in the lab. (Lab time= "Heath Ledger died!" "Wow, it feels like a real newsroom in here. Well, that is if the real news room in question was Dose." And then we all put dead teenage hearthrobs on our computer desktops. Mine features Jonathan Brandis. Canice opted for River Phoenix. Nothing like suicidal hearthrobs to get your through the day. Hmmm...I wonder if I can get away with Owen Wilson?)

I'll emerge from the depths soon enough.

In the meantime, my rocking '60s outfit made it into She Does the City's Costume Cupboard.