21 October 2006

Awash in Hair Dye Fumes

Can one be awash in fumes? I know, literally, one can be awash in liquidy things, and figuratively, one can be awash in abstract concepts like desire, but can one literally be awash in fumes? Well, I am.

Kate and I are taking a night off from our Glamorous New York City Lifestyle to go to the gym and watch tv and, in my case, dye my hair. Rockin Saturday night. She's in her room playing with her new sexy computer, and I'm watching the timer while carcinogens seep through my scalp. But one must keep up one's appearance. So.

Tonight was the first of Kidnapped's hospice time slot episodes. (Saturdays. Poor thing. Only losers like me and Kate home to watch.) I can't tell if my interest in the show has anything to do with the show itself, but I do enjoy watching it. Shows that shoot in New York are always great for Spot a Stage Actor - Reed Birney tonight, whom I had trouble IDing without the moustache he'd sported the last couple of times I saw him. And of course, James Urbaniak. His eeeevil accountant continues to be very much fun. (It's mostly just the having-him-in-my-living-room thing, working out much better than that time I tried to watch The New Adventures of Old Christine for Hamish Linklater. Oh, the pain.) This episode we learned that he has a wife! A pretty redhead. They seem to live in the East Village. Funny that I was surprised to see him in bed - just waking up in the morning, nothing dirty - with a pretty woman in a sunshiney room. Is it a bias that I assume creepy trench coat assassin types don't have wives and friends and sunshiney bedrooms? Way to break the mold, kidnapped.

I don't really have anything to say. I was just getting tired of the top post here being "Dirty Theatrical Cocktease Whores" or whatever it was. Apparently I have a potty mouth. But in approximately 17 minutes I'll have very pretty hair.

I don't know if the fumes are getting me high or what, but wow, thanks for reading.

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