odds and ends for Friday

1.) Okay, I've resisted this long, but no. I can't let the weekend begin without blogging on this matter. I am weak.

So, here's the thing. Bill Belichick and his "galpal" Linda Holliday were in attendance at Tuesday night's Celtics game, leading to an appearance in Wednesday morning's paper. Now, I'm not going to link to said photo, because the majority of you have either come across it on your own, or looked at it because I've *already forced you to.* But, if you haven't, let me say this about Ms Holliday (who I'm sure is probably a lovely person when you get to know her): the inelegant but probably apt phrase "rode hard and put away wet" comes to mind. As does the term skanktacular. And, Bill? Wearing loafers without socks, he was. Could someone just whisper in his ear that his chance to be an extra on the Sopranos has come and, sadly, gone? It was a fairly hilarious photo, proving once again what we all know: money can't buy taste, yo.

So, the one upside I was willing to concede was that at least Billy was dating in his own age group, not trying to bag the stereotypical trophy chicks fifteen or twenty years his junior, because my guess of Ms Holliday's age was approximately 52 (while trying to look 35). However, my amazing google-fu tells me that she is--wait for it--43. As in, two years younger than your malevolent correspondent. I must say, shallowly, that this made me immediately gratified about my own skincare regime and/or genetics. Because, 43? That woman has more neck rings than a sequoia.

And then, my amazing google-fu led me to some shocked gossip column news that both Ms Holliday and Ms Sherocca (i.e. the NJ woman at whose divorce trial Billy almost had to testify, because apparently he's been banging her for years, as well as, like, buying her apartments and sending her cash) attended the Super Bowl. Shocked because, you know, it's absolutely inconceivable that both women should know about each other and be okay with it. Ahem.

God bless America. And stay away from the tanning beds.

2.) I've been looking at more possible art on etsy and this has brought to my attention an interesting realization or two. First of all, apparently I like photography more than any other art form. I don't think I would have or could have articulated that before, but over and over again I keep going back to look at photos. Secondly, almost all the photos that really draw me in have a door or gate or window or courtyard/alley/hallway or stairway theme. Something about entrances or blocked entrances give me--and this is going to make me sound like even more of a whack job than I usually do--a funny flutter in my stomach, an unsettled feeling. It's maybe an echo of childhood, because I remember as a kid being fascinated by the idea of books like The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. That you could go into a closet and come out somewhere else--it was alluring and horrifying at the same time, and I wanted it to be true. There are certain photos that invoke in me that same unsettled but attracted feeling. And I like them.

3.) There was something else that was supposed to go here, but I'll be damned if I can remember what it was. That's what happens when I'm distracted from important things like writing blog entries by, y'know, work. But just pretend I said something fascinating and amusing.

xoxo