I like hats.

<the end>

Wouldn’t that be an awesome blog, just a bigass random title, “I like hats”, and then … nothing.

Alas, this is AJ-Land, Official Home of the Blatherer, so it is not to be. Brevity may be the soul of wit, but how ’bout when a blogger is witless and soulless, hunh? Where does that leave me?

I swear, I had a point when I sat down. OH RIGHT! I like hats. And this is fortunate, because a while back I thought I’d chop off all my hair. For the first little while, this was OK, but I miss my long, chunky layers, and … *dread* *horror* this week I shall be having my official author photos taken. Doesn’t that sound so pretentious? No, not my use of the word “shall”. “Official author photos” … like I’m hanging out in a martini bar in a fedora licking the end of my pencil and–don’t those cool-daddy authors do that?–writing film noir dialogue that could slap a cigar out of a mobster’s mouth and smoke that cigar while peelin’ panties with a wink. I have no friggin’ idea what any of that means (I was hoping you would), but I do know two things: 

A) I have lost the ability to memorize shit like “acetomidohexanoylwhosa-whatsit” and must instead be satisfied with saying bremelanotide, and

B) I will be VERY tempted to wear a hat in my author photo this week.

<Can’t I just use this one, big ole eyeballs? No, whatCHOO lookin’ at?>

So, the A problem (that sounds like I’m referring to an ass problem, like there’s a T problem coming up about my tits–and there TOTALLY is) stems from my new inability to connect bitty pieces of chemistry together to make sense of long chemical compound names. This used to be easy. This used to be a daily habit. I can probably remember C50H68N14O10–but I wouldn’t bet my life on it. Not that there’ll be any home invasion-style pop quizes where the thug scream-spits in my face: “Gimme the fuckin’ jewelry, bitch, and what’s the compound name for bremelanotide? Yeah, you heard me. SAY IT! SAY IT IN FULL, FOOL, OR I’M’A BASH YOUR SKULL IN!” That would be kickass … geek home invasion by University drop-out who failed his chem final and just fuckin’ snapped.

Anyway, this distresses me some (not the home invasion, the memory thang–I’ve got my pickleforks, I’m fine). I used to be pretty damn good at shit like that. Have I lost that ability? Do I even need it, really? It isn’t as though I have a secret laboratory in my cellar with test tubes and beakers bubbling away. No, honest, I don’t! Plus, making your own chloroform (trichloromethane? YES! *licks finger and draws point on imaginary scoreboard*) can cause big kablooies, sooooo … what was my point? Oh, right: perhaps I’m using different parts of my brain more than others–the fruit has fallen off the mind-crops and my science is a fallow field. That’s more than a little disconcerting. In an effort to strengthen these underused grey cells, I will be making more of an effort to spin science into my writing and blogs.

The B problem (kinda like the B train, ‘cept it doesn’t smell like day-old piss) should resolve itself by the end of the week. Erm, not that my hair is going to grow to full-length in three days. But if I can get over my fear of not being photogenic, and just relax and have fun with the shoot, it should be OK. If not …

There’s always hats!

(Editor’s Note: Photo taken today at 3:30ish pm. WOW, is that a new zit? 37 years old and still getting pimples–that’s fantastic! Just in time for photo week. Do I see a grey hair? Also, SO spectacular. And in case anyone’s wondering, that’s not a medic alert bracelet, because I do not have a fatal allergy to penicillin, so don’t bother trying to kill me with moldy strawberries like you’re some clever snot-nosed murderer in an Agatha Christie novel, got it?)

(Author’s note: There was no T-for-titties problem. I lied. I always do.)