It’s the beginning of the week. We’re in that mid-Fashion Week funk where caffeine has stopped working and all we can think about is where we’ll get our next sandwich, and it feels like my funny has been lanced like a blister. I need a restorative. I need a fug spa.
This should help:
She’s like the anti-Ariel, dreaming one day to be part of that world under the sea where crabs sing calypso and the fluke is the duke of soul. Unfortunately I think Ursula the Sea Witch is currently trying to turn her torso inside out, though, so I suspect that while her cranial clamshell has cheered ME up, it portends doom for the aquatic fairy Bjork longs to be.
This should ALSO help:
If Cabaret were set at the rodeo, I think we’d have our emcee.
