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Sunday, I lay down in the early afternoon, about 2 p.m.  I wake up, and look for about five minutes for my tiny, hard-to-find glasses.  I look at my phone, which said it had updated itself for DST.  It said 4:30.  I went to my computer.  It said 5:30.  Neither made sense, as it was dark outside.

I went to time.gov (bookmark that one) and found out it was 5:30 — the following morning.  So I slept for about 15.5 hours.

Kind of scary — weird things happen when you are sick — but a good way to accumulate shows on your DVR.  I started watching a Law & Order: CI episode I had previously given up on.  It’s a Logan episode, starring David Cross and, they said, Kristy Swanson.

I like David Cross.  I like his writing, I like his stand-up, I like his insight.  But I think it’s fair to say that he has no dramatic chops.  If we find out he’s the killer and has been lying about everything during the episode, it may be better, because the fact that I don’t believe a single one of his motivations could be viewed as a choice.  The episode is dreadful.  And Kristy Swanson?  Kept looking for her.  Beautiful, beautiful Kristy Swanson from when I was in high school.  Here is how I remember her:

Here are three more-or-less NSFW images.  SFFD fans, remember to check back when you are home.

Finally found her: she’s playing a bottle-blond floozy.  A latter-day Marilyn Monroe, a comparison they keep making more and more explicit.  And she’s — how to put this gently? — obese.  Not Monroe-by-today’s-standards-big, but obese.  Maybe some of it is a fat suit, and she certainly looks worse because of the Playboy-style caked-on makeup and garish lipstick, but her upper arms looks like they weigh as much as she used to in total.  IMDB reports she’s almost 40, now.

Really unfortunate.  I’m speaking as someone who has put on 120 pounds (British: 8 1⁄2 stone; Bushman: very much; elsewhere: 54 kg) in the last ten years, so I know this can happen, and I know what I’m talking about.  But this is really, really unfortunate.

Episode is half over.  I’m going to go drag myself back and try to finish it this time.

OK, most monosexual readers would say they have “a type”, however loosely-defined it is.  Here’s a game:

1. Who is the hottest celebrity (film or television) who is entirely not your type?
2. Who is the most repugnant celebrity (film or television) who is completely your type?  Physically.  You can include bearing, but you can’t figure extracurricular stuff into this analysis, such as real-life insanity, hit-and-run accidents, or weird cult memberships.

Think about it for a second.  My answers inside.

I had a fantastically real-seeming dream about publishing a book and having it printed on the most luxurious paper I’ve ever felt.  It was printed on the processed fibrous bark of some bush that doesn’t actually exist.  The paper was dense, smooth, almost velour-textured.  It gave crystal-clear impressions to the ink deposited on it, and was luxurious to fan through.  It was almost warm to the touch, naturally dyed (kind of taupe-colored), and exceedingly sexy.

This is one of the few multi-sensual dreams I’ve experienced, and the first exceedingly tactile, almost erotic, dream I can recall that did not involve strategic female fat deposits.  In other words: I had a booby dream about paper.

And now I’m on a search for ultrafine papers.  I use 28 lb. Crane’s Crest cotton paper in my regular correspondence.  This dream paper made that feel like 300-grit sandpaper.  Pointers?

Irène Jacob turned 40 on Saturday.  Famke Janssen is 40, too.  Lena Olin is 51.  All the hottest actresses in Hollywood are over 40 now.

No big deal?  You must not mind getting old as much as I do.  Our fantasy women get older as we get older.  Bummer.

So maybe it’s time for a new generation.  Christina Hendricks, A.J. Cook, Morena Baccarin, Michelle Williams (thinking of the Oscars here), and Keira Knightley are all ‘78ers or later.  Long may they live, and never get older than I.

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