Yesterday I had big, important plans but I ended up not doing any of them. First I was going to go to the gym first thing but it was too cold to move so I deemed it a Possible Snow Day, pretended to be sick and took to the bed. I ended up watching “Live with Kelly” where Jessie Palmer was her cohost. You know who Jessie Palmer is: He was born in Toronto (homeboy!), raised in Napean, played college football for Florida, then the New York Giants and the Montreal Alouettes. He was The Bachelor in 2004 and now he is a football commentator. He looks like this:

My big question watching the show: Why is he still single? He’s so handsome and he has a bubbly, agreeable personality that even your mama would like. He’s funny and self-depracating. He thinks Megan Fox is “out of his league.” Bitch, please. As though any man, no matter how dysmorphic or Aspergery, thinks he is out of any woman’s league. That kind of stupid talk sort of makes you want to hit on him. But then you don’t, because he’s just too perfect. The litmus test fantasy is what would happen if you were trapped alone on a broken elevator with him. He is the man you want to love but ultimately when you stand next to him, you become hyper-self-aware of ugliness vapours emanating out of your rapidly gaping pores. Nope. Pass. Press the emergency button.

The other important plan was to obtain Jack White’s new release CD, “Blunderbuss” at an actual record store, NOT iTunes. I need solid, concrete music, not this internet sorcery that is my current music library since getting separated, this is me: “Oh, you can take all the CDs, I will just copy them onto this computer one by one until I grow old and die.” Of course I missed a bunch of albums that I ended up obsessing over even if I would never listen to them again. On one hand, there is less clutter but on the other, it’s a precarious situation, the computer will probably break and the iPod will spontaneously terminate itself and I will be tuneless. And alone.

By mid-morning I had moved from bed to couch, still too cold to go out. Pretending to be sick would be an all-day event so Evangeline offered to go get the Jack White before her class downtown. Yay.

Now I love Jack White. Here he is:

Toronto Star’s Ben Rayner describes Jack White as a weirdo, which can’t be denied and is why I love him so. He looks kind of like Johnny Depp on estrogen supplements. He is a temperamental genius, graphic proof here…and is there any other kind? He dresses in costume, like a 19th century bandit which is kind of off-putting and badass at the same time. Repulsive and fascinating, the dichotomy is a recipe for capitulation. Imagine being trapped in an elevator alone with him. Somehow, without even knowing how you let it happen, you would walk out with a hickey and a broken bra strap.

While she was gone, I put on my favourite movie of all time:

Vincent Gallo’s Buffalo 66 with Christina Ricci before Thinspiration ruined her and her acting career. This is one of those independent cult movies that if you say the phrase “spanning time,” people will either look at you blankly or laugh knowingly, the video clip says it all. Vincent Gallo has such intense charisma that it is creepy. His default expression is a mug shot. You can’t spend too much time thinking about him or you might go out and get his name tattooed on your chest. One thing you might want to consider, is checking out the shop on his personal website. For $50,000 you can go out on a date with him and for $1,000,000 you can get his sperm! Not bad. And if you were ever so lucky to be trapped on an elevator with him, be prepared to re-enact a certain scene from The Brown Bunny. Or maybe that’s just me. Should probably just take stairs from now on.

And this, just for fun: