Mr. A has been in Korea for the past week, for a conference. On Friday he called to say he's heading into the demilitarized zone, and Saturday he called to say he made it back alive.Three interesting things he reported, on a staticky phone call, about his day trip: Both North and South Korea have set up propagandistic "model villages" near the border, to show tourists just how great life is on their side of the economical/ideological divide. Both towns are happy, shiny places. Both would do their mamas proud. But there's one big difference between them: The Northern town is uninhabited. Once in a while, employees show up and turn the lights on or off to make it seem alive.
Second, the North Korean guards were depressingly thin, while their southern cousins were downright portly in comparison.
Third, the Northern guards operate with a buddy system. This is not to protect one another in case of combat or look behind one other's shoulders alertly as they roam the DMZ. It is so that each soldier can shoot his partner if he tries to escape.
(If I occasionally share gratuitous tidbits such as this, gentle reader, things that have nothing to do with "asking" or even "daily," it's because I find them interesting. That's worth something too, isn't it?)
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Today I celebrated my "unhealthy origins" by indulging in a fully decadent practice of cosmetic application.Jem and I had lunch, we talked about boob jobs, our own jobs, other people's cute babies, and wondered if marriage really does kill your sex life (any one with insights or opinions, please make your views known in the comments!!), and then she came over to make banana bread. In the middle of this estrofest, while the breads were baking, we moved to the living room and our conversation rolled around to make-up. She had applied her eyeshadow in a very alluring manner, and I was curious about her methods.
"I've been wanting how to do the smokey eye look," I continued. Mr. A was coming back in a few hours, so maybe I could surprise him. She said it's all about the eyeliner, and you know what happened next. "Can you show me?"
We moved to my bedroom, where I have a very clean, very uncluttered vanity table. Read: I rarely wear makeup. Somewhere between once a year and once a decade, I resolve to become more makeup friendly. I go to the cosmetic counter of FancyBrands (i.e. whatever department store is in the city I'm living in at the time) and spend heaps on new products. In Paris, I remember, I paid something like $30 (or was it euros!?) on a brush, at the insistence of my far more fashion forward shopping companion, Francesco. "A brush will make such a difference. Trust me!!" How exactly did he know? I know not. But I have learned that in matters of taste its techniques, Francesco is de man.
I still have that brush. Memories.
Jem decided that a soft violet shadow would do wonders to open up my baby hazels, so we went with that. Next, eyeliner, finally mascara. I was transformed. A whole new person. A whole new asker.Ok, not really. But it was fun!!
Gained: Make up tips, and an afternoon of baking, boys and gossip -- that is, felt like a 12-year-old again.
