This one’s a deliberate crop, to remove distracting elements (like his head, which had a purposeful scowl aimed in my direction, as well as a clever little porkpie hat). Maybe I’ll do a closer crop of that face for tomorrow. Or maybe I’ll forget, like I forget everything these days. I need some better sleep, people. Maybe walking for miles before bedtime isn’t the best idea for a twitch like me. All I know is that I’ve been 150% more social in five days here than in the past five months back in the cold place where all my crap lives. And I need a rest.
Luckily, tonight’s a recharge night. I’ll fortify myself at the neighborhood sushi bar, then park it on the couch for some boyskating. Too bad we’re not IM pals, because we could squee and snark together. The Russian Mullet and Captain Naranja are 1-2 going into the free skate, but I find them greasy-weaselly and meh with hints of self-serious.* I’ve got my fingers crossed for the swiss one with the pretty spins or any of the Japanese. But my heart belongs to Johnny.
*We get it, Evan Lysacek: YOU’RE NOT GAY. And WE DON’T CARE. Of course, Plushenko’s gay for the quad, but that’s about all he’s got. He’s the equivalent of a dead fuck with a giant cock, and I KNOW some of you have been there.