Logan Hill
How We Talk About That Actress’s Face
So you don’t normally check out that gossipy website—well, maybe you do, but, generally speaking, you try to avoid it because you’d rather your media diet be cooked up somewhere with more white space and aspirational pretense, rather than dredged from the filthy fryer of some asinine gossip’s dirty grease trap of a blog.
But sometimes, well, you fucking love fries—even the burned, nasty ones—and sometimes you fucking love that site, even if you know it’s bad for your soul or digestion or both. Or whatever. And some mornings, like this morning, all your friends on Twitter were forwarding around pictures of that actress: The one who looks…different? (That’s not the right word; you haven’t figured out how to say it aloud yet.) And you just couldn’t help yourself, could you? I mean, maybe you could. But.
But sometimes, well, you fucking love fries—even the burned, nasty ones—and sometimes you fucking love that site, even if you know it’s bad for your soul or digestion or both. Or whatever. And some mornings, like this morning, all your friends on Twitter were forwarding around pictures of that actress: The one who looks…different? (That’s not the right word; you haven’t figured out how to say it aloud yet.) And you just couldn’t help yourself, could you? I mean, maybe you could. But.