Les yeux sans visage

Last night and today I was back in LA, getting, among other things, a facial.

Yes, you read that correctly.

This was the result of a Christmas 2004 gift certificate that my mother gave me, thinking (and rightly so) that this would be a fun sort of novel thing to introduce me to, but which I have only now gotten around to redeeming. There were lots of steps involved:

• The facialist person put some fruit-scented lotion on my face, rubbed it in


• Applied an abrasive lemon-scented thing, wiped it off


• Hand massage, during which I notice that I am hearing New Agey interpretations of the Greatest Hits of Chopin and Pachelbel


• Painted some lotion on the upper half of my face. I suspect, but cannot prove, that this facepainting consisted primarily of a Zorro mask and a pair of "angry eyebrows"


• Neck massage


• More lotion, of an indeterminately flowery scent


• OH DANG HERE COME THE BUZZING SCIENCE-FICTIONY DENTAL TOOLS WHIR WHIR SCRAPE SCRAPE LOOK OUT


• Then an aromatherapy massage


• And so on

Oh and the whole time I had these electric mittens on my hands. Man but those mittens were badass.

On the whole, it was quite enjoyable, and certainly very relaxing. I was out like a light for the rest of the day, which involved a haircut (with my pre-chopping-it-all-off person; she approved of its current form; high praise indeed), dinner at Philippe's, family visits, and lots of driving.

Now I seem to have a sore throat. Hope it's nothing.