I went to the Sephora in Downtown Disney tonight to pick up some sunscreen. It's probably ridiculous that I buy my sunscreen at Sephora, but I wear it on my face every day, and I have very specific sunscreen needs. Whatever I choose has to provide broad-spectrum protection, which means it has to include titanium dioxide, zinc oxide, or avobenzone (which is the same thing as Parsol 1789). At the moment, my skin is too sensitive for avobenzone, so I'm limited to the other two ingredients. My sunscreen also has to be at least SPF 15, and it can't contain algin, coconut oil, cocoa butter, isopropyl myristate, or isopropyl palmitate. In fact, pretty much any ingredient starting with "iso" is bad.

I say all that because I do actually feel a need to assuage some guilt over the fact that I could feed a small village somewhere with the amount I just spent on two ounces of sunscreen. Okay, and one or two more items. It couldn't be helped. Sephora is a vortex. It's a good thing the sampled perfumes that hang thickly in the air in a tribute to the general philosophy of air quality in these parts—a smogcrocosm, if you will—make my eyes sting and water after a while. Without incentive to leave, I'm sure I'd be able to convince myself I need things like heated eyelash curlers; never mind the fact that I don't curl my eyelashes.

So, anyhoo, the nice Sephora lady is ringing up my purchases, and she shows me a sample of a perfumed lotion she's about to stick in my bag. I don't pay much attention at the time, but when I remove it from my bag later in the evening, I notice the label:

MICHAEL
MICHAEL KORS

AN EXPENSIVE
BODY CREME

It's expensive? Fabulous! What's in it? Who cares! What does it do? Well, I don't really know, but I'm pretty sure it makes you smell expensive.

As I was walking towards the parking lot, six different young-ish guys said "hi" to me in a span of about two minutes. You people think I'm just imagining a conspiracy, but I'm telling you it's bona fide. Proximity to Disneyland be damned; the Magic Kingdom doesn't make people that nice. After the third "hello," I was wondering when I'd be handed a pamphlet informing me that I was missing out on what heysinner would call the "FUCKING RIGHTEOUS LIGHT." The Rev would be talking about the ALMIGHTY FRANK. They wouldn't.

As it turns out, they talked about nothing. They just said hello and went on their way. There's a back story; I'll swear to it. Maybe they were weapons inspectors. "Hey, weapons inspectors, now that you didn't find a goddamn thing, what are you going to do next?"

Some kids I used to know called whatever they didn't like "crummy network reruns." As in, "this nature hike is crummy network reruns," or "the current administrative regime is crummy network reruns." Every time I remember the phrase, I wonder why I don't use it all the time.