Monday, March 25, 2002

The seminar with the classical music listening and report writing youths went swimmingly and I kept it clean, so to speak. I realized that these teens today think that all adults are in cahoots as they looked at me and queried How long is this report supposta be, narrowing their dewy eyes into disbelief when I responded I have no (censored) idea.

Found myself at some point this weekend, Saturday specifically, at 1AM seated at thigh level of an imported stripper/nouvelle burlesque mama - jetted into Middling City for entertainment purposes only.
She took almost it all off, down to thong. But she started out with a slew of fabric on her small frame and famed 23-inch waistline. Off came the hoop skirt. Off came the fuck ME pumps. Off came the fishnet stockings. Off came the big granny undies. Off came the corset. Off came the bra (under a netty robe). And then she scampered away.
Me and a girlie pal gave an impromptu report between the two of us. We felt that a little boob flash would have been okay. She had stretch marks on her butt (vertical) and we wondered how and/or why. My pal claims that she saw cellulite but I think it was the reflection of the disco ball on the wood dance floor and then that reflected up onto the burlesque and luminous self.

Following shooting a grain elevator in toxic Niagara Falls, NY on Sunday went on a short hike on a small island located not too far from Middling City. Realizing I was near a cemetery where two people I know are in repose I drove me and travel companion there. I reported how I had nearly broken my neck at this site last winter whilst hopping the cemetery gate, and then I pointed dramatically to the section which was leaning ominously as if it had just tossed off another hopper.
It was quickly pointed out to me that there was actually a small section of gate that was truly a gate - voilĂ .
I tidied up the grass around the friend headstones. Their shared wintertime wreath was on a stand lying on the ground and I stood it up and pressed the tripod legs into the burial ground.
Then we wandered through the very small cemetery and I fixed things: I put a pot back together, I put lots of silk flowers back in vases and I repaired a windchime whose ceramic humming bird fell to sogginess.
The Academy Awards were playing on tv sets throughout the land last night and I could not have given one tiny flying phlegm. But today the fashion reports are inescapable and I'm so sad for Gwyneth .

No comments: