Went to that Middling City theatre extravaganza many get all jazzed up about with a posse of girlies. We met up at the CEPA opening where I was harangued by Aaron and where I was (whewww) not recognized by one of my (former) stalkers as apparently I've successfully avoided him up to now and he doesn't know me with shorter hair (whew again). But the stalker did strike up banal conversation with one of the posse and when he asked her Where do I know you from I proffered up quick fiction that he might recognize her as her job is as a Kenmore (M.C. suburb known for hosting the hellacious private high school where Yours Truly, Loomis, and AEDM attended, amongst others, brutally racist cops, and a strident and long-running sex shoppe) traffic cop. Lauren looked at me with eyes awidened but somehow the stalker didn't grasp that or that we might all be trying to give him the ol' Slip. Onwards. Meandered along to the Hallwalls opening where I bumped into Leslie and Bernie of days of yore. Bernie once wanted to beat me up for some (here's that word coined by the mechanic, this logo-gem) misconfusion - really. We were near-teened folks in our 20s when spirits run high and quite erratic. After the near dust-up we became fast friends and engaged in very Bernie-esque adventures such as, for one, canoeing from Manhattan to Brooklyn. You know, things of that nature. So the Hallwalls situ was wide-open, dusky, full of odd chip dips. And now this is where the posse fell to bits as Laura called me on my cellie to say that everyone was upstairs at my pal Deanna's joint. So up I go. To then bump into several people I know, including a feuding newbie couple. I lost all the girlies. Then I got calls from all of them. You know, that happens. Let us call is The Party Scatter. But it is not a tragic thing, I liken it to a good abstract painting, a rarity. The deft layering of things to a fetching result. Laura and I created a little side project that never came to fruition. I really wanted to trip someone and I spotted a small gang of cops lurking in a doorway on dead-to-the-world Main Street, glancing (I thought) discreetly at them. Laura shouted OHNO. Whaaat, I asked. She said You can't trip cops. I said But I wasn'.... no use. Laura, Gestures Specialist, read the whole thing transpiring. I think Laura is missing her calling as a Border Patrolist.
Time to wrap things up here before I make my way out to Middling City U to shoot the president of it all entertaining displaced New Orleans, LA students in his private special catered box to watch the worst college football team in history.

Historical and Sporty Love.