When I saw the man in Italia ballcap this early morning with oversized cigar and most passive eyes as I drove past, into aggressive traffic, I thought This is a sublime Mary Ellen Mark day. Maybe the thought was also inspired by the recent sights of a new car crash on the lethal and deranged Hertel s-curves (the small white coupe wrapped around a middle-aged tree, sirens en route), the comedic conversation of women walking along the ring road of Middling City's Delaware Park, the pronouncement that Mary McMullen (a pal) died of malfeasance and not of bad luck, and oso much more.
To remedy all of the above what could Yours Truly do but run for cover to the Shiney Apple. But there were reports of steam pipes exploding so YT steered clear. Oh, and floods. And power outages.
YT had been through the worst power outage in recent memory in the Shiney Apple, when the only phones that worked were those pesky, germy, and rare public phones, and the only food one could pay for out and about was gas-fueled pizza.
Ahh, that memory, of driving Justy and Erin's vehicle thorough a signal-less S.A. from Brooklyn to midtown East sans lights and pedestrians.
So tonight, after an art event, after a dinner outing with friends, found myself with fellow members of solid gold bookers looking to purchase some tix to a disco event in September.
September.
And it is sold out.
I really lobbied hard to my pal Deanna of said (former) disco joint Mulligan's/DiGiulio's and promised that me and five more members of the book club would show in tube tops.
Now, I ask You.
Tube tops.
Where in hell does one procure tube tops in this day and age.
eBay.
dismalstylespast.com.
The disco event sold out in mere half hours, Deanna said.
I suggested that she find slots for six of us lovely ladies to choogle and boogie and hustle the night away. A table of frightening guidosarduccis agreed.

Disco Isco Love.

*NB: Blogger's autosave feature failed Yours Truly. FireFox went kaflooey and lost were hundreds of quipped-out words.
Onwards.

(From earlier)
Off to see Tom, my Auto Guru, shortly, for him to bestow inspectional and spiritual good will at the Subaru.
Iron Girl went quite Perfectly this past Saturday, Bastille Day, the eve of Annie's birth date, with all of us Solid Gold Bookers minus one (Siobhan, who had a scarlet throat and was absent) meeting for my first-ever cassoulet which I began assembling in the morn
...

(From now)
Tom passed the car. It only has 15K miles on it, of course it passed. Shiny new red sticker is mine, mine, mine.
Yes, the cassoulet on Saturday was mucho fab and authentico - except for the part where YT used only fat-trimmed duck breasts, and two types of sausages shorn of their skins, and three types of light-coloured beans.
We girls supped on Kennedy's terrace, the dogs and garden enjoying and enjoyed.


Iron Girl Event #1 of 3:
Voelker's welcomed Iron Girl with open lanes, nearly all open lanes, a few individuals were rehearsing for their leagues. We sipped pitchers of beer, having moved on from nice french vins, and fromages, and the like. Instead of the agreed-upon deal YT gleaned ($9 each for shoes, lanes, beverage, pizza or burger), we wanted no soda, no burgers, no 'za. We wanted bowleresque beers.

We bowled, we did that. YT bowled a 156, Heady was prima with somewhere over that. We all looked quite adorable and leaguish in our Iron Girl t-shirts.
Tiff passed on bowling, as did Sparky, one for injury past, one for injury prevention.


Iron Girl Event #2 of 3:
Rainbow Roller Rink had the usual daredevils off to the side, in helmets and crouched positions, ramped-up while the rest of us traveled in circles of various speeds in a horizontal fashion. Annie pointed out that Rainbow has reaped rewards from the residency of the Middling City roller derby girls, as they had a new roof. I noted, or thought I noted, some snazzy new blacklight-ready carpeting on the walls since our previous visit there during the derby girl bennie.

As I went to get Jana some hydration at the snack booth the owner lady asked if I might consider trying out for the derby. She advised me to Think about it. I did, and then did absolutely not. Some of those derby girls looked kind of mean, like they might enjoy being bruised, causing bruises. The snack bar lady says she'd like to dress like a derby girl. My thoughts were rushing back to blading in circles under the p.a.'s thumping beats but politely I asked Oh, you mean their fishnet stockings. The snack bar lady also informed me that she does not clean up after customers, meaning barf. Duly noted. We left just before closing time, 10 p.m., but not before YT played a little on-skate Red Light, Green Light. I fell for a ploy with the d.j. asking some guy to yell Green Light. And I was just hovering over an orange safety cone, so on the cusp of winning Annie b-day girl a prize. In lieu of the prize I had the d.j. announce that it was Annie's b-day (as if nobody could see that there was an obvious queen for a day b-day girl in tiara) and play the crackling recording of Happy Birthday as of us rollers sang.

Iron Girl Event #3 of 3:
According to MapQuest, the distance between Rainbow Roller Rink in North Tonawanda and Dome Stadium in Tonawanda (not north, east, south, or west) was a mere 6 minutes. Sparky and I took nearly thirty to arrive for karaoke, wending to and fro, to and fro, even ending up in front of Mount Saint Mary Academy (told Sparky about some horrifying memories, before we zipped up and around the circle back to Iron Girl jubilance) at one point.
Thinking ahead to karaoke spotlight, asked Sparky if she'd like to try my excellent lip stain and plumper I procured in the Shiny Apple. She did and then I asked if she could stain and plump me as I drove. She did. But there were some bumps, it was raining, and stain went out of the lines. With some adjusting, all was just fine. Finally arrived at the joint, after singing warm-ups, classic rock tunes, in the car, and consulting a map. Annie had called, wondering where in hell we were.
Inside we found a landscape of friendly ginmill cavern dwellers, a very precise karaoke duo, and our long table of wondrous companions.
Annie's bro Matt arrived a bit later and we all sang selections that were oso us. Emilie, Michele's pregnant sister, who joined us at Rainbow, sang I Touch Myself. Jana sang Geetarz and Cadillacs con brio, showing off her Vegas-worthy silver sandals, Heather C sang very well, as usual, Heady did not sing but promises to at the next big K gig, Michele did a really haunting v. of that Carrie Underwood jilted girl narrative song, Sparky did something jangly, and YT began the retinue with Neil's Love on the Rocks. I aimed for some spoken word qualities and afterward some creep emerged from the shadows to inform me I'd done a really great job with the song. Jana saw fit to submit - on my behalf - another Neil tune, the personal toppermost of YT, Cherry Cherry that I did a bouncy little dance for as the other girls danced.

Sparky and I, for a special challenge, selected a duet that we did not know: Islands in the Stream, made famous by Kenny + Dolly. It was my impression that we did a nice job sans knowing the melody. I did have a vague recollection of the refrain from radio radio.
We did another duet later, Fergie's My Humps.
I tired of the word hump and substituted several other rhyming words.
Check it out.

Annie was serenaded by a large cowboy who, every time he warbled, I suspected would burst into real tears. I whispered into Sparky's ear that I could imagine the adjectives this man'd use to self-describe for internet dating: sincere, tall, emotive. There were two other characters worth noting: the classic weekend warrior, solo and bedazzled with flash necklaces and oversized, Liberace-worthy rings, performing AC/DC tunes with such enthusiasm, such in-situ-in-mindu pervasion that it was fascinating and nearly troubling. Another man there believed he is Elvis, calling himself Elvis, singing Elvis, as he made well-studied and practiced Elvis moves - hands half-karate, half-rocker stiff with e-mo-tion.
We left, Iron Girl over, the rain had stopped.
But we are all still laughing, the cavernous Dome Stadium still reeling from the talents we Solid Gold Bookers unloosed.




Unloosed, Unfettered Love.