Monday, January 26, 2009

Yours Truly, in one of those precious & disoriented moments, got on the true-way heading not west, as she should have been, but east.
Much to the presumed amusement of the bearded man in the tollbooth.
Is it my imagination or back in the day didn't they let one turn around up yonder instead of Exiting at the next exit and backtracking.
What a pesky rule follower.
Did, finally, end up at the right location a mere twenty minutes behind schedule, for a delivery so it's not like a photo portrait subject was sitting in a puddle of tears.
But still.
I tried to envision where the highway west would be taking me and it felt so ... East Aurora. And wrong.
Time to make & do, make & do.

Oh, saw The Wrestler last night and deem not only Mickey Rourke's lips criminally over-plumped, but his eyeballs curiously smooth.
And those scars on his face seemed authentic.
And the movie left me feeling all grimy, and the lighting in the movie was agonizingly horrific - all grocery store, strip club, trailer park, and wrestling ring.
Where all its action happened.

KC's bro was into pro wrassling for a while and when I visited her in Vegas to do my mag story about wedding chapels, I stayed with KC and her extended fam, including the wrassler.
Who had the amped-up muscles, stolid demeanour, and curious hairdo requisite to the genre of reality.

As the dance floor hit choogled into collective bedazzlement in the late 80s, Back to life, back to reality. Over here.
Pushing pixels and the like.

Back to Love, Back to Love.