I called her Margaret Alice and her awkward daughter Michelle.
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Sometimes, I dog sit. It's just for a precious handful of close friends, as I've never been one to necessarily want the responsibility of caring for living things. Especially those that drool (which includes not only dogs, but also babies, and some elderly people).
I love better at an arm's length.
This morning, though, I was tending to K.P.'s dogs, she was away on business, and it's really a very simple set-up. I've done it several...
I don't actually sleep very well, without you, except sometimes.
Although I hate being sick, I will admit to loving the way my voice sounds when I get congested. It's deep, it's sexy, raspy, as if I've actually been a smoker for many years, and on a dare, decided to smoke an entire pack at one time, before quitting. I feel like I'm nasally the love child of Bea Arthur and James Colburn. At least, in my mind, that's how I sound. In reality, I'd told be the love child of Bea Arthur and Charles Nelson Reilly, everybody knows that.
He has nothing, but looks everything.
"The truth is rarely pure and never simple." - Algernon, The Importance of Being Earnest
I've played him before...more than once, and yet, each time I come back to those lines, those zingers, and I think I can't do this show another time, I find something fresh, not in Algy, per se, but in what he brings to me. I think I may been Oscar Wilde. Or maybe I am. Everybody gets one insane obsession, right? I think he will be mine. So much has changed over the last few months...I suppose that happens to everyone: you think...One Shel of a good time.
Diary Day - Friday, October 17, 2008: (so good, I told it twice)
I'd never been to Rolling Fork before. Wasn't sure one could visit a place that was, for all intents and purposes, bent on projecting an image of being in constant motion. At least to those who aren't from the area.
But, tonight I found myself squarely in the heart of this almost-ghost of a town...the birthplace of Muddy...
I can't believe I'm blogging.
But, then, is that really true? Aren't we all, deep down, deliciously wanting to be voyeurs, without a court trial attached; those always take up so much time. What we want is to break a law and get away with it. That's all blogging is, really, an acceptably broken law; windows made of words for the rest of us Peeping Toms to look at. Nobody minds it; no, instead, it's encouraged. Besides, isn't there something just too alluring about showing a little "skin" to the Peeping Toms, to the entire web-viewing world about how you feel, on any particular subject: racism, nudity, Republicans, orange juice,...
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