I was going to post another cool picture from the roller derby shoot, but I ran across this and decided, what the hell, everybody likes to see a little S&M, right? That's not what I thought. I don't like S&M. I have been invited to S&M clubs to watch. True. I had no desire to go. If someone asked me to spank them, I would have to leave. S&M, I think, is a sick Nazi thing. Whoever took this photo of sister's in law acting out their twisted fantasy. . . well. . .
I just thought a little visual variety. . . y'know? I can't just keep showing the same kinds of things over and over and over, can I?
But yea. . . that is a little disturbing. I have been assured, though, that no one was harmed in the making of that picture. It was playful, I was told. They giggled.
I should delete it, start over, post the roller derby. I'm hurting my romantic reputation.
Those of you who ever try to put life into words know how difficult it is. We measure our meager efforts against the literary giants. Read the personal letters of those writers, though, and you will often find something more akin to what you are able to record. Not quite, of course, but nearer.
As one who tries every day, I am attuned to the better writing. I began reading "Florida," that National Book Award finalist book I bought this weekend.
Meh.
So far, I couldn't recommend it. It seems a bit strained, a bit labored. I'll read more to see if it grows on me, but I am not going to try to get through all the stories if it doesn't grab me in a couple dozen pages. I don't have time for reading middling stuff any longer.
Remember kids. . . they don't call them classics just because they are old.
I continued my rambling ways yesterday, but nothing remarkable happened. It was a pleasant enough day, but not one of note. How our lives pass by in unremarkable days, eh? Only here and there does anything memorable happen. I walked the big Gotham Farmer's Market in the park by the lake with my camera. I don't remember taking any photos. I mostly gazed into the crowd of typically dull people. I looked and was amused, but no more than that. I walked empty city streets. I didn't mind. I was getting my steps in as the popular fitness and health articles tell us to do. I was out on a pretty day.
My mother called to tell me that she was going out with a neighbor to shop, so I was free for the rest of the afternoon. I was on my way to her house when she called, so I turned around and went shopping for the evening meal. It was still early when I got home, so I poured a glass of champagne and sat outside reading "Florida."
A friend pulled into the driveway. We sat out and chatted until the mosquito hour. He left and I made dinner.
There is no making any of that interesting unless you are a really good writer. I don't have it in me today.
Hence, perhaps. . . the picture. Something in this post needs to be interesting. And maybe that is why people do such things--the long, boring draw of unremarkable days.
Holy smokes! I thought of Ricky Nelson's "Fool's Rush In" and YouTubed it. I had no idea. I thought it was his. But my goodness, everybody has done this song it seems. The Sinatra version doesn't sound like the Sinatra we came to know. If you aren't going to listen to all of these--why wouldn't you?--I'd suggest the last one by She and Him. It is lovely. But it's up to you. I'm imagining that many of you won't listen to any of them at all.
Your loss.
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