Rockets - Red Glare

I was doing fine until about 4 pm, when the scotch came out and I started to really feel those glasses of hot wine we had quaffed hours earlier on the roof. That was when that deep tired set in, that bone tired, and the first insidious tinglings of a sharp and shameful day-drinking hangover started to crawl up the back of my neck. In my best sundress, the pink one with the flowers, my seat on the floor quickly became my languid chez lounge on the floor which became my day bed on the floor as the incline of my posture decreased. Cool tile on the bits that were exposed, my legs, now with an awkward shorts-tan. I have sex appeal until just above the knee caps. Somebody far, far away down a long, lonely tunnel said "Lets go get pizza" and I thought Good God, I thought Good God, do I love this country.

Happy. Birthday. America.

It goes without saying my July fourth was exceptional, although firework free. I remember going to see the fireworks in high school, and beyond - and while they're always a spectacle, sometimes I'm not into the crowds. This year, I was only into sunbathing, wine, and pizza, as the above excerpt from my future memoirs clearly outlines. I understand your concern, but I'll have you know that the pizza was exquisite. Why do people insist on getting pizza without garlic? Is this some kind of self-flagellation that I have not been apprised of? It's just wrong. Without garlic, you're just wasting time. Precious, precious time.



I'm working my way through this right now. I've talked about Karr's poetry before, which is jaw-dropping, by the way. However I haven't read any of her memoirs, this being my first one. It's unbelievable, I can't stop thinking about it. Karr has a way of telling her own story in such precise detail and pacing that I don't know if I believe it's not nonfiction. I'm not suggesting that she's lying, I'm just saying, whatever kind of magic she's wielding to keep me interested as she describes her life of less-than-worthy towheaded surfer boys and a wayward, artistic, alcoholic mother, it's potent, because it's working. I'm hooked. I care.

Oh and I'm sorry this is late, friends. I worked today, and ya'll did not give me a chance to sit down and write this while I was at the store. Although you are missing out an a pretty stunning retelling of a story from my adolescence involving DIY body modification. When I can't think of anything to talk about, I just talk about myself. Or maybe I just always talk about myself? Let's just gloss right over that confrontation of personal shortcomings and remind ourselves that, without my narcissism, my blog posts would be hollow and sad. Plus, this is America, don't forget.

Also, I did the staff recommendations on Wednesday. I have two up, and one of them is nonfiction.

....the other is about vampires. OKAY you know what, just come in and see for yourself, okay? As usual, stay classy Brookline. Don't think I'm not thinking about you on this glorious Thursday eve.

Kisses.