Sitting in the Hotel Triton here in lovely SF, ready to commemorate 10 years of the state's approval for my union of love. I discovered, not like discovered but realized duh, that if you have bangs and play the acoustic guitar and have adorable boots and say "How you doin'?" in a French accent, I probably think you are the greatest artist of music in el mundo. If you are also Keren Ann, it helps. If you are also playing an event where Silk has sponsored the shindig and someone is handing out undrinkable pina coladas, it doesn't help.
They have free beer and wine here for an hour, every day. Saints preserve us.
The idea that anything was closed today to "mourn" Reagan is still making me foolishly mad, like I am going to change anybody's mind by snapping about it.
I think there was no lady more lovely than mine own when she had bangs and did play the acoustic guitar many years ago and so I will now leave the interweb to find her and bumble up and down these streaky hills. I saw Dirty Dancing 2 without sound and it went like this: 30 minutes of pouting, 50 minutes of dancing, 3 minutes of pouting, 15 minutes of dancing. And somebody shot somebody.
There is a woman named Danuta de Rhodes who has written a very brief novel called The Little White Car, which is the book a computer would write if fed "Houellebecq+Gwyneth Paltrow" and set on "large type." I enoyed it, especially when the two female leads got drunk and called Roxette's greatest hits the "best record ever."
The titanium post in my jaw is green. My son did not lie. I apologize.
Posted by Sasha at June 11, 2004 08:27 PM | TrackBack