Thursday, April 18, 2024

Wine Through the Mouth, Love Through the Eyes

It's about to be another fine and sunny day, another fine and sunny weekend.  I am going out with the gang tonight to a refurbished bowling alley.  I've never been, but it was my suggestion.  I want to see it.  It was a big place with a million lanes from way back in the Bowling Era, but bowling is not so popular anymore and there are not many bowling alleys left, so in the interest of all things Hipster, they have kept only eight lanes for bowling and have put in restaurant seating and a big bar.  So I hear.  And it is popular.  I may take a camera, but I am not sure.  I've just got the shutter bug.  

I am up for another weekend of exploration and fun in my own hometown.  I spied a new place yesterday, a sake bar.  I went to their website.  A hundred types of sake.  The place looks lovely.  I need to send a link to C.C. who loves all things "yentl."  

Don't bother looking it up.  It's not a real word.  

As I write, a banner flashes at the top of the computer screen: "Why People Are Fleeing California."  There is a funny sort of migration going on in this country.  I read earlier this morning that they are going to South Carolina.  People are leaving Blue States, they say, for Red ones.  Huh.  I live in a Red State.  We can't say gay, go to tranny shows, or lend banned books.  The Governor has forbidden things like Nude Night.  He wants to shoot Haitians illegals who show up on our shores.  He awards big state contracts to his buddies without allowing other bids.  My gay and lesbian and Woke friends all want to run away.  And yet. . . I just read that Gen Z, who the press has made out tome Woke, are favoring Trump in the coming election.  They favor Palestine over Israel.  

"It's a mixed up, muddled up, shook up world. . . except for Lola."

You figure it out.  I just wanna have fun.  I wanna find somebody who wants to go get shaved ice with me.  Mahalo.  

That's a self-portrait at the top of the page.  That's what I looked like before I got fat.  Long blonde hair, powerful legs and arms.  Fierce, really.  I love this photo, but you know. . . not everyone will.  The people who should like it probably won't.  The model did, of course.  She came to me.  She wanted me to take that photo.  We were in agreement.  As always, no money exchanged hands.  I could have charged her, but I didn't.  Gratis.  

Not that one, exactly.  That has been sitting in my files untouched since I took it.  I gave her ten other photos, I think.  She had been a professional dancer, ballet and modern, but as she aged she became a dance instructor.  

That was a long time ago.  When I was popular.  Somebody has replaced her now, I'm sure.  Somebody has replaced me.  

Oh, Danny Boy, the pipes. . . the pipes are calling. . . . 

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