sitting on the 101 with the air temperature approaching the same figure. i'm getting to know first gear intimately. by now i've studied its nuances like some deformed version of proust's madeline. it slips in well, even after two and a half years in this city of hills.
there's one, tom brokaw. sleeves rolled up, smug, ever so slightly stubbled, tie knot loosened. the knowing fatherly stare. i can see the lights, the make-up, the back drop, the quiet humming and clicking. the art director, "oh yahs here tom let us roll up the sleeves to express the dedication you show in your work oh yahs." he has probably never been sadder.
there's another, captian morgan, jumping out of the frame with parrot, hat, and generously moustachioed visage. laid his dirty sanchez across the perfect teeth of some young blonde thing in a tight baby blue halter with breasts hanging large and loose (but no nipples on this one? a miracle) my GOD she hasn't had this much fun in years. and look at her friend, the brunette with the evil eyes, more reserved (she's the mysterious one), also large in the frontals, hips hidden in the leather pants, but at least you can see the almighty belly, what thoughts go through the minds of others upon this site i shall not describe but i'm sure i could if i wanted to. not today. and where are the gentlemen? staring at the goods of course! go guys, go! off to the bar! put down the pool stick, fetch me a rum and coke. you know i'm good for it, i'm captain approved!
there's another, jerry and dave M, thirty feet tall each, jamming together at last. clear channel's got me profiled like i don't know what. as if by some grand synchronicity, my dial surfing pauses on a pretty little melody feathered out by a white college kid from virginia or tennessee or new hampshire in corduroys, sandals and a vintage myrtle beach t-shirt. it's bad enough that we've got to handle dave M but now we have a slew of imitators who, big shocker here, are even more derivative and painful. copy the other guy up there. more careers have been made off of him, the formula's got better longevity.
finally i settle upon KPFA. a report about activists in canada. interviews with people with one-word names. evergreen. potlatch. gaia. look, if i'm going to be stuck with the heat, stuck with the fumes, stuck with the tempers (which have crept in and taken hold long ago), i might as well go all the way.
i sigh, change lanes just for the hell of it, and wait.
Posted by snackfight at July 11, 2002 04:01 PM