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sublingua | |||||
| The heart with a mind of its own.(Be present.) | The mind with a heart of its own.(It's past.) | The dream that is your waking life.(Go there now.) | |||
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Such A Gorgeous Kid...
Three Easy Pieces, Or, A Day�s Details Run In No Real Order So I was in the video store, the one where the hotties work, and I was renting me some Thanksgiving entertainment. Hottie II was manning the helm, and I asked him, �What do I need to see?� He said, �Have you ever seen The Killers?� I said no. He gave me a copy, then asked if I was a Truffaut fan at all. I admitted that I had never even heard of Truffaut. (Of course, choking back on the �I gave my mom a box of Truffauts for her birthday once� joke.) He named off some of Truffaut�s films, none of which I had ever heard of, and then said, �Oh, well, because I was going to invite you and I guess your boyfriend or husband to a private screening of one of his movies.� So, get this, the video store Hotties and the local art flick theater Hotties are all in thick together, and they run their own private screenings at night, ala Elvis, at the local theater. I�ve been looking for a way to break into that action for sure, so I jumped at the chance. �Oh, Max is my best friend,� I said casually. �He�s going out of town to see his mom, but I�d love to come.� (Later, Max said, �Why didn�t you say, �I don�t have a boyfriend.�� And I was, like, how did Max suddenly get so astute at the casual slipping in of the relevant pick-up information? I must have been absent that day.) I said, �I�d better take a Truffaut film to be familiar with his stuff at least. Which one should I take?� He gave me, gratis, a copy of his favorite film, and I went off to watch it. The screening was for Thursday night at eleven. I decided to be cool and ride Frida up, though it was damned cold. I made it just in time to catch the end of some cartoons they were watching as they waiting for various people to arrive. There were about eight or ten people there, all sitting in these spots that said, �We�re experts at picking movie theater seats.� By that, I mean that they weren�t all clustered together, they had staggered themselves so as to avoid blocking each other�s view, and they were all sitting at the back. Now me? I�m a theater amateur. I still have the idea, given that as a child I was never allowed to sit there, that the third row is the place to be. I like to sit next to someone else, like to monitor their responses to the film as I watch. But no, I didn�t do these things. I masqueraded as a theater expert, too, and took my staggered seat at the back, and sat to watch the movie. At the end of the movie, one guy�one of the video store Hotties who I have not talked about, but who it turns out is part owner of the local art flick theater�raised his beer (yeah, they were all drinking beer and watching cartoons and obscure French films, which is something that makes me love them even more) and said, �I�d like to propose a toast to Hottie II, the new owner of Hottie Video Store.� Seriously, it turns out that Hottie II isn�t just the guy manning the counter, reading the movie reviews in the New York Times while sipping his Starbucks latte. No, Hottie II owns the place. I congratulated him and wanted to talk more about it, but he adopted this kind of gee whiz attitude, so I just said, �That�s great!� and left it at that. As I was wandering out after the film, some guy saw my helmet and asked what I rode. I told him the barest about Frida, then asked him the requisite, �Do you ride?� Well, it turns out that he used to ride, but fourteen months ago almost killed himself in a stupid beginner accident (a twisty road taken far too fast given his three months of experience riding). We ended up talking for about forty-five minutes about the accident and so on, standing outside the theater. Finally, when he got around to the �So you�re Hispanic? That�s why you�re so beautiful,� part of the proceedings, I excused myself and rode home. I did give him my email address though, just in case, though he was one of those New Age hippies. I should look at broadening my circle of friends, even if I don�t want to date NAH�s� For my holiday dinner, I went off the restaurant where my brother works and had grilled chicken and steamed broccoli and a salad with vinegar and coffee. My brother was quite happy to see me, and ended up coming out of the kitchen to lean over my booth and talk to me for about an hour, during which time all the restaurant staff made some excuse or another to come over and view me, the sister. I used to work in the same restaurant, so some of them knew Fat Sublingua, and it was gratifying not only to see those old faces, but also to have all the cooks come out of the kitchen to see my bro�s hottie sister. Since I had ridden Frida, there were also the requisite motorcycle conversations, including one with one of the customers who walked up wearing a t-shirt with �KAWASAKI� emblazoned on the front. �Is that your Kawasaki?� he asked. I replied in the affirmative, then said, �And I�m guessing from your shirt that you have a Kawasaki, too?� He didn�t (traded it in for a Triumph Daytona, a beautiful but too powerful bike for me at this point), and so we chatted away. And I�ll have to tell you, a woman who rides? Is both a boy and a chick magnet. It�s the biker mystique I tell you. And so I left the restaurant and stopped by Wild Oats, intending to get something sinful for dessert. (It was Thanksgiving after all and I had been so good.) I reached for the Haagen-Daz, then read the nutritional information and put it back. I reached for a chocolate bar, read the nutritional information and put it back. The Brain was having none of it. So you�re wondering what I ended up with as my Sinful Dessert? Well, I ended up with a fat-free banana-date muffin. And because it so wasn�t worth the calories, I ate half and tossed the other half. That was my big Thanksgiving splurge.
More lies:
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