Prologue & quasi-resolution: I have been informed that ThElizabeth now speaks without the aid of others and with complete intent to do so publicly. I formally apologize for being 1 step too far over THE line.
But let's not revisit the troubled past here (comments may be posted further on down) when there is so much brittle present and yet-to-cure future to dissect and reassemble.
1st and foremost, it is Fall like a mo fo in Madison. The leaves are giving up their green and the trees are getting naked like it was the eighties. Not that Fall is unique to Madison but I just thought I'd offer the weather report free of charge, and specifics. More to the point: Fall is supposed to make you think of your own leaky heart and all the matters of human frailty because it's the time of year when nature can't keep her shit together but that's just silly. Mother Nature self-immolating and then blowing her ashes all over your shoes is sweet satisfaction and glorious spectacle. To me, Fall is performance art, without the pretentious theoretical tracts and vain introspection; it's MSNBC. Something needs to be done to halt the surrender of Fall to those who would have us sit by the space heater and mourn lost childhood with each dropping leaf. Short sleeves and plainly visible goosebumps are in order.
2ndly, I delight at the internet's involvement in our circle of friendlies. First it was friendster (thank you Karl) and now it seems that blogging has become something I'm not to be so embarrassed about doing. At this rate I won't have to hide my comprehensive knowledge of all things Christina Aguilera from everyone. I hope the posts remain as consistently entertaining as they have been. I also hope I never have to resort to this type of embroidered-pillow flattery again; the internet is a prison and sarcasm is a carton of Marlboro Reds, remember that.
3rd before 4th, Arkansas was like the stations of the cross but in reverse and only a fourth of the way through. Dead, slow death, and dying on the way to the car. Bloomington watch out, Little Rock is on your tail. Portland, by ThElizabeth's summary, is a city that smells foul after a rain and behaves like a bored 8th grader in sex-ed class the rest of the time.
B4 I leave you: Chronic Wasting Disease for dueling piano bars, I propose a trade. While touring the south I had the odd pleasure of discovering the dueling piano bar. Not so strange as the off-brand fried chicken chains of London but worth a considered study. These DPB's have common elements between them: slanted mirrors on stage for enhanced viewing of the DP's, obscenely over-sized brandy snifters for tips, the stable of mis-matched personalities each with a stated preference for certain songs and playing style, and a drum kit. Each DPB adds something unique, a particularly ironic team pennant or a selection of vintage bar posters, to the mix but the aforementioned 4 elements are never absent or obscured. With all of these elements arranged on stage and lit by powerful stage lights what follows is not quite a duel so much as a celebration of the possibilities for double entendre in popular songs of today and yesterday. Even better, the songs that do not suffer subtle lyrical alterations for the purpose of higher tips, are played with such great intensity that I found myself compelled to actually sing along to John Cougar Mcamp one night. Seriously, these DPB's are for real. Bring them North and I dare you to resist their wiles.
5inally, remember, there was a time when we didn't talk to each other and when skulls and crossbones were our business cards. I'll try and think of something more profound or incisive to say while I'm dying of boredom at work. By now you should expect big things from the same workplace that has given me enough time to actually count my teeth, with my tongue, three times without interruption.
Epilogue & a challenge to fight: There are still some friendlies not holding up their end of the internet conversation; where are you and when can we fight?
