Alicia Keys said, “If I want to be alone, some place I can write, I can read, I can pray, I can cry, I can do whatever I want–I go to the bathroom”. I assume that she’s talking about the bathroom in her house, and not any of the public restrooms in Charlottesville, but for the moment, I will humor (probably only) myself and think that she could be applying this philosophy to say, Zinc. Or Maya. Or Mas.
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Ahhh, prom season. Just the word probably causes all of us to simultaneously sigh or shudder, or if you a had prom night like mine, think of siphoning gas into the world’s most charmingly junked out Jeep Grand Wagoneer and wishing that you had opted against pantyhose. We swayed to embarrassing rituals, a certain sense of an oppressive right of passage, and the bittersweet pictures posed in front of a charred fireplace while looking very much like a caricature of the adults we hoped to become, all in the vain hope of the true reason for the night: after-prom. While prom might bring flowers and rentals of all kinds to my mind, after-prom conjure up Tori Spelling getting drunk in a red hoop skirt dress on prom night in Beverly Hills, every single after-school special on sex ed, and my friend M who said that she and her friends had something of a de-flowering party in a hotel resplendent with a heart-shaped tub and silky sheets. For Charlottesville schools, the kids have a much better, and might I say, classier option, and we have a chance to do some of-age boozing to support it. »Read More
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One of the things that old man Parlie has talked to me about in the past is PWR (posting with regularity) and so today, slightly later than will be the eventual norm, I am inaugurating my Monday Morning Inquiries. It’s like the Spanish Inquisition, but you know, different.
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Well, sorry for all of the silence, but I have been on vacation and it has gotten me thinking about this summer and great places to go. I know that we reserve most of our banter for Charlottesville, but one of the things that I love about Cvillain is the networking potential, and so, to avoid a stinker of a vacation, I want insider trade secrets.
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Ahhhh, Friday morning. It’s a beautiful morning, and if I’m not mistaken, we’ve been promised temperatures in the 70s today. As the weather starts to warm up, I begin to compulsively day dream about being anywhere but inside despite the ball and chain that has me locked to my desk, and though a little uninspired, that dream brings me most often to my lunch hour. Having worked on the mall for many years now, lunch can kind of become a Ron Burgundy (that’s a Big Deal for those of you that aren’t keeping up) because on the one hand you’ve got all these great places to frequent, and on the other hand, frequent becomes the highly operative word in that sentence.
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I’m going to keep this short and sweet, despite love of long-winded, over-the-top, complete verbosity (that much is true, Parlie). I don’t believe in starting a relationship based on a lie, I’ve done it in the past and wound up with a freezer full of chicken breasts and a shaved cat, so I’m going to go ahead and set the record straight from the beginning so that we can go forth and make sweet sweet music together for all our days. Despite what Parlie has promised about anonymity, I want to pull the mask off, toss the gloves to the floor and let my silky hair shine. The truth is folks…
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