(no subject)

CHAPTER 294

STORIES WITH WINGS

(no subject)

Just returned from New York, and had an awful lot of fun. But of course, I thought of my LJ friends often...in fact, I thought of one particular LJ friend quite a bit! You see, as I was walking through Times Square, just playing with my camera and talking to Corb about the play that we saw, to my surprise, I suddenly realized that one of my LJ friends was actually performing near the half price booth!

And who, I hear you cry, was it? Well, I'll give you a hint....from the looks of things, she might want to consider renaming her journal "The Adventures of..."



( Read more... )

Snakes and Melons

As we were making our way along Fifth Avenue on our way to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, I looked around, and marveled at the beautiful blue sky, at the heartbreaking, almost autumn-like weather (notice I said "almost"--I'm still in denial). My eyes soaked in the waves of beautiful men and women and children from all nationalities, the commanding, elegant shop windows, the dazzling architecture. And then, I turned to my left, and--

I actually grabbed his arm. "Corbett!"

"Yes?" And he used that tone. That patented "what is it now" tone.

But, there it was, hanging heavy and pendulous off the side of an office building. Looming down in black and white over the New York street, like the Colossus of Rhodes. Two tan, muscular arms. A trim, muscular, firm, stomach. A pair of well-worn blue jeans, with all the creases and rips in the right places. And there, in the center of the Z formation, arranged so that the eye was instinctively drawn to it, a glorious banana hammock, straining out from underneath all that superfluous clothing.

I giggled. “Look at that, Corb! Can you imagine being that guy? Can you imagine driving down the street in a taxi cab, and turning to the person that you're with, and being able to say, ‘Why yes, that does happen to be my crotch up there.’”

Corb snorted. “It's stupid. I mean, what are they even selling?”

“Isn’t it obvious? That guy’s crotch. Man, what does he put on his resume? Can you imagine him at an audition? 'Prior history?' 'My sack was displayed on Fifth Avenue.' 'Oh yes, I’ve seen your work!'"

"All right, Ted," Corb chuckled. "I think you're getting a little carried away..."

Yeah, right. "It must suck in real life, though, don't you think? I mean, when he gets naked with anyone. After having it blown up to that size, he must feel totally inadequate in real time. 'I'm sorry, honey, but I just imagined that it would be...larger than life...' What do you think people think when it's raining out and they're walking under it? And, during the summer, when it gets really hot, do you think it starts to--"

"Ted!"

Of course, the fact that a building decides to display someone’s bulging package—even one that looks as though its about to explode and drench Manhattan in a shower of testosterone...or something even more icky...doesn’t particularly upset me. I’m not about to begin at this point in my life to play the prude. And, as our trip to the Metropolitan Museum of Art proved, the human body in all its glory (and resulting lack of finery) has been an artistic obsession that has certainly spanned the centuries.

WARNING: Art gone wild!

( Read more... )