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An Out of Town Interlude, or Costume Follies
So, I had a date last night, and rather happily, it went better than expected. Which is saying something, when I honestly expected it to go pretty well. Next time, definitely cooking myself, even if we have to go to her place. Hopefully her husband won't mind. (Husband -- that's a whole other ball of interesting wax, but as its her story to tell, I'm not spilling any beans here.)
For all you gossipmongers: move along! I don't kiss and tell, however much I do or do not kiss. I'll just say that it was an absolutely lovely evening, and I hope I see it's like frequently. And that, as they say, is that.
No, the rest of this is about my trip to Boston. Birthplace of the revolution's biggest cup of tea, beloved of the Irish Mob, so full of higher education it's like a pint of cheap beer you poured too fast. We may not have as much history as they do in Europe (it's more a thin veneer, compared to it being much like a line great Peter O'Toole once said: "Knee deep in seminal fluid." Evocative, isn't it?), but there's a whole hell of a lot of it up here. You could argue there should be more down where I'm from, but let's be honest: the swamps and the hurricanes are too quick about eating away at all that Spanish Conquistador crap as quickly as it can manage. Up here, you've got to build to survive the winters, and that means sturdy and strong.
Plus, if I'm right about the ages of some of the people sharing the bus with me, some of those Daughters of the Revolution are literally their daughters. Vampires always were paticularly attached to the trappings of home.
I wonder sometimes if it's growing pains. You'd think this country would be past them, as we ramble our way toward the two and a half century mark, but I don't think so. Or maybe it's a midlife crisis. Even here, where you can't spit without hitting a historical landmark, no one seems to give a damn that our precious republic is going down the fucking toilet. You'd think we'd retroactively installed lead pipes for our water supply, passed out the pewter cups, and were just waiting for our lovely Hun neighbors to come around for a Saturday afternoon barbeque. You can't tell me that it's not just a matter of time before Survivor starts taking its name seriously, and the people voted off the island get thrown to the sharks. Bread and circuses, ladies and gentlemen, and we're just getting shorted on bread because that would be a 'handout for those no-good welfare junkies.'
I don't know if I have any hope for a change in power to fix things, either, but I suppose we'll find out in a few weeks after the midterms. It's pretty damn fascinating just how much the party in power is self-destructing, though. If we manage to dig up enough independents and Democrats with balls, get them all into the House, and then -- just maybe -- start talking about impeachment hearings? I promise that I'm gonna break out the rainbow wig and the John 3:16 sign and go hang out in the congressional galleries. At the very least, I'll rent a pickup so I can host a few tailgate parties.
I will give Boston this: I like the subway. Of course, you've got to have something like that in a climate like this. I've heard that Toronto has whole malls underground, so you don't have to go out into the weather in winter. Frankly? I'd be scared to death to visit a place like that. What, do you freeze to death if your coat isn't properly closed and you have to run aboveground between tunnels for thirty seconds? Brrr. Gimme white sands and bikinis as far as the eye can see anyday.
In final good news, I was able to find just what I needed for my costume. Let's hope I can get into it properly come Tuesday, but for now I think I'm as ready as I can be. Whatever happens, this is looking to be one heck of a dance.
For all you gossipmongers: move along! I don't kiss and tell, however much I do or do not kiss. I'll just say that it was an absolutely lovely evening, and I hope I see it's like frequently. And that, as they say, is that.
No, the rest of this is about my trip to Boston. Birthplace of the revolution's biggest cup of tea, beloved of the Irish Mob, so full of higher education it's like a pint of cheap beer you poured too fast. We may not have as much history as they do in Europe (it's more a thin veneer, compared to it being much like a line great Peter O'Toole once said: "Knee deep in seminal fluid." Evocative, isn't it?), but there's a whole hell of a lot of it up here. You could argue there should be more down where I'm from, but let's be honest: the swamps and the hurricanes are too quick about eating away at all that Spanish Conquistador crap as quickly as it can manage. Up here, you've got to build to survive the winters, and that means sturdy and strong.
Plus, if I'm right about the ages of some of the people sharing the bus with me, some of those Daughters of the Revolution are literally their daughters. Vampires always were paticularly attached to the trappings of home.
I wonder sometimes if it's growing pains. You'd think this country would be past them, as we ramble our way toward the two and a half century mark, but I don't think so. Or maybe it's a midlife crisis. Even here, where you can't spit without hitting a historical landmark, no one seems to give a damn that our precious republic is going down the fucking toilet. You'd think we'd retroactively installed lead pipes for our water supply, passed out the pewter cups, and were just waiting for our lovely Hun neighbors to come around for a Saturday afternoon barbeque. You can't tell me that it's not just a matter of time before Survivor starts taking its name seriously, and the people voted off the island get thrown to the sharks. Bread and circuses, ladies and gentlemen, and we're just getting shorted on bread because that would be a 'handout for those no-good welfare junkies.'
I don't know if I have any hope for a change in power to fix things, either, but I suppose we'll find out in a few weeks after the midterms. It's pretty damn fascinating just how much the party in power is self-destructing, though. If we manage to dig up enough independents and Democrats with balls, get them all into the House, and then -- just maybe -- start talking about impeachment hearings? I promise that I'm gonna break out the rainbow wig and the John 3:16 sign and go hang out in the congressional galleries. At the very least, I'll rent a pickup so I can host a few tailgate parties.
I will give Boston this: I like the subway. Of course, you've got to have something like that in a climate like this. I've heard that Toronto has whole malls underground, so you don't have to go out into the weather in winter. Frankly? I'd be scared to death to visit a place like that. What, do you freeze to death if your coat isn't properly closed and you have to run aboveground between tunnels for thirty seconds? Brrr. Gimme white sands and bikinis as far as the eye can see anyday.
In final good news, I was able to find just what I needed for my costume. Let's hope I can get into it properly come Tuesday, but for now I think I'm as ready as I can be. Whatever happens, this is looking to be one heck of a dance.
