Thursday, October 28, 2004
Oh, dear friends, I did warn you. It’s not a bad week, exactly, just a buttkicking one, fueled by coffee and antihistamines and sheer nerve. LuthorCorp has been putting me through my paces this week, but I have to admit that even though it’s not a follow-your-bliss job by any means, I did feel a brisk, nanny-like satisfaction at the amount of work I was able to get done today, how much disaster I was able to stave off. I felt like Mary Poppins, only without the nifty carpetbag.
But Jen, what about the paradise jelly? It’s coming, it’s coming, really, just as soon as I take a nice restorative soak in a hot spring somewhere. This one will do nicely.
Ah, that’s better.
On the way to my required-by-my-lease mental health professional’s office, I heard a snippet of conversation between two collegiate-looking youths. “Oh, yeah,” college boy said to college girl, “my parents are, like, giant conservatives.” I had visions of Boy’s parents, 500 feet tall, stomping around lower Manhattan, pulling the roof off of Cooper Union and making vaguely Godzilla-ish noises, dressed in huge, beautiful tweeds.
Posted by
Bakerina at 12:16 AM in
stuff and nonsense
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(2)
Comments •
Uh, Bak, I hate to break this to you, but you *do* need a vacation. That’s a picnic table and a cliff. Hot springs are warm and wet.
You won’t believe this, but I was sitting by one of my rat holes down by the subway, (remember folks it’s a mighty poor rat that ain’t got but one hole, as Victoria Spivey always says) when who should hurry by but our own Bakerina. This fell from her notebook:
The Hot Springs Blues
(a dirty blues duet)
(his part)
I was sittin’ by those ol’ hot springs
I could smell ‘em warm and wet.
I smelled them warm, wet hot spings, baby
and I wanted to dive right in.
ooooh, baby, warm and wet
ooooh, baby, warm and wet
(her part)
I got a hot spring in my front yard
Keeps me nice and warm
I got a hot spring in my front yard
Sure does keep me nice and warm
Let me warm you all over, baby,
Light you up and keep you safe from harm
(his part)
You got your hot springs, baby
But why you keep them locked?
Baby I’m cold and achin’
Why do you keep ‘em locked?
You got the hottest hotsprings, baby,
why do you keep ‘em locked?
The rest of the paper was torn off, so you’ll have to ask Bakerina to sing the next verse or just let loose with your own imaginations.
Meanwhile, I’ve discovered, no surprise, that Bessie Smith has already trod very similar bluesy paths, bless her. And bless her hot hot springs.
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Uh, Bak, I hate to break this to you, but you *do* need a vacation. That’s a picnic table and a cliff. Hot springs are warm and wet.