July 21st, 2005

coyote

you know when you grope for luna

today (yesterday? - no it's still today until i go to sleep):

* was the J. Millard Taws 29th Annual Crab and Clam Bake in Crisfield, MD. (see below for details and commentary)

* scotty died

* the moon was big and swollen and pale tonight.

* was served pasta and salad and bread sticks in dover, DE, by a young woman named laura, who drooled over my laptop (computer) and talked with me of macs and buffy and spike. laura writes fanfic, and publishes her work at http://campgypsy.brinkster.net/ - it's late and i haven't the energy to read much, but from what i've seen so far she writes well.

* i drove down rt 13, down the peninsula, past deal island road, where i almost died. my back and neck tensed up when i saw the signs for princess anne, and my jaw clenched as i approached the intersection. but the light stayed green, and there was no truck (or any other vehical) behind me as i crossed deal island road. and by the time i got to crisfield, i'd mostly relaxed.

* like the crabs (many of which were lot of "legal" size, apparently), i appear to have reddened somewhat in the heat.

* i drove into, and out of, crisfield, a sort of idyllic bayside town with quaint historic buildings and all that stuff, with the pixies doolittle blaring: "you break my arms, you spoon my eyes" - of course, one block away from the yachts and the historic attractions and the quaint bars and there's boarded up houses and stores - you know. where the black folk live.



++ my attendance at the crab fest was mandatory, for reasons beyond my limited comprehension. the purpose, allegedly, of the trek was to be present at the most important annual political event in maryland. in reality, it was an opportunity for my co-workers to excercise their eyeballs and neck muscles. one guy, who does some freelance construction-type work or hauling heavy gear-type work for us on occasion, made a point of yelling, "yeah! shake it baby!" any time a woman walked by. i recommended duct tape as a good intermediate solution to this problem, but nobody was interested in excercising this option. they just hoped he'd drink enough to pass out soon. so there was much talk of women, and there were many euphamisms employed: "You've heard of 'eye liberty,' haven't you, Bernie?" - "nah. never heard of that." or "I can look at the menu, I just can't order anything." same friggen lines for two hours, like it was new and clever. if time isn't recursive, it should be. otherwise humans have no excuse at all.

amusingly, while all this testosterone bullshit and posturing and spinning of extravagant and fictionalized tales of sexual exploits was going on, one of the most attractive women at the festival walked by, smiled at me and said hi, touched my chest as she walked by. shut them all the fuck up. for a minute.
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