I was sitting at the keyboard, and my sister wanted to know what I was doing.
“I need to write an introduction for this week’s column,” I said.
“Well, I think you should write about how fabulous Gemini’s are, and how amazing it is to travel with them. You know, this is the time after Gemini and all, you should really talk about how good Gemini’s are.”
Or how they bitch enough so they don’t have to sleep on the roll-away? Or how they introduce you to everyone as “my brother from Texas who just got off the airplane and he really needs (coffee, food, women, art, theater, &c.)”
“We’ll be praying for a little sun, I could use me some.” (via Larry Joe Taylor’s CD)
“Oooo! Somebody put a tiger in my pants!” (Sister is a little weird.)
“Britain is a world by itself.”
Shakespeare’s Cymberline (III.i.12)
Britain may be a world unto itself, per Shakespeare, but traveling with an adult child, like my sister, is stranger. She was discussing butt plugs.
All because I’d picked up a Cuban cigar. (Monte Cristo in a tube).
Which lead to her discussion of broccoli butt plugs. Suddenly I look like the sane one in this family. Sane, rational, level-headed. Dare I suggest it? Normal?
The Muses:
A retrospective image gallery, just odds and ends from a day in the the city.
