There's a lot more than beer to drink tonight, Sarasota
For one thing there’s no reason not to talk to myself, and for another, it makes things seem really intense. When I enter a hotel room and say “are you ready for this?” to the floral bedspread, it really gets me going. When else, I wonder, can you wonder if you are really alone or if you are crazy? Driving a car late at night, talking to yourself? For another thing, if you answer yes, then it’ll be one heckuva rootin-tootin’ toothbrushin’! You are ready for this, and it’s rough hygiene!
This is Sarasota in November, but I have no idea what that means. The hotel is on a wide flat beach, with good waves and water warm and shallow enough to harbor sharks and rays, and to swim in. The edge of the continent is as good a place as any, better even, to challenge each other “are you ready?” The crooked rhythm of the surf gets everyone excited, and the drinks paid for by the producer help in this matter. It has been suggested that there is a dance-off to take place, which some call a fuete. As I’ve been swimming today already, and it’s cold outside, I’m just interested in this as a spectator. There’s no guarantees that a fuete ends in submersion, I imagine, but there’s always prayer, and I’m much too chilly to wind up in the gulf just now. To keep things in perspective, this all begins inside at a bar-mitzvah like gathering featuring aforementioned drinks and thus-far-not-mentioned meatballs and cheese cubes. The crackers were restocked very infrequently, and the meatball restocking event recalled feeding time at a municipal coy pond. This is often the setting at which we are offered relaxation and free drinks, maybe this is not unlike your own relaxing place? This time there was a man singing things dressed in a suit and explaining that he’s older than he looks, singing songs like Mr. Wonderful (oh, Mr. Wonderful).
I ask myself am I ready for the sinu-cleanse. As I say the words, I know the answer. I ask the question because I know the answer. Yes. Some people go bowling or to Ihop or make some strange phone calls after a good night out, but for me there’s nothing like a good stumble into the tiny bathroom with a full Neti pot. I’m telling you, this thing will keep the doctor away, or guarantee a trip to the doctor and who would balk at these odds?
This is Sarasota in November, but I have no idea what that means. The hotel is on a wide flat beach, with good waves and water warm and shallow enough to harbor sharks and rays, and to swim in. The edge of the continent is as good a place as any, better even, to challenge each other “are you ready?” The crooked rhythm of the surf gets everyone excited, and the drinks paid for by the producer help in this matter. It has been suggested that there is a dance-off to take place, which some call a fuete. As I’ve been swimming today already, and it’s cold outside, I’m just interested in this as a spectator. There’s no guarantees that a fuete ends in submersion, I imagine, but there’s always prayer, and I’m much too chilly to wind up in the gulf just now. To keep things in perspective, this all begins inside at a bar-mitzvah like gathering featuring aforementioned drinks and thus-far-not-mentioned meatballs and cheese cubes. The crackers were restocked very infrequently, and the meatball restocking event recalled feeding time at a municipal coy pond. This is often the setting at which we are offered relaxation and free drinks, maybe this is not unlike your own relaxing place? This time there was a man singing things dressed in a suit and explaining that he’s older than he looks, singing songs like Mr. Wonderful (oh, Mr. Wonderful).
I ask myself am I ready for the sinu-cleanse. As I say the words, I know the answer. I ask the question because I know the answer. Yes. Some people go bowling or to Ihop or make some strange phone calls after a good night out, but for me there’s nothing like a good stumble into the tiny bathroom with a full Neti pot. I’m telling you, this thing will keep the doctor away, or guarantee a trip to the doctor and who would balk at these odds?
posted by Michael Flanagan at 12:48 AM
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