sister's wedding in Tahoe last week.
more later.
(bit from a letter to s friend in Ecuador
the house is a mess, as usual, & I'm going to have to spend part of the day making an ineffectual stab at organization & sanitation. that's the theory, anyway. also, the rented tux from the sister's wedding a couple of days ago is crumpled in a sad wad in the trunk & needs to be returned, sans about half the fiddly little buttons & cufflinks & random clips (not having much oportunity to get dressed up in any costume not sanctioned by the Nevada Department of Corrections, I had no idea how to dress myself & Youngest Sister was busy strapping Second Youngest Sister into her gown, & thus no aid. Second Youngest Sister had called after delivery of the tux commanding me to try it on immediately, as there was a just a brief, shimmering window in which I could return it for adjustments to the flower place. I said that I would, right away, & then, of course, did nothing. &, of course, once I got around to finally wriggling myself into it--a few minutes before the ceremony, sweating & grunting with effort--it did NOT fit. the starched white shirt was pretty much tuck-resistant & pooched out whenever I drew a breath, which I did with difficulty as the pants were about 3 sizes too tight & squoze what I shall refer to, for the sake of decorum (& I'm all about decorum, yo), as "the goodies", like a fist. an angry fist. a fist that had been trained since childhood in the Art of Squeezin' by Asian Masters on a snowy moutaintop somewhere & was somewhat resentful. or something like that. over the area of compression I strapped--or tried to strap--that odd & useless bit of decoration known as the cummberbund. my difficulty with this bit was not the fault of the cummberbund & I lay no blame there. I just have a problem with straps & have always had a problem with straps & will probably continue to have a problem with straps until I somehow, someday, someway, gain gobs of Political Power & use said gobs of said power to replace said straps on all things strappable with velcro. thing is: there's a way to make the straps longer & theres a way to make them shorter & I'll be damned if I can figure it out without much trial & error--preferably without an audience--& it usually works out that I'll make an adjustment that shortens the strap somewhat, smile & murmur "Good job, Donavin!" to self, & then do THE EXACT SAME THING which, somehow, will increase the length by three-odd feet. then I will say the same thing to self, but the tone will be sarcastic & accusatory. after a while I got the damn thing to more or less rest tenuosly on the more or less imaginary swell of my hips & buttocks. (I should note that that the Adventure of the Cummberbund took place in the parking lot of the wedding chapel, aided by my reflection in my grimy car window.) then came the bowtie, with another damn adjustable strap, which refused to tuck under the collar so after fighting with it & watching self flail like a man being strangled in the car window for a few minutes I more or less said "Fuck it" & decided to just wear it over the collar, hoping that I might start a trend & be seen as a Bold Fashion Pioneer, as opposed to some retard who can't dress himself properly. (the line betwixt the two is very fine) as for the cufflinks & little buttony things--I got one of the cufflinks inserted, kind of, & the rest just sort of threw over my left shoulder for good luck & hobbled to the chapel.)
more later.
(bit from a letter to s friend in Ecuador
the house is a mess, as usual, & I'm going to have to spend part of the day making an ineffectual stab at organization & sanitation. that's the theory, anyway. also, the rented tux from the sister's wedding a couple of days ago is crumpled in a sad wad in the trunk & needs to be returned, sans about half the fiddly little buttons & cufflinks & random clips (not having much oportunity to get dressed up in any costume not sanctioned by the Nevada Department of Corrections, I had no idea how to dress myself & Youngest Sister was busy strapping Second Youngest Sister into her gown, & thus no aid. Second Youngest Sister had called after delivery of the tux commanding me to try it on immediately, as there was a just a brief, shimmering window in which I could return it for adjustments to the flower place. I said that I would, right away, & then, of course, did nothing. &, of course, once I got around to finally wriggling myself into it--a few minutes before the ceremony, sweating & grunting with effort--it did NOT fit. the starched white shirt was pretty much tuck-resistant & pooched out whenever I drew a breath, which I did with difficulty as the pants were about 3 sizes too tight & squoze what I shall refer to, for the sake of decorum (& I'm all about decorum, yo), as "the goodies", like a fist. an angry fist. a fist that had been trained since childhood in the Art of Squeezin' by Asian Masters on a snowy moutaintop somewhere & was somewhat resentful. or something like that. over the area of compression I strapped--or tried to strap--that odd & useless bit of decoration known as the cummberbund. my difficulty with this bit was not the fault of the cummberbund & I lay no blame there. I just have a problem with straps & have always had a problem with straps & will probably continue to have a problem with straps until I somehow, someday, someway, gain gobs of Political Power & use said gobs of said power to replace said straps on all things strappable with velcro. thing is: there's a way to make the straps longer & theres a way to make them shorter & I'll be damned if I can figure it out without much trial & error--preferably without an audience--& it usually works out that I'll make an adjustment that shortens the strap somewhat, smile & murmur "Good job, Donavin!" to self, & then do THE EXACT SAME THING which, somehow, will increase the length by three-odd feet. then I will say the same thing to self, but the tone will be sarcastic & accusatory. after a while I got the damn thing to more or less rest tenuosly on the more or less imaginary swell of my hips & buttocks. (I should note that that the Adventure of the Cummberbund took place in the parking lot of the wedding chapel, aided by my reflection in my grimy car window.) then came the bowtie, with another damn adjustable strap, which refused to tuck under the collar so after fighting with it & watching self flail like a man being strangled in the car window for a few minutes I more or less said "Fuck it" & decided to just wear it over the collar, hoping that I might start a trend & be seen as a Bold Fashion Pioneer, as opposed to some retard who can't dress himself properly. (the line betwixt the two is very fine) as for the cufflinks & little buttony things--I got one of the cufflinks inserted, kind of, & the rest just sort of threw over my left shoulder for good luck & hobbled to the chapel.)