Monday, September 09, 2013
Frank kind of liked me, I thought, because I had bongo drums, and so on, but also more likely because I was skewed and a bit creative sometimes. For instance, if somebody (I forget who, now, probably an entertainer) did something I didn't like too much, by way of critical response ... I would write a letter to them (much as I do now to the people who wrote the review on The Morada at The Inn at Rancho Santa Fe) ...
And I was very young then, maybe 12 years old. In those younger times of mine, I would buy a roll of toilet paper, write a single word of the letter I was composing on every square ("Dear" would be one square, "So and so" whatever the person's name was I was writing to would be on the next square) and then roll it back up ... oh very very very very neatly ... stuff it into an envelope (which I would usually have to go buy at the stationery store, so that meant carrying this roll of toilet paper with me into town, where I would try it for size with the various envelopes offered for sale ... slip it in the envelope just to see if it fit properly to the surprise of the cologne clerk or sometimes the pharmacist himself ... because the stationery store would be closed, and they sold envelopes for college kids and professors at the drug store because it was close, one long block, to the post office .... and then buy the envelope (which I did with the money I'd earned pulling weeds for my stingy father), address the envelope, seal the thing, and carry this package to the local post office clerk, and they were unbelievable right wing squares, always in the town I grew up in, so they'd give me this weird look as I put the bulky package on the counter ... and BUY the postage to mail it away to the person as a review of their performance, you see. Frank liked that about me.
"Who wouldn't, really .... ?" I have to admit, even to myself now. But he thought I did genuinely amusing and funny things as a reaction to performance and our community or certain elements in our community that all combined in weird ways to cause us all amusement. That, and I ran a fan club for a guy I was beginning to not like so much as I learned more about him with increased contact. And I would write letters to famous magazines like "Dig!" and address them to Trajen and defend my artist's stature when measured against that of Ricky Nelson. Boy, I could tell you some stories about HIM (the guy whose national fan club I ran), but you've probably never heard of him, so much time has elapsed by now.
Frank also liked me because I was smart and I would be invited eventually to a DeMolay Dance by one of the guys in my science class (DeMolay was one of those secret weird societies, but for boys) or I'd attend Toga Parties (put on by the Latin Club) and I would study Esperanto in school. I was smart and had been streamed into the "college prep" tributary which would end up at Universities and colleges throughout the nation, if not world, because some of them might end up at Sorbonne. They might choose to end up at Sorbonne, but not this sister!
¶ 9/09/2013 11:36:00 AM
And I was very young then, maybe 12 years old. In those younger times of mine, I would buy a roll of toilet paper, write a single word of the letter I was composing on every square ("Dear" would be one square, "So and so" whatever the person's name was I was writing to would be on the next square) and then roll it back up ... oh very very very very neatly ... stuff it into an envelope (which I would usually have to go buy at the stationery store, so that meant carrying this roll of toilet paper with me into town, where I would try it for size with the various envelopes offered for sale ... slip it in the envelope just to see if it fit properly to the surprise of the cologne clerk or sometimes the pharmacist himself ... because the stationery store would be closed, and they sold envelopes for college kids and professors at the drug store because it was close, one long block, to the post office .... and then buy the envelope (which I did with the money I'd earned pulling weeds for my stingy father), address the envelope, seal the thing, and carry this package to the local post office clerk, and they were unbelievable right wing squares, always in the town I grew up in, so they'd give me this weird look as I put the bulky package on the counter ... and BUY the postage to mail it away to the person as a review of their performance, you see. Frank liked that about me.
"Who wouldn't, really .... ?" I have to admit, even to myself now. But he thought I did genuinely amusing and funny things as a reaction to performance and our community or certain elements in our community that all combined in weird ways to cause us all amusement. That, and I ran a fan club for a guy I was beginning to not like so much as I learned more about him with increased contact. And I would write letters to famous magazines like "Dig!" and address them to Trajen and defend my artist's stature when measured against that of Ricky Nelson. Boy, I could tell you some stories about HIM (the guy whose national fan club I ran), but you've probably never heard of him, so much time has elapsed by now.
Frank also liked me because I was smart and I would be invited eventually to a DeMolay Dance by one of the guys in my science class (DeMolay was one of those secret weird societies, but for boys) or I'd attend Toga Parties (put on by the Latin Club) and I would study Esperanto in school. I was smart and had been streamed into the "college prep" tributary which would end up at Universities and colleges throughout the nation, if not world, because some of them might end up at Sorbonne. They might choose to end up at Sorbonne, but not this sister!
¶ 9/09/2013 11:36:00 AM
