Somewhere, most likely in the general vicinity of the Dallas-Ft. Worth airport, lies my Misar Butik costume. Dumped as a stupid grab by the airport/airline employee who raided Lori and Charlie's suitcase, but I am out a perfectly fitting costume that is possible tho difficult and pricey to replace.
It makes the healing process from the past 6 weeks of chaos much easier to deal with, focusing on the trivial.
I could be vaguely brilliant making references to; the imminent execution of Tookie Williams, liberal political goings on in regards to Denver (that we may get the dem '08 convention and my fave state senator, tho not my state senator, is hopefully running for state treasurer in '06) but I can't come close to Colorado Luis et al. I still have yet to figure out how to link articles anyway and don't bother with the local papers enough to sound decently informed. I could add my $0.02 to a very interesting story in the Style section of yesterday's Post about Metrospirituality. For a price you too can buy your way into Nirvana. My ancestors did it at the temple in Jerusalem, why can't we spend ridiculous sums of money on statues and trinkets of Hindu and Buddhist dieties that we treat with less regard than a piece of clothing. It really only counts when other people see how cool your home looks, and you'll be leaving it in the alley for someone to scavange or purge it in a yard sale in a couple of years anyway. And the books will sit, spine intact, on your shelf until you remember that liked the cover cause it was just too cute!
But my scar hurts despite being good to myself, treating myself and pouring essential oils on it.
And I still can't watch any bellydancers in action without getting angry and upset cause I am seeing some pretty mediocre dancers get some good breaks, and some girls really need to look in the mirror and realize that hair and makeup are part of costuming (and that 1981 bridge and tunnel hair looks really bad with a belly dance costume). And facial expressions! Looking smug and superior can make a good dancer look ugly and uninteresting, as was evident at the Spark tour show 6+ weeks back (both the local and national troupes). At least local veteran Jenna Woods on the bill to show us dance without pretentious airs, and the Kan'nal set made it worth the schlep.
And did I rant about the self righteous acupuncturists in Denver yet? Falling all over themselves to get access to the Katrina refugees while they were shacked up in the barracks at Lowery, while not a one could be bothered to cover for me at the IV drug users drop in while I was away. Oh, one did. But then he no showed them one week and was wondering why no one was there the next week. You couldn't call!?!?!?!? I like fewer people within my current profession than I did during my late 80s foray into the music business. At least in that profession you know up front most people are
*&@&$.
I am tired of being nice when it is not honest. I am tired of stupid people, including stupid educated people. I am tired of not being able to think clearly, focus and quiet my mind. I am tired of being tired.
Ready to implode, I remind myself of the lovely man with the sandwich stall down a quieter side street in the Grand Bazaar. When we told him we were Americans he said "America good, Bush bad." We're not all that bad, are we.
And with it out of my head and down in writing, maybe I am clear enough to get a restfull night's sleep.
