Monday, December 18, 2006
The Party Is Over
At parties of yore, I'd often have a few drinks and be persuaded (read egged on) to do a special dance that I invented called the vulture. I adopted it from Snoopy's pose as a vulture, and I would perch on my tiptoes and bring my hands in the air and look deranged as if I were going after my dead prey. This wasn't too hard for me. I'd been a gymnast for several years and had practice at perching on my toes. One can't imagine how exciting it was to be the center of such aclaim and intrigue. Do the vulture, my friends would yell, and I would demure at first. You don't want to see that, I'd say. Come on, Michelle. The vulture, the vulture. All right, I'd tell them, and go into a fugue state as if preparing to recite a long poem, like Frost's "After Apple-Picking." And then, there I'd be, on my toes, as a vulture.
I haven't done the vulture in years, and there's only a few friends who remember it, not near as many who remember me trying to do a striptease after several tequila shots one hot summer night in Texas. I did not black out and so in fact am not spared the actual memory of this either, and this will teach me either to drink more or less tequila in future similiar circumstances. Memory is a strange and lonely thing, I think, and constantly changing to be what we need it to be. You never know when the party is over and if you had a good time until you're viewing it from the future, like a vulture, hoping to get what you need to keep going.
Michelle's Spell of the Day
"I have a death wish, but I direct it at others." The Opposite of Sex
Drinking movie suggestion: The Opposite of Sex
Benedictions and Maledictions