Remains of the day
What happens when our lives are not quite what we expected? When the moment arrives that we see not just what we have become but regrettably, we see, with a glaring, growing, discomfort, what we might have been and now most assuredly are not?
What do we do then, when we’ve reached the moment where future intercepts present and past is just that — in the past? Is it better to remember the days of believing, recall that naivete, reach back with a slightly clawing hand toward the effortless sexual, sensual, emotional, inundation of days gone by?
Is there an alternative?
The thing is — you must, whether you want to or not — remember that time when touching the skin along your lover’s back … running your thumb down the back of the one you thought you loved was in itself a kind of worship at the altar of, yes, of course, a kind of eroticism, but more than that, a kind of exclamation of alive-ness, a cri de coeur for feeling, of feeling, of being felt.
Just the thumb. Against the skin. Slowly running with an irresistible pressure, trailing lackadaisically along the spine, and erotically in every other perspective, heading south with no particular hurry. The luxury of time we had in those moments would have made a mockery of the experience — if we’d had had even the slightest inclination of the paucity of time to come.
That thumb. That skin. All that stillness and moving. All without pretense. All without illusion and/or remembrance of other things past. All without a wish desiring to be fulfilled in some future moment 30 seconds or 30 days forward. All done, all felt, all wordlessly acknowledged without an acknowledgment of the hour, or of the lateness of the day.
Just that twilight moment from day to night; when all that existed was that weighty, weightless, dizzily exquisite feeling of someone’s hand moving along your spine and coming to rest on the small of your back. With no word. No comment or question; no expectation of what comes next; no acute awareness of what does not.
Those — and all the other moments of mundane and super-fabulous and silly and sophisticated moments of loving and working and living and breathing without question– are the remains of the day.
And I want them back.
“A butler of any quality must be seen to inhabit his role, utterly and fully; he cannot be seen casting it aside one moment simply to don it again the next as though it were nothing more than a pantomime costume.” from the novel, The Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro and if you haven’t read it, I can’t imagine what you are waiting for.
Sarasota Sky Pilots Do It in the Air
When someone says they’re going to play golf, it conjures up images of lugging expensive clubs around, riding in a cart, and hitting a little white ball toward a hole in the ground on a neatly manicured green, doesn’t it?
But for many Sarasotans – men and women of all ages – “playing golf” means playing “disc golf”. And disc golf means showing up with little more than the shirt on your back, carrying a lightweight flying disc (e.g., a Frisbee®), walking an 18-hole “natural-landscape” course, then, using nothing more than a well-muscled arm, throwing that disc over hole lengths of up to 500+ feet and sinking it into a metal disc basket (called a “pole hole”) (more…)
Sarasota Police Chief Resigns UPDATED
Seriously. Sarasota Police Chief Peter Abbott has resigned. (more…)
Tiger in a truckstop — this is a travesty! UPDATED
Has anyone heard of this situation? Apparently, a real, live Tiger is being kept in a tiny cage at a truckstop called “The Tiger Truckstop” in Louisiana. Can this be even real? I mean, who, what kind of person, would imprison a big cat like this? 
(more…)
“It’s not a spill” says Crawfish Monica!
I heard on the Louisiana Gumbo radio show tonight that Monica Spain — one-half of the mural-magicians that will be featured on Treme tonight — say “It’s not a spill!” She was referring to the travesty in the Gulf with BP’s oil disaster. She’s right — it’s not a spill. And as she astutely pointed out, “A spill is something we can clean up …” The effects of this disaster are so far-reaching and as yet unknowable — containment, much less a true “clean-up” is looking less and less like a viable option. (more…)
Oil-slick BP
http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2010/05/13/60minutes/main6480988.shtml
I hope everyone saw 60 Minutes tonight — if not, check out the link above.
BP should be put out of business entirely. Mofos of the first degree.
Ringling Grad & Local Artist(s) in the background tonight on HBO’s Treme
I found out that local artists and business owners (Bella Arte Studio) Monica Spain and Marco Bell (a Ringling College alumn) are going to have their mural work showing up in the background on tonight’s airing of HBO’s big new hit, Treme. (more…)
Looking for love?
I’m always looking for love … at least from cuddly canines and friendly felines. Oh, and owls, and birds, and snakes, and whatevuh. I guess I’m not too discriminating. I’d love to have a dog too, but with three cats, I have to draw the line. (more…)
In the category of they must be kidding … more proof of the bourgouis brain
http://gawker.com/5536722/wall-street-journal-claims-ignorance-on-kagan+lesbian+softball-connection
Bennett, bikini babes, and the bourgeois brain
I could care less what Mike Bennett, the man, views or watches — whether it’s actual or perceived porn or not — (care to say which of these is pornographic: PETA’s attention-grabbing hijinks on a West Palm Beach city street; Desperate Housewives; Siesta Beach during Spring Break; or The L Word.)
Hey, whatever floats the boat. (more…)