Friday, August 27, 2004
A Message to Republicans Visiting Our Fair City
Since we don't want you here and you're coming anyway (in a transparent attempt to capitalize on the anniversary of 9/11), please accept the following sentiments of over 80% of the population of the five boroughs:
Hello Republicans! Welcome to New York! Spend all the money you have in your pockets. Go to the ATM, empty your accounts and spend all of that as well. Then go away.
Hello Republicans! Welcome to New York! Spend all the money you have in your pockets. Go to the ATM, empty your accounts and spend all of that as well. Then go away.
Sunday, August 22, 2004
A Day at the Beach
In the dog days of summer, between staff development on the new school and being lazy, I'm ashamed of my lack of writing over the last two weeks... I have no excuse. I did, however, spend a very nice day at Long Beach. It gave me the opportunity to make some observations and pose a question or two...
The end of the line of a branch of the Long Island Rail Road, a three block walk and a beach pass to hot sand and hourglass figures face down, straps off preventing tan lines for backless dresses to be worn at nighttime dance clubs tease the imaginations of the XY chromasome set, be they in speedos or bermudas.
Anatomically speaking, the form makes the walk. Hips built for childbirth make that deliriously delishous hip sway, every step into the distance magnetize my eyes to dozens of bikini bottoms. Young women walk by, shoulders thrown back to accentuate the slope of the breast, hands overhead tousling hair, unconscious (possibly unconscious, maybe intentional) seductresses move along the water's edge, while men of all ages look on. Young men dream of the possibilities while older ones remember the conquests of youth while cursing the calendar.
I sit next to my lovely wife, never straying, never wanting to stray, but window shopping is accepted and expected. If I didn't window shop, she'd think something was wrong with me. I am alive, after all.
chapter two is soon to come...
The end of the line of a branch of the Long Island Rail Road, a three block walk and a beach pass to hot sand and hourglass figures face down, straps off preventing tan lines for backless dresses to be worn at nighttime dance clubs tease the imaginations of the XY chromasome set, be they in speedos or bermudas.
Anatomically speaking, the form makes the walk. Hips built for childbirth make that deliriously delishous hip sway, every step into the distance magnetize my eyes to dozens of bikini bottoms. Young women walk by, shoulders thrown back to accentuate the slope of the breast, hands overhead tousling hair, unconscious (possibly unconscious, maybe intentional) seductresses move along the water's edge, while men of all ages look on. Young men dream of the possibilities while older ones remember the conquests of youth while cursing the calendar.
I sit next to my lovely wife, never straying, never wanting to stray, but window shopping is accepted and expected. If I didn't window shop, she'd think something was wrong with me. I am alive, after all.
chapter two is soon to come...
