SWANK – if you have to ask, don’t! Dance!
Author Archives: treetrunkrick
Do you…
Do you ever wonder why the positive view of the future is the Starship Enterprise and not the Borg?
Wouldn’t hive mentality require fewer resources?
Why do the French value Star Wars higher than Star Trek?
Fun on the bayou
At one a.m. in the o’ morning, the events of the previous day ask me if my vocabulary is too small to wake up the reader in me and slap me good in the face with fresh extemporaneous expository material.
I gave my wife her dream — attending a regional dance competition with the added bonus of competing happily in an event called Strictly Swing — so she settles in for a good night’s snooze while I sober up from an adrenaline rush after a good dance with my inebriated instructor in the post-awards dance party.
How many people were the last ones picked for the middle school gym class volleyball, kickball or dodgeball team?
How many of the others would read this blog?
Would cosplay Loki take cosplay Bruce Banner to a mecha-con formal dinner? Would cosplay Captain America have a girl crush on cosplay Loki played by a girl who’s part of the alternative lifestyle crowd at school but dropped out because she suffered weeks of a viral infection, receiving failing grades, falling behind a year, and will get a GED to go on with her life?
Is her Tesseract artifact recreation the best one ever/yet? Does it have anything to do with the Bene Gesserit?
Was it a mecha-con or a mech I heard Gloria’s daughter Carol’s daughter talk about?
Why did Brian Vickers win a Sprint Cup race?
Why would someone pay so much for a Mercedes race car?
The memories of New Orleans and me in a U.S. Navy ROTC uniform during Mardi Gras are turning this body into Memory Lane Mush. If I never shared the details of that pre-CCTV/social media space, no one would know what really happened.
No one needs to know.
I’m not running for political office or holding myself up as a perfect example of purity to the Harper Valley PTA.
The mental images of the happy dancers and their fluid moves on the dance floor will stick with me forevermore.
I’m just this guy trying to build a sentient backyard fence for privacy so he and his wife can walk naked through the sunroom when they want without disturbing the neighbours.
There are many moments, even a few Monets, at the bottom of a Mason jar emptied of moonshine when one’s decisions earlier in life (“I take thee to be my lawful wedded Wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth.”) create hard and fast barriers to free love rather than love given freely.
I am, however, a wild man from Borneo in addition to Eagle Scout and periodic imbiber — no in-between.
There is or are there not limits to the bottom of the depths of where I’ll go to get a good story and plot twist?
When I give my wife everything she wants, do I get everything I want in return?
Looking up/Looking down
It’s a dance dance revolution
Congrats to all the competitors!
However, it’s time for dinner at The Court of Two Sisters! Thx to Brian, Anita, Shane, Derrick, Teddy, Jerome, Joyce, Tracy, management and the awesome team putting the eatery in great taste in the first place.
Like water for coddlers
Pretty Appy Polly Loggy Wolly
Thx to the great omelet chef, Jaquita, and our beautifully sparkly-eyed server, Catherine, at the Checkered Parrot.
Well-done, well…read?
In addition to Umberto Eco’s book I slowly absorb, for this trip to New Orleans I’ve brought along “Small green roofs: low-tech options for greener living,” by Nigel Dunnett, Dusty Gedge, John Little & Edmund C. Snodgrass; “Wonder Woman Volume 1 Blood” by Brian Azzarello, Cliff Chiang and Tony Akins.
These feed my subsequent storylines.
Below me, Bourbon Street narrows perspectively into the distance.
Bridges over Lake Pontchartrain hump up like snake skeletons.
Broken windows, torn roofs and new construction remind me that Hurricane Katrina is still a fresh memory, if not as painful as before.
Late-night dancers remind me that my years of running, training for 5ks, 10ks, 10-milers, half marathons and a couple of full marathons resulted in no style points — only start-to-finish times.
On the desk beside me, a Mason jar mostly full of Ole Smoky Tennessee blackberry moonshine, a half-pint of homemade moonshine, a corked jug of Chattanooga Whiskey Co 1816 Reserve handcrafted whiskey, 875 ml of Captain Morgan original spiced rum, and an open container of Monster Rehab Green Tea + Energy handed to me on a dark street corner from the bed of a truck dripping/gushing with ice meltwater by a gal sporting tight shorts and T-shirt promoting infused water in a Ball aluminium canister.
Q: What am I doing here?
A: Helping my wife make a dream come true.
What am I doing here for me? I don’t know. It’s not always about me, despite fermented contradictory evidence.
Dr. Sim C. Liddon once told me that I and only i can decide that I truly want to live, rather than merely survive until I die.
Every so often I take his advice and act as if I want to live. Usually, though, I watch the calendar days flip past in some clichéd film about the passage of time.
Who, me? Mais oui!
This evening, I compete with my wife in the less-experienced/least-judged competition category of West Coast Swing dancers.
We will dance, no doubt about that, but what are we competing against?
I compete against my own thoughts all the time, finding the most personal joy writing these love notes with my present self to my future self about my past selves in order to perpetuate the illusion of time.
…one set of states of energy…hmm…enough about me!
A nod to Buzzy & Kellie, Dean & Dawn for putting together an event to give my wife a dream realised. Time to find our dance instructor Abi for one more mini-lesson in how to keep from tripping over my and/or my wife’s feet for at least 90 seconds in front of a crowd of onlookers.
And they danced…
Okay, after watching these joyful dancers, think I’ll give them the floor and return to writing.
Hot hot hot
A complete stranger making friends with me eating a 7.1 million Scovill unit snack at the Pepper Palace — I helped her make a dream come true. Fun!!!!
Now to wait five hours for the numbness to go away… &^)
treetrunkdings 