the news from the
(ivica)
"They make cheeses, milk chocolate, and watches, all
of which,
when you come right down to it, are pretty fairly unnecessary."
(Dorothy Parker)
It was my yearly duty and I
intended to keep my promise. There are bigots everywhere (even in Fat City).
Although some people (like Two Roses Linda) claim that bigotry is just another
word for good/bad taste, love/hate, discretion, discernment, et cetera. I kept
a low profile all week (even lower than usual---if that were possible). I
grabbed my dusty membership card, found a (fellow member) driver, and headed
out. (Even with eight air-bags, I still didn't feel
all that safe in the car (Why do we need all these air-bags, if it's so safe?).)
Downtown, Petula Clark Ville,
is the place to have a convention!
It's odd being a man in Fat City. It's different from other cities like
No married men were allowed. Only the single, separated, divorced, and
widowed. (And no engaged men either, cause that's just
cheating!) No dates were allowed. No
smoking and no drinking (except for champagne). The Blonde Society doesn't accept just anyone who comes rapping at the yellow
door.
Michel (the Butcher) Horette gave a great lecture on the "Twentieth Century
Blonde", complete with slides and a video. He was in charge of the final
buffet and even provided his special frog-leg entrées (an amphibian entrée! (the guy always did have a sense of humour)).
The first leg went down well, I thought they were little chicken drumsticks,
all spiced up! But as soon as I realized what I was
eating, I couldn't stomach another one. I sat (as usual) at the Marilyn Monroe
table. Michel sat at the Brigitte Bardot table.
"Nakedness is uncomely as well in mind, as
body."
(Francis Bacon)
"Hanging and wiving goes by destiny."
(William Shakespeare)
Seated one table over (at
the Doris Day table) was a recently ousted member of one of our major political
parties. I remembered him from our old Residence days at Fat City U. where he
was a poster-boy for ANOTHER major political party's youth wing. (I didn't talk to him then either.) These politicians will
crawl into ANY bed....
Four days
of Blonde heaven.
It's always nice to get away for a little while. The
picket line was a minor nuisance. (Their blonde wigs didn't
fool me.) Their cursing---now that was a bit harsh. What the
hell is a "Jolly Wagger" anyway? Men
don't get upset when women form a Ricky Martin Fan
Club, or a Smoking-is-a-Declaration-of-Emancipation Society, or those Oprah
Getaway-Weekends at a chocolate factory, or cheesecake clubs, or Second-Wife
clubs....
|
theCANADAS
...you are what you eat.... |
I noticed Lionel (the
Rooming-House King of
There was a
surprise waiting for us when we left the third night, though. Two young men and
a blonde (she must have "cased the joint"!) mugged
us. (It was a pretty pitiful operation: no
planning---you got to join a financial institution or the government or a
dictatorship or a charity or a church....) When one of the boys pulled out this
long knife, I asked him which bank he worked for. He
barely smiled back. (Puny little yellow teeth.) We
handed over the money. They took off.
In the
end, a nice clean commercial transaction. I had no wallet (as usual),
a few bills, no watch, and I hate jewellery. I felt a
little sorry for the young business tycoons, so I thought of offering to send
them a cheque, but I thought better of it....
"I'm not denyin' the women
are foolish: God Almighty made 'em to match the
men."
(George Eliot)
At the Mae West table
(which used to be the Madonna table), there was a very loud disagreement over
whether or not blondes were allowed to ask guys out.
The traditionalists said no never: "That's why
they're blondes. The hair colour is like dropping a
handkerchief or waving a shy fan or fluttering the eyelashes or asking for a
light or directions." The post-modernists claimed that
"rules were meant to be broken and who can break more rules than blondes?
Huh? Well?"
All these
men with all their dreams.... I wondered how close would any of us
get! You start out building a doghouse and what do you get?
Some men end up building smooth boats or mansions and some men end up with a
squeaky spice rack or a back-scratcher.
"...the unlucky man must be avoided like the plague,
because in a sense he is the plague."
(Northrop Frye)
On the final (heavenly) day
a few men got placarded by the female protesters ("MEN DATE BLONDES BUT
THEY MARRY BRUNETTES" "THE END IZ NEAR" "GREY
POWER" "UR DAUGHTERS R WATCHING U" "GROW
UP" "WE ARE NOT TOYS FOR BOYS" "WHERE ARE THE
REAL MEN?"). Some spit hit some of the boys. Some shoes got their own
personal high-heel indentations (those things should be
registered with the police department). And the
wall of perfume was DEFINITELY a breach of the Geneva Convention. But, then again, like my mother used to say: "War is
hell!"
keep fightin'
the good fight, ivica-on-the-rocks
[FLAVAE PLUS LUDI HABENT]
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