baggage's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Striking A Pose I had another moment last night. But, this time Garth Brooks had nothing to do with it. This time, it was Aaron Spelling. I was sitting there sucking on a glass of 7-Up when three cute things walked into the club. I mean-talk about making an appearance. They looked like they stepped right out of a friggin' magazine ad.They had perfect teeth, perfect hair, perfect smiles, perfect strides. And they annoyed the fuck out of me. I mean-these three walked in step for God's sakes. Right foot first, ladies, let's go... They looked so damn fake that I felt like I was staring at walking mannequins. I half-expected Rod Serling to step out of the shadows with his trademark sneer and say: Picture this-three women spend countless hours in front of a mirror so they look like they're made out of plastic and decide to walk in stride from the street, to the restroom, and back out into the street again. You have entered the Poseur Zone. I was sitting with my back to the front door cuz, well, that way I can always keep an eye on my guitars (there's always some drunk guy who wants to play them, He staggers up to me and sez, *hey-dude. You rock. I know how to play Smoke On The Water. Can I slobber all over your $3,000 guitar for a second and possibly drop it?*). Anyhooz, as I was rambling, I was there with my back to the door when my friend said, *Oh no-we've just become extras in an Aaron Spelling TV series.* I turned around and there they were: living, breathing, walking plastic. Maybe I just have a bad attitude. Or maybe, I'm jealous. Possibly, there's a little combination of both fueling the roll of my eyes. But, people who try so hard to look so perfect is the visual equivalent of someone scraping their nails on a chalkboard. Be real! You're not a model on a runway for god's sake. You don't hold your hand like that naturally! Come here and let me rub that flutter out of your eye, you beotch... Since the restrooms happen to be close to the stage, I saw them go in, and come right out about five seconds later. Then they strutted on out of the club still in step! Excuse me. But, what can you do in the restroom for less than five seconds? Can anybody out there enlighten me? OK-here comes the all-omnipotent horizontal bar. Don't trip... ____________________________________________________________________________ Whew! Did you make it? Good. I'm a little paranoid about tripping you know. You see, there are steps leading up to front door of my work. Small steps. Easily negotiable. But, I usually walk up the handicap ramp instead. Why? Because I'm paranoid that one day I won't be paying attention and trip over one of these easily negotiable steps and break a finger or something. This is soooooo Woody Allen Paranoid of me, it's not even funny. OK. Maybe,it's a little funny. At least, my friends think so. *There he goes again-taking the handicap ramp,* they say. *He does seem a little handicapped-mentally anyway,* someone else will say. Har de har har har. Yuk yuk yuk yuk. The joke is getting old people. And so, last night I tripped on a planter. The guitar stand I was carrying fell to the cement ground and made a clatter so loud that it seemed to echo all the way down the alleyway and out into the street. I was sitting there completely thankful that nobody saw me. It would have been embarrassing. It would have ruined my studly, manly reputation (ahem). I got up, dusted myself off, and walked into the club trying my best to not look like the clutz that I am God forbid I don't look cool, ya know? Which, now that I think about it, means I'm just another poseur myself. ______________________________________________________________________________ I'm happy it's Friday. This weekend, I get to lay in my backyard, play with the cats, play my guitar. plant flowers...all that boring normal stuff I love to roll around in. Toodles. 1:59 p.m. - 2001-05-11 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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