|
|
I blame the cat for tapping me on the nose, through the hole in the covers that i breathe through, every half hour... and having to get up to take a lengthy leak in my wee (no pun intended, really) hours of the morning. i got up way later than i intended. Got next to nothing done (except for arousing more suspicions about the roadworthiness of the SAAB). and then it was time to get presentable for polite society. to watch people in tights. tippy-toeing to tinkly music. and... i liked it. the MoscowBallet reminded me of one thing, in particular. Russian women have phenomenal cheekbones. and accents, too, as i remember... but this was more like mime. no accents, there. much gravity-defying. style. grace. and we were told to hate these people, back in the day? well, imperialists can't abide by other imperialists, probably. InvisibleDon got this ball rolling, as i was reading this morning. i'm no Bolshevic... but i'm sure glad we got over most of that crap. another funny little coincidence.... i'd left my lighter in the car, and had to fish around for matches before we set out for the show. i grabbed the first little box i could find in the kitchen drawer,and paid no attention to the graphics, outside of the name "Criterion" on the cover. when we returned, i looked closer. Made In the USSR. scottski... commie for a day. though i was surely no worker of the world. |
|
|
