"What man hasn't been a cowboy?" asked the ad.
"MANY!" we shouted at the television. My friend and I both desire tweedy intellectual cowboys. The kinda guy who will wear elbow patches and cowboy boots and hat and make it look good. It's all about posture, and how straight your back is, and about walking without apologies.
I'm preparing for my last/second to last (I never know, frankly) radio show. I chose a lot of bird songs, but also some cowboy songs.
This is probably the only radio show I've put so much thought into. While I am fond of just sorta winging it, I wanted to be thorough. It should be good. John Denver, Ernst Tubbs, Merle Haggard, Eva Cassidy (pretty voice), plus some of my old standby bird songs.
My, it is bright outside. I feel like my eyeballs are going to melt away.
My brother wears his pants like my friend Mr. Jeff - which is to say, off his ass. I laugh at him and his skinny self (except I didn't call him skinny, because I know he's sensitive about it, but he is So Cute). His pants billow around his legs. "Your pants are too big! You wear your pants that loose, you're asking to have them be yanked off by your sister." "Get off my back, woman." "I can see your underpants!" "Jesus, Margaret, they're boxers."
I am wearing lipstick.
I announced loudly (however else do I announce things?) that I wanted to live with my brother like Matthew and Marilla in Anne of Green Gables. Emotionally Unstable Me, oh, I teared up many times watching that movie. Also: hollered and whooped whenever Gilbert was on screen. Hot. Stuff. My friend didn't know that Anne turns into a baby machine in the later books, and I remedied that case of misinformation by performing the woman dance, many many times. "First you make a baby..."
2002-12-08, This morning
before / after
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