This Is About.

It's a digital age, man. So to you we present our virtual talk show of Nonsense: The Silly. The Beautiful. The True. In our own words or those quoted by others. With our own art or that created by others. We will laugh. We will smile. We will entertain you all the while. So grab a drink, come in and let's chat. We'd like to meet you, your mama, and your hot cousin Fred.


Pass the Tissues, We all Got Issues.

Not so long ago, in another place in time. With totally different characters and completely different plotlines, we felt like an alien in a world of droids. We felt like a dolphin in a sea of sharks. And ugly killer whales. And poisonous eels. We felt like Daria in a world of Quinn Morgandorfers. We dressed conservatively (in theory and in comparison to). Loathed crop tops. Looked down on hair extensions. Didn't fancy drug use or the club scene. Never did, actually. And felt how a lost hippie gypsy must feel when her '72 rusty yellow Volkswagon van breaks down and she is stranded in....Vegas. On the strip. Next to a lit up blinking arrow sign ironically pointing toward the Midwest. And next to a strip club. And next to a village of tight skinned tanorexics and just so many goddam dancers that you can't help but wonder?

Kinda like starring as Balkie on "Perfect Strangers." Or Alf on "Alf." Foreign. Uncomfortable. Kinda like being thirteen all over again. But not with such a skinny bod or gigando Lipsmacker collection. And all we really wanted was your everyday basic pub pub. And men who don't shave their body hair. And people who wear sweaters and understand that Uggs are worn for warmth, and never with skirts. We didn't want to go to places called Myst or Rain or Storm or Lazer every Friday night. We wanted to go someplace.....real.

And we remember one time someone said to us "I wish I could get inside your head and see what you are thinking," in an awkward sort of fashion. Or perhaps that's just an awkward sort of statement. And we thought to ourselves we're pretty sure we're okay with you not doing that, like ever. Never ever. Never. But we nodded and smiled and moved on. And promptly, moved. Yes, relocated.

But it's a thought isn't it? Whatif we could see the thoughts in bubbles overhead, all the time? Like today, for instance, in the middle of the day we were thinking:
*What really happened to The Wallflowers?
*What ever happened to Jakob Dylan?
*As the son of Bob, didn't he feel it his duty, to make a proper name for himself? It's only reasonable. You introduce yourself as a singer...your father is an revolutionary marvel, a musical and poetic genius, a lyrical rebel and icon. They had a few catchy songs....We liked "Three Marlenas"....One, two, three Marlenas...yeah we still like it.

Okay, okay maybe that guy had reason to wonder about our spaceball thoughts. Shed yours! Jot 'em down! Let's have a laugh.



*a said...

i love this post.
fer reals...that's all we ever want. no dramz, no bullshiz....just be fer real.

Patty Jean said...

You left for something real baby Fran.

I could write a novel but I will leave with this...gypsy souls don't follow GPS.

Fuck the Republic.

PS Meet me at Myst later.

judithe & francine said...

"stranded in....Vegas. On the strip. Next to a lit up blinking arrow sign ironically pointing toward the Midwest."
You talented motha effer, fran. I love you more and more every day.