Concurrent Fantasies
I did not acknowledge the nod from the woman pretending to be vampire novelist Anne Rice any more than I gave much credence to the resemblance of her companion as the poet Stan Rice. All three of us were imposters, as I was pretending to be a person who could be at the Clearview Palace theatre around noon on a Friday to see the Sean Penn flick, and they were guilty as sin in their hokey famous people incognito getups.
I meant no disrepect to the woman pretending to be novelist Anne Rice any more than this morning I thought there was magic related to my daytime wearing of a Goodwill bought Cranston, Rhode Island sweatshirt which previously had only been worn at night under the covers, but today was being worn as I waited in the neutral ground crossover at Dorgenois and Canal in New Orleans, La. behind a truck with Rhode Island license plates, which outside of RI is not a license plate you see all that often.
And all this of course had nothing to do with my morning fixation on the Creole chick at Betsy's Pancake house at which I arrived after moving straight forward across that intersection as the Rhode Island truck turned left, on Canal, toward the River. I say "Creole" really only to describe the color of her skin which was coffee colored with four creamers, and those approximately green eyes. Her golden red straightened hair flipping up coquetishly at the level of her graceful neck was a look that seemed to work well for her. And her voice which had first asked for a menu, and later for more syrup (although demurred at the suggestion of whip cream), was from somewhere allluringly foreign to this locale, and I did not rule out Rhode Island.
Later, well into the Sean Penn movie, with the imitation Rices nearby, I could only sympathize with the uncomfortability of Jack Nicholson's possibly delusional character as he was out of the blue asked--"are you sexually active." I answered for him, "no, but I've got several full blown fantasies running concurrently."
The great thing about being Sean Penn would be that you could get guys like Nicholson, and Harry Dean Stanton, and that great wife of yours, and all those other pretty fine actors to be in your flick, and you could have enough clout and balls to end a movie in such a way that is more like real life than any of us imposters hiding out in the theatres really care for.
|
I did not acknowledge the nod from the woman pretending to be vampire novelist Anne Rice any more than I gave much credence to the resemblance of her companion as the poet Stan Rice. All three of us were imposters, as I was pretending to be a person who could be at the Clearview Palace theatre around noon on a Friday to see the Sean Penn flick, and they were guilty as sin in their hokey famous people incognito getups.
I meant no disrepect to the woman pretending to be novelist Anne Rice any more than this morning I thought there was magic related to my daytime wearing of a Goodwill bought Cranston, Rhode Island sweatshirt which previously had only been worn at night under the covers, but today was being worn as I waited in the neutral ground crossover at Dorgenois and Canal in New Orleans, La. behind a truck with Rhode Island license plates, which outside of RI is not a license plate you see all that often.
And all this of course had nothing to do with my morning fixation on the Creole chick at Betsy's Pancake house at which I arrived after moving straight forward across that intersection as the Rhode Island truck turned left, on Canal, toward the River. I say "Creole" really only to describe the color of her skin which was coffee colored with four creamers, and those approximately green eyes. Her golden red straightened hair flipping up coquetishly at the level of her graceful neck was a look that seemed to work well for her. And her voice which had first asked for a menu, and later for more syrup (although demurred at the suggestion of whip cream), was from somewhere allluringly foreign to this locale, and I did not rule out Rhode Island.
Later, well into the Sean Penn movie, with the imitation Rices nearby, I could only sympathize with the uncomfortability of Jack Nicholson's possibly delusional character as he was out of the blue asked--"are you sexually active." I answered for him, "no, but I've got several full blown fantasies running concurrently."
The great thing about being Sean Penn would be that you could get guys like Nicholson, and Harry Dean Stanton, and that great wife of yours, and all those other pretty fine actors to be in your flick, and you could have enough clout and balls to end a movie in such a way that is more like real life than any of us imposters hiding out in the theatres really care for.
- jimlouis 2-03-2001 12:04 am