Subject: The Lost Thursday
Date: 15 Apr 1996 00:00:00 GMT
From: firstname.lastname@example.org (MegEliz)
Organization: Gene Wolfe Library and Family Restaurant, East Wing
I don't do this sort of thing very often, but hey, if you can't get a
grip on some real Slack, false slack will just have to do.
A couple of nights ago, the Rev brought me a little bitty bottle of
sparkling wine, which some dim part of my memory wants to call a
splitz. We were going to celebrate a bad day in style, so he gets the
faux beer and I get the little black splitz. I thought a rocket went
off in the kitchen, so I was really sorry to have missed the actual
uncorking of this handful of fuzz.
In my tribute to our dearly departed Lynch, I must mention that the
bottle stands 18.4cm high. The labeling is gold on black announcing
that it is a product of Casa Fundada 1889...
Cava Brut 187ml
Sparkling Wine Freixenet
Alc 11.5% by vol. Traditional Method
Fermented in this bottle Sant Sadurni d'Anoia, Spain
Product of Spain Cordon Negro
Plus the usual helpful disclaimers PLUS "CONTAINS SULFITES" if you're
not sufficiently frightened of operating large machinery after having
swigged down all three mouthfuls. As it was, I was not planning on
operating anything more complex than the remote control device.
Being a not-quite feather weight, I was completely toasted after two
toasts. I began to appreciate that my living room is the most lovely
and inviting place on the planet, the artwork is perfectly positioned
for enjoyment from my perch, and there is nothing of interest on TV as
usual. So what do I do? I watch TV anyway.
What I settled on was a Spanish soap opera. I recommend them to
anybody with more time and stress than they know how to describe. It
was beautiful. The bimbo quotient was MUCH higher than the big three
soaps, and the men were really repulsive. There was no suspension of
disbelief necessary, it was just blazingly stupid. Then the credits
rolled (BRAVO!) and we were into a comedy/variety show. I still didn't
need any linguistic gymnastics to enjoy it, every joke seemed to
consist of a scantily clad woman whispering something to an overly
astonished man. I could think of any number of winners that had
nothing to do with panties.
If I wasn't so concerned with the pitiful Slack-sucking potential, I'd
make regular visits to the Casa Fundada and watch some Japanese
Possibly Pontifette Meg
My sig is not under construction. It's dead. email@example.com