The Story

In January, that is. God I hate the cold. It’s not that I don’t find it manageable to ride in – I have only taken the bus once this winter, and that was to the Slutcracker cast party, because I fully expected to be too drunk to ride (which is a feat in itself) and I wasn’t off with my prediction. It’s just that everything is so sloooowed doown and extra complicated. In May you can just throw your shoes on, slap your lock under your belt and GOGOGO to wherever, when ever. In january you have to check your temp wiget, find extra socks, locate your thermal shirt, whine about the fact that your face muffler is still soaked with boogers, Cat-Crap your goggles. etc etc etc… so not necessary. I mean, necessary, but not in any way acceptable. Grumble.

Last night I rode to Coolidge to be a Tip Monster for the production SHOW – a film, burlesque/drag extravaganza and book signing with local photographer and long-time PRC supporter Henry Horenstein. Haven’t gotten around to unpacking my panniers yet, but I have the sneaking suspicion that a tub of silver glitter has exploded in there, because I was leaving a Tinkerbell trail all the way home.

I’ve finally linked all my hot hot cohort’s pages to my blaaargh so when I write about my exploits, you can follow the link and figure out just WTF I’m jibba-jabbin about. And ALSO, so you can check out all these fine performers and see what they’re up to on any given week, because if you haven’t yet you’re missing out, bigtime. So clicky! Go. DO IT.