[Sidebar: This past weekend I took part in an intensive writing seminar at BCC. Over the course of the weekend, I wrote four different pieces - each in about ten minutes. They've been edited (since I can't not edit) but the content is true to my in-the-moment inspiration. Recently, this blog has been dedicated to my lengthy Bachelorette recaps, so I'm happy to post something new. I hope you especially get a kick out of my poetry attempts.]
The Misunderstood Musician
His corduroys were so tight, and so exactly powder blue, and he was so impressed with his ridiculous taste in fashion. His shirt was only slightly better-looking; still just as tight but (at least it was) black. His hair was ratty and unkempt as usual -- except pulled back in an unusual ponytail. To be honest, he looked like a lengthened, malnourished, pastier version of that fitness dillweed, Tony Little.
He strutted in front of me, begging for my approval.
I sat on the well-cushioned bench of the sickly-indulgent tour bus, just trying to enjoy my beer before all hell broke loose, and he presents me this silly dick-cinching pair of pants.
You look like an idiot.
My dead pan declaration, coupled with my raised eyebrow indicated to him I meant it.
Really? I don't know. I think they're cool.
Did you show the guys?
No.
Why don't you try them? Oooh, and can you take my audio recorder with you? I'd love to hear their commentary...shit, I can't find my clipboard...
He didn't take the recorder from me. Instead, he, in his tiny pants sulked off to the bus' tiny toilet.
Harsh Judgment: Just another perk of managing a band.
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