we say praise before eating (at the fancy house restaurant, imagine the scene):
we see a Samantha (Sex & the City) lookalike high on coke and booze crawl her way out of the main door, then give everybody the finger, trip and fall in the gutter; turned down by each and every cabbie (to whom she then again gives the finger), she eventually turnes to the black security guy who has been called to take care of her and goes:
- I'm black
him- and I am white
- I did so much coke... actually I have a lot on me even now. Do you want some? Naw, you wouldn't be able to handle it
him- lady, it's you who could never handle what I got on me now...
my guest is tall and striking, but she also has a manly voice, very dark gums and huge biceps: she makes me touch them and then warnes me "I haven't been working out for MONTHS!!!!". When she laughs she throws her head back and her eyes FLASH. Oh, Lorrrrdy.
she drives a Mercedes, gives a loud squeak when a big fat roach takes a promenade close to our feet as we are on the sidewalk saying goodbye, offers to drive me home, eats pretty much everybody's food, ignores who Basquiat was, has a weird attitude around guys and definitely a diffident, guarded, alert look in her eyes when the subject of her Father life and -violent- death is arised. Me being there precisely to bring it up as much as possible, as you can imagine, it is...hard.
Yet enlightening. I respect Daughter of a Revolutionary very much. She is a monument to survival, to self affirmation in the shadow/light of a heavyweight legacy.
She is a lily with a stem of steel, growing on a ground of sizzling tar.
No comments:
Post a Comment