Dig it, Elton John shaved his head and came to my conference last week. He’s so cool. No, that is me of course, doing my level best to impersonate a neo-conservative and hopefully failing. Somebody should have straightened my tie and helped a brother out. I post this not from vanity or to invite dissection of the image, but as a prelude to a brief meditation on sacrifice and pain. My feet hurt terribly in this picture and yet I smile.
I am convalescing at momma’s house this weekend after working 72 hours last week dressed like someone I would personally avoid on the street. I signed on for a 2.5 hour “Detox Yoga” session this morning that was a lot like any other yoga session except with more enhanced interrogation postures and it was 150 minutes long. It did the trick though, since I followed it with a nap of equal length. I almost have the strength to return to Tallahassee.
I woke to the alarm at 6:00 A:M this morning to register myself and Tommy for the Tour de Felasco. The site was not working and I went back to sleep after sending a colorful email to the organizer. I slept deeply, free of the burden yet noble in my intention. What could I do? I tried.
After dozing another hour I woke again to find a kind reply with instructions for registering and moments later the act was accomplished. January 14 at 8:30 A:M we will be in this grey and barren field, surrounded by white people in lycra driving SUV’s and rubbing lanolin into their ass cracks.
Why?
It will be too early, too cold, too far, too regulated, too crowded, and too expensive. These are generally acknowledged as facts. Still, it will be done.
I really like $50 t-shirts.
Sound off if you are in!
Juancho
For the 10th consecutive year, I will be in said field, rubbing said lanolin, in said ass crack.
I am not going to discuss ass cracks but I will say that you look very fine in that suit.
The shoes are definitely the worst part of being dressed-up.
I didn’t know 2.5 hour yoga classes existed, but now I do.
San Felasco, here you come!
You must synthesize; ride Felasco in that suit.
Now it’s censorship?
Cold blooded.
I don’t get it Rev.
Well I’d submitted a comment containing a wisecrack about your head. Then it disappeared. Suspiciously.
I had nothing to do with it. Let’s have this wisecrack. You love my dome and you know it.
It’s a head so slick, it would never get stuck in any jar.
How I envy you.
I related to that skunk. I always say life is like stumbling down a dark hallway with your hands in front of your face.