TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER
an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
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09.08.03, monday night
An apt description of my 26th birthday party: "The gorgeous taste of fully ripened pineapple, imposing as a southern island king crowned in glory, is yours to enjoy in every soft and juicy Kasugai Pineapple gummy."
It was a chocolate cake-less event featuring: a pony keg of Red Hook; maps encaustic, ballpointed, xeroxed, or torn from a NYC guidebook; cookbooks; the dusty mirror Mel pried loose from an abandoned house in a town of fifty-four inhabitants near Whiskytown Lake; a drunken promise to wear brass knuckles at the next art show; and twenty-six Colonial donuts.
Now back to our regularly scheduled program: statistics class on Monday and Wednesday mornings; waitressing nights at an oldtown Oakland vegan restaurant staffed by singing Vietnamese lady chefs and Mexican dishwashers who conduct impromptu Spanish-language lesson-sessions; writing (letters/stories) and reading (letters/stories/histories) and love-living (telling stories/making history) every day and night.