Sunday, August 28, 2011

Washington Post "Night Lives"

This article appeared in the Washington Post a last Tuesday.  I'm not sure if I like it.  I'd like to see some human side to the people here ~ it almost sneered at the subjects, in a couple of places.  I'd like to finish and think "sympathetic" but this was mostly clinical.

Too much to hope for, I guess.

An excerpt:

At 2:30 a.m. the girls own the strip, K between Third and Seventh: escorts such as Staci, plus the $150-an-hour diva prostitutes and the homeless-and-hungry hookers who’ll jump in cars at a red light for spare change — all transgender or transsexual, male to female. They’re trailed by bashful “straight” boy groupies and older men who can’t quite transcend drag queendom, never mind pass with the aggressive elegance of Staci, who seven years ago was a chunky teenage boy from Alexandria sitting on that electric box at Sixth, watching the ladies walk K Street like a runway.

Follow the link for the full article, pictures, and video.  Staci wasn't shy about being on camera.

Lightening, wind, rockstorms, a dirty brown box, and a telephone.

Irene is still here.  The wind was pretty heavy and steady overnight.  Power went out around 1.30 this morning.  I awoke just before 4.30, noticed power was still out, but Irene was making her own lights outside.  A minute or so later, power came back on.  I quick look outside shows minimal damage.  I hope the rest of the coast is as lucky.

And if anyone gets the reference for my subhead, I want to meet that person!  Google, I fear, will not help.  The context, as I remember it: With the dimes thrown at his feet, the wanderer came upon us.  Dressed in translucent wrapping paper.  Peering out of a black cloud on a dark night.  And with him, that man brought: lightening.  Wind.  Rockstorms.  A dirty brown box.  And a telephone.

1 comment:

  1. From deep in the black cosmos comes a face so shocking, with a story so revealing, people shudder and turn their eyes.

    With the dimes thrown at his feet, the wanderer came upon us, dressed in translucent wrapping paper, peering out of a black cloud on a dark night.

    And with him, the man brought lightning,
    Comets and meteors,
    A dirty brown box,
    And a telephone.

    Cling climbin' clamored to his clang and click and clap to the clangor of his clack. That's why I say--

    I don't know who recorded that, but Steve Post used it as the opening theme of his late-night program on WBAI. After that monologue, Post would say something, and there'd be a big major chord.


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