What About John Viterbo?

For Sylvester Stallone’s best role, direct your eyeballs toward “Death Race 2000”. Eric had me over last night to see it and, while I loathe David Carradine with every fibre of my being, I really enjoyed it. Mr. Corman, you make gooood B-movies.

I am looking very frivolous and vain today. If the younger sister were here, she would burst into that Carly Simon song about vanity where there are clouds in her coffee. That entire notion has never made but little sense to me: why would there be clouds in your coffee? Are you hallucinating, you hippie? Is that where dreams truly reside or even what they resemble? Could they not be mist on your glasses, or vapors from all the Vick’s you need after catching mono from this narcissistic jerk? But, I digress.

On frivolous days, women stare you down predatorily, their unwavering eyes wondering what prime piece of genetic real estate you’re taking off the block. Alternately, they assume you are a threat (directly or indirectly) to the property they’re already prospectin’. I’ve encountered very few females in my day who pay another girl no mind whatsoever. I’m certainly not one of them, though I’ve learned to keep my observant once-overs discreet. The possibility, for some reason, always seems higher when the offender in question is ringless. Nevermind that the old toast goes, “To all the men in my life; may they never meet my husband!”

On basic levels of genetic material – the levels where entire universes of alien-shaped mito-whatsits live in single drops of blood – here, where the wild things are, we are coded to attract and be attractive to our genetically perfect mate. You know, for purposes of furthering our evolutionary ‘progress’. It ought to remind us to try not to hold a roving eye to too great a standard (too many ‘to’s’!). Certainly not when that eye falls on the nearest puffed out princess who was ever asking for a throat f*** it can find. Too much? Girls do dress to be seen, but they are mostly forewarning other girls that they are around to contend with. Maybe in a mud pit!

Vainglorious me is amused by it all, humble me will dress a little less flamboyantly tomorrow and people-watching me is going to go back outside and see what else she can see.

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