All you have to know about me today is that, in preparation for going out tonight, I tucked my shirt into my underwear. And suddenly it’s 1975 all over again.
Later I’ll be squished into my denim beanbag chair as far as it is willing to allow, enormous headphones taking over 65% of my head, Neil Young’s “Harvest” dripping into my brain directly from the turntable six feet away, all while bathed in the sexy blue light of the bulb I proudly installed in my ceiling fixture.
But for now, I’m outta here, on my way to see a play that I cannot tell you about right now because if I do, you’ll know where to find me and quite possibly follow me there and pretend it’s not 1975 but 1865 and I am Abraham Lincoln.
Have a safe evening.
Is this like those Where’s Waldo books? Are you somewhere in this picture? Am I supposed to be trying to find you? I always stunk at this game.
Funny you would even mention the Where’s Waldo books, because I thought of trying to come up with some sort of outrageously hilarious pun using that as a base. Then decided not to, obviously. You may try to find me in the photo, if you like. I won’t tell you if you’ll succeed or not, though. I am, after all, all about the *mystery*.
It looks a lot like the Southern of California, Jodi — perhaps a bit north of Los Angeles (but not necessarily).
I’ve seen that kind of scenery a lot for a long, long time.
Great Neck, NY
Oh! Oh! I know! I know! Pick me! Pick me!