Zappadan Adventure

It's Zappadan, that time of year between December 4 and December 21, when we gather together on the warm tendons strung between us (internets) to celebrate the life of Frank Vincent Zappa, delivered to us at precisely the right time, then taken too soon.

During the summer, I purchased this poster, which to me is sublime for a number of reasons:
1. The cheap Chroma-Key? background
2. The partly dead plants
3. Those shoes, which some stylish gent would covet nowadays
4. Peter Max socks
5. The jaunty neckerchief
6. Unapologetic smoking
7. Leopard-print Speedo flocked by generously untrimmed pubes 
8. The smoky, sardonic glance

I'm sure there are more. Turned out, I procrastinated just long enough for the hanging up of this poster to coincide with Zappadan. Unintentional brilliance.

Anyway, because it's just for me and not for the prying eyes of others, I wanted to laminate it (so I could use tape to hang it on the back of my closet door, so that I could go in and look at it when I needed a laugh or confidence or courage or acceptance, so that I could gaze upon one whom I regard as a bodhisattva of sorts). For this, I'd need to hit the Christian bookstore, home of the thickest, cheapest plastic coating machine in the land (25 cents a foot! Thick!)

I strode into the Christian bookstore, thronged round by dogma, strode to the back of the store, past the homeschooling dreck, to the waiting, already warm laminator. Into its primed maw I thrust the raw image, sexual, hilarious, unflinching, using my ample body as a barrier between it and any virginal gazes. A few times, believers approached, yet the dark force of my will and determination must have turned them back. Finished, I cut the smooth plastic, rolled up the rock and roll, and headed to the register, where a predictably prim woman jockeyed competently. "Is that all?" she asked, her hand starting to unroll the edge. "YES, just one poster," I said, a little too loudly, moving it deftly back. I paid the 81 cents and left, heart beating faster.

If I'm truly the jaded rebel that I think I am, why did this feel so dangerous?

------------------------------------

"Look here, brother, who you jivin' with that cosmik debris?" - FZ

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Very Sad News

Hi everyone, Because friends share in good things and bad and this is important to me, I thought you all might like to know. My mom, who had been battling many health problems, especially during the past few years, passed away Friday night. She was not a perfect person, but her love for me was. I figure if you want to know more, you'll ask. But if I don't seem quite myself for awhile, that's why. Thanks.
Read more

The Sock Monkey Project

Image
Recently, due to Arctic Blast 2007 (i.e. a quarter-inch of sleet upon these Dallas roadways), a much-anticipated night of drinking, fooling around and Sopranos was nixed. Did I sulk? Well, hell yes, I did. And then I did some more. But after that, pouting began to bore me and I hit upon a mission: I was gonna make a goddamn sock monkey. Why the flip did this occur to me? Well, I'd talked it up for many years, seeing as how my grandmother gave me one when I was six or seven and it was subsequently so cherished and frequently hugged that the tail developed a hole at the end. As it turns out, my friends listen to me on occasion, so I was gifted with this kit at Christmastime this year. Though my original hosiery simian was far more tricked out than this one, with a red gingham dress and hat that had lace trim, this nostalgia-fueled, red felt vested ape would do nicely on a blustery, pissy winter's night . Besides, the original mon-chi-chi was lost. Generally speaking, I'm n
Read more

Two Years

Two years I've been writing this. Two years. Most of you and I have known each other for most of that span. Why is it so hard to believe, the constant flow of time? -------------------------------- Reality is a question of perspective; the further you get from the past, the more concrete and plausible it seems -- but as you approach the present, it inevitably seems incredible. -- Salman Rushdie
Read more