I guess that assumes I'm a swan, but swans are nasty birds. When I was a gardener in Upperville for a summer or two, when at least I remember things being greener and requiring less paperwork, we had a mated pair of male swans who would, as avocation and exercise both, chase us and the geese and the children. One or the other of these fags would pivot its big stupid wings up into Delorean mode, wrap itself in its lilywhite feather boa and power down upon your person. The swans' dubious sexuality's all on hearsay, since I never attempted to sex them nor do I know how you go about doing that. A bird has a cloaca, I think, which is a word that means sewer in Latin. I think their names were Gary and Gary and they had matching haircuts (a jheri curl each)
LAST DAY OF WORK is May 11 for me, and a few days after that I pack up and leave Charlottesville and Reichstag and so forth behind for good, so far as I know. In a rather corporate vein, I'm thinking of tics and habits better left here; Baton Rouge is a daunting catholic concept since I feel pretty finely-tuned to Charlottesville by now, and Charlottesville will shake your hand with cold-fish Protestant apprehension, that of a world-weary burgher
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Hey you, over there!
Yes, you! Do you remember me? Haha, I'm the mysterious, transient, kafkaesque, foggy entity from LJ and although, admittedly, I'm somewhat late to visit your new and remote sanctuary here, I assure you I did enjoy the stay and, with your kind permission of coure, I shall stop by regularly henceforth.
But how're you doing, mate?
Are you allright?
Cheers,
-- Josef A. Dick
In case you don't remember our first encounter, cf. http://blingapollo.livejournal.com/56793.html
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