Two corn roasts in two days is too much. I mean, I'm trying to lose weight here, and all these people are making me eat roasted corn with melted butter, and pasta salads, and brownies. I'm strong-willed but no one's that strong. I did dive before today's corn roast so I got a bit of exercise first. The viz was bad, only about 5', but the water was nice and warm (66 degrees which is quite warm when you're in a wetsuit) and I had fun.
So here's my writing for the weekend:
August 21--Alexander Rodchenko, Abstract Cutout. Everyone around Ali reminded her of paper cutouts of people. They all looked like they were stamped out of cardboard with their expressions preprogrammed on their faces. They dressed alike, men and women, all in dark business suits with white shirt and tie. Even their shoes made the same clatter on the marble lobby floor. Ali took one look around at what promised to be her future if she accepted the job at Andersen, Feinstein, and Rodchenko, and fled. She'd rather spend the rest of her life flipping burgers to pay the rent than turn into one of the emotionless drones moving past her.
Not bad.
August 22 & 23--Edgar Degas, The Tub. The trickle of cool water felt luxurious as it traced its way down Cecile's back. The plink-plink as the droplets landed in the old tin tub reminded her of sleeping in the loft at Grand-mere's when she was small. It was a hot summer afternoon and the power had gone out in the quartier again. No small fan whirred in the window enticing in a stray cool breeze. The only thing to do was to strip down and slowly sponge herself with cool water. Madame LaTour must never know about Cecile's little tub that came in handy for quick baths and the quick laundering of her scanties.
Maybe if I wasn't so tired I'd have made more of this last one. Bonne nuit.
--Barbara
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