Nevernudity

Yesterday morning I drove to Goodwill and took five pairs of cutoffs into the dressing room with me. I found a pair that fit, then bought the pair two sizes smaller.

The costume, was of course, Tobias Funke from the short-lived, brilliant show Arrested Development, a character played by David Cross, who suffers from a rare psychological affliction: the inability to be completely naked. As such, he wears a pair of cutoffs under his every outfit.



What was more fun? Was it riding the Metro to Jer's party and being accosted by young ruffians?

Scott: Why didn't you stand up for me, Jay?

Was it the first unveiling, entering the party dressed in three inches of denim?

Scott: My testicles are currently next to my pancreas.

Or watching peoples' eyes inevitably drawn to my milky white thighs and berry brown nipples? And afterwards taking the metro home alone, with freezing rain pouring down and it being cold as all hell? Who knows?

The point is, it looked like this:

Conversations

Scott: Jay, your nose-blowing's grossing me out. Just wad up a tissue and shove it up your nostrils.

Jay: Nose-blowing is always a futile action.

Scott: It is truly the tragedy of human existence. Some say the world will end in fire/Some say in snot.


Hanah: I'm going to take off my shoe.

Scott: Ew.

Jay: Just one?

Hanah: Well, I've got this thing around my toe.

[Hanah has something around her toe]

Jay: Is that a Jewish thing?


Jay wishes to addend this passage from the Marquis de Sade, from The 120 Days of Sodom:

And having stretched me out upon his bed with my head a little to one side, he sat down next to me and raised my head upon his lap. He peered avidly at me, his eyes seemed ready to devour the secretion oozing from my nose. "Oh, the pretty little snotface," said he, beginning to pant, "How I'm going to suck her." Therewith bending down over me, and taking my nose in his mouth, not only did he devour all the mucus between my nose and mouth, but he even lewdly darted the tip of his tongue into each of my nostrils, one after the other, and with such cleverness he provoked two or three sneezes which redoubled the flow he desired and was consuming so hungrily. But ask me for no details bearing upon this fellow, Messieurs, nothing appeared, and whether because he did nothing, or becaues he did it all in his drawers, there was nothing to be seen, and amidst the multitude of his kisses and lecherous lickings there was nothing outstanding which might have denoted an ecstasy, and consequently it is my opinion that he did not discharge. All my clothes were in place, even his hands stayed still, and I give you my word that this old libertine's fantasy might be performed upon the world's most repectable and least initiated girl without her being able to suppose there was anything lewd in it at all.

Dueling

Sasha and I had a poetry battle today at the Delegation and Privatization break. The weapon of choice? Hopkins.

I opened with the appropriately-themed Spring and Fall.

The eminent Professor Volokh struck back with an animated God's Grandeur.

But no sooner had he finished then I parried and conquered with The Windhover.

Reeling at this point, Sasha muttered the opening line to Pied Beauty, but then--wisely--surrendered and started class.

You don't get tenure for recitations of verse, after all, and time is limited.

(It is the blight man was born for,
It is your hairline you mourn for.)

Praise Him.

There're No Windows in Heaven

Corky, my beloved bird, has died. I didn't witness it happen, but I saw the remains: his beaten body, his little hands scrunched up, his face still wearing that "I'm as dumb as all hell" expression.

Cold little eyes.

Sure, it may not have been him, just some other stupid bird of the same species. But I choose to believe that it was indeed him, and that he died much as he lived--jetting at an unbelievable speed into the dangerously transparent windows of McDonough.

Jay and I decided to honor him by building a little funeral pyre. But that's a lot of work, so instead, I just lit his tail on fire with a Bic. The smell was terrible--but somehow, I knew, Corky would have wanted it that way. We left him on the table for awhile until his vacant stare became unnerving, then rolled him up in a Fritos bag and threw him in a recycling bin. The circle of life.

Later, Jay and I went to the Kennedy Center, saw the Dvorak Cello Concerto and the complete Daphnis et Chloe (chorus included). This worked out well for all involved, since I enjoyed some great music, and Jay had a nice nap.

My inventory of memorized poetry is currently at 6.