hello my baby, hello my darlin'...

today i popped in while s.b. practiced. debussy's first arabesque. i found myself drowsing against the wall. head lolling. almost asleep. then suddenly: was that your stomach?!?! i opened one eye: affirmative.

my belly has its own bizarre repertoire. really. it makes the strangest sounds. sometimes it is so loud i become embarrassed. i'm somewhere quiet and then this. i have to shuffle papers or tap my knuckles or look innocently at the other people on the bus as though i was not the source. when i say my stomach growls i'm not adding animal traits for dramatic effect. it does growl. ulcers. and the anemia makes me sleepy. but anyway, the worst sound she makes: eructation. i think humbert says in lolita, "there are some eructations that sound like applause." that's from memory and it's been while. cut me some slack. mine falls short of ovation. more like a series of ugly industrial valves turning. a series of compressions and decompressions. i stuff a banana in there. shut up already! 20 minutes and the aftermath is one long cranky complaint. i like to personify. i think be-ribboned tweedles in there. dee and dum. a hideous tantrum.

speaking of hideous. whoever practiced nearby has a love of scott joplin. please. please. oh please. unless you are evelyn glennie stay clear. i'm being mean. to promote tolerance and show that ragtime is alright by me here are some places which i find ragtime appropriate:

-1800's prospector camp
-the silver stope, virginia city
-an organ-grinder's grinder
-big valley
-a can-can revue
-traveling carnival
-a nickelodeon
-the ponderosa

i know jazz is in debt to it. but i envision kick-skirts when i hear it. i'm very sorry.

so, we ended the session all with bananas in hand (ecuador!) in a poster perfect salute to the banana council. and twenty minutes later...