Before you bash my Gaga … let me tell you what I see tonight. I see an aging, Dolly Pardon-esque drag queen grinning under lights and make up. I remember the tall Cuban-who-fixed-everything, trying to sing Gaga at Kareoke … I think of Katy Perry and chilly nights drinking beer on a Russian lake by the forest, dancing to her with children of all ages under a disco ball. Riding in my minivan; windows down, volume up, brothers spilling out the doors, screaming “but I’m Mr. Brightside!!!” down the road. Sometimes it reminds me of a summer… like the summer Pete and I carpooled without air conditioning to Chickfila every day, where we flipped chicken burgers for pennies. Or KT Tunstall and me and the Starbucks ladies behind the counter makin’ coffee – “no, no, no, you’re not the one for me!” And the Beach Boys (Jamaica, Bahamas, Come on, pretty momma) send me into the passenger seat as Lauren showed off her newly-learned, mad stick-driving skills down curvy (rainy) Georgia roads. Dancing crazy with my ‘sisters’ in our tiny apartment in the heart of Mexico City to Usher’s “Yeah Yeah…” Where does your radio take you?
vitamin D, summer, doing nothing, friend time, talks, being true to myself, liking rap even if I'm white, the kids camp that goes marching around under my window (left, left, left-right)... and their "sergeant"; dreaming of a car with automatic windows, a bass system that will rock your eardrums, and AC... starting to get excited 'bout dis Ecuador thing. It's high time, too. And I'm proud of myself for signing up for the Master's program... I'll deal with motivation and papers when they come. And I'm going to the gym. Really.
