White Light, Ben Gay Heat

If I were to say I understood anything, I’d probably go on for a minute or two, then begin stuttering, then admit I probably don’t understand a thing. Life is too complicated to go on with the idea that we can understand what might be happening in factual terms anywhere.

Fortunately, tomorrow a bunch of us wild art gals are gussying up and going to KGB in Manhattan to see Alan Parker read. I haven’t seen him in years and years. Don’t know where he and his family moved to, but I suspect we’ll find out. We have that magical power – as a group – to go, and do, and be awfully glam. This requires mascara.

As an Italian Princess, I may Nair my mustache. It’s a stretch, but a gal’s got to do what a gal’s got to do. This could be funny.

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