Baby's Got Back ...
I was reading Katie's Seldom Nice Nowadays, she used that phrase out of a blues song (extolling the virtue of overlarge female rear ends) ... and WHAM!
Catapulted back to the days of early marriage when my now-a-jazz-musician exhusband was exploring the blues. Never mind being born in an upper middle class family on Mercer Island, he had the BLUES.
I can't tell you how many hours of arcane blues song garage band rehearsals I sat through (when I was still a good band wife and felt the need to fully participate in the life).
But the real color commentary comes when you get to the gig. Seamy smoke-filled clubs with low lit dancefloors, the stench of spilled beer, pushy barmaids who turn nice when you announce you're the wife (why was that?), the lysol waft from the usually horrible restrooms.
And the drunks.
The quiet drunks, the obnoxious drunks, the drunks on a pickup mission, the drunks who want to dance, the drunks too far gone to lift their heads.
If you want to make the true American Fellini, go to a bar an hour before closing time and you will have found your film's most viscerally surreal scene. Every human emotion -- marinated in hours of alcohol and thus stripped bare -- will be in front of you.
But the most predominant emotion will be frustration. That's what fascinated me, the high expectations these bargoers had of their evenings. The twenty-something girls dressed in high-seduction mode, with skirt slits up to there and layers of lipgloss. The thirty-something males in tight t-shirts showing off their weightwork at the gym. And it gets sadder -- and more desperate -- for both sexes as you climb the age ladder.
Then the glaring contrast when the lights come up at 2 am: the gray room and the tired faces of the band and waitstaff.
All illusion of romance gone, just wanting to tear down, pack up and get out.
Today's fragrance: oh, I'm thinking something from the Victoria's Secret line of fine scents. Must research.