Andare, Partire, Tornare ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The remorse of being caught Man, does it suck getting caught by the po-lice for something you knew you shouldn't be doing, but did anyway. No, my international brothel of high-class women hasn't been busted - I simply got caught by a state trooper for a technical violation that I knew about, but decided to take the risk anyway. And, of course, since on the drive up I mumbled to myself, "You know, I *never* see any police on the trip anyway," I got nailed. But what made me upset was that he cop found something else wrong, and then decided I was a deceitful wench who probably should have gotten her car impounded except for the goodness of his heart. Honest to god, I thought, and still think, that the second violation is bullshit - I may have made a mistake about some paperwork, and attributed something to one car that should belong to the other car, but I wasn't running a thriving buisness in car theft, despite what he may have thought. So I am suffering the remorse of being stupid an consequently having to pay a big fine for it. D'oh. I'm not used to being taken to task by cops, and I feel sooooo paranoid after it happens (This is only the third ticket I've had in my life). And the fact that my face is apparently not innocent enough for him to treat me kindly...hmph! But in every other way, my trip to State College was both productive and a whole bunch o'fun. I got about seven very important books, including _Holy Anorexia_, which is about saintly women of the medieval period who used food as a specific social tool, and whose haigiography describes them eschewing all nourishment except for the Eucharist and/or the occasional nip of leper pus, and _Holy Feast, Holy Fast_, which is along the same lines but more expansive and takes a slightly different angle on a very similar topic. For light reading, I had _Support and Seduction: A History of the Bra and Corset_, in which you find lines like, "In this century, the description of a beautiful pair of breasts was that they were presented like two pears in goblets." The corset is a lovely undergarment, as long as you are not required to lift children, hold anything heavier than a fan or wine glass, or breathe too deeply. According to a costume conservator I was talking with the other day, the average rib cage size of brides increased by three inches from the turn of the century to as little as three decades after it, simply because of the upper-body development of the then-brides. Chessica, her roommate ElvisChick (She has a Velvis on the wall) and I went to dinner, and then played a round of Trivial Pursuit Millenium Edition while drinking white wine and eating peanut-butter cookies with chocolate icing inbetween them. The next day, I actually went to church with Chess, and then we hit the Target, and otherwise hung around the house yakking, listening to Italian music, and gossiping madly about all our mutual acquaintences. It was only when I left to go home that the day took such a sudden turn south, thanks to Pennsylvania's finest. So, a decided mixed bag of a weekend. And now I'm watching the Super Bowl get tied at 17-all, and rooting for the Rams but noting that the Patriots have played with the real fire in the belly, and thinking that they probably deserve the win more. Ah, well. It's not like the 'Skins are playing, so I'd have a clear alliance. 9:58 p.m. - 2002-02-03 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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