If he was the King, then I’m Lisa-Marie.

aloha!

Before I woke up this morning I was praying in my head that I would open my eyes to paisley curtains, shag carpeting and perhaps even a lava lamp flowing ambiently next to some fiber-optic lights on the dresser with a record collection categorized alphabetically from Abba to Zappa. I reached for my glasses, popped out my retainers and looked around the room to unfortunately realize that I was in my bedroom in my hometown sans bean bag chair, sans beaded doorway, sans bong...

So it really is 2008 huh? Bummer.

Before returning to the Big City T.Dot for a much needed dose of Inari, Des and a little Marry\Boff\Kill session and Lost season 3 on DVD, I am embarking on an equally needed and greatly desired road-trip North to visit my older sister (who I openly admit is one huge fox\man-eater).

It’s an annual trip and this year I’m going with the Working Class Hero himself… no -not John Lennon… but my old Italian padre, who (when fairly inebriated) refers to himself as the King of the 60s and 70s social scene in small-city southern Ontario and even some areas of Buffalo and Queenston-Lewiston believe it or not. I look forward to boarding the greyhound and changing the scene up a bit - keeping things interesting and new. The times they are-a changing. Are they changing for the better? I’d only be so blessed to arrive in Ottawa tomorrow night to wildly discover that the Greyhound was actually a time-machine and instead of Paul Martin, Trudeau was Prime Minister and the FLQ was a rockin’ the front page of the Ottawa Citizen. I contradict myself such that I need to keep things new and interesting... and yet I long for yesterday... the past...

Perhaps my overwhelming nostalgia for the 60s\70s era (which happened decades before my birth) is genetic, just like my blue eyes and my beautiful shower singing skills. In fact, I am almost positive that it is genetic.

I am going to go ahead and state the obvious… so much is different now than it was then. The music, the movies… the BABES. O how I long for some babe from the past –Hoffman as Ben Braddock, Pacino circa Dog Day Afternoon. GEORGE HARRISON. There really is no correlation however, to the babes in which I am attracted. Think for a moment about the babes you are attracted to…
Any patterns? Similarities? One theory is that you are often attracted to babes that in some way embody the qualities or an image of your father… This is a theory almost Freudian in nature. “Freud On Babes” – I’d read that book. Would you read that book?

“Babe”: (n.) (adj.)

The term “Babe” I admit is very gray. What constitutes a “babe” you ask? I’ve tried to explain this a countless amount of times. To be honest, the definition of babe stems back to its origins in 2004’s much used term “foxy” also used to describe “babes” who have some sort of quality… magnetism… and yet are not your typical – run of the mill “popular” babe. Sorry Mr. Hollister I am referring to you when I say typical popular. But here is where the definition gets murky… because your personality may contradict or accent those hunky good looks of yours in a way that screams BABE with a polo stick.
You know what? I am not even going to try to define it much further. When you see a babe… and you think to yourself… “dude – what a babe” than that’s all there is to it.
Now only if I was a little less indecisive regarding which babes I actually like it would make life a lot simpler. BECAUSE Just because you think dude’s a babe… doesn’t mean you like them… right?

Anyways. I’m off to Ottawa… a city I must say is crawling with babes (or so I have had past experiences which have proven this statement to be true…)

Au revoir les poison jaune! See you when I get back…

Xoxo
Lo.

If I was the wife of any dead Rock-Star I’d be: June Carter Cash.