Music:a memory of "Tomorrow Belongs to Me" from Cabaret
My female shadow is coming closer. Check out this e-mail I received today:
Dear Cascade Fleet Members,
Viking Fest is next week and I have not heard from many of you about attending this event. So that we may have an accurate head count for the Bayside Broiler if you would let me know if you are attending it would be greatly appreciated.
The cost of the dinner is $35/per person which includes tax and tip. This includes a non-acholoic drink.
My email address is: [ADDRESS DELETED]@aol.com
The persons who will be attending are:
Brody and Chandra Kunz Roger Martindill and Karen Karen Hanenburg Gary and Cindi LaSala Gary and Ingrid Bruner - Dinner only Richard and Diane Foreman
Those who have expressed interest:
Charlotte Bertsch and Paul Meshke Chuck and Ingrid Klein
Those who have attened in the past:
Evan and Janis McAllister
I wish I could attend. I even have a horny hat to wear for the occasion. Stranger, still, the message above was embedded within a reply on which I was copied:
Dick & Diane… Thank you so very much for sharing Opening Day with Karen and I. Your vessel was the perfect piece for this “showing” and your hospitality was superb. Thanks for allowing “me” to kick back and “have-a-ball” while you folks did all the work!
We are looking forward to Poulsbo, and will be arriving Thursday afternoon.
Roger & Karen
I know, you were about to write me that my horny hat is not authentically Viking. But judging from this latter missive, this crowd that Charlotte Bertsch hangs with is theoretically savvy in that ironic, postmodern way. Not only does this crowd eschew having a ball in order to "have-a-ball," its members also recognize that the word "me" is always already a lie unless it is bracketed by scare quotes. Oh, and are you as curious as I am to find out what this "showing" consisted of? I'm especially intrigued by the hermaphroditic entwining of "vessel" and "piece." Perhaps it is intended to underscore the moi's paradoxical dimension, namely the fact that it is a receptacle we try in vain to fill, failing to comprehend that inside and outside are cut from the same cloth or, as the idiom would have it, "of a piece." In a sense, we are all vassals of this vessel, which threatens to engulf everything in its path. The Vikings were a piece-loving people. But they knew where to pour out their blood.