Today I resumed reading between seemingly endless lines of bureaucratzy, pulling no weeds except figurative ones.
For some reason, I remembered a deep sea fishing trip we took from Fort Lauderdale. As we cruised through the Inland Waterway we passed a giant statute of a human's middle finger. "What's the story?" I asked the captain. According to him, the owner had first installed a large statue of a naked woman. When folks complained, he yielded and installed a bird instead. The critics remained unhappy and even more irritated.
When we visited Florence a couple years ago, I waited an hour or so to view Michelangelo's David. He's pretty big, I dare say bigger than the naked lady in Florida, and his picture is everywhere, even in respectable publications. Yes, he's inside now, but that wasn't always the case, and as I understand it, the reason is not because the neighbors were upset.
Virginia pipes up, "I bet the sculptor of the naked woman wasn't as talented as Michelangelo. We must protect our young from inferior artistry, don't you think?"
Oh, I get it. Is that what those long lines were, outside the American Idol tryouts, demonstrators against the bad singers who didn't get past Simon but received a few seconds of national exposure anyway?
"Just a thought," says Virginia.
She's way too nice, that woman.
The Bowman Women; A Work In Progress
1 week ago