My job? To mingle and talk about The Library. Heck Yes! Funass noche with all these shmancy legal folks, including a woman who was trying to sell her FrankLloydWright house but didn't want it to get in the hands of anyone who would significantly change it. All her serious bidders told her how they were going to knock down walls and completely expand and alter and she was horrified. She was also on her way to a full-on drunk night, as all the liquor was free and on tables in front of busts of Thomas Jefferson and George Washington. 
She told me of her being the dean of a law school a while back, and how she insisted on authentic Spanish Tile for the rooftops no matter the cost, and how she loved her rare book collection and loved The Library of Congress. 
Many told me how much they admired the LC and what they remembered about any research they did and any books of theirs which might be in the stax, or where they sat, but mostly it was me going positively OFF on how dope the room they were standing in was. We were just hanging out in the Mmain Wreading Rroom, not being shush'd, and able to look around and UP freely! Right under the great color collar painting by BLASHFIELD and the secret center sanctified scene only seen from down below where we were, so casually, in a party ... So many lawyers and pearls and wives and bowties and tortoise shell frames and it was to them I was flip-flapping gums regarding the books around them and elsewhere in the Liberry's complex.
As the night progressed the questions progressed free-boozishly from Who are these statues? to There sure are a lotta boobs in the art of this building! How many are there all over, bro? Could be anywhere from 10 to 44 y'know? I know! Beaucoup de Boobage in the decorative schema cuz ya gotta count da sculptures too, including da outside Neptune Fountain crew, which was where I was headed when the lawyers ascended to supper. I drank a refreshing glass of Johnnie Walker and shot out into the snow, the ice-snow blowing hard'n'sideways. 
Capitol Hill was c-c-c-c-c-cold and I felt GRAND!! Collar up and into the wind, I walked to Union Station to catch my train. I was wearing my grandfather's suit, hell yes. Thank you for wreading this. I tried to write it as fast as I could, just 4 kix.
1 comment:
Brilliant, per usual. So much to admire about this lil number -- the imagery, the humor, the smarts, the pics -- and so much to admire about the WRITER, e.g., the fact that he counted the boobs. No, really. And appreciating the entire scene while wearing his Grandfather's suit--such a lovely continuity of an intimate, inanimate object out in the world, its own history sewn into the lining. And advocacy for preservation of the FLW house in toto, not parceled and dismantled and reassembled into a Mcmansion that looks like every other Stepford house on the street. (When you come home blown out, how do you know which digs are yours?) Now, where do I sign up for one of those limited-edition booze/boob liberry tours? ...
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