ardent bullshit comes down every faultline gushing heavily into jest kindly luscious melons nodding openly post quakes resting still to undermind various wonderous xylophones yawning zealously

Sunday, June 14, 2015

La Boca

This weekend I was at a wedding, or rather post-nuptial reception, out on a boat in Boston Harbor. The couple got married about 6 months ago but just now got around to a party. It was lovely. Lovely is the new nice, don't you think? Just like hectic is the new busy. 

We're all just saying the same things.

Anyway, so a group of us got on this boat to celebrate the young couple and cruised around. Many many people revived that one scene from Titanic. Revived it until it was dead again, which was long before they stopped reviving it. We had a good time. 

One thing was bothering me, though. It became apparent that I wasn't swearing and when I did I realized it. This whole week, actually, my mouth (for the most part) remained G-to-PG, rarely crossing into R-rated territory. And it was kind of nice. 

Usually I am laying out expletives left and right, acting cool and tough. Not that I have anything against a "potty mouth" or will stop using appropriate words for emphasis but overuse really undermines the potency that a well-placed "fuck" can bring. 

So that is going to be the next sort of fine tuning. It probably will last until I miss the C Line by about 17 seconds tomorrow morning when I am already late to a meeting and I will let 'er rip. 

Oh well. It's all just practice anyway.


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