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October 25, 2001 guys and dolls I drove across town under fat, black clouds while Lucinda's voice made my neck hair stand.  Actually, it only felt like the hair on the back of my neck was standing.  I had just gotten a haircut and a massage and the hair clippings were stuck to my neck by massage oil.  Kind of like those poor birds pinned to the beach by an oil spill. Chantel, the lovely and talented barefoot masseuse, had left my favorite massage parlor to go into business on her own.  I did not follow her because I am comfortable with my present locus.  It exudes tranquility and sits at the end of a dead-end street.  So I placed my body in the hands of a new girl, Rhiannon. Rhiannon wore tennis shoes and looked remarkably like a Cabbage-Patch Doll.  Same height, same tightly-stuffed face.  But what she lacked in size and foot-fashion sense, she made up for in earnestness.  Before we began the massage, Rhiannon asked me if I had any problem areas.  Without smiling, I described what I thought to be a strained nutsack.  She ignored me.  I added that I carry a lot of tension under my scapulae and, one hour later, I felt as though I had been given a butcher-knife beating by Chucky the homicidal doll. Later in the evening, my best friend and his wife brought to the Alhambra a house-warming gift.  It was the jumbo-sized George Foreman Lean Mean Grilling Machine.  I'm talking about the model that is roughly the size of the spaceship in The Day the Earth Stood Still.  When I opened the box, I half-expected Mr. Carpenter and Gort to walk down the specially-designed sloping grill surface and step into the grease-catching tray the size of a lap-pool.  Tonight I will study the instructional video.

©  2001 by the beastmaster