“In whose eyes am I, I?”
Usually, come weekend nights, I enjoy the solitude of my house. As a result, I don’t usually see the gussied up throngs poised to part-ay. This weekend, however, I found myself in North Beach on Saturday night — a mecca for all sorts of folks. At some point, a bus-thingy filled with drunken, imbibing 20-somethings drove by me. The girls were in these short skirts doing some kind of dance and hooting and gyrating. What struck me was how familiar and contrived the dancing was. I’d seen it before. I’d seen it on the screen.
It felt like a staged event in which the young ‘uns were play acting the images of young people we see in movies and TV and such. They were on some open aired bus-a-mabob, quite literally a roving stage. I was watching a spectacle of a spectacle.
Now, I have no desire to belittle…
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