Sinister: crashing through the parlor doors what was your first reaction

[lindsey baker]

hello sinister.

well, here i sit again in front of this unorganized alphabet picking out
words. i do think i shall use these letters to tell you all about the
horrible, frightening realization i came to last night.

first, though, i must attend to the vending room and get a little something
to nibble. my arse is going to get as big as isobel's, though if it would
inspire such weeks of discussion, i wouldn't be entirely disappointed.

ok. ready.

i write for a small artsy paper here in town, and my latest assignment is to
cover an art show opening, contents, artist, etc. so last night, i scheduled
an interview with the young artiste -- an interview which, i was informed,
would be conducted during a party. so fine, good, great, i said in my
reporter voice and jumped in my car (which i love), tape recorder in hand. i
showed up at the large, somewhat shabby house to which i had been directed
and fluttered inside to find what looked like the beginnings of a local twee
gathering.

now, i have, for quite sometime, fancied myself the displaced twee maiden,
sporting little buttons and black-framed, pink-lensed glasses, just waiting
to stumble upon the fairy forest of fellow indie people. and there it was! i
thought i had found my people. but as i sat one the one piece of furniture
in the exquisitely hot house (next to a nice boy whose glasses resembled my
own, i might insert) waiting for the artist to arrive, i began to feel a bit
out of place. 

perhaps it was because i didn't know the kids very well. i tried to make
dreaded small talk, and succeeded to some degree. then artist, when he came,
was quite friendly. but then the interview was done and the only thing i had
to talk to was my tape player. maybe i'm too shy. maybe the midwestern twee
folk are of a different strain. or maybe, i saw, with an overwhelming
horror, i am a wannabe.

yikes.

so i left, no longer a displaced twee, just displaced. and the feeling
hasn't gone away since, sadly. so now i'll just retreat to the lone chair on
the fringes of the clique, and eat my animal crackers and watch the fun
people have fun before me. 

love, your resident outcast outcast, lindsey






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