Thursday, July 07, 2005
not shaped for sportive tricks.
there's that one kind of bad breath that smells a lot like poop. i spent the summer after my freshman year in college at a "shakespeare festival" run by a "semi-professional" theatre company in my hometown. it was really a community theatre group that was at the beginning of a short, frustrated attempt at renaissance. they hired a bunch of seattle people for a few years before they eventually ran themselves into the ground, and everyone i knew who'd taken part was sort of sheepish about admitting the experience whenever it came up. the "festival" was pretty much the blaine, missouri of washington state.
i was playing lady anne to a c0rnish student's richard. he had a speech impediment and chronically horrendous breath. he developed a small crush on me and once offered to help me latch the strapless bra i wore underneath my lady anne evening gown (you cannot be surprised to hear that it was modern dress. at one point the lancasters broke in and ransacked the york stronghold looking for a 3.5 inch floppy disk). the breath was really puzzlingly awful. i saw him popping mints occasionally but it never helped. then a castmate told me that richard had been born without a stomach, and that one had been surgically constructed for him out of the end of his esophagus and the beginning of his small intestine. which is why his breath was so particularly bad: it was pretty much a straight shot from the sweet end of the digestive tract to the sour.
i ran into an acquaintance on the subway this week and was engaged in conversation from 181st to west 4th and the exact same shit breath was going on. i kept trying to steer the converstation towards subjects gastromnomic so that she might mention that she had no stomach, but she kept her cards close.
funny, though, how a smell will take you riiiiight back.
i was playing lady anne to a c0rnish student's richard. he had a speech impediment and chronically horrendous breath. he developed a small crush on me and once offered to help me latch the strapless bra i wore underneath my lady anne evening gown (you cannot be surprised to hear that it was modern dress. at one point the lancasters broke in and ransacked the york stronghold looking for a 3.5 inch floppy disk). the breath was really puzzlingly awful. i saw him popping mints occasionally but it never helped. then a castmate told me that richard had been born without a stomach, and that one had been surgically constructed for him out of the end of his esophagus and the beginning of his small intestine. which is why his breath was so particularly bad: it was pretty much a straight shot from the sweet end of the digestive tract to the sour.
i ran into an acquaintance on the subway this week and was engaged in conversation from 181st to west 4th and the exact same shit breath was going on. i kept trying to steer the converstation towards subjects gastromnomic so that she might mention that she had no stomach, but she kept her cards close.
funny, though, how a smell will take you riiiiight back.
