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ANNALS OF ANNETTE Annette and Clark Part 3 - Paella He let me into her skyline apartment. He said I’m Clark. Clark was holding a road-map sized diagram in his hand. He had all the parts of an L-shaped computer desk laid out on the rug. Clark headed into the kitchen. Somebody who preceded us in her life had financed the outfitting of Annette’s kitchen with gourmet cooking gear. Copper clad pots and pans hung from an overhead rack, one solely for rendering butter. (I would bet you though, that whoever benefacted this outfit upon Annette never got more than a grilled cheese sandwich out of it.) She told me to cook you dinner, he said. Clark set to work making paella. I picked up where he had left off on the desk. First I undid all he had done. Mounting concealed euro-hinges is not intuitive for high school band teachers, even the dominant ones. While he diced a yellow onion Clark told me he was a high school band teacher. I don’t know what I expected in a master dominator ‒ but he would not be named Clark, nor be a high school band teacher. He would not be pudgy with a round face. I listened for alpha timbre in the bottom notes of his bass clef, but all I heard was an Appalachian counter tenor ‒ to me nothing assonant of dominance. |
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Pudgy with round face screams submissive. Darn stereotypes. Cheers! 
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I'd like to think them dominant types would be searing steak instead of making paella. But then, what do I know? I'm dyslexic. I scream Ho Dog instead of Oh God in the throes of passion.
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12/1/2008 11:20 pm |
Pudgy with round face screams submissive. Darn stereotypes.
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12/1/2008 11:21 pm |
I'd like to think them dominant types would be searing steak instead of making paella. But then, what do I know?
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12/10/2008 2:29 am |
Thanks Brian -- there can never be too much alliteration. Nursery rhymes must be the most perfect poems. (We should sponsor a nursery rhyme contest.) The inner truth in rhyme and alliteration may be more basic than the meaning itself of words. If it fits you must acquit, got a man off for murder by tapping into the trumping logic of the sheer sound of language. The better the rhyme and scan the truer it must be. e = mc^2 No rhyme, bad metre. back to the drawing board Alfred. There are worse things to be than and English teacher.
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