Earlier today I pondered James Traficant's stunning conceptual artworks in which he ingeniously mimics the style of a thirteen-year-old girl. Later on I was feeling a little sad, a touch whistful, and it took me a long time to figure out why: I miss his hairdo. Terribly. After all, this was the most remarkable, magical coiffure to ever stride the halls of Congress:
So let's just spend a little time today mourning the loss of a beautiful thing. Go ahead, you can cry:
What does Traficant's hairdo know? What secrets does it contain? Are we mere humans capable of fathoming its mysteries? And, finally, are we even worthy of such a treasure?
3 comments:
He looks a little like Rep. Barney Frank with a small cat sleeping on his head.
i don't who you are or what you do but i love your blog. which i got wind of via my good old friend mike in sf. you are attuned to what is exactly the very most important aspect of life, in each human unfolding.
your "gorgeous glittering" etc. pink description of self is all i was terrified my daughter would become. (exactly why, i can't remember -- in any event, i needn't have worried).
though raised on this west coast, i was born in dc, have dozens of first cousins in that area, and always feel some secret understanding (which you clearly have!) of the root of the madness therein.
thanks for bringing joy to the world by reading the pulse at our planet's headquarters.
e
How embarrassing it must be for him to look in the mirror.
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