During prancercise this morning I happened to be thinking obsessively about former New Mexico senator-to-be Dr. Feather Wilson. Dr. Feather plays a rather tepid banjo.
During her candidacy she aired a TV spot that appeared every fifteen minutes for three months. Dr. Feather was seen strumming about two chords after which the camera panned in on her big folksy smile, so the viewer knew-- Dr. Feather is not just an expert in schmoozology and international hoi palloi, she’s a bona fide country fried human being.
This commercial kept playing over and over in my mental digital playback loop obliterating the sheer joy of galloping naked and unashamed through downtown Albuquerque at noon hour with other members of the Duke City Nude Prancercise Berserkers, (DCNPB) skipping, laughing, and scarfing pina coladas from outdoor tables as we wended our way. Still, I couldn’t get Dr. Feather out of my mind no matter how many pina coladas I downed.
The fact was and is that I want to be Dr. Feather Wilson, and I am very angry and dissatisfied that I am stuck being continually aging, dumpy, near sighted, and balding. Not only that. Where’s my twenty K a month from Los Alamos and Sandia Labs? Where’s my half a mill, huh? I know stuff too, valuable stuff. And why is it that every project I’ve ever done has “deliverables,” while Dr. Feather doesn’t have to worry about actually producing anything? All she has to do is play a couple of banjo chords and smile while the camera pans in.
Responses to “Dr. Feather and too many pina coladas”