Satyr Mondays

It was one of those Mondays; it's not like I ask for things like this to happen, but I never complain. First of all, Mondays is a very intense day and there is much sorting out of the weekend, the drama, the personal confrontations, and it is not usually a happy day. But, I managed through and ended up greeting many, many guests who don't usually show their lovely faces on Monday.

Then, about 2PM a PACK, I can only describe them as a pack of lesbians took over the front of the outside bar. They were so much fun: hooting and hollerin',being so out there. There was one point when the music became so intense that they decided to take off their tops and prance around. Polite Society would have shuddered, but I applauded.

There was a point when--although I would denounce the accusation that I started it--the entire bar started singing:
"I wish I were in the land of cotton,
Old days there are not forgotten,
Look away,
Look away,
Look away, Dixie Land.
I wish I were in Dixie, hooray, hooray
In Dixie land were I was born...."

I might have then started to fear about the breakdown of order, when who arrives? Jerry, everyone's favorite New Jersey cop, who promised to maintain order for ten days. (By then, Captain Jeremy will be back and in control.)

Madness seemed to be driving the late afternoon as everyone spoke of the ferocious full moon that had risen the night before over The Atlantic and what it would mean for Them. At 4pm--with my official duties now over although never ending--I enacted something I had been dwelling on for three days.

I owned a nineteen century bronze mirror topped by a Satyr's head and framed by various "activities"; it had three candle holders at the bottom. I loved that piece, but it had been sitting my closet for four years and I had decided to donate it to The Erotic Museum. I brought it into The Palace today to the "ooo's and ahhhh's" of everyone, and just before I left for The Museum, one patron shrieked: "Oh, my God; did you get an appraisal on that?" I was, like, "No, that is not the point. He needs to be in The Satyr Room with his brothers; I really don't care what it is worth."

I met up with Mr. Gary (Charles G. Haak, the curator of The Museum and several in Washington, D.C.) and we had a great meeting with Miss Naomi. I know a person loves something when they caress it with their fingers. She asked me if I really wanted to donate it and, I said only that would make me happy for it. She sweetly looked up to Charles and said, "I donated the mirror outside of The Ladies' Room; put this up outside The Men's Room."

Maybe I am shallow, but that made me so happy. I know that every guy leaving the Men's Room will stop and adjust their hair in my mirror with the evil Satyr glaring down on them.

It was a manic Monday.