Welcome to Bumbastories’ Sunday Magazine Section.
This week’s Magazine opens with a Letter From The Editor.
Letter from the Editor
As editor of the Bumbastories Sunday Magazine Section I would like to make it clear – and I suppose you could call this a confession – that there is no such thing as a Bumbastories “staff” of roving reporters, muckrakers, inspired poets, songsters, debutantes, etc, etc. The plain truth is that the entire Bumbastories staff consists of just the three of us: Bumba, George Packard, and me.
And if you think it’s easy for a meager staff of three underpaid journalists – two of whom are none too clever I may add (and I include myself in that category) – to put out a weekly magazine section of such obvious high calibre as this…. Well, you have another thing coming!!!!!
Speaking of another thing coming……………….
(Oh, Oh………Here comes another of those As I Sat On The Bus Things!!!!)
As I Sat On the Bus (AISOTB#37)
As I sat on the bus last week I found myself without paper to write an AISOTB.
(Hey, maybe we’re going to luck out)
Might I try a photographic essay?
(Why not? Go ahead. We can take anything!)
OK. Here’s the bus. Then there’s the bicycle path – or rather the new bicycle path, built alongside the Silver Line train – and that path leads to the Ballona Creek bicycle path – that leads to: the beach.
(Is that it? Is that the entire AISOTB? I must confess, I’m quite relieved. Let’s move on)
OK, here’s a song I wrote a long time ago called Wanna Tell You About My Susie or, more simply, Susie.
And now a poem
A poem at the end of the day
Oh to the glory of the setting sun
The light cast golden
Oh to the glory of the end
Of the working day
Day come home
Alone in a wilderness
Where is my way home?
A Bumbastories Art Review
Last week, the security guards at the Getty Museum were commenting on the Henry Moore sculpture outside the monorail depot. They were saying that the sculpture reminded them of a nude woman. They indicated the fair lady’s breasts and other parts or her anatomy. I launched into an explanation of non-representational art. I also told them that perhaps they were standing around just looking at the same thing for too long.
However, the other day I passed by the very fine non-representational sculpture in the mid-Wilshire neighborhood. I’ll be darned if it wasn’t just non-representational. Goshdarnit, it was quite, how shall I say it? erotic. It reminded me of…..
Lest this Sunday Magazine Section becomes overly erotic (is there such a thing as too erotic?), we shall concliude this week’s edition with Best Wishes for a Good Week.