It's not often anyone thinks of defending disco, but Donna Summer just passed away, and I have this song in my head.
After Do the Hustle, after Saturday Night Fever, after the yards of polyester suiting needed to fill the triple pleats on those fat, cuffed trousers, the disco period was an embarrassment. I would say it was not America's most shining moment, but the photographs tell another story.
Monday, May 7, 2012
I dream of having good taste, hoping, for better or worse, to have it. If there is no romance without finance, and one gets what one pays for, then only the rich can have good taste. The rest of us, I guess, can eat cake.
For me, the cupcake ship has left the port, and though they taste just fine, I crave more atmospheric confines with savory flavors. Kinda like the picture above.