Ass Fresco

What is it? Well, I'll only tell you that Trevor invented the word.

There are many words that my children (my Ivy League children, who have my totally fractured humor) have created. I, too, love to create acronyms, or made up words. It's a need to speak in tongue and not let anyone else know what you're saying. It's also a fun pastime for me. The only sad thing here is that sometimes your friends haven't a clue what gibberish you're uttering.

Getting back to ass fresco, there will be many occasions for me to exhibit its meaning to you. I'll only give you one at this point.

"I scheduled a hollistic voice lesson. Took it on the fourth floor of this brownstone on the west side, around 57th Street. I'm very shy about exhibiting my voice at a lesson (I don't care what you say! I am shy!), and this was a very different method. I was about to embark on a four-lesson contract the very next visit. So, my teacher and I scheduled a lesson the following week at 6:00. same place. I arrive. I ring the downstairs buzzer. No answer. I do this for approximately 30 minutes. I find that I do not have the teacher's cell phone number with me. Ass Fresco!!! At this point, I decide to go to the corner, find a public phone booth (No, I don't have a cell. Didn't you read my Cell Phone Mania?), and call Trevor. Yes, Trevor referred me to this teacher. When I finally get through to him (after losing several quarters in the phone) Trevor happens not to have her cell number with him. I go back to the building and try ringing some more. People come and go -- in and out of the building. I take one of those moments to squeeze into the building. Climb up the four flights and knock on the same door as last week's lesson. No answer.

I waited a full 45 minutes to one hour, with more of the same, with no response or appearance of my teacher. At this point, I'm pissed!!! I've wasted my entire evening; one hour of ringing, calling, knocking, talking on the disgusting public phone. It's all a non-productive waste. I head home to Murder Rape City in Bensonhurst in the ghetto zip code area. Takes me about 1 1/2 hours. Damn!!!!

I walk in my apartment. Aaaaah!!! There's a message on my phone. I listen. It's my voice teacher. She speaks to me very kindly and says, 'I don't know what happened to you. I'm sort of worried about you. Unfortunately, I'm going to have to charge you for the lesson, as per my cancellation policy of 24 hours notice. Please call me. I want to make sure you're ok.' I call her back, tell her that I was there for close to one hour, tell her all that took place -- buzzing, walking up the flights, knocking, calling Trevor. She says, 'Ah, the lesson took place on the second floor tonight. Pablo was supposed to put a note by the bells downstairs letting you know.'"

Now, wouldn't you think that, if you were that voice teacher, you, yourself would have gone down the stairs and placed the note there yourself, rather than relying on Pablo (who obviously can't be relied on)? Also, wouldn't you have gone down to the Lobby at one point, or two, during that one hour, to see if, perchance, the bells might be faulty and I might be standing there?

ASS FRESCO!!!!