Lola is a lounge singer. She’s not the type of lounge singer who wears long, draped red dresses while laying seductively across a piano. Lola wears gold lamé tops and ornamental decorations on the temples of her face-sized glasses. Lola smokes a pack of menthols a day, between swigs of whatever dark liquor she can get her hands on first. She smells of Opium perfume and gefilte fish. Lola makes the most G-rated of Disney songs sound like something out of an adult film. Lola has spent more time in the Sands than Humphrey, Frank, Sammy and Dean combined. “Child’s play,” she says, in her deep, throaty voice.
Lola is my sexy, blues voice. By sexy, I mean, my hacking, coughing, sickly and completely unappealing man-voice. Thanks to my latest cold, Lola’s come back around for a visit.
Much like Lola’s lounge days, I’m hoping that she’ll only be here til Friday.