Wednesday, April 8, 2009

Beards Are None of My Business/Heart-Tagged Fish

"The sun does not shine upon this fair earth to meet frowning eyes, depend upon it."
-- Dickens, "Nicholas Nickleby"

Recently I spent some quality time with my intense, brilliant friend Jackie, whom I've known since we both lived in Chicago. She took me out to a Mexican restaurant on Bedford as a belated birthday present, and we were both bursting with good cheer and gratitude, a positive development for two such formerly depressed human beings as ourselves. I offloaded the rest of my birthday cake on her, happy to hear some fascinating/horrible/REAL stories of her former life in two major-label bands. Afterward, as we walked to Iona, a note of we negativity crept into our conversation as we noticed afresh the profusion of beards in Williamsburg, and wondered why every handsome boy of our acquaintance seems to be adhering to the trend.

"They can't all be trying to emulate Walt Whitman, can they, really?" I asked.

"I don't get it either!" Jackie scoffed, shaking her ponytail back and forth in confusion.

"It's like wearing a burqa that never comes off. That's no fun! Anyway, I don't believe in the masculine mystique, on principle." I sighed, looking wistfully at the parade of attractive lantern jaws willfully obscured by scruff.

But maybe beards are none of my business.

About two weeks ago I had occasion to lament the fact that one intelligent and very desirable young man in particular was sadly masking his soft cheeks. Lying in my bed together, I thought perhaps we'd be getting to know one another better in the future, and I began to envision all sorts of wanton things I could do in exchange for being allowed the privilege to shave off his beard at some later date, which now seems to be a moot point, after all. However, because I feel absolutely sure both of us want/focus on the very same things (love, connection, to write and be happy) I can't imagine viewing the situation negatively, even if he now seems to be lukewarm about exploring those things with me.

Anyway, how could I dislike someone who's writing a novel using Red Lobster as a major theme? It would be flatly impossible.

If he were here I'd hug him and wish him well. He's wonderful, not less so for apparently electing not to see me again. I enjoyed his wit and the silken feel of his flesh against mine enough to think of him-- not over-much, but very fondly, tempered with a sense of having been slightly thwarted. Ah well! I'd better hole up in the studio space I've set up in one of my spare bedrooms and channel that energy into something else, how grateful I am to be able to do so.

Sometimes it's nice to finally be an adult...

I'm probably spinning my wheels, anyway. I suppose I'd better wait until after I get plastic surgery in a month or two to think about dating again. Dating anyone new, that is.

Monday I bought two little fish from the pet store down the block. Usually I only like orange fish, but I couldn't resist taking home a white Tattoo Molly whose body is emblazoned with a perfect pink heart:

It looks like it stopped swimming for a little bit too long here in Bushwick and got tagged. I wouldn't be surprised. I bet even the aquariums are hard in this part of the hood.

I bought it a stripey friend for comfort and companionship, which my mercenary heart has already dubbed, "comparatively inconsequential".

I also briefly cuddled a Pomeranian puppy there (900 dollars, but I affirm now-- WITH TOTAL CONFIDENCE!-- that the material world is totally receptive to my heart's purest desires :) and willed that one just like it (except with red instead of gray fur /hair) should fall into my lap in the very near future.

Yesterday I told one of my customers at the strip club about my new pets.

"Oh! I've heard of that before." he said, referring to the phenomenon of the heart.

I pouted, having harbored the secret hope that my little fish is exceedingly rare, and special (because it is mine), then mentally swatted away such thoughts as if they were mosquitoes-- "Ego." I told myself, shaking off such a pestilent notion as specialness.

"Oh really?" I replied neutrally.

"Do you have any pets?" I asked, drawing nearer to him.

PS Drawings I made with amorphous affectionate energy: