« June 2005 | Main | August 2005 »

July 25, 2005

Take Five

Three years ago tonight, I took out S on our second date. While I can't say for sure that at that time I knew she was the one, the fact is that I felt then as I feel now: I always want to see her again soon. As soon as possible, in fact. And the tingle that I got when we kissed for the first time on her doorstep is the tingle that I got when I kissed her goodnight tonight and put her to bed on account of a stomach bug. So maybe it was really love at first sight. But the fact remains that I love her more all the time. Normally, I would have sent her a long letter on our anniversary, to tell her how great I feel when I'm with her and how much she means, but our anniversary dinner's been rescheduled. I'll write it soon. But since I a) won't show it to you and b) it's not written yet, I share with you, instead, what it was I wrote after that night:

The Movie Date
Have you ever been on a movie date? A date so good and yet so stereotypically cute that it has to have come from a movie, even if you didn't intend it to be?
Here it is, a cool summer evening (it was in the 70s! In Midtown! In July!), and she met me on Madison Avenue outside of my office. We walk slowly to Central Park, talking the whole way.
Okay, so there was a long line to get to Summerstage, in the middle of the park, but we chanced it and were able to get in. We find seats on the bleachers, watch the jazz, and she brings brie, another cheese, a big hunk of bread, and some cookies. We have a little picnic in our seats, and then as time goes on, we sit closer and closer together.
The jazz is phenomenal.
Dave Brubeck is 80 years old (and each of his bandmates seems like he's north of 75) and they still just kick ass. My jaw was against the ground for nearly 3 minutes during a flute solo. A FLUTE solo!!!! She rubs my neck and back, I hers.
We walk slowly back to her apartment, where I give her a CD I thought she might like.
We kiss.
We kiss again.
Shoe goes home a happy boy.

This was Love , and it appeared on July 25, 2005 11:45 PM. | Comments (1) | TrackBack

You Can't Always Get What You Want

When I was a kid, my mom said that I did things just to get the equipment. I joined sports teams that I thought would be cool and then coveted the cool gear my teammates had. I got jazzed about wearing cleats for the first time; leaving those little clumps of mud was great. So the accusation is partly true--I did like the new stuff--but at the same time, we were a pretty frugal family and we didn't just buy stuff. Even if we could, we didn't just go buy because we wanted something. It was all calculated and all based on real need. Thus, when I lost a baseball glove, I was required to make do with a 1940s handmedown. I caught endless amounts of crap from the other kids in my school for it, but aside from finding myself waist-deep in a box of lost-and-found, it was probably the single-most powerful way of reminding me to hold on to and keep track of my things. I remember making a case for joining the lacrosse team, replete with annual costs of equipment, how inexpensively I could fully and safely outfit myself, and how I would be on a small team with a large chance to play and make the gear worthwhile. I stuck with the team all four years of high school. When I wanted to get a new camera for my burgeoning photography hobby, I did the research and then ended up signing a contract with my mother that I would continue to take Latin and would achieve certain scores at Latin conventions. (Yes, you read right: Latin conventions. All over Texas.) None of this is to say that we didn't buy very nice things, but as my mother pointed out just the other day, deal-making is always desirable. There's no need (in my mind, as with hers—-she did good work) to buy something for the same price everyone else is if you can do better. All of which is to say that I've always been excited about new stuff. I used to get very excited about corporate toys my father would bring home from conferences, and I get fired up about a cool new pair of shoes. The joy may be transient, but for a day or so, I'm excited about the acquisition. now I'm getting married, and it's socially acceptable to covet all that stuff and get excited about brand-new pots and pans and everything else, and to ask for it because you think you need it. Even if you don't get exactly what you want (Canon 20D, Dyson vacuum cleaner, assorted kitchen weapons), you get a whole lot of what you need. And that's going to be fun.

This was Love and Perspective , and it appeared on July 25, 2005 1:25 PM. | Comments (0) | TrackBack

July 18, 2005

The Hippie Hippie Shake

How self-confident are you? Men's version. Sometimes, while in a public restroom, standing there doing my thing, I wonder what I would do if a man came along and pulled the wallet from my rear pocket. [This is, I understand, a pretty common tactic.] Sometimes I have the fantasy that I would instantly grab the offender's wrist and pivot instantly on my toes. Simultaneously, I would turn my right arm--the one with the wrist in its associated hand--and twist his arm until he begged with mercy. Wallet retrieved, I might finish my business. At the urinal, naturally. Distasteful though his actions might be, I probably wouldn't consummate evacuation on such a person. It is, as I said, a bit fantastic. The realistic question, then, would be whether I would give chase before or after either completion or zippage. I feel as though it is pretty likely that I probably wouldn't stop to raise the metal-toothed closure before giving chase. A wallet's a pretty valuable thing. And so I wonder, when such admittedly-odd thoughts pass through my mind, does that make me paticularly self-confident or just careless?

This was Rebellion , and it appeared on July 18, 2005 1:52 AM. | Comments (0) | TrackBack

July 13, 2005

Unintended Side Afflecks

Has anyone else ever wondered about Matt Damon and Ben Affleck? Of course they have...but I mean what really sets them apart. I mean, here they are--these two guys who grew up together, worked together, and for several years, continuously appeared in movies together. Then bang! they're suddenly movie stars because they wrote Good Will Hunting.#[will] [will]: On that note, was anyone else horribly misled by the title? I expected something completely different--much like when I thought that the Spin Doctors, by their name alone, had to be death-metal. And the more bizarre part is that one seems to have made more good movies on his own, while the other has turned out to be the actors' shining example of what not to do with one's career.#[jen] [jen]: well, except for that Jennifer Garner thing--everyone seems to be in agreement that it was the single smartest thing (only smartest thing?) he's done. That said, you have to wonder if they planned it that way, or karma got in the way--maybe one of them made a deal with the Devil. My theory is that they found a genie in a lamp who granted them each one wish. One wished they would be famous. And the other wished that he would be not-Affleck.

This was Amusing To Me , and it appeared on July 13, 2005 1:31 AM. | Comments (6) | TrackBack

July 10, 2005

Must You Be My Neighbor?

Bang! I'm out of bed in a flash, with a look at the clock bedside. It is five of six. It's already light out, though--the curse and blessing of summer. My old officemate could never understand my love of and fascination for the summer months and daylight savings. "You don't get to enjoy it in the office," he always insisted. But it helps that the bump in the night has a little sunlight about to kill it, and I respond in my toughest Mister Robinson's Neighborhood voice: "Who is it?" "Let me in." Look, I'm a man, and not a particularly ominous one, but you can bet that even with a doorman on duty at my place, I'm sure as hell not going to open that door without the trusty door chain on it. So...just slip that sucker on, and open the door to-- A half-naked man with keys in his hand, his belt swinging free and just about enough sagging pants and boxers to flag that his belt really was holding up his pants. Fortunately they haven't made it to his ankles. "Can I help you?" He stares blankly. "Can I help you?" "Puh-leesh" It takes several repetitions for me to realize he's saying "Police." As far as I can tell, this is the only English the guy knows. He says it enough times and no other words, so it seems a natural response. I close the door, pressing the house phone for a moment and scrambling for my computer to call the doorman downstairs, because he doesn't seem to be in any actual physical distress and I still don't know who he is. As I look it up, the phone rings again, and I explain to the doorman that there's someone banging on my door, who I don't know and he's asking for the police. From the other side of the door, suddenly I hear: "Hey buddy, you don't need to do that..." I open the door again, and we have an extremely repetitive conversation wherein it is firmly established that he is unable to tell me his name, what apartment he's supposed to be in besides mine, and Bobby. Yeah, so it appears he's staying with Bobby, and I explain that there is no one here named Bobby, that Bobby doesn't own this apartment, and maybe he should be on a different floor. Several times, when asked who he is, I get the response, "C'mon man, it's me." No...I'm me. You're you. But that still doesn't help me figure out who the hell you are. Apparently, he seriously thinks I'm a buddy of his who's locked him out and is just messing with him. Finally, he begins insisting that I should let him "or else there's going to be a scen-ah-rio." Not wishing to correct his pronunciation, I explain that there is already a scen-ah-rio, and that someone's coming to help him. Finally, I close the door in his face as soon as he gets his fingers out of the doorjamb. I return to bed and just close my eyes as I hear the doorman remonstrating with him. And then the doorbell rings. I open the door--still chained--and find the doorman, who asks: "Is this your guest?" Nope, I've never seen him before 5 minutes ago. "So you don't know him?" Uh, no. As I close the door, I hear, "See? You don't live here, guy?" Several hours later, I'm walking into the lobby when the guy at the front desk starts laughing and says he has something for me.

Dear NBS: I justed wanted to apologize for last night. All I can say is that it was just "one of those nights" and that it wont happen again. Thanks for your patience. Sincerely, XXXXXX 11C

He lives downstairs from me! Who makes that just one of those nights??

This was New York , and it appeared on July 10, 2005 4:38 PM. | Comments (2) | TrackBack