A woman I have never met saw some of my photos on someone's phone and said, "I want to do that." She owns a Barre gym, is 40, and fit. I was shown photos of her. I should be excited, right? The thing is, I have no confidence she understands at all. I fear she wants "boudoir" photos that make her look good, trophy pictures. I'd have to show her paintings by Balthus and Dix and the photos of Bellocq to see if she understands. Oh. . . I DO take some pretty pictures from time to time, no doubt. But that is a byproduct, not a goal. I want awkward. I want strange. People can make pretty IG pictures with their iPhones.
"But they don't have the texture."
True. But if you want me to do it, you're going to have to show me things that may not be so flattering.
That was well explained to everyone who came to the studio before they ever showed up.
"We're going to do something very weird."
Now that sounds like a Diddy party. Oops. Everyone is on the lookout now.
But I do think this woman is part of the upper social order of my own hometown that likes to do "something weird." It is a kinky, soulless town in many ways. Kind of like "The Hunting Wives."
Yea, I started watching that. It seems an accurate depiction of the monied world today, at least as I know it. Rich republicans without a doubt to their own superiority who believe in their innermost being that they deserve what they have. Conspicuous consumption and meretricious sex are the hallmarks of their power.
On the other hand, somewhere out of town, overweight ideologues with orange hair and blue highlights gather in proletariat bars and plan their next demonstration.
These are the two worlds now, as far as I know them.
When I was in my beauticians chair, I spoke of the difficulty of going through everything alone, making decisions alone, going to bed alone.
"That's because you're too picky," she said.
What? WTF? Same exact thing my mother says.
"There is one thing worse than going through it alone, though," I said. "Going through it with someone who doesn't like you anymore. Having someone who doesn't mind seeing you suffer. Just being with the wrong person."
If you've ever been divorced, you know what I mean, those moments--months or years--leading up to the final break. Those years when you are tiptoeing around the inevitable. I was thinking of a lot of people. I was thinking about my beautician. Why in the fuck was she throwing stones?
Picky? I just want to have someone who is 100% for me and vice versa. Somebody who doesn't hold back. No hidden agendas.
I dreamed of her last night for a very long time. True.
Too many relationships are a contest. It can rip the heart right out of your chest. Either that or make it go numb.
"I think the happiest people are the ones who live alone," my beautician said. I don't know if she was being sincere or placating me, but given her scenario, I think it was merely a wistful dream. People can make some terrible concessions in order not to be alone.
Coming out of a heartbreak, I've only wanted to be alone.
Ommmmmm.
But there is always something I want more.
On the other hand, I've never been allowed to be creative when I am in a relationship. That is too dangerous, I guess, and I have given in willingly every time. It seems an easy tradeoff for love.
Yesterday was a slow day for me. I needed slow. No appointments, just a trip to the pharmacy to pick up another script for ma and a trip to the grocers to get "the fixins." I got a text from my Miami friend. She sent photos.
"I had my first show," she said. She was selling her collages. I like her collages, but she looked much better in her summery dress. It was nice to get a message like a shot of sunshine.
While I was at the grocers, I ran into a fellow who used to be partners with Poindexter in his eponymously named bar and restaurant. It was one of the most popular in town. The fellow, I giant Englishman, took a minute, then said. . . "Your hair. . . . "
"Yea. I did it when I retired."
He'd gotten screwed a bit when Poindexter had a life-changing medical condition that requires him to have 24/7 care. The restaurants were sold (four of them in all) but the partners did not make out so well. The Englishman was telling me about his newest food business, catering a cinema pub. He told me about it longer than necessary, but, you know, I didn't really mind since I hardly talk to anyone now.
I came back to my mother's to make dinner. I got everything prepared and put the rice on to cook, then I made a Negroni and sat on the couch with YouTube music. Yes. I let it play as I cooked, then after dinner, I made another Negroni and sat on the couch and did it again until the sun was down and the world was dark.
Those are the highlights of my life now. A text. A chance conversation. A Negroni and music.
There are worse things.
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