Thursday July 14, 2005 weird shit.
Here we are. The power goes out. I’m fucking trying to figure out what to do without feeling guilty about it. Plan: bike downtown, pick up S’s slides, talk to T, a tattooed friend of D’s. I’m trying to stay cool except that M’s chrystal-meth head downstairs tenant. She laughs now but was cool enough to put a double lock on their adjoining hallway. Aside from that shit. I go slip by N’s place, show him the photos that I picked up on the way- I had a plan, calculating time spent away, from over ac’d apartment. But the deal really is, pick up photos from weekend that my transmission blew. Sorry no pictures. Only of the beautiful world beyond the parking lot. If someone else were there documenting the whole thing, sure. But, let’s face it, we’re not the blog generation. Pepsi vs Sunny Delight: you just don’t get it because you’re old. China! Yeah, but we’re what? More sensitive , shrewder shoppers? Know where to get the deals? What kind of wisdom can one pass on if there isn’t any sense of wisdom, only experience. Which keeps on shifting and moving faster than you can put a number to it.
I drop by N’s place. He rushes me out the door pulls me towards his mother’s for dinner. Hey, fuck, what can I say? I’m lazy, in student mode, free, cheap, parents, hey, and of course the I’m avoiding the prospect of going back to work.
When I pull D from the backyard, N’s battery is dead, it’s past D’s bed time, striding across the street he looks at me, panicked. Very Panicked On the street behind is a young woman who’s willing to give him a boost. She pulls the car around opens the hood-it’s all very much like two insects mating hoods up, small wires, the inner workings laid bare. Wish I had a camera. I arrive, N looks at me, D’s screeching some thing and he looks at me and says” I will not be humiliated any further.”I don’t want that shit laid on me, I’m not the goat! I shake my head, feeling as if he’s raising the stakes unrealistically high. Not, I’m annoyed, angry, “I will not be humiliated any further”, that you’ve been living under a volcanoe, and today, that sucker is going to make history. So in my full support mode I try to help batman, help him like Mcgyver, figure out the truth. What it is out here. What is humiliation? I find the key and instead of giving him the key. I somehow start the car and now I feel ashamed. It’s as if in my head I didn’t realize what that meant. Is it too idealistic? I should have palmed it and passed him the key to allay all panic and humiliation?
I’m on my way, thinking of a quiet night watching a dvd, N pulls me back, it’s sweltering there’s lots of beer in the fridge. He’ll be back down, after putting D to bed. I crumble. Hangout downstairs kill two or three beers while coming up with ideas on how to transform his pad into a cool uber chic pad. Later we smoke. Then S is at the door and I panic, caught up in some kind of human drama I’m not ready for. S notices, I have to explain, I’m not guilty. Finally pulling myself away. N recounting what I told him that S told me. A familiar problem lately, I’m guilty, I tell people’s secrets. Not trying to make the drama mine, but oddly I’m feeling centre stage and when I ride away, all is fair and of course I realize they just wanted me gone so they could fuck like maniacs.
I ride my bike through the park. Stop, transfixed by the decorative plantings in front of the war memorial burgundy and pale green oddly textured foliage. A car stopped at the light, teenagers singing along to the pounding beat. I tap my foot, aware of being watched. Thankful to have caught their eye. They sing louder, for me, I savour the attention, turn and smile the backseat passenger acknowledging the display. It spins off, my interest in the organic crosses fading, I lift my toe off the ground, pedal on.
Later I pass by church street. I’m too happily buzzed to go home. Need to move through crowds, look at things. I slip into woody’s it’s dead airconditioned air feels like a sarcophagus. I wander out, the drag show, unable to hold me. The diva asks a Latino man his age, she’s surprised when he says 42. I feel I should start screeching something about ageism. I imagine the spectacle I could make of myself. Would I be embraced, would it end in embarrassed silence or could I build a groundswell of support, take over. Do a show? I wander out, my imagination buzzingly numb. I climb up to the patio of the leather bar. Order a beer, gaze around at the men in clumps drinking beer, the classic poses. Tops bottoms, who cares. They can’t compete with the night sky, air conditioners and pipes scribbled across the roofs of distant buildings. Above and Across, on the lip of the patio wall there’s a tall apt building. A white flickering in one window. It’s the spinnig shadow from a ceiling fan. Diagonlally across the image is the wall of the patio. On that wall is a BW painting of dozesn of leather daddies, chaps, cowboys all amateurly painted. It occurs to me that it would make a fantastic ext establishing shot. Start in the patio of a leather bar, men in leather vests, sweating, drinking beer, tilt up to the window, and punch into our scene.