May 27, 2010
Chris told me that you were in town. Unfortunately I'm going out of town tomorrow so I won't be able to see you. But I thought I would still take the opportunity to tell you that my tennis racquet is your penis.
I don't know why I didn't tell you this before. You would think that you would be the first person I would tell. But you weren't. I told my mother first. She called last week and I told her then. After I told her, she asked who you were and why your penis was my tennis racquet. I told her that you were a friend of Chris' and that you had stayed on my couch one time but declined to use my pocket vagina. This helped because she knows who Chris is, but she didn't know what a pocket vagina was so I had to spend some time explaining that to her. Once she said she understood what a pocket vagina was, she repeated the second part of her question, which was why my tennis racquet was your penis. I told her that I was playing tennis one day and I looked down and said to myself "Holy cow, my tennis racquet is Scott's penis." And it's been that way ever since. My mother told me that the story didn't really explain why your penis is my tennis racquet, but she let it go because although she said she understood the pocket vagina thing I could tell that she really didn't and she wanted to change to subject.
You should know that I take very good care of my tennis racquet/your penis. There is a special case for it and everything. I'm very careful with it because I've had it since I was fifteen and I really like playing with it. That isn't some sort of masturbation pun; only you can masturbate with my your penis/my tennis racquet. I use it to play tennis. You use it for penis stuff. I think that's the way it works.
I'm actually kind of surprised that you haven't contacted me first telling me that your penis is my tennis racquet. I mean, you live with your penis/my tennis racquet every day. I only play tennis in the summer and fall because I play squash in the winter. To be clear, your penis is not my squash racquet. It's my tennis racquet. I just wanted you to know that.
Did it never occur to you say something? Or did you not realize? I can understand that; I only realized my tennis racquet was your penis a few weeks ago. Actually, I should have assumed that you didn't realize it, otherwise you probably would have contacted me. I like to think that we have the kind of relationship where you can do that now without Chris necessarily being the middle man. I'm not saying that we're really close, but I hoped that if you were showering one day or looking at yourself in the mirror and you realized "Wait a second...my penis is S.H.'s tennis racquet!" that you could e-mail me to tell me. That's what I'm doing with you now and I feel pretty comfortable with it.
To be honest, I'm not really doing anything differently now that I know that my tennis racquet is your penis. It's like finding out your birthday is actually a day later than the day you've been lead to believe. If you told me my birthday was on October 23 instead of October 22, I would realize that something was different, but I couldn't really tell you what specifically. I'm the same person with the same name and the same life, except now my birthday is on October 23. It really wouldn't have an impact on me in any substantial way. It's the same thing with my discovering that my tennis racquet is your penis.
Similarly, I don't know if my tennis racquet being your penis should change your life either. Or at least I don't think you should let it change the way you think about things. You're obviously a lot closer to your penis/my tennis racquet that I am to my tennis racquet/your penis so I can see the temptation to let this skew things. But, again, I don't think it should. Really, nothing is different. So don't worry, just embrace it as the way things are. So much impacts our day to day lives; it seems that any new information we receive forces us to change something. You could really look at this as something that doesn't change anything. I think there's comfort in that.
Again, sorry I can't see you this weekend. I hope you're doing really well and that school and work are moving along nicely. Are you going to bring your girlfriend here at some point? I'll bet she's lovely.
All the best,
May 24, 2010
Good morning gorgeous. Shhhh...don't say anything. I just want to look at you. God, you're so beautiful. I know you're probably thinking "Who is this guy?" right? I know I sound cheesy, but I could lie here just watching you sleep. I feel like the luckiest gigolo in the world right now.
Why are you getting up? I thought we could listen to the morning news in bed and read the newspaper together. I'm sorry I said I wanted to watch you sleep. It's creepy. I shouldn't have said it. I'm sorry. Please come back to bed. Sometimes I don't know when to stop. Please.
I don't understand...what do mean it's not the sleep-watching thing? Pardon? Yes, I know I'm a gigolo. You don't have to yell at me. I can yell too. YOU'RE AN ACCOUNTANT! See? See how silly it sounds when someone else does it to you?
I thought you knew what I did for a living. You even asked me last night. Remember when you asked me what my job was and I said I was like Jon Voight in Midnight Cowboy and you said that you hadn't seen it so I explained the plot to you but I got confused and explained the plot to Deliverance instead? Maybe that was my fault, but all it shows is you were fine going to bed with someone you thought was a professional hillbilly rapist. That's not even a job!
I can't believe you would be so close-minded about this. When your friend Melissa found my ad in the back of that magazine and called me to set up a party for you, she told me you were a really warm person who enjoyed meeting new people. Yes, I found Melissa to be a bitch too, but I had to take her at her word. Was that just some throw-away line from your personal ad? Because I believed it. Once Melissa's cheque cleared, I was ready to meet someone who would be ready for a new experience.
I don't know why you want to rush out. This is your house. If this were my place and I had just discovered that I had had unprotected intercourse with a professional sex worker, I would ask THEM to leave.
Oh, you do want me to leave...Well fine, I'll go. Jesus, you know why I hate this job sometimes? It's because of people like you. These situations make me regret leaving legal practice. At least then when I fucked people I could just send them my bill and close the file.
Hey, there's that smile! Come on. Come back here gorgeous lady. That's it. Yes, I do think you're gorgeous. And yes Melissa did cover a morning party. No, I don't know why they call it a party.
Hey, I just came up with a nickname for us. Do you want to hear it?
May 19, 2010
1. I like sitting in Starbucks listening to “I Think We’re Alone Now” by Tiffany on my earphones, knowing that not a single person in the place knows how weird and fruity I am.
2. When my roommates are out and I have the place to myself, I put on my cat costume and play with a ball of yarn. Then I eat the houseplants until I throw up.
3. One of my secret pleasures is going to the market around the corner from my apartment and sticking my hand deep into the barrels of dried beans, feeling each individual one tickle my palm, then drawing out a handful and throwing them at children.
4. Sometimes I’ll bake a whole batch of chocolate chip cookies and eat them all myself. Then I’ll go masturbate in front of my neighbour’s dog.
5. I am crazy for old tins. I can spend hours in antique stores looking for them. I love the rush of finding the perfect tin, slipping it under my coat, and walking out calmly.
6. I love squirrels. My favourite weekend pastime is going out in the afternoon and watching them fall over drunk asking people for money and yelling at nothing. I especially like it when they find something interesting in the trash; they get so excited and ferret it away in their layers of heavy coats. My friends say that what I think are squirrels are actually homeless people and that I shouldn’t stare and giggle, but I think that my friends are jerks.
7. I love going to the zoo and re-enacting that scene from “ Express” by pulling up my shirt and showing the monkeys my nipples.
May 17, 2010
The Timberlake- Moves from child star to international sensation to successful producer, but is best known for singing songs about his dick.
H for Heidi- Goes from wholesome young kid to a plastic surgery Hindenburg.
Where's LaBoeuf?- Cuts his teeth in Disney flicks but moves on to more serious roles, has hand bitten off by robot.
That's so Bieber- Gets spot on Cosby Show, bringing cuteness ratings to all-time high, show ends, gets fat.
The McFly- Lands a TV show then some movies, cultivates status, gets Parkinson's.
May 11, 2010
Thy fiery looks betray a rising bile.
Thy whitened fists quiver with muted rage.
Where is the warmth of thy angelic smile
And the placid calm of the knowing sage?
For me that feral night was truest bliss.
Thou opened worlds of untold joy to me.
Mine heart thrilled at the touch of every kiss.
Thou indulged every curiosity.
But much I knew of thine serpent betrayal
And those who had enjoyed thy bed as well.
For those pale, limpid eyes do scarcely veil
Thy whorish heart ripped from the depths of Hell.
So unwise you were in my lens to trust.
Now enjoy the fame of your lies and lust.
May 10, 2010
Like most everything, I would consider my relationship with Mickey Rourke a work in progress. That is, it has never reached a point of satisfaction which would either inspire pride or admit finality. Rather, it rolls and pitches with a seemingly unending rhythm of fear and nausea. But to say that I haven't learned anything would be untrue. Because time spent with Mickey is time measured in lessons, lessons about living truly and fairly, no matter what the consequences.
I first met Mickey late in 2007 at a Starbucks in Philadelphia. As I was sugaring my latte, a burly, fragrant man thrust his coffee in front of me. "Spit in this for me Lola," Mickey said, "That barista has no idea how to make a Mexican mochachino." I obliged, dropping a small bead of saliva into his cup. "Lola! Give it some flavor goffammit!" Alarmed, I snorted deeply and delivered a powerful loogie into his coffee. "That's lesson one, Lola. When someone tells you to spit in their coffee, you'd better give it your all." Blowing on his Mexican mochachino, he walked outside and rejoined the Korean-language walking tour which was waiting for him.
Over a year passed before I saw Mickey again. I was in New York attending a performance of Der Erlkönig with a woman I'd been dating who enjoyed German opera and crying during sex, often at the same time. As the performance began and I attempted to simultaneously console her and keep her from grabbing my crotch, I failed to notice the large figure who had sat down beside me. "Lola, what the hell is wrong with your woman?" Mickey asked. "If she wants to dance with Admiral Bojangles, let her do it!" I would have explained, but we were being enthusiastically shushed by people around us.
As the performance continued, I looked over occasionally to see Mickey furtively eating some sort of kielbasa out of his breast pocket. He caught my eye and offered me some. I declined as I saw that it was not in fact a kielbasa but a tube of cookie dough, not that that made the offer any less or more appealing. Incensed, Mickey pulled me close and whispered through clenched teeth: "Lesson two Lola. Someone offers you a delicious bite of cookie dough at a performance of Der Erlkönig, you take it!" He stared at me for the next two hours, chewing on cookie dough and mouthing the lyrics between bites.
Although these episodes could be considered off-putting, they began to occur with a comfortable regularity. I was in Los Angeles in late 2009 at a book signing for the autobiography of a former member of the Hues Corporation, St-Clair Lee. I had a pressing question about the lyrics to "Rock the Boat" that had been plaguing me for years. I was standing in line, reading the acknowledgment section, when I detected a familiar musk. Mickey had a shopping cart full of the books, pushing it forward with his gut as he thumbed madly through the pages. Adjusting his reading glasses, Mickey said: "St-Clair owed me $500 and told me that in exchange he would include the story about the time we fought Paul Newman over whether The Towering Inferno was a metaphor for apartheid. We thought it was." When I asked him to explain, he gave me a gray stare. Pushing ahead of me, he said "Lola, lesson three: if Paul Newman tells you that The Towering Inferno is not a metaphor for apartheid, then you respect the man's opinion." He then began stacking copies of St-Clair Lee's autobiography on the table in front of the terrified author who was holding $500 in a shaking outstretched hand.
It was not so much the letter of these lessons that struck me but rather their spirit. Mickey knew that spitting in coffee and accepting foodstuffs from strangers were not the sole points of his lessons. Neither was arguing with dead celebrities or frightening esoteric singers from the 1970s. Mickey always knew what I know now; that there is no such thing a clear, coherent morality, but only a series of imperatives drawn from life lessons. And every time he subsequently showed up at one of my family gatherings telling me about the virtues of organic dental floss or sat in on a meeting at my work and whispered a four hour story about his discharge from the Bolivian coast guard to me, I knew that this was him sharing his code. I value those lessons to this day.
May 4, 2010
1. The Miami Heat burn Betty White in effigy to banish the bad luck she brought the team during the disastrous "Golden Girls Night" at the American Airlines Arena in the 1991-1992 playoffs.
2. The Chicago Blackhawks eat deep-dish pizza between the second and third periods of away games.
3. The Boston Celtics have the last living leprechaun held in captivity and shower with it.
4. The Denver Broncos all watch "Stand by Me" together the night before game day.
5. The LA Dodgers only use bats made from the tree that killed Sonny Bono.
6. Every member of the Montreal Canadiens kisses their goalie on the mouth before and after each game.
7. If the New York Knicks are down in the series, they will dig up the corpse of Wilt Chamberlain, dress it uniform, and put in on the bench.