Small Truth

Caterina says:

“I’ve always been amazed that in the first moments of getting to know someone you see very clearly who they are, and then spend the rest of your relationship learning all over again what you knew in those first moments.”

Transvestite on a Cell Phone

Let’s just pray, baby…
Let’s just pray about it.
Do you want to pray on the phone, or do you want me to come over, sugar?…
No, no. I’m right here, baby. I just got on the bus, I’m headed up Market. I’m right near you, baby…
On the train…
Yes, sugar…
Do you want me to bring you some food or something?
Some coffeee or some OJaaaay?…
OJ? OK. Do you want filtered or pulp, baby?…
Pulp then. I’ll bring you some pulpy OJ, you get it all stuck up in your teeth and we gonna do some prayin’…
Uh huh. See you soon, baby.

Renting Movies in the Castro

Store Clerk: The white tags are DVD, the black tags are VHS. If you call at noon, we’ll do same-day reservations of all our Hollywood titles.

Me: Great, thanks.

(A few minutes later, on the street.)

Me: What do they mean, they’ll let you reserve the Hollywood titles?

Him: Didn’t you see the side room?

Me: No.

Him: They have a whole room full of boy-sex movies. Apparently they don’t let you reserve those in advance.

Me: I wonder why not.

Him: Probably too much trouble. They got one too many calls, Can I reserve that one with the two guys? Like, the one with the guy doing the other guy? The one with the big member?

Synchronicity

I like Dave Eggers. As I’ve mentioned before, I subscribed to Might and McSweeny, I was among the hordes of subway riders who carried A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius on the commute, and I even attended a reading or two. When I heard he was starting 826 Valencia–a non-profit writing center for kids–I decided that Dave Eggers was certifiably swell. I also signed up to be a tutor. They called me in for an interview a few days ago, and I finally met Mr. Eggers.

For some reason, I was unprepared. I knew it was his project, but didn’t consider that I might see him there. He talked to me and two other tutors for about an hour, giving his take on the student-teacher bond and going through some sample writing. He had fantastic genius-hair, and seemed shy until he’d been talking for a few minutes. I listened and tried to seem more at ease than I was. On the way home, I thought about how weird it was to sit two feet from a guy whose work I’d been reading since I was 19. Then I realized my fly was open.

Thinky

We did a bunch of interviews about the future of technology for an upcoming issue. A few interviewees were talking about how data acquisition is changing. We’re coming up with the technology and storage capacity to record the infinite details of everyday interactions. I’m curious about how this will affect mourning. Right now, we can go through photo albums, maybe some journals or home movies, to remember someone we’ve lost. What will happen when we have thousands of hours worth of tapes to review? It seems like it would take much longer to break out of grief when tangible reminders of a loved one are so plentiful.


FLOWER UPDATE

My landlord lives above me and operates a small convenience store nearby. This weekend, his wife stopped me as I was headed out. I think I know who took your flowers, she said. She told me her husband had seen one of our neighbors, an old lady, milling around the area. We walked two doors down, and sure enough, all of my plants were sitting on the lady’s front porch behind a locked gate. Let me type that again: two doors down, on the front porch. “She’s a little bit nuts, so wait until her son is home to ask for your plants back. Fabulous. First my neighbor steals my plants, and then I have to administer the smackdown to some poor senile old lady to get them back. I wasn’t sure if I had the stomach for it. Fortunately, my new roommate ran into the lady�s son and explained the situation. My flowers were waiting on the front porch when I got home. I like people again. I plan to buy ice cream for everyone.

Bitter Fruit

A few days ago, the Home Depot nursery seduced me. I purchased many blooming, good-smelling things and the terra cotta pots to go with them. I hummed all the way home, changed into some grubby clothes, and planted three pots of basil, some sage, thyme, red and yellow ranunculus, a happy red geranium, marigolds, small yellow roses, and a flowering cactus thingie.

I finished potting, swept the sidewalk, cleaned the dirt from under my nails, and arranged the pots artistically in front of my new apartment. I was about to sigh with deep satisfaction when my city-girl side said, Someone is going to steal these cheery little babies the minute you turn around, dearling. I frowned. Then my sunny optimistic side interrupted, Oh, shut up. Strangers give you directions, people offer their seats to pregnant women, five people held doors open for you just today. People are basically good. Why would anyone steal your precious flowers? I set my chin, watered carefully, and went inside to primp for an evening out.

When I got back home, they were gone–every last pot. People are bad, and I no longer like them.