Let my lusts be my ruin, then, since all else is a fake and a mockery. -Hart Crane
More than I lust for people, I lust for friends and experience. The other night I went out to Akbar, a m
ostly boys queer bar in Silverlake. I sat with (cleverly disguised pseudonyms from here on out...) Omar and Beatriz, who are both tall, lanky, Latino, dark-haired and dark-eyed--at 25 and 30, they're probably my hottest friends. Not exactly Antonio & Salma hot, because my taste runs geekier than that--but they both move sleekly in their bodies and both have great taste in music. Call it brainy-queer-hot.
Digression: My friend Jack, who's about as straight-boy-who-watches-ESPN as my friends get, asked me recently, "Are there any lesbians who aren't cute in LA?" [By the way, hate the word lesbian--digression for another day.] As you can imagine, I almost choked on my soda. "Uh, yeah...they're everywhere." Jack said, "All the girls I've met through you are so cute." I nodded, and said, "Yeah, my friends are cute. I gotta keep the herd pure--I might have to date one of them eventually." Little-known fact, there are only about thirty-six lesbians between 25 and 35 in all of Los Angeles, and half of them are moving in together as we speak. End of digression.
So we drank (all three of us) and smoked (Beatriz is one reason I'm sucking down 10 cigarettes a month these days) and checked out the boys (Omar). Then Beatriz said she was tired. I patted her leg and kept chatting up Omar; but her head nodded forward and snapped up again, like a truck-driver crashing a big-rig at 3 am on the 5 freeway. It was time to go.
Omar stayed to drink water and sober up. The next day, I called him to chat and he said, "This girl kept looking at me, and she came up to me and started talking and said--" (high voice denoting estrogen) "--'oh, you're so nice, I wish I could call you up and chat all the time.' She asked for my number. I said, 'How 'bout email?'. She said, 'Oh, you don't have to give me your number if you don't want.' I said, 'Well, I'm here a lot...maybe we'll just run into each other!" Such a nice blow-off.
How does this always happen to Omar? I went to a Tegan and Sara concert at the Wiltern with him, and when he was walking back to his car he ran into Sara and made friends. They chatted on the sidewalk and, I'm sure, one day will have babies together. Omar meets people, both good and bad, wherever he goes.
Anyhow, after leaving Omar to be harrassed at Akbar, I drove Beatriz back to my house (where her car sat) and made her stand in my front lawn with me while I smoked one last cigarette. The full moon shone on my little house. The gardener had just visited, so our grass smelled clipped and new. Despite a violent rainstorm being only two days away, it felt vividly like spring. Beatriz and I talked about the little night bird who serenades my street after midnight, but mostly it was quiet.
"I'm gonna fall asleep on my feet here, I gotta go," she said finally.
We one-arm hugged and she walked away while I stood on my front porch, smoking and breathing. It was nice to be home.
ostly boys queer bar in Silverlake. I sat with (cleverly disguised pseudonyms from here on out...) Omar and Beatriz, who are both tall, lanky, Latino, dark-haired and dark-eyed--at 25 and 30, they're probably my hottest friends. Not exactly Antonio & Salma hot, because my taste runs geekier than that--but they both move sleekly in their bodies and both have great taste in music. Call it brainy-queer-hot.Digression: My friend Jack, who's about as straight-boy-who-watches-ESPN as my friends get, asked me recently, "Are there any lesbians who aren't cute in LA?" [By the way, hate the word lesbian--digression for another day.] As you can imagine, I almost choked on my soda. "Uh, yeah...they're everywhere." Jack said, "All the girls I've met through you are so cute." I nodded, and said, "Yeah, my friends are cute. I gotta keep the herd pure--I might have to date one of them eventually." Little-known fact, there are only about thirty-six lesbians between 25 and 35 in all of Los Angeles, and half of them are moving in together as we speak. End of digression.
So we drank (all three of us) and smoked (Beatriz is one reason I'm sucking down 10 cigarettes a month these days) and checked out the boys (Omar). Then Beatriz said she was tired. I patted her leg and kept chatting up Omar; but her head nodded forward and snapped up again, like a truck-driver crashing a big-rig at 3 am on the 5 freeway. It was time to go.
Omar stayed to drink water and sober up. The next day, I called him to chat and he said, "This girl kept looking at me, and she came up to me and started talking and said--" (high voice denoting estrogen) "--'oh, you're so nice, I wish I could call you up and chat all the time.' She asked for my number. I said, 'How 'bout email?'. She said, 'Oh, you don't have to give me your number if you don't want.' I said, 'Well, I'm here a lot...maybe we'll just run into each other!" Such a nice blow-off.
How does this always happen to Omar? I went to a Tegan and Sara concert at the Wiltern with him, and when he was walking back to his car he ran into Sara and made friends. They chatted on the sidewalk and, I'm sure, one day will have babies together. Omar meets people, both good and bad, wherever he goes.Anyhow, after leaving Omar to be harrassed at Akbar, I drove Beatriz back to my house (where her car sat) and made her stand in my front lawn with me while I smoked one last cigarette. The full moon shone on my little house. The gardener had just visited, so our grass smelled clipped and new. Despite a violent rainstorm being only two days away, it felt vividly like spring. Beatriz and I talked about the little night bird who serenades my street after midnight, but mostly it was quiet.
"I'm gonna fall asleep on my feet here, I gotta go," she said finally.
We one-arm hugged and she walked away while I stood on my front porch, smoking and breathing. It was nice to be home.
posted by CC at 4/14/2006
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