2004-08-19 - 12:56 p.m.
On the train coming into the city, today, I started rereading one of the books she gave me. I finished the paper at the coffee shop, and none of the advertisements in the train were all that interesting, so I really had no choice.
When picking up the books for my little journey into the city today, I picked up two, and strangely they both contained an odd artifact inside. Inexplicably, the Salinger has written inside the front cover, in my handwriting: "I like to eat accountants with a nice Ciante sauce. Thpp-tpp-tpp-tpp." What exactly led me to make a Silence of the Lambs reference in light of accountants is beyond me.
The other book was one my Dad gave me. I tried to read it, but never really got into it. In there I found an old phone card, and a few pictures rustled in with the pages. The photos had glued themselves to the page, and when I removed them took half the text with them. It was a picture of my sisters and my father having drinks before a wedding. My hair gives full indication of the era this particular image was graven.
A friend announced an eighties party, and I had the unfortunate idea of going full on Billy Idol, bleached hair included. No one explained to me that it takes a long time to grow out, and hence I spent my senior year in college looking, as my friends put it: "Really Blond! I mean, you've always been blond, but...You're REALLY BLOND!"
We all look pretty happy in the picture. It was one of the first times we all got to hang out together away from the full on family functionality of said functions. I was finally able to have a drink with them, a fact that was no end of irk for my mother. My sister's and my brother-in-law bummed my cigarettes while my father covered for us. It was a good day.
I can't remember when during that year that picture was taken. That year, not so lovely. I don't mean to make this into a full trama-rama, but I did find it interesting that I spent a problematic year with what looked like a full head skunk, like the kind you're supposed to get if you get struck by lightening, or watch a bus load of kids get mauled by a pack of angry beavers.
When I stood to get off the train in the East Village, I noticed the shirt a woman across the way was wearing. Pink and white, with big bold blocky text it read: "I make boys..."
At first I thought she was making some statement about the social concerns in China, or possibly trying to make herself more attractive to those of that persuasion since she was attesting to her male making abilities. Then I realized the last word of her t-shirt was folded underneath her breasts.
There are many possibilities for that last word: Cum, Laugh, Happy, Crazy...
My money's on Cry.
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