Tuesday, April 22, 2003

 

ENTRY 011


The more time goes on, the more I feel I'm finally reemerging into life from wherever I've been hiding these past months. It's nice to be doing things again. Even though my constant companion, Jane, was visiting our much-missed Austin for the weekend, I got out on my own and enjoyed myself.


On Saturday I saw a really interesting documentary, Rivers and Tides, about the artist Andy Goldsworthy, "whose specialty is ephemeral sculptures made from elements of nature." He's referred to as an "environmental artist." Basically he uses materials of/from nature to construct new things outdoors. For instance, he built a huge pod sort of thing, perfectly constructed, out of driftwood, right on the edge of a tidal pool, and waited until the waves washed it out to sea. Another time he assembled a large web hanging from a tree, using reeds joined together with sharp twigs. A recurring piece he built in several places was a huge structure, pinecone-shaped and made completely of stones. Goldsworthy was fairly reserved, and didn't seem to be the most effective spokesman for his own artistic vision. But I've never felt that art should be exhaustively explained, anyway. (When people who've read my fiction tell me their interpretation of my work, I always say that their viewpoint is perfectly valid, and I never reveal whether that's what I had in mind when I was writing--almost always it isn't, but that's totally cool with me.) The movie was beautifully filmed, and on the whole was leisurely and contemplative and thoughtful. I find myself needing that sort of thing in this often frenzied and harsh and glib city.


Sunday was so gorgeous that I headed once again to Central Park, where I sat in the grass and sun to do some editing work for my magazine. Before settling down to business I made quite a lengthy trek, covering about two-thirds of the entire length of the park. There were tons of people out, of course, especially since it was Easter. They were all dressed up, while I was in my good old T-shirt and jeans. I always did have to be different.


One of the frustrations of the past month or so has been the uncertainty surrounding my connection with Zeke. Our initial interactions and email correspondence were certainly auspicious, and then after his performance, which I saw with Jane, I was even more intrigued. And Jane and I were certain, after more than one of his friends recognized me without having even met me before, that Zeke had to have some kind of interest. So it was vexing when his email replies become fewer and farther between, although I chalked it up for the time being to his hectic schedule. Finally, though, we arranged a meeting for this evening. It was to be our first one-on-one rendezvous in three weeks, as well as the first evening "date."


So yes, I was nervous about tonight. That kind of anxiety isn't something I'd wish on anyone, but it's so delightful in its own masochistic way that I think everyone should experience it. (And I think everyone does; it's one of those Universal Kinds of Experiences.) I was up late last night cleaning my room (just in case, since the restaurant is only a few blocks away); I wore a flattering Kenneth Cole shirt--blue is definitely my color--with slacks and a nice coat; and I picked a little bistro that was nice, but not too nice. With that taken care of, I made sure to arrive just on time.


There Zeke was. Indeed. He was wearing an unfortunate thrift store shirt (one of those white polyester jobs with ick gold paisley design--hey, I like thrift store shopping, but come on), jeans with a rainbow bandana hanging out of the back pocket, and an engineer's cap. What's up with that? Was he planning not just to ride the subway home, but to conduct it? The worst part was that he wore the hat all during the meal. I'm hardly a prepped-out snob (far from it), but I think it's totally gauche to wear a hat at dinner.


Despite Zeke's best efforts, he was still very attractive. But that really wasn't the issue. Somehow the whole vibe was completely off. It was something that had begun at least a couple of weeks before: the tone of his emails had changed. There had been this sense of mutual interest and of discovery, the certainty that we both wanted to know more. I had told myself that even though the emails had cooled off, it might very well be different in person, but as with many times when I second-guess myself, I should have listened to my initial instincts. It quickly became apparent that he no longer seemed very interested in learning more about what makes me tick. And although he certainly doesn't share the unpleasant characteristics of some of his fellow actors, I think it's almost impossible not to have a certain degree of self-absorption in that profession. As we talked about his recent theatrical success, I couldn't help thinking, Gee, he really does like to talk about this, doesn't he? It wasn't a particularly snide thought, but it did cause me concern.


It wasn't as though the evening was unpleasant, or that we didn't have things to talk about, or that the good qualities we each possess weren't on display. But even before the entrees arrived, I knew that whatever had been going on between us was as dead as the animal they served me on a plate five minutes later.


This whole thing isn't a huge deal, but I'd be lying if I said it wasn't something of a disappointment. And it's the kind of experience that makes you wonder about your grasp on reality. Was I totally hallucinating our great rapport? Did I completely imagine his interest in me? Was I ever really interested in him myself?


Anyway, that's that. Aw, shit, I do miss things. Romance; having someone I like tell me how attractive they think I am; the whole simpatico thing. Is all that too much to ask for? Zeke certainly isn't the first hot-and-cold guy I've encountered...just the latest one. I find myself thinking of a country song--I guess in my most secret heart of hearts I'm a bit of a Texas hick, and always will be--so kindly indulge me: "Is it too much to demand / I want a full house and a rock and roll band / Pens that won't run out of ink / And cool quiet and time to think / Shouldn't I have this / Shouldn't I have this / Shouldn't I have all of this, and / Passionate kisses / Passionate kisses, whoa oh oh / Passionate kisses from you."


At least I can move on now, to the next next thing. And the next. The gap will be bridged again someday, somehow. Ob-la-di, ob-la-da.


This may not sound sincere, but it's meant to be: Zeke, thanks for playing. Really. For a little while, I felt like maybe I was on someone's mind, like certain things were possible. Maybe I dreamed it all; it doesn't much matter anymore, as far as you and I are concerned. I'm grateful you didn't ask me for too much; but I'm vividly aware that you didn't want much, either. Not from me, at least.


I have sensed from this that there is much I want to give to someone who actually wants it. It's definitely a good way to affirm I'm still alive. Bring on the next guy. I'm happy to make more mistakes. The universe was born in an ancient fluke of an explosion; the United States was a botched colony; I was an unplanned pregnancy. Mistakes give life, and enrich it. Errors are everything.

12:30 AM

|