n o w p l a y i n g - s c r i p t b i n - f a n c l u b - s t u d i o

make love to the camera



December 7, 2001 - 2:31 pm

Something About Infamy Or Something

His name...was Paul.

Wednesday morning on my way to school, I'm innocently walking down the streets of Chicago's loop, thoroughly enjoying my train-to-class transitional cigarette. To my right, a voice cries out. "Excuse me, can I get a light from you?" Helpful chap that I am, I stop for the voice and find a pleasant fellow, near my age, standing before me. As I dig my lighter out of my pocket, he says "I know you from somewhere."

I say something like "Oh, yeah?" or "Do you?" That's what I normally say in situations like this. I've been recognized on the street maybe three times before, because of some improv company that I was in once. I figured this was the same thing. I dig my lighter out of my pocket, hand it to the guy, and he proceeds to light his cigarette. Parliaments.

He gets his smoke lit, hands me my lighter, and looks directly into my eyes. There's a slight smile on his handsome face, and his eyelids are half shut, in that 'I'm one smooth muthafucka' way. He takes the cig out of his mouth, holding it overhand between his thumb and forefinger, and says "I'm Paul. See you around." He walks off.

I felt like a hot bitch.

I should have turned around as I walked away, but that didn't occur to me until later. Fuck, I'm a single guy now. A date is a date is a date. Also, if I "switch teams," I can double my wardrobe. He was a good looking guy, too. If only I were 'confused.' There is no doubt that I'll be scouring the Chicago Reader's Missed Connections for weeks.

James, I know you're jealous.

I'm in a pretty damn good mood today. I'm wrecking my health in the usual fashion: lots of coffee and lots of cigarettes. Right this very moment, I have The Strokes on maximum volume. The song happens to be 'Someday' as I write these words. No matter what anyone says about them, this record exists as a pure and good thing in this universe beyond all reproach. It's just that simple. Or, have I just had too much coffee? The answer is no.

Last night, I wound up at a bar I haven't been to in years. Back in my DePaul days, my roommate Matt and I would go there on a semi-regular basis. I remember that Matt had a bit of a self-esteem problem, and he would often think of himself (and, by association, me) as inferior to some of the 'hipsters,' the 'cool' kids. This was way more his view than mine, as I'm not prone to placing people above myself by nature. Not because I think I'm superior, but because I think it's dumb and self-defeating. Anyway, because Matt was so very convinced of our innate geekiness, I guess I have to admit that some of it did rub off on me, in spite of myself. So, on my way there last night, I felt the smallest ghost of old and leftover apprehension, as if I were 21 again, and almost like I was going some place I didn't belong. Naturally, I shook those feelings off, which was justified, because as soon as I walked in, I was handed a beer by a stranger and made to feel very welcome.

I try to make it a personal goal to abandon old ways of thinking, especially if I recognize that they're detrimental. When I was younger, I wouldn't let myself go to parties or talk to girls out of an overblown fear that I would cease to live if something bad happened as a result. I've been throwing those old parts of me away for a long time. It's good for me to challenge myself.

Case in point: The night I lost my virginity, the original plan was to stay home in my room and read comic books.

Yes, you may now de-list me as a favorite.

Oh, and just because I'm not being nearly sincere enough here, I have something to say about being single: I'm OK with it. It's cool. It's because I'm thoroughly in love with myself.

And not in the 'oh, I'm so smart and good-looking and hot' way. Just that I'm at a stage where I'm pretty happy with me. I like what I do. I like the way I do it. I like what I think I'm going to do. And I realize that's really rare. And I feel lucky. I don't know how long it will last. Maybe come Valentine's day, I'll be insanely bitter, and resent every happy hand-holding couple I see on the street and want to kick puppies, but right now? I'm cool.

And the comic books I was planning to read that night? X-Men? No. The New Defenders? Uh-uh. Batman? Nope.

Star Trek.

Yes.

Back then, I was extremely good at piling geek on top of nerd on top of dork. Thank God my friend Dess was so persuasive in getting me out of the house. How the fuck anyone deciding I was worth sexing up is beyond me.

Oh, and if you're the kind of big wussy that "cares" about people, and "experiences emotion," and all that rot, you might want to check this out if you're going to buy something from Amazon.com anyway.

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