the art of forgetting

I've had three dates with two men since Friday and have also managed to finally finish The Cigar Roller by Pablo Medina. The story is about an old dissolute Cuban, lying paralyzed and unable to communicate aside from blinking, in a nursing home. The narrator is not at all likable, but his story is compelling. Good, complicated stuff.

Desire - for women, for money, for work, for respect - has made Amadeo an exile
from himself. He knows he has lost the narrative of his life and all he
has left is the flotsam of memory and language, which move inside him like
figments of the past... She remained distant, encouraging him to continue
with his snares that trapped only him, kept him from living his life - he was no
father, he was no husband. He was a singon, a fucker but not a lover. That is why she, the distant one, stayed away. Amadeo has lost all hope but for whatever comes to him during the day and flees from him at night. And language? It fills his head, makes him slobber, it churns around in his stomach, but it refuses to come out of
him. It lives on in his memory, tied to a scene or a consequence of
something he did or neglected to do. From the darkness of his room, Amadeo
Terra tries once again to think of the future, to see himself on the other side
of the river that divides life from death, but all he can visualize is the same
parched earth, the same circular roads, the cloud of dust that floats over him.
How does it feel to be whipped, to be touched? He cannot remember.

photo of the squeaker

always with the camera. sheesh.


It could be worse. I could be one of those people that posts photos of my pets. Instead, you get proof that I'm nuts about my brand-new fuzzy-headed niece. She is eight weeks old today. I call home just to hear her breathe. On good days, the family will remove her pacifier for a couple seconds so I can hear her squeak in anger. It is so sweet.

Memorial weekend is upon us, and I have precious few plans. On purpose. I think I have a second date (god help me), I have aspirations of cleaning out a closet, and I have a new book to start - War Trash by Ha Jin. Hell, I might get all ambitious and muck around Eastern Market on Saturday or Sunday too. I hope you all have a lovely weekend as well!

alcohol - water + greasy pizza + noisy neighbors of the bunny = a wasted sunday

Last night, I repaired to Naptown for some outside-the-beltway frolicking. Each weekend, The Bunny's neighbors and friends get together for some bbqing and beers. They're all very friendly and fun, and they live on this wonderful historic block of Annapolis, mere yards from the water. I think the street was established in 1696 or something crazy.

The Bunny made some chicken curry - it was pretty impressive for his first time.

Generally, I'm pretty conscientious about having a glass of water for each adult beverage consumed. Last night, I completely neglected to keep to the rule of hydration. After making a couple new friends at Castlebay, we went back to The Bun's and ordered pizza. Ouch. Then the Bunny's neighbor's decided to stay up till about 5 am. Ouchier.

I had every intention of not napping today. I got home, discovered How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying on PBS (which was adorable), took a scalding hot shower and settled in with The Cigar Roller. And then I fell asleep.

Oh - and in case the new Naptown friends are reading, The Shakespeare Theatre is outstanding. TMS and I saw The Tempest there a few weeks ago. DC is a great town for theatre, and I'm not referring to the tragi-comedy playing out in the Senate right now.

a book review (a book about seduction)

I've put away the interminably long (just under 1500 pages) A Suitable Boy, by Vikram Seth, for the moment in favor of slightly lighter reads. I'm halfway through The Cigar Roller, by Pablo Medina, and have just finished The Calligrapher, by Edward Docx.

The Calligrapher was an excellent read until the very end. Docx has a great way with the English language and I really enjoyed how he employs the poetry of John Donne to drive home his points about men and women, and the complexity of human relationships. The problem is that the last 2 pages read like an unsatisfying mini-series ending; as if the author had just given up.

I'm not saying that you shouldn't read it, because there are far too many worthy passages for the ending to ruin it completely. Docx's use of language (and being an anglophile I have a thing for the Britishness of the book) is very satisfying. The anti-hero narrator describes (pgs. 139 - 140 - I'm all about citing) how regular guys go about seduction and how it screws it up for the more exceptional ones:

All of which leaves us - you and me both - crying quietly into our hands
with shame and despair. But by such roads does the regular guy, in his many
guises, like to travel. The world is full of fuckers and there's nothing we can
do. Idealism, as you will have noticed, has died a short but tragic death. Don
Quixote rode in vain and Karl Marx is long forgotten, muttering the truth into
his beard like a mad tramp lying on a broken box on the pavement outside King's
Cross station. We live in the age of the lowest common denominator. And boy oh
boy is it low.

I should have marked more passages to mention, but I kept wanting to find out what would happen next. Also, as much as I dislike the Playa at my age, I was fascinated by the pyschological profile, and at the idea that a guy could put so much consideration and planning into seduction - even when considering breakfasts after a successful overnighter:

Between you and me, I find it almost impossible to guess breakfast
requirements in advance for women like Cecile. You would presume that, like so
many women on the ecologicial revolution, she prefers fruit- cleansing,
nutritious, zestful. And yet no doubt she sometimes wakes to find herself
craving the immoderate satisfaction of a chocolate croissant.... In the end, I'm
afraid, I don't think there is any way round it: you just have to accept life as
an uncertain business and make provisions for all
circumstances.

Even here there is danger. The talented
amateur, for example, will stride merrily out to the shops on the eve of an
assignation and buy everything his forthright imagination can conceive of -
muesli, muffins, marmalade, a range of mushrooms, perhaps even some maple syrup.
Thus laden, he will return to stuff his shelves, fill his fridge and generally
clutter his kitchen with produce. But this will not do. Not only will his
unwieldy efforts be noticed by even the most blase of guests - as he offers her
first one menu, then another - but, worse, the elegance and effect of seeming
only to have exactly what she wants is utterly lost, drowned in a deluge of
petits dejeuners.

No - the professional must take a
very different approach. He will, of course, have all the same victuals as the
amateur, but - and here's the rub - he will have hidden them. All eventualities
will have been provided for, and yet it will appear as though he has made
provision for none. Except - magically - the right one.

Anyway, thank fuck I got the strawberries.

So now I find myself going over those dates where things went so smoothly and wondering how much planning went into them. Just fascinating.

toying with my emotions

Nerve continues to torment me. First with this pointless horoscope, and then with messages from guys who haven't changed their look since they were five. And, sorry, but if you're 5'10" and weigh a buck thirty-five - and are male - you need to be hiding your running shoes and laying into the snickers bars. Whiskypants prefers men with a little meat on 'em.

Libra (Sept. 22-Oct. 22)
As the week begins, you'll feel a lot of sublimated tension: you want to scream at people and tell them how to do things properly. Don't. If you do, you'll miss out on the sexually charged week that's set to follow those tense first few days. Besides, your annoyance is much better assuaged by multiple orgasms than by hollering.

diversions

Hanging out with The Alabama Slama is putting a dent in my creative juices. But we're having fun and learning things.

For example: Helix Lounge has free champagne for their guests from 5 pm to 6 pm on Thursday nights. TAS has NEVER liked oreos, and she is allergic to beer. My inner child is aghast at the former and my inner St. Louisian is apoplectic at the latter.

If you've never been to Helix (it's one of the Kimpton Group hotels and pretty cute - I have always liked the Hotel Rouge), it's a great spot for outdoor (albeit overpriced) drinks. More of an early/happy hour place. We had absolutely perfect weather tonight, and the free champagne and $7 oreo martini's were the proverbial icing.

Now, give your inner geek a little elbow room and go here. The Silver Fox pointed me there last week and I'm hooked. Very well-written and funny. This is my favorite post so far.

if only

My love horoscope for the week:

Libra (Sept. 22-Oct. 22)
I have a friend who compiled a report called something like "Boyfriends of Many Lands." It chronicled all the boys she had lain with in the Biblical sense, even if they were from countries that don't read the Bible. This will be a good week for you to look abroad (or, at least, to the next town over) for love. The possibilities of an entirely new mall and the People's Republic of 30 Miles Away will intoxicate you. By Sunday, be ready to get wild. The locals may want to make you their ruler and official sex object.

Yeah, right. Way to mock my pain, nerve.com. It's been way too long since I was someone's sex object.

Also, The Alabama Slama is in town for some work training this week. So I ought to be good and cranky by Friday. That girl has the energy of 10 kindergartners fed on pixy sticks and Jolt cola. She got us tickets to see Big Death and Little Death tonight at the brand new Woolly Mammoth theatre. Their new space is fantastic, and if you like darkly twisted comedy this play is for you.

why i've been slacking...

This little person is the reason I have been so lax in posting. I was out visiting my month-old niece the past week. Supreme Nephew of Whiskypants is in the background... Can you believe the hair on that baby?