(with the sound of my own typing)
The weirdest thing happened to me yesterday. I was on my way home from work... no wait, I didn't go to work yesterday. Or the day before. This must have been Tuesday. I was on the T, listening to Cracker ("sometimes I wish I were Catholic - I don't know why...") and grinning foolishly into the face of rush hour commuters.
Actually, I was grinning foolishly into their groins since I was sitting down. Until I offered my seat to a pregnant woman, and nestled her comfortably between two male suits who were pretending not to notice her, nine months deep, trying to reach the handrail around her monstrous belly. Don't forget people, we all had mothers at one point. In any case, I smiled and helped her sit down.
It was either this act of simple compassion or my smiling over goofy lyrics that gained the attention of an observant Lenny Kravitz-esque boy who approached me after de-training at Central Square. I'm leery of Central Square in general, so I tend to ignore everything, head down, hair in face, headphones. I was heading for the Middle East box office to pick up some Interpol tickets, and I felt someone walking along with me, in my personal space. I looked up to see the Lenny Kravitz boy from the train, moving his lips at me. I took the headphone nearest him out of my ear.
"Can I ask you a question?"
"Okay," I said, but kept walking. He had a thick Swedish accent. I took out the other headphone.
"Would you like to get coffee with me sometime?"
I stopped abruptly and looked at him. "What brought that on?"
"I think you're very beautiful. I saw you on the train, you seem like a nice person."
He actually said these words. Outloud.
"I mean, I find you very attractive. You are creative, I can tell. I thought, I bet she's a cool person." (I'm still on "get coffee with me.") "I know it might seem strange, but I just moved here, and I'm trying to meet some likeminded people. I saw you and thought, she seems nice. But you never know. Sometimes people could seem nice and turn out to be real assholes."
Obviously no one filled him in on the whole strangers in Boston ignoring each other thing. Of course I didn't give him my phone number. But then Nora Ephron's voice echoes in my mind: "It's all copy." That has been my motto for the past five years, and I find myself doing things just so I can write about them. This, for instance.
So I gave him my generic email address. Now I know some people will expect a follow-up on this. What happens? Does she go to Diesel with him for coffee? Does he try to molest her in the middle of a crowded café? Does he pay for dessert? Does she find out she actually knew him in a past life? Does he try to sell her a bible? Or do they have a relatively tame conversation and part ways none the worse for it? Did I tell you I used to pick up male hitchhikers when I was sixteen, driving home alone from the beach in a bikini? I feed off chaos and danger. It's in my nature.
So I'll let you know what develops.
Speaking of developing, I have 12 rolls of undeveloped film waiting for me when I get home from work. I found them while cleaning my closet and I have no idea what's on them. Some of them even have rusty canisters. I also shot a few rolls at the Bright Eyes concert, and I tremble with anticipation of these photographs because I knew while I was taking them that they were beautiful. I love Conor diligently. But the King of Emo will get his own entry on Wednesday. For now I'll just worry about the film I shot of Shea on the rainy beach which I will process this evening in my darkroom if I don't get so claustrophobic that I freak out like last night.
Speaking of last night, it was Movie Night, which happens weekly, and we watched North by Northwest. Smart, sassy Hitchcock blonds get me hot. I can't even take it. I must practice my manipulation techniques further. My aim in life is to emulate Eva Marie Saint as Eve Kendall.
"I'm a big girl."
"Yeah, and in all the right places, too."
Speaking of getting hot, I got lots of love in the mail at work today. All from myself, but then, who knows how to gratify you better than that? I got a stack of CDs from my latest binge, which needs to stop, people. The item I am particularly excited about is the Jump, Little Children Live at the Music Farm DVD.
I'm kind of worried about the DVD. Seeing them play live is such a treat, and such a huge event for me, I just hope the novelty doesn't wear off. I suppose I don't have to watch it more than once right now. But you know how I am.
There is a recording of J,LC singing the National Anthem at Fenway Park on the DVD, which I was not expecting but will be cool to see. When I heard them sing it, I was outside the ballpark, and the acoustics on Landsdowne St. aren't exactly prime. Actually, the Sausage Guy was feeling pretty vocal that afternoon.
I am also writing all of this so I can put this new picture of Matt Bivins from J,LC on my site because he is the most strangely beautiful, bi-luminous siamese-cat-eyed thing to pace the earth.
Okay peeps . . . have a good weekend. I may be writing more still. My boss quit today. I am a free agent. Think I'll go listen to my new Múm CD, Finally We Are No One. Highly recommended. Trancey, Bjork-esque electronica with haunting female vocals.
Monday is the first day of Autumn -- the birth of everything beautiful. Mark your calendars.
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