A Conversation about a Conversation
Last night I dreamed of being on a cruise where Elvis Costello was performing, except Elvis Costello was Joan Rivers. She was dancing in a flamenco dress and did a duet with her daughter and my mom leaned over and said, “This isn’t very good.”
Just then, in real life, my phone rang, pulling me out of my dream, and it was my mother calling on her way to lunch, just to chat. We talked about the Warriors and how bad they are. Since it was already 2 in the afternoon by the time I rolled out of bed, I decided to try to get some work done. I realized it’s a 29 day. There weren’t any 29 days in Oct so this is good. This meant I would have to put myself out there tonight. I went and did some reading and writing at the usual cafe. Went to the gym and shot baskets, ran 3.5 miles and did half an hour on the elliptical while reading After the Quake by Haruki Murakami and the new collection of shorts from Stephen King.
Brian called and we talked about renting out the LA place. Told him I think we’ve gotten so comfortable with each other, we might be inhibiting each other’s ability to get some. The truth is that renting out the entire place would pay for my bills on that place as well as my rent here. I could live off of it if I gave it up as my primary home. But it would also strand me in Seattle.
I went out.
Went to one bar that’s around the corner. Found a seat in the shadows and watched people. A guy named Alex told me he sold “–hardware. Like lumber. As in Hard. Wood.” I asked him if it was hard for him to say that to a woman without giggling. They were going to another bar and I declined an invitation to go with them. I’d told him I’m a writer so this is technically me at work, so he let me go. Kissed the back of my hand as he left.
So did his friend.
From American men, that’s a first.
(The night did carry a motif of strangers being particularly interested in my hands)
I watched the crowd. Learned random other things. Like about the guys who jump on girls as soon as they walk in the door, before the girls have scoped the room to find what might be better. Jackals. Same as the guys who stand outside the women’s bathroom picking girls out of the stream. Girls don’t always notice how they set.
Here’s a quick douchebag checklist, if it helps. A guy is a douchebag if he:
1. Wears sunglasses indoors (Asshole)
2. Wears a scarf with a short sleeve shirt (Gay Tease)
3. Shapes his eyebrows (Narcissist)
4. Stands in a pack of other guys wearing the same untucked striped button-down shirt talking over each other while tightly huddled in a circle protecting their manhoods. (Cries After Sex)
Trust me.
I was thinking about my thoughts from last Saturday, regarding alpha pack leaders and if I just don’t engage with certain people because I’m shy or because there isn’t high probability for a desirable outcome. I’m starting to believe the reason is the latter. With most connections, particularly ones in contrived social settings, I feel like the effort to make a memorable connection isn’t possible or the possibility isn’t worth the effort. I’m a very purpose driven person. I don’t really do anything unless I can learn or achieve something from it, or I perceive the potential of a positive outcome. Thus, my impatience with small talk, unless it’s small talk with someone whose company I enjoy, then what I’m getting out of it isn’t derived from small talk, but from appreciation of the overall company. I don’t like wasting time or energy.
Another angle, when I was in LA, my friend Nick loaned me this book that categorizes people by their strengths. One of the strength archetypes was a maximizer, which is someone who has the ability and desire to bring out the most in people. I think the way I project potentials uses the maximizing principle. I look at any situation and project possible directions or if I can see it, outcomes. I’m good at looking at someone and seeing their highest potential, and I’m good at looking at situations and outcomes and seeing what are paths that would lead to the best, most desirable outcomes. But within the bounds of realism, sometimes the best possible outcome is not very interesting. Based on chemistry and individual personalities, sometimes two people really have nothing that brings them together or keeps them together. Other times, you feel a pull towards someone like there’s something there to explore. I usually stay back unless I meet people who really compel me, or who walk right into my path.
I spent an hour in that place and while the crowd was interesting to watch, no one really compelled me to interact so I left to get food.
On my way, I walked by the Karma Lounge. I’ve never been in there but I heard the music when the door opened and it sounded interesting, so I went in. Ordered a drink. Told the bartender to surprise me. He gave me a martini that was fruity but not too sweet…an indeterminable flavor. But it wasn’t too strong which is perfect for me–drinks that are too strong I end up just holding for the length of the night. I have a 2 drink max when I’m people watching alone, because this really is work for me, and a drink in hand is part of fitting into the background (and also, it’s common sense for when I’m alone to not get staggering drunk).
I take in the crowd, and the only attractive guy in the room is a tall, stone-faced guy standing in the corner. He seems like the quiet type, the loyal type, but hard to reach. Then I notice his t-shirt, proclaimed in large, clear letters:
ALPHA-MAN
Oh, sneaky sneaky, universe. Setting out bait. Maybe a pre-Amsterdam me would have gone for it, but I’ve learned. Yes, this was a clear sign of synchronicity. But I smelled irony. Which also smells like pie in the face, or ego handed to you in a bowl of nuts. So I let the guy fall off my radar and committed to letting the night come to me.
A tall, clean black guy in wire-rimmed glasses slapped me on the back and asked me what my name was. I gave him a hard time for slapping me on the back as if I was his buddy and he wanted me to change the channel. He asked me questions about myself, politely enough but would kind of stare at me blank-eyed when I answered him, like I was speaking a different language. This in turn, made me more abstruse. Like he asked me where I was trying to go with my life, I said, “Wherever I’m going, I’m already here.” [blank stare. blink. blank stare]
He didn’t really get me, and I wasn’t shifting away from myself to accommodate him. I feel like if you keep your eyes open, you’ll recognize the chemistry when it’s real, but sometimes if you “help” the other person create it, you end up with something that’s not real. And right now, I’m more interested in talking to someone real than carrying on a polite meaningless conversation. I’m looking for something specific and it wasn’t this guy.
I wasn’t really talking so the guy just stood over me, looking at me while I pretended to be watching the TV. The bartender looked at him then at me, flashed me the universal look for “What’s up?” I shrugged and he looked at the guy, shaking his head. I noted the bartender kind of looks like Eric Dane from Grey’s Anatomy. Bird eyes that take in everything. My guess was he’s a Virgo or Scorp.
Finally, the dude asking me questions tells me that he’s not going to stand here all night asking me questions. Thanks, I said. So he shakes my hand, holding it tightly (but not ungently) without letting go while looking into my eyes, digging for something. I extract my hand politely. He moves through the crowd, disappears.
I’m listening to the music, pretending to be watching football clips on the muted TV, but I’m getting lost in thoughts. About poetry. About great depths. About words. About quests. About how sometimes the w
orld doesn’t allow you to say the things you want to say, so instead, you spout words of such exacting balance between denial and truth and substance and emptiness, that they come to not mean anything at all. And yet, they mean everything to you, because hidden between them is the reflection of something clutched close to your heart, something that lights your world. About how some things are real in the distance. And as long as you don’t touch them, they exist just as real as the midnight moon brushing waves against the sand.
I thought about snowflakes falling through my hands while my heart misses someone I can only see through the prism of ephemeral silence. Someone who’s not real in my world, yet I can’t let go of the belief that somewhere, exists a place where we can be real for each other. I thought about how, captured in a living moment inside this illusion of human life, there exists a connection between two people that has no explanation, only raw, unadulterated life. In this presence, in the bright ember of Now, I love him.
The song changed to Black Eyed Peas…I got a feeling…that tonight’s gonna be a good night.
I smiled with my entire being, laughing, tears welling in my eyes from the emotions coming through me. I remembered the first time I heard this song, I was on a rooftop deck in Vegas for Daisy’s bachelorette party, taking a break from all the girls and partying. I was just standing by myself against a rail and looking at a brilliant night sky in June, alone in a writhing giant body of people, feeling the world echoing inside me as everything inside me echoed back. I could almost hear a voice in the echoes, of someone I would someday recognize. I was incredibly peaceful and happy.
And here tonight…You’re going to cry at a bar, I said to myself but I didn’t care. In this moment, I felt so real, so powerful, so here. I felt my heart so full, and I gave into it, releasing it into space to wherever it belonged, which felt so far away it wrapped around the universe and came right back, silently taking the seat next to me.
A big marshmallow of a guy squeezed up to me and I immediately knew he was gay.
“How’s it going?” he asked with a big smile, like he was in on the secret.
I shook my head with a big grin, in ecstatic disbelief, and patted him on the arm like we were best friends.
“Excellent,” he said. “I have a feeling that tonight’s gonna be a good night.”
“Me too,” I said. We raised our glasses in a toast and like that, he was gone.
I was so lost in this feeling of completion within the music when I realized the bartender was waving his hand in front of my face. I snapped to attention and he laughed. He asked me if I wanted another drink. Sure, I said, without thinking about it. I was so happy in this moment. When we accept love for what it is, that’s when it reveals itself to us, and I accepted that. He mixed up the drink and slid it towards me.
“By the way, the guy in the window wearing the white shirt bought it for you,” he said.
I looked at him quizzically and he laughed. “I know, it must suck being you,” he said.
This is only the 2nd time I’ve ever been informed by a bartender that I’ve been bought a drink (the first was last month by the creepy man in black). Usually a guy will offer and I’ll politely decline. This is a sniper move. I’m a sniper…
When I looked over, I saw a brief flash of white, but no face–the guy had disappeared into the shadows. I kept glancing over to the window but it was empty. I scanned the crowd. No white. No eyes on me. I had no idea who this person was who’d reached out and tapped me.
