Thursday, October 20, 2005

Reset/Mute

Watched Orson Welles's "Touch of Evil" (1958). I commented how modern many of the scenes looked, especially the one near the beginning where it had that handheld, jerky, documentary-feel, creating this fantastically familiar atmosphere, "that is, until [Charleton] Heston opens his mouth and ruins everything."

He plays a Mexican. Your skepticism is warranted -- the performance is just about as convincing as that sounds. Think John Leguizamo played by Barry Manilow smeared with engine grease and given deportation papers by Governor Schwarzenegger ... and it would still be off by three bags of Wonderbread and an ABBA.

***

My married, 40-something teacher has a crush on me. Looking forward to year-round turtlenecks ...

***

How embarrassing. There's a gaggle of them. Yes, them. Jilted gigolos and scorned seducers of my Christmas Past. They were all dragging on fags, sitting outside the cafe terrace, bunched together like miserable hermits on their piss break. Plastic Frames called for me:

"Hey, babe!"

Uh ... Hi. Bisous, bisous to you too, Mr. Dickless Philanderer. I was just on my way home. Yuh huh, I'll see you around ...

I'll see you around. The four most important sequence of words in my vocabulary. It's non-committal, quick to deliver, and universally reviled. That's what I latched on to last night when -- big freakin' surprise -- Elmeraler stopped me on the street ... passed midnight ... again (I was out hunting for crackers). We shared a short exchange and before he could ask me out again, I snuck in that bitch of a line to avoid the inevitable awkward moment where I'm forced to squirm my way out of another over-fragranted date.

Apparently pussies with high school educations are worth their weight in Gucci and gold. Don't they know I'm still a young'un! An innocent! Easily scared off by stupid people with overactive prostate glands?!

It was easier grieving for that asshole than avoiding these reptilian rogues.

***

My friends say I don't give anyone a chance. I object. One of those foul louts bet he could take away my virginity. (Guess he missed that crucial installment of Lily's gossiped-over life.) I don't socialize with these people -- men and women -- but I've somehow become embroiled in some sort of macho competition, strategized over and whispered about. I think I'm pretty friendly; I'm always initiating lively tete-a-tetes with strangers. So why aren't I more approachable in a less-than-dirty manner? (Don't answer that -- Pandora's legacy, I want not.)

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