I just had tea with Guido. “Do not worry… for Italians is not offensive.” I’m not assigning him a number. He’s one of those Italians that I can’t read at all–witty, a bit silly, smart, very relaxed, but without the kind of hungry pleading look that I usually try to feed. We agreed on the sad state of contemporary Italian cinema and commiserated over the dearth of findable monogamous men in the city. I can see him 20 years from now reading the paper in bed looking down at me over his bifocals, imploring me to take another cold shower or find something else to do, “Read a book, Chrees.”
Tonight Big Chrissy and I are going to my sister’s 51st Century birthday party. In lieu of gifts, we have been asked to dress appropriately. I’m going with some kind of mutation, like a third eye or extra eyebrow, or a tail. Not sure yet…
The bears are in town again, making out all over the ‘hood. The energy they bring to the neighborhood is really nice, like the old days of Hibernia Beach and Crisco. Dean is all Super Bear this weekend, making out with anyone who bats an eyelash in his general direction. He crept in around 2:30 this morning and shook me out of a dream about being a giant singing nipple, “Are you awake?” He told me of his day’s adventures, which at the time seemed like the stuff of Polar Bears in Heat, but I fell quickly back to sleep and can’t remember now, so you’ll have to ask him yourself. I’m envious of his freedom from restraint and his ability to project a body type that doctors would characterize as “unhealthy” into the heights of desirability. I suppose I’m jealous, too, he’s my creation that continues to spin out of my control and beyond my influence and reach. I’m making him into a “flower” grid later this week, to hang on my wall and smell all I like.