I went out with this cute furry Egyptian tonight. He fits the profile of a terrorist so perfectly that I kept my hand on the handle of the car door in case I had to make a quick getaway and roll out onto the road on the way back from the restaurant. That is, he fits the profile until he opens his cute little furry mouth, and out rolls this big queen. He wears gold rings studded with diamonds, cologne, and unbuttons his shirt so that his hairy chest spills onto the table. He seems to be the only one of my would-be suitors to share my thoughts on relationships, love, monogamy and french kissing in the USA–and his body is straight from Central Casting–but he’s a bit more materialistic than intellectual. He’s fun, though, and has read Naguib Mahfooz, so a second date is in order.
I’ve been seeing Bob more. His little boyfriend left him for a rabbi. The absence of boyfriend-ness means I finally have a movie partner to watch all those Sokurov and Peter Watkins films with. I’ve missed Bob. He came over for dinner last night, and to watch Sokurov’sFather and Son–a meditation on father/son intimacy. It was overwhelmingly homo-erotic, to western eyes maybe, but still, pretty dang erotic. I can see all the things I loved in Bob, but also suddenly and with amazing clarity the reasons why we couldn’t be together any more.