A Plea

I've just read Austinist's recap of the first Real World: Austin episode.

And my curiosity has gotten the better of me.

You see, there were at least two occasions where I was clearly in shots for the show. I was never asked to sign a release form, and, well, Daddy needs a new pair of shoes. Also, the first episode seemed to feature a street brawl and hot girl on girl action. Television simply doesn't get any better than that, at least on network.

So, who wants to tape this travesty of television for me so that I can have Real World Viewing Parties for Those to Cheap to Buy Cable?

My camera is broken and I've decided not to replace it with another Point and Shoot.

It's odd, my experience with a couple of digital cameras has only made my remember how much I liked photography as a high school student. Mostly, I worked with a fully manual, then decades old, Yashica that weighed a ton, but near the end of high school, I got a Canon EOS 35 mm body.

I used that thing all the time, and then, stopped. When you didn't have access to a free dark room and giant piles of TMAX, it got expensive. And then my camera and four lenses got stolen out of the trunk of my car in Mt. Vernon and I didn't really think about it anymore.

Until I started messing around with a digicam.

One of the things I love about digital is that it gives you the freedom to fuck up. Image not right? Figure out why and try again. No waiting and being let down when what you thought you'd done didn't come out.

So, I'm saving my pennies for a DLSR now (If you happen to have some spare change lying around and want to buy me one, I won't object).

And trying to figure out how to achieve a cross processing effect in my image editing software. Someplace, there's a roll of cross processed shots I took as a seventeen year old in the South of France. I can't remember if they came out, but I do love the look when it works.

I Got A Comment From a Stranger Today!

And it was nice. So, go read Ayelet’s site. She’s a Former New Yorker too, now in Northern California (which I know is dear to many of you). And she’s got spot on politics and seems like a good soul.

I’m doing a lot of taking stock right now. It’s something to do with the birthday thing, I suppose, and the three e-mails I got yesterday from Swiss Miss and S.’s confounding presence in my town, and the fact that I’m clearly in the Friend Zone with the Hon. A (she’s coming to me for advice on boy trouble).

It’s also so damn hot that the temperature is being measured on the Kelvin scale.

But, I’m wondering about myself, and the ways in which I idealize things in my own head. I’m not sure if that’s the right phrase, but I want, badly, for certain things to happen in my life, and I can’t quite kill off my inner optimist with surface cynicism.

And, in the end, I’ve often found myself trying to force square pegs into round holes, with results that don’t make anyone, least of all me, happy.

The only time that didn’t happen, at least on my end and to some degree, was with Swiss Miss. I can say, with all honesty, that the time I spent with her was the time I was most myself in my adult life, the time I was most relaxed and comfortable with another person. Even the few times we fought, and there was one humdinger early on, I didn’t feel like I had to turn off part of what mattered to me in order to make peace. We just worked it out, at length.

And there were things that should have been deal breakers. A big one: She doesn’t want kids. And I so want to be a Dad. But, it didn’t matter. I remember agonizing over it when it came up and realizing, that if we stayed together and had a kid, it would be a bonus, not something we needed to do to make a whole relationship. And the feeling that came from that realization made me more elated than anything in my life ever has.

And, I’m trying to think of a way to phrase this that won’t hurt someone I know reads this site, because I certainly loved her. But I’ve never experienced a love as intense and easy as the love I felt for Swiss Miss. It combined, over its length and breadth, all the elation of a crush with the deeper bonds of something that lasts for a length of time. Every single time I saw her (hell, if I was still in New York, it would still be happening), for a moment she was the only other person in the room. And I knew her, or thought I did, better than anyone I’ve ever known.

And, of course, I’ve never gotten closure on that relationship. I’ve never gotten an explanation about how, literally overnight, a year of pure joy (reportedly on both ends) is suddenly over. Most of the time I tell myself I don’t want an explanation, but I know that's a lie.

I should be over this. A lot of time has passed. So, why do I feel like if she called and said, “I made a mistake,” I’d be packing my car up and moving North?

I used to scoff when people talked about “The One.” I still do. But there’s part of me that’s morbidly curious about what happens when “The One” turns out to be “The One That Got Away.”

Today's Thing I Love About Austin, TX

With your mixture of urban and rural, your hint of redneck beneath your little black dress, your taste for Willie and your love for Cobain, there's still places where a boy, maybe fourteen, can leap from a tree into a rushing river, showing off for the quiet man with a camera, climbing higher and forgetting to be cool, as the sheer joy of the water's chill reaches to meet your outstretched arms.

Addendum To Questions One Ponders at 3 A.M. While Trying Not To Smoke

1) Why, sometime after I’ve finally fallen asleep, would you climb into bed with me?

2) Why, when that happens, do I let you stay?

3) Why, when you touch me, does it feel as if time has stopped?

4) Why, this morning, would you tell me you were sorry about last night?

Questions One Ponders at 3 AM When Trying Not to Smoke

1) Why would you pursue someone with abandon if you weren’t prepared for the consequences of success?

2) Why would you negate any suggestion of commitment until the other person was about to move 1,793 miles away?

3) Why would you then spend two months telling the absent person how much you wished you were together until you come to visit?

4) Why would you, post amazing visit, let the absent person know that you weren’t, really, interested and that your previous declarations to the contrary were false?

5) Why would you then reverse course and suggest that you were merely “chicken shit” and that you’d in fact made a mistake?

6) Why in the above suggestions would you use the word “love” to describe your feelings?

6) Why would you then decide to move 1,793 miles, to a city where the only person you know is the person who’s been the subject of all these questions if it wasn't related to your feelings for the person who'd moved 1,793 miles away from you in the first place?

Oh, Christ.

After the first night, which was marked by more booze than I've sucked down in a while, and S. climbing in and then out of my bed, we've settled into a routine which has her sleeping on the couch.

And the days have been marked by two things: 1) I'm struck by how easy it is to be with this woman, how comfortable and right it feels to sit on the banks of the lake and just read. 2) I'm struck by just, exactly, how young she is and how little interest I have in helping someone learn to be a grown up. And, the combination of the two makes for some awkward moments.

But, she's found a place and should have keys--fingers crossed--tomorrow. I do crave having my little house just holding me and the Wonder Dog again.

And, tomorrow (or tonight for people who haven't been felled by the insomnia bug), I'm going on a semi-blind date with another Former New Yorker who is: 1) 36, 2) a friend of a New York friend, and 3) by accounts of said mutual friend, both beautiful and capable of driving like Steve McQueen should occasion demand. She also plays ragtime piano. I've sort of been putting this off, because of S.'s arrival in town, but I figure, Why the hell not?

Of course, S. has dropped some words that stink of jealousy about this whole thing.

And, I turn 33 on Wednesday. Hooray. When I try to remember the me that was once 18 or so, 33 seemed a whole lot older and a whole lot different than where I am now.

So, S. has moved to Austin. And is staying in my house while she looks for a place.

And is driving me insane.

I need this like I need a root canal.

For The Love of God, Perhaps I Should Be Thanking Austin’s Fox Affiliate

Because the Yankees should not ever, ever, ever, ever, ever lose two straight games to the fucking Royals.

I could get nine of my friends together, and one of them could be Briar, and we’d beat the Royals at least once in two games.

I’m glad I didn’t listen. I’m glad I couldn’t watch. I’m glad I was sitting on the side of the lake with The Hon. A and our Three Big Dogs. Because I would’ve been unpleasant had I been watching or listening.

The fucking Royals?

And, no, The Hon. A and I are still not smooching.

More on that–and related subjects–tomorrow or the next day.

The Royals?