Maybe it's Multitudes

Almost everything was accomplished yesterday. The Profuser's birthday, pleasant conversation, sunshine, laughter, The Jesus and Mary Chain. I met Q for what I thought would be a quick sit down sandwich, but instead become something closer to a drive by luncheon. We survived with only minor injuries; the car sustaining a few baguette sized bullet holes, and Rhy's shirt dappled with dollops of creamy tomato soup. The three of us, Q, Rhys and I, made our way to Golden Gate Park to find where the Profuser's party was. We nearly crashed three different parties in search of the one we intended to intrude upon. Everyone drinking in San Francisco looks the same. The gathering was a success: everyone was in good spirits, there was enough food and drink for all and the weather smiled kindly on us. At one point there was a rabbit on a leash. Rhys had more energy than a little burning sun and he chose me as the one to unleash it on. So we chased each other around and uprooted innocent dandelions, he giggled and roared and tried to knock me down while I tickled the laughter from his ribs. Interestingly, the women of our group were somehow impressed by my actions. They made remarks like, "Wow, I didn't know you were good with kids," or "look at you, who would have known?" I wondered what I'd ever done in the past to suggest I didn't like kids. Maybe it's the beard and tattoos and generally bashful disposition that gave them that idea. Maybe it's Maybelline.

I had some lovely conversation with a mutual friend whom I don't often see. We waxed philosophical and got deep. Then I changed course and began talking about fleshlights shaped like Richard Simmon's anus. I even suggested that the lubricant provided with the purchase is made from the oily secretions of his skin. My friend commented that what he liked most about me is my ability to exist in a cerebral, very literary, highly philosophical state, and then spin on a dime into the crudest, most vile baseness he's ever seen.

I took it as a compliment. I contain multitudes. They are all in my balls.

P.S.

The Jesus and Mary Chain were terrific. They achieved redemption for their past performance at the Fillmore two years ago, which was so poor it bordered on offensive. Last night was magic. Even without the aid of alcohol or marijuana, I had a moon-sized smile spread across my face for most of the show. I'll write more about this, but I don't have the time. Perhaps tonight. Or tomorrow. Or the next day.