Man-Size (man_size) wrote,

Fly Sky High

Got up early Saturday morning to meet up w/SBX and the girls at Symphony Space [on the upper westside] to see LAVA, an acrobatic dance troup that flexes buko Lesbionage. Lots of strong thighs & knees, firm derriers, and cute hair, the various theatrics deconstructed themes of loyalty, happy go-gay-lucky love, Ms. Communication, and socio-barriers. We went to see SBX's good friend and yoga guru, Rebecca, who is one of the lead players in the group. Rebecca is a hardcore vegan that lives with her boyfriend Jonathan [a landscaper and fellow yoga genius], in a spacious Prospect Heights spread sans furniture and "unnecessary" material things. Rebecca has the social skills of a wooden nickel yet spills a little gut when she deems it safe to stand and deliver. Rebecca looks like what would happen if Aimee Mann and Sinead O'Connor had a Vulcan child -- quite striking for such a dogmatic chick. The Lava performances were very cool as the ladies twisted into impossible shapes and used each other's bodies, hips, arms, legs and shoulders, as props and step stools to reach impossible heights sans net. These are incredibly strong and intensively trained humans. It was fun to watch Ola & The Haze react wide-eyed at their Olympic prowess, while the gaggle of children in the audience screamed and gasped. SBX and I shared private chuckles as the more sexually stealthy aspects of the gig caused an air of alarm for the less liberal parents of the bunch. Cackled as they scattered for the exit.

After the show, we embarked on our first public meal together [SBX and the girls], at one of my favorite Chinese/Cubano joints on the corner of 95th and Broadway. It felt good to parlay with the young ones and make light jokes, all the while, behaving responsibly. Taking baby-steps as neo-step-father as I followed SBX's paternal lead while remaining her "boyfriend" -- never assuming the role as "uncle daddy." Butterflies relaxed their flitting wings as I got comfortable with my virgin tour as the significant other. I'm so used to flying rocket ships and chasing comets, that it's tough to play moon to SBX's planet and just orbit her daughters cosmos. I'm one humbled spaceman.

SBX went over her two smart girls A+ report cards on the subway ride home [looks like the school wants to skip Ola into the next grade, mid-year] and we sat comfy, reading our respective books like one big happy --dare I say? -- fam...ily. I'm probably reading way too much into all these little moments, but it's a big discovery process for me and I'm cherishing the details.

SBX traded the kids off w/Mr. Ex and, it being an Indian Summer weekend, we went for a bike ride and frisbee toss in Prospect Park. Felt good to throw the plastic disc around and work the kinks out of my shoulder which has been chained to the dreaded art table 50-hours a week, scribbling superduper comix. Crashed SBX's bed and snuggled, basting thigh and nibbling neck. Took the subway up to Harlem and went to a dinner party for her UK pal Sam, and his gal-pal, Jen. It being a small world, we bumped smack into old Nick & Eddie alum, Patty Waters, someone whom I've waited 4-years worth of tables with over 10-years ago. What with last weeks Blue Ribbon anniversary wang-dang and seeing Patty, after all this time, I was spinning head over knees into my past. Obvious shoppe talk and gossip ensued as SBX [who, back in the days of N&E, worked as a coat check while I expidited food], Patty, and I, caught up and the inevitable subject of my ex-gal-pal Boo, who is SBX's ex-best-pal [SCANDAL!] got raised and kindly soaked. Spent the rest of the evening drinking Whiskey & Merlot [bad combo] while getting my groove on. Stepped on SBX's toes a few times and had a long parlay with an older fellah who was an ex-actor/teacher/director at Berkeley University. Thought about rescuing a scared street cat as Patty, SBX, and I took the long subway ride back to Brooklyn. Seems Patty is taking a second stab at making a baby with her boyfriend and the desire, coupled with the mixed alcohol, got me blue. What w/SBX declaring 'no mas' on the baby front, I can't let go of that door. Can't let it slam shut like she wants to. I want my options open, and I want them w/her, if she'll have me. Seen? Blue turned black as SBX and I met up w/Mike & Marie for a drink at Quench on Smith street, and I kept my lip zipped while the air got thick and Mike tried to cut it with his lawyer logic. Making lemonade out of lemons, we parted ways and I wound up sleeping in SBX's guest bedroom while she stayed up half the night reading A TALE OF ONE BAD RAT, and crying.

Woke up @7:30AM Sunday morning, shaken and hungover. I crawled up SBX's stairs and slid underneath her sheets and went back to sleep only to wake up late to make-up sex. Got bagels and read in her back porch. Went for more frisbee in Prospect Park, and helped with some domestic chores while watching THE RETURN OF THE PINK PANTHER. How did Peter Sellers wind up with that stint and isn't it a shame that he's best known for THAT insipid character? A shame. Worse than Al Pacino finally winning his long, overdue Oscar for that fucking sap-fest, SCENT OF A WOMAN. A damn shame. SBX split for yoga while I prepared our dinner at my pad: baked ziti with sauteed spinach in garlic. Watched UNBREAKABLE. Compelled by the narrative arc until the very last 5-minutes where the ending betrays the entire thesis of the movie. The whole movie, Bruce Willis's character is sunk in severe depression coupled with confusion of why he's so different and his family, especially his son, is looking for the answers. Director/writer, Shyamalan displayed shocking naivete for the superhero genre by playing into a cheap resolve that even failed, middle-aged writers turned comic book editors employed in order to turn around monthly uber-mensch power fantasies for 10-year old boys, can't get away with. Except, cheap comic book fare doesn't pretend to be anything more than cheap comic book fare. When Samuel L. Jackson's character finally reveals his screwed up agenda, it was time for Willis' character to change. To break out of his depression and come alive. Take the insanity and tragedy and turn it into something useful. Heck, that was the point of the dreaded "kryptonite" pool scene. No? He was making a difference. By the end, I was ready for Willis to fly around and shoot purple rays out of his eyes. Instead, Willis cried and waddled away like the sad flaccid man he played the entire movie. Changing nothing. Answering nothing. Pointless film. Boy howdy was SBX pissed! I screamed with evil laughter. Then I tucked SBX into bed and contemplated making my own movies. Fantasies turned into realities as I dreamt of collaborating on a short OMAC [Jack Kirby's 70s/super-surreal One Man Army Corps] story with buddy/cartoonist, Nick Bertozzi for DC Comics editor, Joey Cavaleiri's BIZARRO COMICS 2.

Spent Monday fixated on OMAC, and chatted with Bertozzi about OMAC springboards to pitch Cavalieri, while making SBX a super birthday card and tending to final dinner arrangements [cake, reservations, flowers, etc.]. SBX was off spending the afternoon with her two girls doing a "beauty day" at various salons and the like in Chinatown. 7PM sharp @ CAFE SPICE on University in Manhattan, launched the birthday celebration as SBX walked into table full of twenty of our good friends [Bob & Michele, Lori & Doug, Josh & Sari, Dan T., Doug B., Mike & Marie, Jonathan F., Tracy G., Sam H., Meredith & Jason, and her cousin Pam M.], with a bouquet of pink roses and white tulips to garnish the middle. Indian Thai and swell gifts made for a much deserved celebration for my SBX, only to be topped off by the surprise lemon birthday cake with burning candles and traditional song. Designs to go disco bowling at Bowlmor were squashed as food filled bodies yawned and bowed out for home-sleep-home. Mer & Jay drove us back to SBX's abode where flowers were placed in vases, cards dressed atop the fire place mantle, and beddie-byes were soon to come, but not without one last bout of misunderstood frustration ensued as our depleted souls succumbed into each other's slumber, for want of a better tomorrow.

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