Monday, December 24, 2012

Looking into the face of god

Years ago, my father's S.O.* - we'll call her Slim - told me I reminded her of David Foster Wallace.***Or vice versa. She read something of his, something of mine, and saw a similarity.

Funny word, similarity. Just started to write it in the plural, got confused by the spelling, and suddenly it becomes one of those words that rolls around in your head - thumping, galumphing - until it takes on a strange animate life of its own. More sound than word, not unlike 'conundrum'. But yeah, whatever. So anyway...

Didn't think much about it at the time - this posited similarity - other than vaguely, as a compliment to be compared to a published author, and I do remember reading something of his - an excerpt she supplied perhaps from the New Yorker. It was inoffensive, clever and vaguely ADD.

Didn't see it. Didn't not see it - the likeness. Just absorbed the comment, I guess. 

Flash forward to the other night and me at an irish bar x-mas party, with drinks on the house for all invitees. Did I mention irish? Yeah, there was some drinking.

A few hours in and I look over to see this young guy with long blond hair (one of the servers), standing a few feet from the bar with this look on his face... it looked like he was staring into the face of god.

Drunk out of his mind, maybe enhanced in other ways, and nearly to the point of drooling, it was probably the twinkly white christmas lights over the bar that'd caught his eye - but the look on his face was only what I could describe as beatific. Filled with wonder and delight.

A minute or two later someone offered him a bottle of water and he poured it down his face, chin and shirt while making drinking motions with his mouth.

I  must've said something out loud because not much later I felt something rubbing up against my hip and looked down to see the butt of yet another server - Heath we'll call him - backing into me.*

"Uh, Heath, what the f*ck are you doing?" I was just about to ask, when he looks over his shoulder all matter-of-fact, but a tell-tale twinkle in his eye, and says:

"That's right. Reverse butt rape." Then in a deep, throaty, Southpark Satan kinda way, continues on with:

"I have looked into the face of god, Adman Jones.
And it. Was not. Pretty!"

Well, f*ck me, look at the time. There's more to say (yes, David Foster Wallace and all that) -but- gotta step out for a bit.

More later.

No seriously.

Meanwhile, Merry Effin' Christmas!

(Longhair, Ax, EB, myself & the aforementioned christmas lights at said irish bar! And yes, the hot chick is with me)

*Significant Other**
**Oh, and I'd write more about her here, but like most people I know, am hesitant to describe out of... respect maybe or fear? Trying to encapsulate someone in so many words is both daunting and foolhardy. Better to let actions speak for themselves. This person did such and such. But then again I'd be writing about her and not about this. Her house, though, is interesting to me in it's sparseness. I was there some years ago, and all I remember of the living room was a bare wood floor, a couch and a floor lamp for reading. No curtains on the windows. Mirror by the staircase. Telling perhaps? Maybe. Though I'm not sure how. Oh, and I probably should mention she's a voracious reader, just for street cred.
***Yes, I realize I sound like a self-aggrandizing dumb ass for bringing up this comparison. Especially leading in with it and then... nothing. But there snake does eventually eat it's own tail. 
****'Heath' is a whole 'nother ball of wax. To say he is quirky would be undersell, and to describe him further would be yet another blog unto itself. Funny, dark, self-deprecating. Reminds me, physically, of the protagonist from Metropia. Kinda/sorta. So there's a snippet at least.

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