The Beholder

I'm sitting in a stall in the bathroom at work. I'm a little sleepy and this is the only place I can hide. Between the seat and my rear, I've got the tissue paper thing that always rips when you try to peel the center out. I've got my arms folded across my legs, eyes closed. I hear a few women come and go in the stalls around me. I wonder what they think, then decide I don't care. I've seen women change clothes, cry, bring their laptops in here. It is probably the only hiding place in the building. I open my eyes and look down at the button on my jeans.

"House Doll"

I think it's a clever brand. It conjures all kinds of images. Would that be a job? A person? A toy? Family member? A wine?

Then I realize...I'm reading my pants up-side-down.

When I first moved here, I had a brief crush on an artist that lived in my building in D.U.M.B.O. He was disfigured from a fire and named after a color. He also had a thrift store inside his home. Dream man. I fantasized about being his hippie girlfriend...sewing new eye-patches for him...riding piggy-back on his bicycle...matching tattoos... I spoke to him once and he grunted at me...never returned a hello when we passed in the hall...then I overheard him talking about a rave at a gallery or something and realized I was no where near his league...nor he mine. Kelly Ripa & Keith Richards. Sounds interesting in theory. But the yin might actually swallow the yang.

I truly believe opera is the last of a dying art where music meets performance. Skill, talent, hard, sacrificial, life-style changing work. It is very serious. As it should be. Like church. Recently, Greg and I went to see a good friend perform opera IN a church. Prior to the overture, the conductor came out, bowed and stepped down to the orchestra pit. As is custom. There was the typical spotlight over him and from our view we saw his glowing arms, his stick pierce the air and we heard incredible music spill out from below the stage. As is custom. Then I had to bite my bottom lip to keep from busting out laughing. As is custom. What if there were NO musicians down there? What if there were speakers hooked up to a little tape recorder? What if that man wasn't even a conductor?!

Sometimes. In order to survive this nutty world. I think we need to think about and look at everything upside down and opposite...especially until we laugh.