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contours provocations
journal - 2001-0529 - tue 2000 Lurking, More Lurking, Speculative Anatomy Lesson Has anyone else noticed the dog-walking, tattooed, buffed man of the Dr. Pepper commercial? And the way everyone, even the uniformed doorman, up and down the pavement rubbernecks at him as he strides by? And how the white ribbed shirt embraces his well-developed chest? Anytime the commercial comes on, I go into lurking mode. For lunch yesterday, I thought I'd try the newest Japanese restaurant again. There was a new man at the door. One with longish dark hair falling gently across his forehead in the style of some French film star of the 60s. He wore a crisp white tux shirt, black cotton pants and sensible, but nondescript, rubber-soled black shoes. His walk was almost processional in its formality, as though he was in the midst of making an offering to a minor deity. As he placed the soup to my right, I noticed a flat silver ring on his left hand. As I sat at the sushi bar, I watched him as some little boy would watch an older brother in the shower. A cricket was loudly chirping in the open passage to the left of the bar; a fact that only he and I seemed to notice. He stopped, frowned in a puzzled manner as though trying to find the insect. In a flash, I knew he'd located it; he reached out and squashed it with a paper towel. By now any attempt at discretion on my part was gone. As he turned, he caught me looking directly at him. And he briefly grinned. The kind of grin you give someone when you realize you're being observed. Did I do anything else? Nope. I didn't pass him a business card. I didn't pat his wrist as he handed me the bill. I didn't scribble my number on the credit card slip. I didn't ask him to follow me to the rest room. I'm much too adult and sophisticated about such things. Plus, I know I'd just make a fool of myself. So I'll have to make do with lurking. I tried the combat thing again today with my jeans. It was not quite as satisfying today as it was last week. I'm fairly certain is was the cut of the jeans. I can certainly see the advantage to clothes that are designed to accomodate dressing right or left preferences. I wonder what determines the preference. The lower-hanging gonad? That would seem to make a sense. Have you wondered how the balls are measured for quantitative purposes? A couple of years ago, I was reading an article about male infertility, and it described a method. Apparently there is a large ring device with beads of increasing sizes on it. The measurer holds a testicle in one hand and somehow matches it against the beads. My first thought was that the size of the beads were only proportional. But I suppose they could be "life size." So much for the speculative anatomy lesson. PAX!
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