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Saturday, May 2, 1998
02 May 98
By Paul Ford
Dumb weekend
Weekend Update
I stretched by Mary on the thick grass of the sheep meadow. We made fun of the medical intern doing Tai Chi.
"He thinks women will talk to him if he does that long enough," I said.
"Look at the little bald spot. And the blue hospital shirt."
"Check it out over there," I said. "Guys with guitars sitting on the grass." We both snickered.
I told her that I talk to the Elvis pictures in my bathroom. Mary lives alone, too, and talks with her dog. Her dog says, "I like biscuits."
I drank three vodka shots and said to Jennifer, "everyone is talking about their career. I'm so bored."
"I've just watched the most amazing instructional video on fellatio."
I went to Jane's performance with the Food/Circus Theater, at the Theater for the New City on the Lower East Side. Her birthday was tomorrow.
I drank beer with her after the show, pressed 5 twenties into her hand, and said, "Happy birthday. You need it more than I do." I made sure she got on the L train back to Williamsburg. Then I took the F home.
There was a lot more, like going to the MOMA and another two parties, and phone calls, and trying to explain Brooklyn to a cabbie, and a street fair with funnel cake. But that's enough.
I'll leave it up for archival purposes, and to embarass myself into better work in the future.
I'm sorry I couldn't pull it together today.
Jane came to my office party in boots that made her six one, black stockings, and a little dress. I introduced her to everyone there. I hoped she'd do something outrageous, but the closest she came was flirting with the company president. He flirted back, pouring drinks from the company blender, and someone said, "that's so sleazy."
I introduced her to a VP, saying, "Jane, this is [Name]. He's one of my owners."
"Hello," he said.
"So, you own Paul?" Jane said, from four inches above him.
"Actually, I think Paul is really in charge around here," he said, smiling.
"That would't surprise me," Jane said, taking my arm.
"Jane's here on tour," I cut in. "She's with the Food/Circus Theater from Vermont."
"Wow! Someone who didn't sell out," said the VP.
"There should be someone," I said.
"Then again, Paul," he continued, "I hear you write every night."
"It's a lie," I said. Who told him?
"No, I believe it."
"A total lie," I say. Caught in my own little creative trap.
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