come with singles. leave exhausted.

i dragged roberto to gilbert's lodge tonight. poor guy. he comes to this country...to live a few months in detroit. alone. without a car. in the winter. that's four strikes. so i take him to a place where mnm (is that how his name is spelled? anybody...? hello?) used to work. it's a replica of an up north hunters' lodge. not bad for a beer and a conversation. hunters' stew ain't terrible, either. but anyway, roberto. he's italian. and he needs more interaction than the blue-ish glow of his computer monitor off the 4 walls day in day out. i mean his copy of twain's "the mysterious stranger" is only so much company, you know? he said tonight, "i was told (by a homeless guy) that american women love the italian accent." i vouched. it's relatively true from my own experience. so roberto's like: "where are they, the ones that like the accent...?" then he, well, chuckled at himself, kindof embarrassed. ladies, he's cute! where you hidin yr fine selves? a young gent is lookin to be found!

speaking of which, maybe you remember my buddy ellen...? i once dubbed her "the party sprite" because she kind of twinkles all along the edges of the evening, popping in to eavesdrop on conversations, ducking the heavy philosophizing in favor of the brownies over there...fresh out of the oven. like that. and she hasn't grabbed a someone special to call her own either.

and there's kristin, a smoker, stormtroooper direct, isaak denison independent, sensuous, single, "sweet petite with meat" --that's how mike, another cool unattached friend refers to a woman he'd like to meet. could they hit it off? who the hell knows. i'm waiting for helen to have a "bring your singles" party to find out. and, oh, the reactions i hear about that one. one complains--it sounds like a "bring your very own social pariah to the party" party. another keeps asking: "well, when is the damn thing...i need some handlin!"

point is...what is the point? it's tough. you put yourself out there and no nibble from your heart's desire. then what? then it's new year's eve 2004-05 and you hear over the din sometime after midnight in all the hubbub: "puuuuuuuut wiiiiilliaaaaaaaaaaaaam shaaaaaaaaaatner ooooooooooooon . . . . . . . . . . . . the yoooooour goooooooooooooonnaaaaaaaaaaaa diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiie one . . . . . . " so you do.

"live like you're gonna die / cuz you are" he coos, challenges, mocks and rocks out.

social pariah, party sprite, whatever your handle. come on to the party. e v e r y b o d y 's welcome. and we're all looking out for ya cuz, like bill says, we are, eventually, whether we know it or not, whether we like it or not, gonna die. but we don't gotta walk around with one leg in the grave and one on a banana peel all the way there. run run run and fall down flat and roll around like a jackass. when it's your turn, go tired--no, go wagon-draggin shooee-i-didn't-think-i-could-go-on-so-little-battery-power exhausted.