You Are Beautiful

I remember this phenomenon from when I would spend my summers working in restaurants in New Hope when I was growing up. At the time, it reminded me of an Agatha Christie novel. (Aggie was a youthful obsession.) At the outset, a cast of characters--very boldly drawn characters--are introduced and assembled.

"Miss Chittenwell descended the steps of 10:20 from Paddington, blinking in the sun, mopping her brow with her handkerchief, and clutching her carpet bag. "To be expected," she said, not seeing anyone from Pauncett House waiting on the platofrm to meet her."

The characters gather at some remote country house for the weekend, and over the course of the book, much of the interest is generated by their interactions. Fortunes rise, fortunes fall. A body or five is discovered. And in the final pages a murderer is uncovered.

No murders in New Hope--well, one that I remember, but that's another posting--but amazingly, things tended to unfold in the same way. In June, you met the cast of characters. Billy's hustler that he brought back from New York and gave a job in the club. Dino from Los Angeles, who was close-mouthed about his past. Gary, just graduated from the Culinary Institute of America, and frustrated to be making salads when he knew how to make a sauce américaine. Dominique, Carol's new opera singer girlfriend. Wacky Nina who would drive up to New York City every weekend to attend classes at the Famous Soap Opera Actor's School of Soap Opera Acting.

Combine.
Mix well.
Bake in the sun.
Be surprised.

And now, midway through my second summer of hanging on the porch of Starbucks in Doylestown smoking cigars and enjoying my iced-quad-venti-one-pump-vanila-easy-ice-latté, the same thing is happening.

These people just appear out of nowhere. A different set from last summer.

So here's the cast of characters this year.

Top O' The Mornin': Sweet guy who works at Starbucks. He went to college at Trinity University in Dublin, Ireland. Majoring in Guiness. Something of a songster, he's convinced Starbucks to do a live music thing on monday nights, And he's a Top O' The Mornin' and his guitar are a huge hit.

Grand Cherokee: Busy hanging out. Allegedly a painting contractor, although no one has ever known him to do anything besides hanging out. And he's a pro at that. He brings his own chair! One of those fold up jobs you buy for $7. And seems to have a constant array of snack foods available. So Grand Cherokee will set up his chair on the porch of Starbucks, or, y'know, in the middle of the sidewalk out front (Seriously!) After years of not being able to drive because of an unfortunate DWI situation, Gran Cherokee is the proud new owner of... a Jeep Grand Cherokee! Periodically, he'll leap up from his chair (think Batman upon seeing the Bat Signal projected on the clouds over Gotham), hastily gather up his snack foods, dash to the Jeep Grand Cherokee, power down all the windows, crank the sound system, and go tearing off. Only to return moments later.

Bimbeaux: She asked me what I did for work. And I told her. Then I asked what she did. She loves animals, she explained, so she works with animals. "Oh," I probed, "do you work at a shelter?" No. No, she doesn't. She works in a lab, injecting bunnies, puppies, and kittens with toxic substances and taking careful notes of their decline. (Seriously!) I tend to avoid her after that revelation. That and the fact that her idea of conversation is "No way! Oh wow. Wow. Oh my God. No way. That's really cool." (This in response to a statement like, "I just got off work.") But, she's built like a brick outbuilding. So, those nutty heterosexual guys always seem to have time for her. I mean, she's one of the eleven women on the planet who can wear low-rider jeans without evoking winces.

Mr. Miserable: I hate him. Like a little black cloud at a picnic. And so hostile. But in that vague and can't-quite-put-your-finger-on-it sort of way. Never misses a chance to undermine you. Disagrees with everything you say, relying on his seemingly bottomless repository of incorrect knowledge. I flat out ignore him.

The Boy: There's not much of the Death In Venice in me, but he brings it out. Oh. My. God. He is just so fuckin beautiful. About nineteen (legal!), this shock of wiry dirty blond hair, these impossibly beautiful lips that would look so good glistening with my cum, amazing blue eyes, and, beneath the drapey shapeless black clothing he wears all the time, a really sweet little body, combining baby fat and decent muscle. Most nights, I see him in my dreams. Only he's chained up. And crying. And I comfort him. Then make him cry some more.

He's Gay!: Again, like nineteen or twenty years old. Rose colored glasses. Grungey long sideburns. I mean, soooo Boy Bar circa 1988. And he's Queer! I mean, he greets all these presumably straight boys he knows from high school with "Hey Handsome Man!", a kiss on the cheek, and a fanny pat. (Seriously!) I mean, all these straight kids sit there talking about their girlfriends and the motorcycles they want to buy, and he's applying liquid eyeliner. I'm a huge fan of his. Haven't made his acquaintance yet, but he's definitely in my sites.

...and last but not least...

Stewie!: I'm not even using a nom de plume here. Stewie totally rocks. He's just incredible. He grew up with his hippie father on a commune in Oregon. He's tattooing himself. Thhis wild, organic design, incorporating a blessing in Sanskrit characters running down his arm. It looks amazing. Stewie is an expert canoer. He can make his canoe go sideways in the river. His girlfriend is this total waif babe. Such a babe. A babe with brains. I love seeing them together. Taking turns sitting on each other's laps. Today, I wrote on a piece of looseleaf paper, "Pick a nice summer light, dim the lights, light candles, share a bottle of wine, take turns reading to each other from the Journals of Anaïs Nin." They're gonna do it, too. Here's something magical that Stewie told me today. We were watching the Tuesday evening Vigil for Peace planting themselves at the intersection. "WAR IS NOT THE ANSWER!" and the like. Stewie told me how last summer, he made up fifty signs that read, "You are Beautiful" and got fifty friends to stand around Doylestown for three hours holding them up for passing cars and pedestrians.

So at this point, I'm spending hours on the porch of Starbucks. If'n you happen to be in town, stop by. I'll introduce you around.

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