I was telling Clara about one of the songs that I want to be played at my wedding, and her jaw all but dropped. The reason why that song even came up in the first place is because it was she who was listening to the soundtrack from, of all things, a Zelda game while I was getting a ride home with her! It immediately brought to mind the song. Clara’s reaction was, “But at your wedding, though…?”
Hm, maybe I’m a little bit unsophisticated. I don’t know. I do know I’ve changed. There was a time when I said that I could never stop drinking carbonated beverages. That was my vehement — and youthful — defense for drinking sodas. Now they are barely in my life. That was when I was a teenager and in my twenties. More recently, I used to make fun of hipsters really badly. But when I realized that I also liked some of the same things they like to drink and wear, it occurred to me that even harassing them in the confidence of friends might be a little like the vocal homophobe who secretly scours Craigslist.
I was once sitting at a cafe and I overheard a conversation between two women talking about a graduation party one of their acquaintances had. The conversation was one of those friend-of-a-friend deals. Here is the reconstruction.
“Have you ever heard of Joe’s of Westlake?” asked one.
I have, I thought in private response, recalling the decor of vintage mobster architecture in Daly City. But I had never actually eaten there.
“You’re kidding me,” said the companion incredulously. “That’s where she had it?”
“Yeah. Don’t you like Joe’s?”
“It’s all right, but come on. It’s a special occasion. You’d think she would have chosen some place better.”
I was reading a book at the time but some side conversations are inescapable. I lingered on the haughtiness of that final remark and thought to myself, Well, what if that’s just what she wants? And then I thought of my own modest plans for a wedding and the reception to follow, and how I might not even want to have a ceremony for the wedding and in its place I’d just throw a really cool reception or maybe do something else unconventional that might produce haughty conversation to burn my ears while I’m away…
Last night, Clara and I were coming home from seeing Magic Mike. I know you’re thinking how totally unsurprising it is that I went to see that movie, but here’s the thing: Steven Soderbergh has directed many of my favorite movies, and Magic Mike was one of them. And, OK, I totally went to see it for hot guys. When Clara, Spencer and me took our seats, I went to the concession stand to get snacks for everyone. When I came back, I proclaimed to them, “Ladies, I’m already horny!”
That was just me being playfully flaming, though. By the end of the movie, what stayed on my mind wasn’t even the half-naked bodies — I won’t lie and say that I didn’t look, because I did, but I didn’t expect to leave the movie stricken with thought and emotion and not as aroused. I wasn’t inclined to go home and have Me Time. Instead, I wondered about the fate of the world — and then, about my own life, and how I relate to guys, to my male friends, to Pop, and of course how you might perceive these never-to-be-sents.
I won’t tell you how the movie ends, but let me just say that I liked it. It was a very unconventional happy ending. I think that I would like the end of Magic Mike to happen to me in some form. Something simple, without any promises yet still headed in the right direction.