when you were a child,”
my father said often to me
after I left home. Well,
no wonder. With wisdom
comes the realization that
maturity is often for the
birds. Or at least inhibitions.
Perhaps it is a mistake to
confuse the two, but my
path toward pure hedonism
has never been more sure.
Just watched Adaptation,
an overly ambitious and
lovely Spike Jonze flick.
Whatever happened to him,
anyway? Ah, he’s off to
Maurice Sendak’s Wild
Things (screenplay co-
written by Dave Eggers).
Now you know (and why
shouldn’t you?). Crab
fried rice at Thai Noodle
on Geary and Leavenworth
(my one and only venture,
before I awakened to the
superiority of Osha Thai,
just across the street). A
tiny glimpse of a hard
crush (the coat-check
boy) and a roll in the
proverbial hay with a
graphic designer from The
Academy of Art (“there’s
no sciences!”). After
crab legs, the insecure
egomaniac (therapy is
for fools) changes his
mind, gleefully scribbles
a conglomerate of words
into the sand (almost
high tide now), and
then goes shopping
for a new bed.
