Not Johnny Depp At AllPosted: March 12, 2009
>”It’s not Johnny Depp at all,” she said. “More like George Michael meets BeeGees.” They were discussing his new haircut, sardined in with the rest of us on the F Train this morning, rolling our eyes, wondering when, exactly, we’d reach signal clearance and continue on, away from the stink of West 4th Street. “It has some better shape,” he responded, “but it’s not what I told her to do.” They looked at each other, considering. Finally, she said “Give it a few shampoos.” At first, groggy from the morning, from having to spend a third of the night sleeping on the couch to avoid my boyfriends snoring, I thought she meant some kind of medication: Take two of these and call me in the morning.
I was sitting, hooray, and reading, but not focused much on the book. A fat lady had crammed herself into the space between me and another guy, then she pulled out a chunky worn paperback romance. Sometimes when a stranger touches you like this, in a remarkably intimate way–sustained and quiet–I wonder if they’re not doing it on purpose, trying to drain the life from me because of their own loneliness. (Perhaps this is a bit dramatic.) I tried to read over her shoulder, I tried to memorize a few good lines to share with you here, but my short-term cache was already filled with Johnny Depp and George Michael meets the Bee Gees. And there was only pale backs and promises, nothing else that really struck me. Her red acrylic fingernail looked shoved down into the chubby end of her thumb, like a cherry stuck in the white icing of a cupcake.
This afternoon, I’m driving to Vermont to bring back the first crop of 2009 maple syrup, which is being boiled as I write this. By the time it cools, filters, is brought up to the house, heated again, canned and boxed, it will be tomorrow afternoon, and then I can bring it back to NYC for selling on Saturday. I’m looking forward to the long-ish drive, about 5-6 hours. I relish the time alone. I need to spend some time thinking about the first novel, and it’s pressing future. And I need to allot some real uninterrupted brain time to figure out a plot device, or plot problem, in the second one.
If you’re nearby Union Square on Saturday, come by. The first syrup is a thing to behold.