Life Last Friday at the Sculpture Park
posted by on June 12 at 14:10 PM
Last Friday afternoon I raced—literally, ran down Denny—to On the Boards for what I thought was a 5 pm show but turned out to be an 8 pm show. Bummer. Had hours to kill. Bought a magazine at a Safeway, put my iPod on shuffle, walked down to the sculpture park. Sat on a bench at the entrance to the pavilion, where a few of the sculptures and the water and the sky are laid out in front of you like a gigantic painting. Was minding my own, legs crossed, when a pretty woman sat down next to me.
“Are you Max?” she said. She wore a black dress and excellent lipstick.
No, I said.
She made a bummer face. “I didn’t think he’d have an iPod on.” There was a long, mysterious, beautiful pause. We really seemed to get along in our silence. It was chemical. Then she said, “So far it’s all been—” and did a thumbs-down.
“Thumbs down?” I offered.
“Thumbs down.”
Still had no idea what she was talking about, but I said, “Well, don’t keep on—”
“I’ve discontinued the practice,” she interrupted. “This is the last one.”
Ah.
“Well, you can sit here next to me,” I said, and I actually did want her to keep sitting there.
“No, I think that’d be weird. If he sees us…” she said.
She got up, said goodbye, and went looking for Max.
WHAT DOES THAT MEAN? So cryptic, so potentially interesting, so disappointing.
Must have been eHarmony.
Max is such a mother fucker! I've never liked him and in all honesty she could do better.
Gee, could she be a prostitute? And Christopher could have had sex with a lady.... well a lady of the night.
I know kids today are emo and guys today get such a kick out of girls who say and do weird shit like this, but call me jaded... I've got a reality check for you back here on Earth: she's probably batshit crazy.
Hey Christopher, what are you reading these days? Reading Thomas Mann's Magic Mountain.
She's been dating Max online for five months now. He lives in Spokane (supposedly) and they've made plans to meet up three times now, but he canceled the first two last-minute and he didn't bother canceling this one. She's written Dan two different letters seeking permission to DTMFA, but Dan doesn't publish her letters. This was Max's second-to-last chance.
At least, that's my guess.
very nine stories, christopher. nice!
'it was chemical'
i'm gonna steal that.
if it isn't Thomas Mann, or JD Salinger . . . and it HAS to be derivative of something (right . . . RIGHT?), then how about Miranda July? No, wait! Zadie Smith! No, no, Melville! Er, fuck. Flannery O'Connor? Philip K. Dick! Douglas Coupland! Richard Hugo! Dave Eggers! No, not Eggers. That other guy! The one I read sorta on the bus and before I went to sleep that one month when the internet was slow . . . uh, Gary Lutz? Damn it! I give up. Maybe it's just an interesting literary vignette on the Slog. No, no. Can't be. Toni Morrison! Rushdie! Joyce! Frizzelle! Just give me a little nod if I'm getting at all warmer. Louise Erdrich? Breton? New or Old Testament? Oh,fug. Damn you! Damn you and your cloudy influences! Just forget it! I'll get you next time! NEXT TIME!
Actually, Christopher, I think you are Max.
maybe she and "Max" were planning to poop in each others butts...
It just sounds like a typical Stranger fix up where the second person to arrive scopes out their blind date and just bales without any consideration of the other person's feelings. It's why I stopped doing personal ads.
My vote is Haruki Murakami. There is a similar scene in The Wind-up Bird Chronicle.
i agree with COMTE
You stay away from her or I'll cut you open like a tauntaun.
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