Some oldies...

August 28, 2008

The Absurdity and the Human-ness of Assumption

            I love these late summer heatwaves in San Francisco.  The fog clears, wind dies down, and a sultry miasma sets in.  It sends me into a frenzied search for something to wear, something that I won’t boil to death in.  After an assessment of the day’s activities, the goal was to find something comfortable, something I could sweat in.  I decided on a tank that I bought from a little boutique on Union St. called “Bella and Daisy’s”.  Bella and Daisy are dogs.  The boutique is one of those ridiculous shops dedicated to all things dogs (and some things cats); gourmet food, jewel encrusted collars and leashes, foolish looking outfits, but also treats of all kinds, bowls, beds, and bones.  They also have a small collection of human wearing t-shirts, one of which I bought while in the shop a couple of years ago.  The reason I bought the tank top is #1 it is black, and #2 it says, “Who needs a husband when you can have dog?” which I thought was funny, and a bit ironic, since I often say that Mojo is my favorite husband.  At any rate, I only wear this tank when it’s hot, and that means that I don’t cover it up with a jacket, which means that people who don’t usuallly look at me, do, just to read the words emblezoned across my chest which is another thing people don’t usually look at.  This all gives me a big kick.  The kick comes not from the looking (well, maybe just a little), but from the look on their faces once they read my chest. 

            So I put it on and promptly took Mo out for a walk on the sunny, hot streets of my uptight neighborhood (lovingly referred to as ‘the land of scowling assholes’).  I immediately encountered a couple of women walking along with three little girls and two strollers.  As I passed, one of the women said, “I love your shirt!” and I said, “Oh, thanks.”  Then she added, “I need that shirt. It’s exactly how I feel today!”  Um, sorry.  Another woman I encountered wanted to know where I got it, because she just had to have one.  But the most delightful responses in my opinion, are the silent looks I get.  Older women read it and give me looks that say, ‘right!’  The men are the best.  The twenty and thirty somethings usually laugh.  But those men older than forty almost always stare in anger, indifference, fear or confusion.  Like the shirt is just incomprehensible, I mean really, who would rather have a dog than a bread-winning, warm body next to them?

I would.

            Which is not to say that I wouldn’t enjoy having a partner in my life, partner being the operative word.  God knows I’ve looked.  What I have discovered is that it’s a tall order for men of my generation.  After a life of men who grew up with fathers who wore the pants, and therefore think that is their right too, equality in my relationship is something there’s no compromising. I think that some readers of my tank top, get that.  But the others?  Who knows, but I’m sure they’re making assumptions about the wearer, that would be me.  Really though, it’s just a tank top, I don’t agree with my top completely.  Mostly I just wear it for the reactions…

            I certainly make my own assumptions about the looks and comments I get.  It is, afterall my job as a writer to constantly observe people and their behaviors, and I can only surmise that behavior based on my own experience, with a little help from my imagination.

            Later that night, I got a phone call from a very good friend.  She called to ask if she could give my phone number to a neighbor of hers that I met recently.  During my chat with this neighbor, I found out that he had just broken up (one week ago) with a woman that he was in a five year relationship.  I told my friend no, do not give him my number.  I went on to say that I was not interested in being someones ‘transition woman’. Being that I know a thing or two about break ups, I have no interest in listening to his moaning about what went wrong.  I am a very good listener, but not a qualified therapist… I asked if she would let him know my reason, and she declined, saying she would only tell him I said no.  Well okay.  I really liked the guy, he’s very nice, and I just hope he doesn’t make assumptions and think it’s because he’s bald or something. 

            But then she said, “Well, at least it’s good to know somebody is interested in you.” 

Um, what?

            Another assumption.  The one that apparently still sits in the dark recesses of the cultural zeitgeist; that a woman alone, especially a middle age woman, seeks ultimate fullfilment by being with a man.   Um what? is exactly what my response was.  She made a quick retreat, and said that she didn’t mean it in the way it sounded.  Uh-huh.  We got off the phone.  I took Mo out for his night time walk with her words burning in my head.  I was pretty pissed off.  First of all because she is my longest standing friend here in San Francisco, secondly, because I thought she knew me better than that, and finally because she’s a feminist and god damn it, if the feminist can’t get this bullshit out of their conciousness, who can?  I walked and smoked and steamed in the warm night air.  I am unclear as to where this crazy assumption came from because it is not my experience.  Why is it so hard for people to understand that you can be alone and happy?  Truly happy.  That life offers so much, that the food for the soul is so abundant, and can be found in so many places. 

            The following day I happened to be walking down 5^th street with a colleague after an all day faculty conference.  For those unfamiliar, 5^th street is a bit seedy with plenty of homeless men hanging around.  At least that was the scene on that day.  My colleague is a fellow my age, who despite his passe hairdo (he wears a ponytail!), is one of the smartest people I know.  We were embroiled in a conversation about the upcoming semester, walking at a pretty good clip, and I was smoking.  From behind came this voice, complaining about my cigarette habit.  We turned to look at a giant troll of a man – long hair, beard, and dirty, walking with a wooden cane and spewing angry venom at me and my smoke.  Hmm.  I wonder if he would have done that if I weren’t a rather demure in stature, middle-aged woman?  Maybe it was my colleague’s ponytail that made him think we would be sheepish victims of his diatribe?  He continued to follow us keeping the pace even though we quickened ours just so we could resume our conversation without his vectives interupting.  And I continued to smoke.  Because his assumptions that he would scare or shame me into putting it out couldn’t have been more wrong.  I said to my friend that if he weren’t carrying that big cane, I would say something to him.  But I was making my own assumptions, although he really did look like someone that wouldn’t think twice about using it, and probably had – many times.

            He continued to follow us for several more streets saying the craziest things, and we continued trying to ignore him.  When we finally ditched him, I said, “I bet he’s a real hit at the homeless shelter.”  It was funny in the moment, I always go for the sarcasm when faced with these types of situations.  But later, it got me thinking about my own assumptions, and sometimes they are so right on, and other times they are so wrong.

Which leaves me thinking about the human-ness of our assumptions, how we can’t help but have them.  How they can help us get out of sticky moments, and draw us right into them.

November 27, 2008

A Little Thanksgiving Mojo

            We had a really wonderful Thanksgiving dinner, way too much food, and many laughs. I was up until 1am cleaning the kitchen and spent all of yesterday recuperating.  I did manage to take Mo on a walk down to the Marina Green.  We had to do something to work off that meal and since letting my fingers do the walking across the keyboard isn’t quite enough, I’m left to walking the dog…  So the usual walk consists of circling the green clockwise, starting and ending with Fillmore St. We were approaching the light/crosswalk at Fillmore to head home.  Mo was off leash, it’s part of our Marina Green walk ritual. I get to space out and not be bothered with tugging him along, and he gets to munch grass to his heart and belly’s content. If you’ve been to the Marina Green, you know that on a clear day the views of the bay, Golden Gate Bridge and Marin County are a knockout and what every tourist would not leave SF without seeing.  It was one of those days, and the place was just bustling with people walking/biking/running/kite-flying/Frisbee-throwing and of course, dog-walking. As I mentioned, we were getting close to the crossing light where I usually leash him.  I was staring off deep in thought, when a women walking her dog said, “hey, your dog!”  I turned to look at Mo who is usually right behind me, and he was heading for Marina Blvd – four lanes of traffic!  I yelled his name, he usually listens but not this time, he dashed, and I mean dashed out into the street with me following.  I’ll tell you what; the goddess or karma or what have you was with us both, because neither of us were looking for cars as I called to him while he picked up speed.  Mojo is a noted momma’s boy, he never runs from me, it was inexplicable, confusing, crazy, and a bit silly.  I haven’t seen his old fat ass run that fast in a long time.

            He was cruising up Fillmore, me in hot pursuit when a jogger approached coming from the direction we were headed.  He sensed this wasn’t fun and games, but a run-away dog.  He joined the chase.  Now the old fart had two of us chasing him!  I thought the guy had him at one point but he must have only had the fur, because Mojo slipped through his hands like a giant bar of soap.  Well, this young, cute, Marina-dude was not going to let Mo get the best of him, he continued in the chase for two more blocks.  He was finally able to head him off, while I came up from the rear.  I grabbed the devil-dog while mumbling a breathy, “Thanks,” to the runner and a ‘what the fuck?’ to Mojo. 

            What the fuck, indeed.  After leashing him, he still wanted to run. I couldn’t even

yell at him, I was so dumbstruck by this strange behavior.  I have no idea what got into him.  All I know is that night I lit a fire in the fireplace and put out the floor pillows in front of it to watch ‘Seven Years in Tibet’, during the movie and for the entire evening he lay right next to me, chin resting on my lap.  Occasionally he would look up at me gazing directly into my eyes as if trying to explain his 2000 yard dash.  If only I were as good a mind-reader as he has been over the years.

            Later I fell asleep on the couch. I can tell myself that I was exhausted after my sprint with the old guy, but if you know anything about me – you know that I often crash right there, t.v. and lights on all night.  When the sun comes up, it’s hard to sleep too long in any room of my home due to the skylites.  So at the crack of dawn and with the newsy/entertainment show blathering from the tube, I opened one eye.  They were doing a segment on who or what you’re grateful for/to.  This fellow did an homage to a newscaster/mentor who was no longer alive.  Turns out seven years before he died, he was walking his dog when it suddenly got unleashed and went bolting across a busy NYC intersection with the newscaster in hot pursuit.  Well you know what happened.  The guy got hit by a car.  The really terrible part is that he was left severely brain damaged.

            Well.

            Since then, I have kept Mojo on leash. But later today I will take him back to the Marina, and I will let him off leash.  I’m pretty sure last week’s sudden burst of youthful vigor was more than likely the result of too much turkey skin (which I noticed several of my dinner guest slipping him under the table).  At any rate, we will continue to enjoy our Marina walk; Mo munching grass, and me looking out at the incredible beauty that lies at the northern most end of our most glorious city and I will weave into my daydreaming that we must still take a little risk now and then if for nothing more than to remind us of how very much alive we are.