In the pandemic era, faces are mysterious

A funny thing about the pandemic era is that we now (in some places/cases at least) now have people we routinely see, who in effect have faces that stop below the eyes 

This makes the rest of the face a mysterious, intimate place, much as things must feel in cultures that routinely veil. 

There is a young woman at my physical therapist’s office (one of two who run the front counter) on whom I have a wicked crush. Pink hair, glasses, lots of very well done tattoos. She’s bubbly and friendly, relentlessly enthusiastic. We talk, at least every other session (I do PT twice a week, rehabbing a shoulder surgery), about tattoos, and she can’t wait to tell me about her last piece, or next piece, or pieces she’s planning for future. I’ve told her about piece i’m getting next week, and again, she can’t wait to see it. 

We’ve never seen each other’s faces, in all the months we’ve been chatting. 

Today, we were talking about coffee; someone had just brought her some fancy pour-over latte thing from philz coffee, and she was complaining about it, meanwhile laughing and telling me in great detail about whatever was wrong.

And then she tuned partially away, pulled down her mask and sipped.

Seeing the whole of her face, lips parted as she brought cup to her mouth, was as thrilling as catching a glimpse of accidentally exposed underwear, and to be honest, was nearly as thrilling as a brief glimpse of nipple. 

Because i’ve now been chatting with this beautiful young woman for about three months, twice a week, and never gotten her whole face, it was a wildly intimate feeling. Her face seemed too beautiful to believe, but I think that’s entirely the veil idea; the fact that I should not see it, made it intensely wrong, which is hotter than hell. 

I’m not, to be clear, saying anything positive about cultures that enforce veils/hijabs. It’s indefensible to enforce any such rule on a woman.

What i’m saying instead, is that the side effect of a practical need to protect each other with masks during a deadly plague, has produced a side effect that never occurred to me; faces have become a hidden, intimate place, a mystery. And I do love a good mystery.  

I already wanted to kiss this young woman. But this glimpse makes it a hundred times worse. 

And that brings us up to date, again, with nothing

it’s weird to realize the last time I posted was just before – well, weeks before but time means nothing, never would again – before the world changed all at once (which is going ti be a theme for everything I post today, which is, well, this I guess).

I see my last post before pandemic,  of me playing my then-new gretsch in my friend Chris’ house, shortly before the last xmas that actually felt like xmas.

Since that time, i’ve more or less stopped playing guitar (at least stopped playing nearly enough), sold all my motorcycles (the FXDB and the thruxton), bought a new one (FSLRS low rider softail). I’ve gotten older than I ever shiould have gotten, and then started to fight back with a renewed go at fitness. I’ve quit caring about work, so much so that i’m now having to decide if I can ever get back to being good at something for a living again.

I’ve been though familial upheaval I wasn’t sure all my family would survive, though we did, at least so far; my younger daughter now lives in North Carolina, where she’s doing vastly better, as are we with her there.

And I’ve figured out that my favorite people in the whole world are dogs, and that I don’t really need anything much from here on (see the instagram links to the left, if they still work, or way below if you’re on mobile, for pictures of my dogs, who are so cute they’ll melt your eyes).

It’s been ten years in two years, and yet in effect nothing happened, and everything changed, and very little seems very real anymore.

I should have more to say about it than this, really, but it turns out that I had nothing at all to say for two years, so, this may take a bit of practice to get out, since writing is now something I do only into slack windows, with people who care way too much about things that do not matter in the least, and who will throw a fit if you use the right words for things and they don’t like the words.

So writing, as someone once said to me, without a net isn’t something I know how to do anymore. At least not yet.

Who knows if anyone will ever notice; blogs seem so quaint in 2022.
















The world changed

My god it’s been a long time.

I miss being what you might call a writer or at least a blogger.

I miss days when it mattered.

I miss being creative, and living a life that routinely got me in trouble – I miss the trouble, and the people I used to get into it with. Well, certain people anyway.

It’s been a long fucking pandemic; will any of us ever be the same, when this is objects-closer-than-they-appear in the rear view? Not the over that people are pretending now, the ‘it’s not over at all but we’re too tired of it to know that’ kind of over thats’ whole-cloth nonsense. Will we ever, though, be who we used to be?

I need a martini, but I need it with the people I used to drink martinis with. My dogs are good company and all, but, well, it’s not the same, now, is it? They can’t mix a decent drink, and though they’ll definitely kiss, they also don’t kiss nearly as well as – well, as some other people –  and gin doesn’t cover dog breath.

I need to write something better than this. See if I still can.

Maybe i’ll be back tomorrow. Or maybe in another year.