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31 may 2000
----- Concluding a particularly grueling day at the office, I decided to head down the street to the bar at Vito, an Italian restaurant so out of place in Santa Monica that it brings me back to my youth on the East Coast. Dark leather booths, a menu deliciously absent of anything resembling "California Cuisine," and an overall atmosphere that can only be described as "mafia soul." The place has been around for twenty years. In Los Angeles, a heritage like that is nearly an eternity. On the short walk from the office, I passed a somewhat attractive girl wearing a too-tight translucent tank top with the image of a tiger's face on the front. My subconsious took it in, as my active mind was already ahead of myself, sipping from a cold martini glass at the Vito Bar. I remember now, she was quite well-endowed, and I guess my attention was drawn to her chest despite themselves (um, make that "itself"). But how could I not be swept-in, so to speak? The design on her shirt was eyecatching, and meticulously placed for an incredible three-dimensional effect. The irises of the tiger's eyes were punctuated by her areolae, while the pupils jumped out in the form of her (way too erect for normalcy, don't ask me why, I don't wanna know) nipples. She gave me the nastiest look as she passed, muttering "asshole" under her breath. I couldn't help but smile in a patronizing way, shaking my head at the ridiculousness at it all. It was all I could do not to laugh in her face. Why on earth would you wear something like that if you don't want men to notice? As for me, my interest was hardly sexual. I was more in a state of "wow, that's kinda cool" at the way her protrusions so perfectly punctuated the pattern on her shirt. It was more of a geek thing. I am not sexually attracted to enormous breasts. Put something that interesting so prominently on display, though, and I'm bound to have a good look... (Besides, the first thing I do when I see a woman I'm physically aroused by is ... look the other way.) (Pathetic, ain't it? No, just shy. Just me.) (And none of this is to say that I don't love breasts, because I do. I'm attracted to them, fascinated by them, the works... If I had a pair of my own I'd get nothing done because I'd sit at home looking at them, feeling them, writing sonnets to them ... um ... ok, this is getting scary, what was my point? Oh yes, well, this particular woman's breasts just completely lost whatever chance at attractiveness they had by their unabashed extroversion, and that didn't really come from her breasts per se, but from her vibe as a person, and her, well, in the end, I found her very unattractive.) Objectifying the female form, am I? Is that a bad thing? Fuck that. What would Santa Monica's female population say if I walked down Ocean Park Boulevard tomorrow wearing a pair of skin-tight shorts with a picture of Pinocchio on the center of them, and right where his nose is ... well, you get the idea. I'd probably be arrested. Sometimes I hate being male. ~~~ Old pic tonite, from the Roxy show in March. Before the band got me a portable keyboard, I took it upon myself to jump up on my organ and play from there. What you can't see in the picture are the two roadies standing behind me, just waiting to catch me when I slipped... ~~~ What color is June, and why? Tell me. 31 may 1999: didn't write : 31 may 1998: yellow belted : If you're in a relationship, and you want to break up with your significant other, just do it, a clean break, done, finito, caput! And if you dare leave your ex-significant other with the hope that someday you'll get back together, well, then you are the cruelest of the cruel. If you're gonna end it, just end it.
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