 Youth
Maybe the Gus has the right idea. Ever since
the Aquarius party, I've been taking a closer look at younger people, seeing
what they are wearing, wondering what they are thinking. When I was
that age, I didn't give a damn what my peers wore or thought. I was
pretty busy being me. I should clarify: I didn't give a damn
what my female peers wore or thought. Sounds sexist as hell
but lemme tell you why.
Where I came from, very little in the female world
was real or of any lasting importance. Every girl's world hinged
on who was with whom, who wore what, and how to come off better looking,
better dressed, or somehow more desirable than any other female in the
place. Education? Puh-lease! On the outside you
could (should) talk about good grades and going to college, trying to change
the world, but it was really all about partying, about manipulation, about
catching. It was about having more fun, or at least appearing to,
than anyone else. It was cat-fight heaven, or hell, depending on
your perspective. It was a world I didn't want a part in.
Most of the guys were equally mysterious to me,
but at least I could talk to them, joke with them, say what I thought and
not hear my words twisted through the grapevine the next day. I got
closest to the outcast guys, though; they made the best friends.
They understood life on the outside. They were the D&D and computer
nuts.
So, back to the present. This crop of young
'uns have something that those in my own youth lacked. I dunno if
it's the times or the geographical location. I dunno what to call
it, but "sass" comes pretty close. The mainstream is a little less
conformist, I think. Or something like that. Whatever it is,
it looks good to be alive. I need some of that.
No, I am not a pedophile. Maybe it's just
a case of wanting to be younger again. Heh, of course that's what
it is. I squandered my youth, twice. I want it back.
I was waiting at Chesapeake House for an appointment;
I was early, he was late, so in the meantime I bought a big coffee, a Carmello,
and a copy of Seventeen. The coffee wasn't just roasted, it
was toasted to a carbon-flavored twang. The caramel had escaped its
tiny square prisons of chocolate and settled into the bottom of the package,
so eating it was a sticky mess. The Seventeen was mostly about
the upcoming prom season, though there were other subjects in there.
Lots of clothes that looked pretty good to me, probably because I saw them
the last time they were in. And what looks like fairly good advice
on all the usual problems that come up. It was indeed refreshing
to see "him" used almost as often as "her" in the quiz about how far you
would go for friendship. When/where I grew up, guys and chicks couldn't
be friends. Unthinkable. Only the outcasts would dare.
This keeps coming back around to me. That's
not what I had in mind.
Chesapeake House is a good place to watch people,
especially young ones. It's a rest stop on I-95, and it seems like
every time I go there, there's at least one busload of teens overrunning
the place. The aliveness of them is inspiring. God I sound
sappy. It's not like that.
I wanted to say something about the delightfulness
of really huge dildoes; you've seen them, the impossibly, terrifyingly
huge ones at the adult store, the ones that make your eyes pop out of your
skull entirely. Saying it just now though would make it look like
the subject is somehow related to young people, which, for me, it is not.
Aw, fuckit, here goes: those things are not nearly as useless as
they may appear.
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