a happy holiday / juvenilia
Dec. 26th, 2004 01:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
oiranWe had the pleasure of the company of ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rhiannonhero and Mr. Rhi for a snacky sort of dinner last night. Both Rhi and I had long been convinced that Mr. R and Mr. G would like each other, as both are guitar-playing audio-geek fine-artist types with deadpan humor, and yesterday was the first time that everything worked out so that we could put them into a cage together to observe their behavior. They started talking about speakers right away.
I hadn't seen Rhi since October. She accused me of being both short and greatly reduced in dimension which is 1) untrue, and 2) flattering and probably true. The shortness was due to her high heels and my bare feet. I was required to put on shoes to return balance to the universe. She's so pretty! and so nice! I was overcome with the pleasure of being with her again, and because I hadn't seen her in so long, I was shy! After I drank some wine, I relaxed ;)
Rhi gave me a beautiful woodblock calendar (the very one I had been thinking about buying for myself) and loaned me books on ADD. She also shared her Obi-Wan/Qui-Gon (is that his name? the Liam Neeson character) doujinshi, which was beautifully drawn and included everything possible in manga sex except for kitty ears. I insisted on burning a bunch of manga on a disk for her, as well as the YnM anime series. They had to leave way too soon, but I really don't see why they had to leave. We have a guest room. They could live here, after all.
juvenilia: When I was 21, high-strung and feral, with hair to my waist and clumsy bruises all over my bare legs, I met Mr. Glove. At first, I thought he was a dork, but then I saw him in better light and realized that he was pretty. He was coy and resistant to my charms, which eventually became a little insulting. I finally cornered him by the art studio at the college and stated my intentions with a directness that made his eyes go wide. He seemed intrigued. I thought I was getting somewhere with him, but then he succumbed to a fresh cycle of ex-girlfriend wallowing and we were back where we started.
Early in 1988, he showed me a print he made. Now when I look at it, I know what it "really" is (a section of highway), but I can also see what I saw at very first glance: a temple, falling down, not yet hitting the ground. When I told him that, he seemed irritated at first, then...interested. He posted a photo of that print on his non-Glove LJ today. I referred to it as "the temple," and he didn't know what I was talking about until I reminded him.
For his 26th birthday that year, I wanted to give him something special, but I had no money, and what I had was spent on cigarettes, so I wrote him a story. My roommate said, "You should write something about a little green man." I have no idea where she got that idea, nor do I recall why I decided it was advice worth listening to. My roommate also liked Mr. Glove very much. We had quite the triangle going for awhile there.
I put everything I knew about him into the story, and every conversation we'd had, and the temple, as well. It was the first story I wrote for anyone. It is still the only story that I've written for a specific person where I was able to be present during that first reading. I was extremely nervous, and somewhat suspicious that my roommate had let me do something really stupid so as to improve her chances with Mr. G.
I don't remember what he said, or what I said when he was done. I do remember that he liked it a lot, and that my relief was like a flood. I also remember my roommate interrupting our discussion to say, "You, know, the little green man was my idea."
Mr. Glove had me dig the story out of my files today and then typed it into his computer. He posted it over in his other journal,tubenerd, along with the photograph of the print, should you be interested in my juvenilia.
Mr. Glove and I have known each other since October 1987, but we haven't been a couple all that time. There were...let's call them breaks, of varying lengths and flavored with different degrees of animosity, and during the times when we were tentatively moving towards each other again, I would give him art and writing, usually mailed rather than hand-delivered. I would know he'd gotten my missive when he'd show up with a look of fascinated terror on his face. He always thought I might be telling him something evil rather than trying to woo him. There was no reason for him to be afraid; the messages weren't that obscure, nor that deep.
~~~
In the same old file box as the birthday story, I found a high-school art project with smart-ass notes from me to the art teacher drawn in, a large quantity of old fiction written on a typewriter, and a piece of notebook paper with a handwritten joke song called Death Breakfast that I wrote to impress Chuck, the cool guy who worked at the record shop (the first fag I ever hagged). I found a folder containing saint cards (Catholic and Hindu both) and naked lady playing cards. There was also a folder with a few half-finished "tarot" cards and a bunch of Xerox art made late at night at the 10-cents-per-copy machine at the supermarket. Basically, it's a box of my late teens and very early 20s. I'm technically and structurally a better writer than that girl, and I'm also a better artist, improving with further years of practice, but we're very recognizably the same people, with the same urges and aesthetic.
The saint cards and naked lady playing cards are still very cool.
rhiannonhero and Mr. Rhi for a snacky sort of dinner last night. Both Rhi and I had long been convinced that Mr. R and Mr. G would like each other, as both are guitar-playing audio-geek fine-artist types with deadpan humor, and yesterday was the first time that everything worked out so that we could put them into a cage together to observe their behavior. They started talking about speakers right away. I hadn't seen Rhi since October. She accused me of being both short and greatly reduced in dimension which is 1) untrue, and 2) flattering and probably true. The shortness was due to her high heels and my bare feet. I was required to put on shoes to return balance to the universe. She's so pretty! and so nice! I was overcome with the pleasure of being with her again, and because I hadn't seen her in so long, I was shy! After I drank some wine, I relaxed ;)
Rhi gave me a beautiful woodblock calendar (the very one I had been thinking about buying for myself) and loaned me books on ADD. She also shared her Obi-Wan/Qui-Gon (is that his name? the Liam Neeson character) doujinshi, which was beautifully drawn and included everything possible in manga sex except for kitty ears. I insisted on burning a bunch of manga on a disk for her, as well as the YnM anime series. They had to leave way too soon, but I really don't see why they had to leave. We have a guest room. They could live here, after all.
juvenilia: When I was 21, high-strung and feral, with hair to my waist and clumsy bruises all over my bare legs, I met Mr. Glove. At first, I thought he was a dork, but then I saw him in better light and realized that he was pretty. He was coy and resistant to my charms, which eventually became a little insulting. I finally cornered him by the art studio at the college and stated my intentions with a directness that made his eyes go wide. He seemed intrigued. I thought I was getting somewhere with him, but then he succumbed to a fresh cycle of ex-girlfriend wallowing and we were back where we started.
Early in 1988, he showed me a print he made. Now when I look at it, I know what it "really" is (a section of highway), but I can also see what I saw at very first glance: a temple, falling down, not yet hitting the ground. When I told him that, he seemed irritated at first, then...interested. He posted a photo of that print on his non-Glove LJ today. I referred to it as "the temple," and he didn't know what I was talking about until I reminded him.
For his 26th birthday that year, I wanted to give him something special, but I had no money, and what I had was spent on cigarettes, so I wrote him a story. My roommate said, "You should write something about a little green man." I have no idea where she got that idea, nor do I recall why I decided it was advice worth listening to. My roommate also liked Mr. Glove very much. We had quite the triangle going for awhile there.
I put everything I knew about him into the story, and every conversation we'd had, and the temple, as well. It was the first story I wrote for anyone. It is still the only story that I've written for a specific person where I was able to be present during that first reading. I was extremely nervous, and somewhat suspicious that my roommate had let me do something really stupid so as to improve her chances with Mr. G.
I don't remember what he said, or what I said when he was done. I do remember that he liked it a lot, and that my relief was like a flood. I also remember my roommate interrupting our discussion to say, "You, know, the little green man was my idea."
Mr. Glove had me dig the story out of my files today and then typed it into his computer. He posted it over in his other journal,
tubenerd, along with the photograph of the print, should you be interested in my juvenilia. Mr. Glove and I have known each other since October 1987, but we haven't been a couple all that time. There were...let's call them breaks, of varying lengths and flavored with different degrees of animosity, and during the times when we were tentatively moving towards each other again, I would give him art and writing, usually mailed rather than hand-delivered. I would know he'd gotten my missive when he'd show up with a look of fascinated terror on his face. He always thought I might be telling him something evil rather than trying to woo him. There was no reason for him to be afraid; the messages weren't that obscure, nor that deep.
~~~
In the same old file box as the birthday story, I found a high-school art project with smart-ass notes from me to the art teacher drawn in, a large quantity of old fiction written on a typewriter, and a piece of notebook paper with a handwritten joke song called Death Breakfast that I wrote to impress Chuck, the cool guy who worked at the record shop (the first fag I ever hagged). I found a folder containing saint cards (Catholic and Hindu both) and naked lady playing cards. There was also a folder with a few half-finished "tarot" cards and a bunch of Xerox art made late at night at the 10-cents-per-copy machine at the supermarket. Basically, it's a box of my late teens and very early 20s. I'm technically and structurally a better writer than that girl, and I'm also a better artist, improving with further years of practice, but we're very recognizably the same people, with the same urges and aesthetic.
The saint cards and naked lady playing cards are still very cool.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-12-26 07:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-12-26 07:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-12-26 08:19 pm (UTC)I ♥ you & Mr. Glove.
no subject
Date: 2004-12-26 09:58 pm (UTC)I think the move to San Diego, the chance to see me in an environment more natural to me, has reassured him a bit. In any case, your utterly gorgeous love story with Mr. Glove reminded me of the early days with Senor Eros.
And oooh, you gave Rhi YnM anime. I sense the possibility of good fic on the horizon....
no subject
Date: 2004-12-26 10:24 pm (UTC)BTW, the best thing about Xmas this year? Seeing you. And you were too short with me in my shoes! It was disturbing!
no subject
Date: 2004-12-27 03:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-12-27 07:27 pm (UTC)