May 30, 2009
Hey guys,
Steve recently ordered the complete works of John Wayne, newly reissued on DVD, which made me feel like a pig in the mud. I took home a pair of his ‘70s cop movies and frolicked all night.
In McQ, The Duke stars as a prickly cop who ain’t afraid to step on people’s toes, and who’s trying to get to the bottom of his friend’s murder. It manages to squeeze in every cop-movie cliché and 70’s stereotype imaginable. There’s the jive-talking pimp with tinted shades, Santiago, the seedy mob kingpin, and, of course, the police captain who’s really a bagman for the downtown suits and who gets in McQ’s way with his infernal “department regulations.” So what happens? McQ ends up shooting EVERYBODY! But you already knew that.
I would also recommend watching Wayne in the uninspired Brannigan, once again as a cop, but this time working the mean streets of London. I find satisfaction seeing him go through the motions of showcasing his tough, well intentioned, smooth talking persona. And he’s an ace with the revolver.
It was a fun night, but I would have rather spent the time with Geneva. She’s busy preparing for an exhibition, where some of her art would be shown. It was very important for her because she needs the money since she lost her job at the café. She’s already spent half of the money she was saving to go to New Mexico. Her dream is becoming more distant, and her impassioned longing was beginning to show through in her art.
She’s come by to visit once since our date, but more than a week has already gone by since then. I was feeling lonely and emotionally destitute, and not even the terse reassurances of John Wayne could snap me out of my funk. There was a void in my Qi that could only be filled by that blossoming young woman. We shared a deep pull to Oriental spirituality, she had even suggested rearranging the store using Feng Shui. We had a good laugh when we realized that if we were to respect the indications of Feng Shui‘s proper shelf orientation, we would have to place them diagonally facing east and not against the wall. The customers would enter into a maze of shelves. I was picturing the door opening and one of our regulars walking in, frozen in shock at our new energy- channeling layout. We might as well make it into a candid camera event.
I decided to call her. I tore apart my apartment searching for her number. I had written it on the back of a receipt I had from the health food store. I finally found it in the back of my medicine cabinet under an empty bottle of aspirin. I vowed to clean my place and get organized before Geneva saw it, then I dialed her number, anxious about hearing her soft, low voice – it felt like an eternity had passed since we’d last spoken. The operator’s recorded voice came on instead and broke the tension. I’d completely forgotten that her phone had been disconnected. I had to see her.
Though I hadn’t yet visited her, I knew what street she lived on and she had described her building pretty well. She lived in a loft in an old factory down the hill from the store. I knew I wouldn’t have much trouble finding it so, without thinking, I hopped on my bike and sped down the hill. The sun was shining high in the midday sky and gusts of wind were pushing against me. It slowed me down considerably but it was for the best because it gave me the opportunity to really take in my surroundings, even though I was pedaling hard. I passed a majestic, blooming lilac tree and suddenly realized that I was going to see Geneva empty handed. I broke off some flowers, and stashed them in my inside pocket.
She’s a real sweet girl, I thought, really warm, thoughtful and spiritually conscious. I was sure I would find her as beautiful as ever, even on the occasion of this impromptu visit. She’s a goddess, a shining example of the wonders of the female angel – God’s greatest creation. I desperately wanted to see her nude, to lay beside her, to touch her. Maybe it would happen today. I tried not to think too much about it and just go with the flow. I saw a wisp of incense drifting out her 3rd floor window. I shook out my legs and rang her place. After a few moments, the door buzzed and I entered. There were only six lofts on three stories so Geneva’s wasn’t hard to find. The door was open with the head of her roommate peering out.
“Hello?” she half-asked.
“Hi, I’m looking for Geneva. My name is Vic.” I said.
“Hold on.” She closed the door. After about thirty seconds, I felt a twinge of uneasiness as if my presence at that moment was inopportune. She finally reappeared.
“Alright Vic. Come in.” She led me into their kitchen area, ”Have a seat. She’ll be out in a moment.”
She didn’t even tell me her name before she left through one of the three doors of the renovated loft. The kitchen was cluttered. Dirty dishes were strewn across the counter and piled up in the sink. The table was clear except for a paint-splattered mug next to an almost finished crossword puzzle from a week old newspaper. I could hear rushed footsteps and the sound of heavy objects rubbing against the wood floor as they were being moved about. Finally, Geneva emerged from her room, wiping her hands on her smock.
“What a surprise, Vic!” She sounded exasperated, “What’s up?”
“Well, I-I just umm… I really wanted to see you and I tried calling your old number.” I spouted out, ”I uhh- I brought you some flowers.” I was shocked by her appearance. She was wet with sweat and had dark ridges under her eyes. I handed her the flowers. She was standing, leaning on the back of her chair. She kept looking around her kitchen, avoiding my eyes.
“Thanks!” She exclaimed, touching my shoulder. She looked about her kitchen again, finally settling on a spot for the flowers on the windowsill.
”Listen Vic,” Geneva started, sounding slightly more grounded, ”I’m glad you came, really. I’m in the middle of a process and I’m kind of sick. Yeah I guess. Sick. It’s going to connect soon. I know it will. I’m coming close. I read about it and I’ve been there. I don’t know how to explain. You know what I mean, right? Inspiration straight from Great Spirit itself. Pure Inspiration. Inspiration. It’s just, I can’t, it’s like… Well, you understand me Vic? Right?”
“Yes Geneva, I do understand.” I responded. What she was going through seemed oddly familiar.
“I didn’t mean for you to see me like this. I don’t like to see anyone like this.” She looked away.
“Whatever it is Geneva, I want to go through it with you. I believe in you.”
“That really means a lot to me,” she said softly, “But I have to be alone now.”
She led me to the door.
“I’ll see you at the vernissage. If anything, I wrote my phone number on your crossword puzzle paper.” I explained.
She smiled and looked at me sweetly. Her eyes were glistening. She kissed me on the cheek and I walked out, sad to leave, but with the sly feeling that she had just found the connection she’d been talking about.
What a mysterious angel this one is.
Comments:
averagejoe66: John wayne was the best out of all those cowboy heros, too bad he died though.
SonofEbert: John wayne is boring. The horses are completely fake. Why would anyone watch that?
Spliffany: Yeah those movies are filled with outdated stereotypes. they should come with a warning label.
averagejoe66: Yeah some of those movies are outdated but they’re still classics. I really looked up to him, he was an example to me. I didn’t have too many people to look up to where I grew up.
jukeboxsuperhero: you should all get off jon waynes back. just leave the man alone ok
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