love

“They'll like me; I'm the butcher.”
As if we live in a village.
As if we live in a town that has a butcher, a blacksmith, a cobbler, a haberdasher, a baker.
I am the village barber.
I am the village poet.

Hugo Boss breezes into my kitchen, reeking of vermouth and cigarettes. He is tall, with a long neck, and he is skinny like an anorexic cheerleader. Hugo Bossanova is prettier than an anorexic cheerleader. His grin is goofy, like an animated frog, but he knows it, so he hides it. Try to make him laugh, it isn't that hard, and watch his thin lips curl up and his gaunt cheeks get sucked in by his guffaw. Let's go dancing.

Dolores Park. I moseyed on over this afternoon with a jug of ice water, a big towel, my book, and my iPod. Bikini clad. I found a spot that was half in the shade of an oldtimer tree, and half in the sweltering sunshine. It was on an incline, and I actually thought to myself, “you never lay on the hilly part of the park; let's try it today”. So I did. And I spread my towel out and I flopped on my brown belly, and with a sigh of contentment I opened my novel. Over the Swedish Rock band belting in my ears I heard the strum of an acoustic guitar.

Last week I officiated my sister's wedding. So awesome. Seriously. The thing is that growing up, I always just assumed I would be a bridesmaid standing next to my sister, dabbing my eyes carefully to avoid smearing mascara. Maybe I would say a few words, or read a fitting quote, but I envisioned everything from the sideline. I had zero thoughts of me standing front and center, facing the crowd. What a trip.

There are all kinds of dancers dancing at the club.
Notice them.
See the two girls in the middle, busting out moves from decades past;
it is impossible not to notice these two. That's the idea, I think.
The smiles enveloping their faces and the bounce in their hair is genuine.
They also genuinely want you to watch them be silly, be loud, be in your face.
But maybe not.
Maybe they just like the setlist and want to thank the dj in his language.

The thing is, there are still civil rights issues going on right now.
The thing is, pride and loyalty are no longer ingrained at day one.
The thing is, we are united by soil, by language, by schooling, even something as simple as sports, but we are not all united.
The thing is, there is still slavery.

Why don't you volunteer?
Why don't you pencil in an hour a week, an hour a month even, to volunteer?
I don't think it is because you don't care.
You care; I think highly of you, often look up to you, so I know you must care.
Part of you anyway.
Laziness. I think even you will admit that is part of it, though no-one actually wants to claim Lazy out loud, and certainly not while others are present. It takes research, and forethought, and EFFORT. Sometimes it seems so daunting. Too much work to exert all that effort.

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