Michael

Well, I’m back at the old bump and grind. I apologize for the delay in today’s missive. I was delayed by some youth group that came in for passport photos. They were completely unprepared. They came with no props, no ideas for tableaus. I took forever to get that sorted out.

At any rate, earlier my friend Michael popped by my modest quarters for a visit. I had barely started to tell him all about my night of questionable parlor games at Mona & Sam’s last night (yes, that Mona & Sam) when he launched into his tale of woe.

At first, all I heard was: girlfriend blah blah blah and so naturally I laid back and started to think of England. I attempted to distract him to change the subject, but this time no amount of salsa dancing would put him off, so we stopped.

And then I remembered that I was about three months past my one year rule. That is, one should not pay attention to the details of anyone’s relationships until after it has lasted one year – especially your own. Once I tuned back in, it turned out that there was some hurt feelings between Michael and Sara, (Clara? - some ‘ara’ name), something about the relationship and its direction and a disagreement over wanting one – a direction that is.

The whole affair brought to mind the time I was traveling in Thailand. I was waiting on the roadside, in no way doing anything illegal, waiting for Destiny to arrive, who, as you know, is chronically late. As Chance would have it, it arrived in the form of a young American named Howie in a rented Datsun who needed directions.

I scarcely knew what country I was in, which in itself is quite a long story, so naturally I offered to ride with him and show him the way, or a way at any rate. Before I knew it, I had become something like the first in-car navigation system. Of course prototypes never do work well, and neither of us got to where we wanted to go, in the end.

Suddenly it started to rain, like water from the sky. Fortunately we were near a local copy shop in which I had taken refuge in the rear. I suggested to my friend that he do the same. We sat, talked, drank and ate cheese from a plate on the floor. Like I always say, Toutes bonnes choses viennent du plancher.

And I came to understand one of life’s great lessons, its not the journey that matters, but the destination. So, I propositioned him. And in the way of Fate, I passed out just before I could receive the answer. Too bad, I really thought my proposal for opening a copy shop in Secaucus was a good idea. I found out later, much later, that he had misunderstood me and instead opened a coffee shop in Seattle, called Star-something or another. Good luck with that.

Anyway, returning to Michael, I reminded him of my hard and fast rule when it came to disagreements in intimate relationships, the rule of three. Never settle a fight until you’ve had it at least three times. You’re going to have it three times anyway. So why waste a perfectly solution on the first go?

But what is the solution?, he asked breathlessly. So we stopped salsa dancing, again, and sat down.
So, I said, she wants a direction and you’re not sure.
The other way around.
Yes, of course. Tell me, do you love her?
What do you mean?
Do you love her?
Yes, with all my heart.
It was starting to get kinda deep, if you know what I mean, so I had to wrap this up.
Then go to her, that’s all the direction you need!

And so he did. I didn’t quite believe it, but…he did. Go figure.

I don’t think I gave any better directions to Michael and Tara? (Lara?) than to I did to young Howie, but I had sent them on their way anyway.

And now I must be on my way. Someone just walked in with a flyer to print for some charity event or another, and, can you believe it, there was not a word in it about the selection of cheeses on their buffet.

Au nom des fromages abaissés. A-men.