Wednesday, October 18, 2006

My friend Mark just visited. We shared a house with 30 people a couple years ago. He's an artist and a good guy. When a bunch of crack heads (literally) who we had welcomed into our house turned cracky on us and stole all my stuff including computer, cds and tool box he told me material possessions didn't really matter and then gave me a tool box he had found and painted. The box turned out to be one of the most important things I own, it houses all my jewels, bike tools, hair clips and halloween supplies (green lipstick etc).

Mark is what I like to call a working artist; he works at a job and he makes art. He is one of the few people I know who has some sort of amazing art eye and ability to make things with their hands that you never thought were possible. While I lived with him he would make art out of trash, turning old exit signs into mounted pieces that turned his room into what I imagine a tiny mod-British-milkbar would look like in the 60's.

He has the keen style eye. Prove it you say. Eight months ago while we were walking along some dirty sidewalk he told me that shirts were going to get baggier. "People are tired of tiny midrifts and navel cut shirts, the next thing is for t-shirts to hit below your hip." I didn't really believe him at the time, but I challenge anyone to walk into a Gap or Rainbow right now and find a shirt that doesn't let its hem brush the middle of your bikini briefs.

Speaking of turning trash into treasure, he always seems to find clothes that look good on me. I can't pick out clothes for my own body, let alone someone else's without it turning into an insult. Some of the finest things I own Mark has found for me. How is he able to find clothes that fit me so well?

This visit he gave me a pair of jeans. They fit me the way a sheath fits a sword; they are the ugliest bright blue I have ever seen; the fly is about 10 inches long which means it rises above my belly button. But, god damn it! I look good in them. I trust him more than I trust myself.

I have the same kind of relationship with Isaac, my hair cutter. He seems to know me better than I know myself, so I just let him do whatever he wants with my hair and I end up looking better than if it had been left up to me. Who are these blessed men and from where do they get their strength? I don't think they're gay so it is really mysterious.


Post a Comment

<< Home