cleaning up

A close encounter from this past week.

'Sir, sir. Come here.' My friends had come to a stop briefly in front of a cosmetics shop on a corner in South Beach's Lincoln Mall. A small latina grabs my hand. I smile, Kam makes a little hoot, and I'm guided into a chair just inside the entrance.

She is beautiful, dark with jet black hair and what happens next is somewhere between that old dishwashing soap commercial with Madge ('It's ok, it's Palmolive'), a home visit from the Jehovah Witnesses and a lap dance. In retrospect, I realize this is an awesome metaphor for South Beach.

'Here.' She scoops out a tiny spoonful of what looks like salmon roe and puts it on my wrist. Then she gently rubs back and forth. Kam and his son look on, his son slightly dumbfounded that this is happening; Kam, my friend who loves Krishnamurti, Proust and cigars, just takes in the amazing funkiness of the universe. Rubbing complete, she  spritzes my arm and dries it with a towel. My arms are two different colors.

'See?'
I'm not sure whether she's critiquing my general cleanliness or there's some other point to be made. One arm is brown and one arm is almost white. The difference is noticeable.

'This exfoliator paste is very effective.' I'm now sure that she isn't critiquing my bathing and feel much better. 'It only takes a small amount. See?' I think, yes, that's true if one just wants to have a whiter forearm. Then she takes another container and puts a small dab of gel and the erotic rubbing commences again. Kam and his son have now seated themselves in chairs just across from me, both increasingly open to having this experience themselves. I wonder why she pulled me out of the stream of people in front of the shop. Does my greying hair make me a mark?

'Ok, now watch. Is this something that you normally use for moisturizing? I nod. She rubs some on both arms. The browner one is obviously greasy while my new white one absorbs the oil and feels nice. She channels her inner used car salesman.

'This exfoliator costs 179.00 and is a very good deal. It's a three month supply. That works out to only two dollars a day. You spend that on coffee, no?'

I nod. 'But I'm going to buy that coffee even if I exfoliate.' Kam snorts, but I don't think she understands what I mean.

'Now, if you take this cream and this facial massage product,' she slides the three together on the counter and I notice how well they are packaged, how beautiful she is and how her black dress clings enough to keep us all focused, 'I can include these also for that price.'

She picks up a bit too quickly on my unwillingness to commit. The equivalent is handing the books back to the Jehovah Witnesses after you've held them.

'But I can do a little better tonight.' She moves closer, making her statement seem ambiguous; are we still talking about the exfoliation crème? 'For all three, you can have them for 99 dollars.' She bats her eyes and holds me in her gaze. They must have a rigorous training program.

'Honestly, I can't see parting with 100 dollars for facial cremes tonight. I would really have to think about it and come back. What is your name? May, I really think you did a wonderful job selling and explaining your products.' She attempts one more breakdown of costs, competing products and overall benefits, standing well inside my privacy zone. When she finished, I had the distinct impression that I would actually be making money by purchasing her products and would also have a more vibrant sex life as well.

I stand up. 'Thank you so much, May. I will come back to you if I decide I need your products.' She smiles and we return to the milieu of the outdoor mall. Now we're looking for the son of David Gilmour, who may or may not be playing jazz guitar at the Van Dyke.

dialogues

I have several friends who are using dating services to locate possible partners; I'm still trying to figure out how using a computer to find love works.

........

 

Three men are sitting under the partial cover of an umbrella. Palm trees line the beach in front of them and crowds of beautiful, vagrant, transvestite, European, Midwestern, Jewish, Muslim, white, black, brown, augmented and natural people walk! by. The men are sipping drinks and two of them are intently scanning the passing of humanity.

 

Mario: I just want to find a woman that I can love and have a family with.

Gene: That’s great! Are you seeing anyone now?

M: I was seeing a woman for the last six years, but we ended it in July. We were fighting all of the time and when she suggested that we break up, I let it happen.

Christopher: I’m sorry to hear that, Mario.

M: I still love her but we spent so much time after the first year caught up in school that we couldn’t go back to how it was.

G: So are you dating?

M: I want to but I want to commit and I can’t commit when I don’t know the person.

G: Commit to the dating?

M: Yeah, I just need to find someone so that I can have a family. I’m 42 you know.

G: Dude, you don’t commit to someone when you’re just dating. How do you know if they’re what you’re looking for? You need to have specific things you’re looking for and, you know, watch out for red flags.

C: What red flags do you look for, Gene?

Gene’s been looking at his cell phone and texting so Chris repeats himself.

G: What? Oh, well, there’s some things that are just absolute deal killers with the whole dating thing. Probably five or so.

M: Ok, what’s the first one?

G: Dude, the chick’s got to have friends.

Mario scratches his head and looks puzzled.

G: If she doesn't have close, long term friends, she doesn’t know how to maintain relationships.

M: I gave up all of my friends for her.

G: Male and female?

M: Yes, I wanted to commit to her. Besides, I’m a one woman guy.

G: And look where you are now. The friend network comes with the relationship and it tells you a lot about the person you’re dating. If she has no friends and doesn’t want you to have any, I’d give you a 99.9 percent chance of not making it.

Everyone sips their drinks, a frozen marguerita with salt, a mango mojito and a pomegranate mojito. While Gene and Mario talk, their eyes continue scanning the crowds.

C: Ok, what is another red flag? I figure you should have about five of them for your book on electronic dating. Five would work better for the promotional workshops you’d be doing.

G: Ha! Here’s another important red flag: watch out when they mention jealousy in their description. If someone want to avoid jealous lovers it’s almost a guarantee that they are jealous as hell themselves. That, my friends, is a deal killer. Jealousy kills all of the other things in a relationship.

M: But why shouldn’t I be jealous of her friends?

G: Dude, you can’t possess her! And you want her to have healthy relationships with other people, men and women. Think about it; you want your relationship to be healthy and positive not focused on imaginary bullshit.

Gene’s eyes latch onto a Peruvian woman with breast peaking out from the sides of a backless sheer white shirt. Mario follows suit and Christopher embarrassedly looks at the ground, the sky anywhere but the Peruvian.

G: You need to have a list of qualities that you want in the other person and then prioritize them.

C: Like a shopping list?

G: I suppose, you need a list and then cross out the women that don’t fit.

C: I’m not buying it. How do I know what qualities I’m looking for in a lover?

G: Well, I suppose you’d want someone that could listen to you, right? Someone that was awesome in the sack? Smart, beautiful…

C: I think it’s too mathematical, Gene. Too purposeful. And I’m sure there are some qualities that we need that we don’t know about in advance.

 

They all think about this for a bit. Gene taps away on his phone.

 

C: Isn't there something called 'love at first sight'?

M: Sure.

G: Yes, I haven't experienced it but it happens. But it must be just a purely physical attraction.

C: Really? Why do you think so?

G: Because it's only what you see that attracts you. You haven't heard her say a word; you don't know what she's thinking or interested in or how she is in bed. Nothing, just how she looks.

M: Yeah, Gene's right. Purely physical attraction.

C: Ok, are you both in love with that Peruvian woman that just walked by? The one with the large, unnatural breasts and perfect skin, long hair and beautiful eyes?

G: Um, she's hot but I wouldn't say I was in love.

C: Why not? Are there any physical attributes missing that you are looking for?

M: No.

C: Would you like her to have some gray hairs, wrinkles or a wart on her foot or something like that?

G: No, no she was a perfect 10.

C: But you're not in love with her. So there must be something else, something that isn't physical, perhaps something that can't be seen.

G: Yes, but that doesn't make any sense.

 

On the boardwalk, another woman walks by in stiletto heals and a sheer blue silk dress. Gene and Mario don't seem to notice. She casts a side long glance, frowns and continues walking.

 

C: So love at first sight exists, but it isn't completely based on how someone looks, or what they're interested in, what their voice sounds like, or how they behave in bed. But we agree you must see the other person, correct?

M: Yes, the sight part is important.

C: Wouldn't you agree that the experience is a kind of recognition, like when you first see someone you know again? Or even a kind of remembering, like deja vu?

G: Yes, that fits with what I've heard about it.

C: What is doing the recognizing?

G: The brain.

C: Really? Is the brain actually remembering something that it has seen before?

G: No, that doesn't make sense.

C: So it's something else then. Look at your hand; what is seeing it?

M: My eyes. (laughing)

C: So your eyes and your hand are different, right? If you see something, you and that something are two different things. Here it's your eyes and your hand. And not only that, it's 'your' hand.

G: Ok, that makes sense.

C: Are you thinking right now. Do you notice yourself thinking about love?

M: Yes.

C: If the thinking is happening in 'your' brain, what is doing the noticing?

G: Something like the soul or spirit maybe.

C: So this 'soul' exists independently of the brain, perceives things that aren't physical and is somehow involved in love.

G: Yes, that's right.

C: So love at first sight and perhaps love itself is a recognition by a soul or spirit, perhaps even a recognition of someone else's soul or spirit. How does your dating service account for that?

G: Chris, you are such a romantic.
C: I suppose so.

 

 



flats

'It smells like urine.'

Changing a tube, in the rain, just past our turn onto NE 2nd Street in downtown Miami. We are on our way to Brickell and loop through Coconut Grove when a small piece of glass (the remnants of someone's windshield from an accident years ago? or a shard from a bum's smashed bottle of Mad Dog 20/20?), lubricated by the warm rain, sliced through the Vittoria Pave's layers of rubber and cords.

'Yep, smells like quite a few people took a piss here.'

The wind shifted and the combination of getting wet again under the overhang and the image of previous tenants relieving themselves where I was sprawled, thumbs probing for the glass lodged in my tire, got me working a bit faster.

Before the flat, we had warmed up by crossing the Venetian Way between South Beach and the downtown. Riding in the moist air, temps around seventy five, sky gray, the wind behind our backs leaving us riding in a vacuum, I thought this must be what a sensory deprivation tank feels like. Warm, pleasant, womb-like. Our stop to fix the flat brought me back to the world.

Flat fixed, my friend and I roll south and promptly take a 'wrong' turn. 'Go straight' at the turn to Key Biscayne, we were told and we jumped on the bike path under the metro line. This, it turns out, does not go straight, but rather zigs and zags its way along Highway 1 until it peters completely out at Coconut Grove. Later, as I relayed our route to my local friend, he rolls his eyes. Instead of rolling past million dollar homes and the Vizcaya Museum and Gardens, we were exploring one of the concentrated ghettos ringing Miami's downtown. 'Coconut Grove is the oldest modern continuously-inhabited neighborhood of Miami' says Wikipedia and we grip the handlebars a tad tighter as we look for Grand Avenue and the grand tree-lined streets of Bayshore Drive.

The dilapidated storefronts remind Gene and I of the time we spend working in the 'core' of Milwaukee's ghetto at King's Cyclery on 23rd and Fond du Lac. I'd found the job on the bulletin board across from the counselling center. 'Wanted: bicycle mechanic. Must be 16. Will train. Contact Jim King.' A week later I announced at supper that I'd gotten a job. Terrific, my dad said, always proud of his son's dedication to finding employment. Where is it? Both mom and dad went a shade pale when I told them, but to their credit, neither tried to dissuade me.

One of the other fellows that saw that ad on the board was Steven and he came to mind as Gene and I rounded onto Grand Avenue heading north.
'Remember the lead pipe he painted orange and carried with him on the bike?'
I don't think he ever had to use it, but Steven didn't last long at the shop. I would spend the next nine years working there.

There is a crossroads of sorts, the road splits into a fork and there are tourists wandering the sidewalks now. This represents safety, I suppose, no more thoughts of orange lead pipes. Ridiculous mansions sprout on the left of the road and the pavement is suddenly smooth. We glide back to the north.