3.26.2005
Kite Boy Hero
Saturday sun, summer returning. I haven't seen them but I've seen the skirts and the legs all this week - the city's undergraduates lined outside the tanning salon all weekend to put on a little preemptive glow.
I woke up early, and found text messages from the boy and umbrella. The boy and I rendezvoused for salty tapas breakfast and some misguided art. I practiced line quality with charcoal, watercolor pencils and a beta; the boy sanded and scraped and burned paper, window frames, lemon, red acrylic paint.
We met Umbrella at the tavern on Piedmont Park and after the first round - a half hearted effort to remain sober and solvent, we had cocktails - strawberry daquiri, mint julep, margharita. A one man playboy bunny parade slunk up to the outdoor patio, gave a god-loves-transvestites-on-easter sermon and danced with a baton. There were cheers and some hysterical conservative jeers.
We wandered the park, one of Olmsteads projects, which I hear covers 260 acres, a pool, a playground, courts, botanical garden, pond, gazebo, and dog walk. In my mind is divided in three. SE: frat boys with frizbees, khakis. SW: downtown, black families in white. NW: midtown, shirtless gay boys in expensive jeans. The groups mix into one another in the middle and its a freak show for all.
As we walked west we were attracted by the sight of petals flowing from the tree like background for a karate match. We watched over and saw it was caused by a cute gay boy trying to retrieve his kite. His friends were throwing a football at it, over and over, and he had crawled halfway up the trunk to shake the branches, dislodging petals and pollen.
We sat on the grass and watched, and when they gave up, the boy climbed up and retrieved the kite and recieved a beer from the cute gay boy for his efforts.
Saturday sun. Good weekend.
I woke up early, and found text messages from the boy and umbrella. The boy and I rendezvoused for salty tapas breakfast and some misguided art. I practiced line quality with charcoal, watercolor pencils and a beta; the boy sanded and scraped and burned paper, window frames, lemon, red acrylic paint.
We met Umbrella at the tavern on Piedmont Park and after the first round - a half hearted effort to remain sober and solvent, we had cocktails - strawberry daquiri, mint julep, margharita. A one man playboy bunny parade slunk up to the outdoor patio, gave a god-loves-transvestites-on-easter sermon and danced with a baton. There were cheers and some hysterical conservative jeers.
We wandered the park, one of Olmsteads projects, which I hear covers 260 acres, a pool, a playground, courts, botanical garden, pond, gazebo, and dog walk. In my mind is divided in three. SE: frat boys with frizbees, khakis. SW: downtown, black families in white. NW: midtown, shirtless gay boys in expensive jeans. The groups mix into one another in the middle and its a freak show for all.
As we walked west we were attracted by the sight of petals flowing from the tree like background for a karate match. We watched over and saw it was caused by a cute gay boy trying to retrieve his kite. His friends were throwing a football at it, over and over, and he had crawled halfway up the trunk to shake the branches, dislodging petals and pollen.
We sat on the grass and watched, and when they gave up, the boy climbed up and retrieved the kite and recieved a beer from the cute gay boy for his efforts.
Saturday sun. Good weekend.
