10-16-2016, 02:10 AM
The Triumph of Narcissus and Aphrodite
Am I cool or an asshole? Check this: I'm at this artsy-fartsy faculty party wearing a mauve turtleneck, white blazer, granny glasses and a tooled-silver peace symbol on a leather thong around my neck. Perfect for this crowd, right? I figure I'll test it out. So I lay some heavy eyes on this knockout blonde, about five eight with legs up to here, and when she giggles and whispers in her girlfriend's ear, I read green and move on her, tearing a can from my six-pack. "So," I begin, popping the top, "What do you think of the new Pei student center?" The beer foams up over the edge of the can; I suck it swiftly, but not before some dribbles onto my jacket. She titters, brushing a Veronica Lake curl from her face. "O I thought it was totally awesome" -- a bimbo for sure, I think, with pretensions -- "Form following function but with a dramatic sweep one ordinarily finds in the work of architects intending merely to outrage the sensibilities. And," she adds, "without the stark serenity of Aalto's last works, y'know? Like the Nordic Ski Center he did for the Sibelius house." She tugs at her mini, I pull a lapel aside to show her my gut, flat and rock-hard from five workouts a week. She's got a foot-wide smile, best caps I've ever seen, skin flawless even in the glare of the floodlights. It's clear she's a cute little smartass who loves repartee, so I give her some: "Bet you don't remember Ted Williams' last game!" I go to straighten up gain an inch look even more imposing, but my back has gotten stiff. It's these new shoes, I think. And the hostess must've dimmed the lights. That's cool: more romantic. Still, she doesn't look as clear-skinned now and her smile's lost maybe a little luster. "O I don't?" she comes back, a slight tremor and something savage in her voice.
"He went four-for-four with a three-hundred-and-fifty-foot homer his last at-bat ever!" She wipes a fleck of spit from her mouth. "And I saw every Ginger Rodgers-Fred Astaire movie ever made. Stood in line the night they opened. Got the ticket stubs from each one." Her neck's thrust out at me and I could swear she's got a wattle. She's trembling with rage, but you know how cool I am? Even with the sudden ache in my hands and the stiffness in my neck I manage to taunt her with something I think will stop her cold: "I useta party with Dante!" Is it getting darker? And somebody turned off the heat. Her girlfriend's gone and all the other guests, too. There's just a guy sweeping up who stops and leers at us. It pisses me off some, but I lean forward to hear her cause there's this buzz in my ears like a hive of bees, and I realize she's been yapping at me all the while. "Phaeton!" she screams, "When he drove Apollo's chariot across the sky and fell to earth in flames. I was THERE!" Her teeth are yellow and crooked, she's leaning on a stick, her clothes are rags. Now she's just an ectoplasmic outline, a gray halo in the cold dark. (Do I need a new prescription?) The walls are covered with moss. Water drops down onto the rock floor. I'm bent almost double, I can't see her at all, and all I hear is someone laughing. I stare at my shivering hand. There's my pinky ring. I'm still cool.
~William Kulik
Am I cool or an asshole? Check this: I'm at this artsy-fartsy faculty party wearing a mauve turtleneck, white blazer, granny glasses and a tooled-silver peace symbol on a leather thong around my neck. Perfect for this crowd, right? I figure I'll test it out. So I lay some heavy eyes on this knockout blonde, about five eight with legs up to here, and when she giggles and whispers in her girlfriend's ear, I read green and move on her, tearing a can from my six-pack. "So," I begin, popping the top, "What do you think of the new Pei student center?" The beer foams up over the edge of the can; I suck it swiftly, but not before some dribbles onto my jacket. She titters, brushing a Veronica Lake curl from her face. "O I thought it was totally awesome" -- a bimbo for sure, I think, with pretensions -- "Form following function but with a dramatic sweep one ordinarily finds in the work of architects intending merely to outrage the sensibilities. And," she adds, "without the stark serenity of Aalto's last works, y'know? Like the Nordic Ski Center he did for the Sibelius house." She tugs at her mini, I pull a lapel aside to show her my gut, flat and rock-hard from five workouts a week. She's got a foot-wide smile, best caps I've ever seen, skin flawless even in the glare of the floodlights. It's clear she's a cute little smartass who loves repartee, so I give her some: "Bet you don't remember Ted Williams' last game!" I go to straighten up gain an inch look even more imposing, but my back has gotten stiff. It's these new shoes, I think. And the hostess must've dimmed the lights. That's cool: more romantic. Still, she doesn't look as clear-skinned now and her smile's lost maybe a little luster. "O I don't?" she comes back, a slight tremor and something savage in her voice.
"He went four-for-four with a three-hundred-and-fifty-foot homer his last at-bat ever!" She wipes a fleck of spit from her mouth. "And I saw every Ginger Rodgers-Fred Astaire movie ever made. Stood in line the night they opened. Got the ticket stubs from each one." Her neck's thrust out at me and I could swear she's got a wattle. She's trembling with rage, but you know how cool I am? Even with the sudden ache in my hands and the stiffness in my neck I manage to taunt her with something I think will stop her cold: "I useta party with Dante!" Is it getting darker? And somebody turned off the heat. Her girlfriend's gone and all the other guests, too. There's just a guy sweeping up who stops and leers at us. It pisses me off some, but I lean forward to hear her cause there's this buzz in my ears like a hive of bees, and I realize she's been yapping at me all the while. "Phaeton!" she screams, "When he drove Apollo's chariot across the sky and fell to earth in flames. I was THERE!" Her teeth are yellow and crooked, she's leaning on a stick, her clothes are rags. Now she's just an ectoplasmic outline, a gray halo in the cold dark. (Do I need a new prescription?) The walls are covered with moss. Water drops down onto the rock floor. I'm bent almost double, I can't see her at all, and all I hear is someone laughing. I stare at my shivering hand. There's my pinky ring. I'm still cool.
~William Kulik
Meep meep.