that goeth up by the desert, as a pillar of smoke of aromatical spices, of myrrh, and frankincense, and of all the powders of the perfumer

I headed back out to Fire Island last Thursday night, but my destination was the Pines instead of Cherry Grove, since I still hadn't recovered from the sight of all of those quaintly named cottages, as well as the trauma of the ferry ride back to Sayville during which an older Cherry Grovian refused to move his bag full of kittens off of a seat, despite extreme overcrowding and rainy weather.  I feel like no one in Fire Island Pines would be cruel in such a blunt manner.  Also, an older man in Fire Island Pines would be embarrassed to be using a seat for a bag full of kittens.  I was planning on avoiding Cherry Grove for the entire weekend, with the exception of an event for fashionable body-hair fetishists to be held there on Saturday night.  I wasn't going to go to church again, since it would be held in Cherry Grove in accordance with an alternating location schedule, but it didn't matter because it was the Feast of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary that weekend, and her supposed ascent into heaven was being celebrated with a massive dance party on the beach on Sunday (as it is permitted to move certain feasts to the following Sunday).  The party organizers had mistakenly named the event the "Ascension", which of course refers to Jesus, but they were probably Jews or Mennonites or something and got confused.

I sat across from a beautiful man on the Long Island Rail Road trip out to Sayville.  If it is true that we find beautiful the sight of those qualities in which we are personally deficient, then it was no mystery why I thought this man was beautiful.  He had a full head of dark hair, at the perfect length.  He had blemish-less Mediterranean skin.  He had just the right amount of muscle to look hunky, and just the right amount of fat to look as if he had evaded Coco Chanel's dictum about choosing entre son derrière et son visage, despite appearing to be over 30.  He was wearing a fashionable but acceptably loose tank top and shorts, which I forgave since our train was taking us to the beach resorts of Long Island and not Istanbul via Venice or Vienna.  He also had on a stylish watch and trendy sneakers.  The most striking thing about him was that he was carrying only a small, futuristic backpack for luggage.  It didn't even look overstuffed.

In reverse order: I am unable to go to work without carrying two large bags, one containing several outfits for the gym (often without socks, though), shoes, half-filled bottles of old prescriptions (in case of emergency), reusable canvas sacks for grocery shopping, and umbrellas, the other containing books (all of the books I used in my Arabic class, plus one or two that I am currently reading for fun -- like Decisive Moments in History by Stefan Zweig, a book Faruq commanded me to read), two (now, broken) cameras, more prescription drugs, hand sanitizer, a bottle of sweetened iced tea, and sometimes also my laptop computer with some DVDs.  This is just to go to work, not for a weekend vacation trip.  Also, I live 10 minutes on foot from my job.  I have few fashionable clothes and do not own a watch; some describe my style as "dowdy bag lady".  Usually my clothes have stains on them from lunch, since our office caterers love beets and marinara sauce.  Also: I chose my face. And I am balding but have copious amounts of nose and ear hair, which often startle and delight friends and passersby.   This is why I loved the man sitting across from me on the train to Sayville.

I never spoke to him, since it was a love I thought best remain unrequited.  Especially since he seemed like a real ass.

I was nervous because I was on the last train connecting to the last ferry, and of course the last train was late, because I don't live in Japan or Switzerland or Germany.  But it turns out they hold those last ferries for quite a while.  I still insisted on sitting up top, even though it had just rained, and I had to brush the rainwater off the seat with my hand.  I think I saw a non-heterosexual wipe off a seat with a tissue and then throw it into the bay, but I prayed that my eyes had played a trick on me and did not react.  Also, tissue degrades pretty quickly in ocean water, so maybe it was only a venial sin.

I have loved my house this year, mostly because I've had such bad experiences in the past.  Of course, it's also a nice house, filled with nice people.  It's not in the best location, situated by the bay in the malarial lowlands near the Great Swale.  Concern about this location was not helped by posted signs announcing the discovery of the West Nile virus in the immediate area.  My brain was already too occupied thinking about the Lyme-disease-bearing ticks crawling around all those filthy deer.

After a rainy night in an empty house, I had a productive Friday, going for a run, working on my Arabic take-home test (although it took me several hours to realize that a word I couldn't figure out was actually the name of one of the prophet Muhammad's daughters, فاطمة الزهراء; this was not fair, nor was the fact that our teacher added a surprise listening-comprehension portion to our take-home test in the last 15 minutes of our last class, but life is always unfair, I've learned), and watching a Georgian movie in which the characters kept switching back and forth between Georgian, Russian, and French.  Even though Georgian and Russian sound nothing alike, as I don't speak either, I got annoyed trying to tell which was which.  It was a sweet movie, though, even though no reason was given for the fact that they kept speaking French amongst themselves, other than that they "loved France".  It was a French-made film, so they probably had to meet some Francophone quota to get funding.  Anyway, this film is probably as close as I'm going to get to Georgia in a long time, which is sad, because it seems really weird there.

Saturday was devoted to drinking and paying visits to others.  It was very enjoyable, but it led to the Great After-Dinner Oversleep of 2008, for which I may never be forgiven.  I have to lay low for a while.

Sunday was the big Assumption party.  (I did not have a camera, as my last camera broke in a sand-related accident during my visit to Cherry Grove, so the photos below were taken by my college friend Paul, with whom I was not friends in college, because I was a real weirdo who was nicknamed "Mr. Morose" by onlookers, and he was relatively cool and normal.  Also, he has no body fat, even now.) 

Looking out at the hundreds of shirtless men dancing under a cloudless blue sky, I couldn't help but think of the Magnificat:

My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant. Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed; for the Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is his name. His mercy is for those who fear him from generation to generation. He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty. He has helped his servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy, according to the promise he made to our ancestors, to Abraham and to his descendants forever.

I'm sure I wasn't the only one!

In any case, it was a fun time, even when I accidentally tried to use the Very Important Person restrooms by mistake, and an eager volunteer with authoritarian tendencies chased me down and forced me to go to the much shorter Not Important Person restroom line.  Fine!

Also, because of connections I apparently had but didn't know about, I was allowed to have a drink at the cabana sponsored by a weekly non-heterosexual publication.  This was nice, although towards the end of the party I was served a drink in a cup taken out of the trash.  I was hoping that the high alcohol content would reduce my hepatitis risk.

Throughout the event, I looked relaxed and carefree, as always, even though I was feeling somewhat sad about now having a middle-aged body, with the inevitable creasing and puckering.  But life is always unfair, so it's fine.

I met a very nice young kid named Adam, and then I kept saying "Young Adam, Young Adam" over and over in my head.  I imagined that this probably required a psychiatric consultation, at some point.  I made a note to myself.

An Italian acquaintance caused me to reflect on the principles of classical architecture and a quote attributed to the Roman architect and engineer Vitruvius: Building well has three conditions: firmness, commodity, and delight.

Also at the party was a couple I met earlier in the weekend who seemed just about perfect.  They were nice.  They were funny.  They were smart.  And they were gorgeous.

I felt like a piece of rotting garbage next to them.

But I didn't get to know them especially well, so they may be awful people.  Who knows?  I will do some research.

Anyway, it was a great Assumption, although I couldn't help but feel a bit of melancholy, what with the summer, and my youth, being just about over.  Although I guess my youth was over a while ago, but I'm still reflecting on it, since official middle age is right around the corner.  And even Ricky Martin now has children.

Spring is green, summer's rose, it is sad when summer goes.

Comments

[Jérôme]

it is sad when summer goes... but autumn is full of coulours and promises.

[R J Keefe]

Plural umbrellas is the fantastic, quintessentially "dowdy bag lady" touch. When you've found your look, go for it!

[stan]

Since you are staying in the malarial/West Nile Virus lowlands adjoining the Great Swale, going to church in the Grove is as easy as falling out of bed -- or being pushed out by someone else. If you are out for Labor Day (ora et labora), you should try to get to the service in the Grove. Fr. Lewis is a peach, and since you will have come from the Pines, you will get invited to stay and have whiskey sours with the Hesters, an experience which I am sure you will delight in translating into arabic for your classmates.

[TED]

That couple was probably rich, too.

[Reg]

And speak eight languages apiece.

[Hyde]

Fabulous, as always.

But you know you can be a perfectly acceptable urban homosexual without having to go to circuit parties, right?

[Jud-san]

what SPF do you use?

[Boomer]

Best looking pile of rotting garbage I have seen in a while. All your suffering at your hoity toity, top-drawer fag gym is really paying off.

[KnuckleCrack]

With your flow-at-ease intelligent writing and your craft for subtle snark how could you feel as though you are rotting garbage?

Ah- things to prepare myself for in the future.

I've always noticed you. For men your age are prime. Remember, there's no such thing as old, just older.