Mnemonic Devices
The bartender at the Derby used my name every time he spoke to me tonight. Every time he checked in on me, took my drink order, or just said howdy. I figure it's a good way -- in that profession -- of both making sure you remember people indelibly and of coaxing them into a lavish tip. "He's said my name so many times, I guess we're friends now. And I wouldn't want any friend of mine to know how cheap I really am," they might be encouraged to think. Well, it worked, I suppose. I always tip mightily, but this time I think I redefined "gratuitous." Ironic epilogue to that story: I can't remember his name to save my life.
My friend Maya O'Migh was shaking her groove thing burlesque-style, and Josh and I went along to cheer for her and to be intoxicated. I took scads of pictures. So many that I actually drained my camera battery completely, which seldom happens. Afterwards, Maya and I enjoyed unhealthful fare at Swingers. She is exceptional and glorious in many ways. What a bonus. I only just met her recently, but I have pictures of her that I took at the very first Lucha Va Voom back in August of 2002. I should dig those up. It will be like a time capsule. And if you have a time capsule that doesn't have a volcano goddess in it, your time capsule is crap.
Getting to know someone is somehow like rounding a corner. You can always mark that point and think back to a time when you didn't know them, but that time is around the bend and at an angle so that you can't easily see it. It's easy enough to remember a day when you didn't know them but a much harder task to remember how not knowing them made you feel. I'm collecting meaningful friendships like Fisher-Price people that fit into the peg holes in the Fisher-Price school bus. They are all brightly-colored, and they all fit perfectly. And the more of them there are, the less the early boarders look like a busload of idiots à la that Far Side comic.