“It's not unusual it happens every day
No matter what you say
You find it happens all the time”
I’m a weird guy. Wait, let me be a tad more charitable to
myself, I’m an unusual person. I think I’ve
pretty much always been aware of this, potentially sad, fact and been basically
okay with it. This realization reoccurred to me last evening, as I scrolled
though the many and myriad videos I’ve contributed to a Facebook karaoke page,
and then pondered to myself - who does this, and what would my late father
think of this eccentric public display that I so willingly, gleefully and regularly participate in, and somewhat actually seem to need? Is this but a
woeful and piteous desperate cry for attention – and if so, why?
And I’m not even a singer, nor a performer of any kind. I couldn’t spin a plate, ventriloquize or
juggle bowling pins, if forced to at the point of a derringer. Needless to say, I also lack any particular
innate abilities or talents in the way of the crooner, serenader (Penny or
otherwise) or warbler, yet, the internet
is now forever chock a block with my mediocre to bad, but earnest, attempts at
song interpretation.
I’m also a heterosexual man, who, due to his
cultural interests, sartorial sensibilities and perhaps sensitive nature,
apparently ofttimes gets mistaken for someone more interested in those of his
own gender – or so I’ve been told. This
error in judgment, based on broad, outdated and ultimately ludicrous
stereotypes, neither irritates nor insults me, but certainly doesn’t assist, in
any positive manner, with the pursuit of meaningful and fulfilling amore.
However, all this being said, I’m in my 6th
decade of existence, don’t know how drastically I can change now, and honestly,
how much I wish to. My aberrancy, heretofore, has never struck me as a handicap. I live where I always wanted to live,
Manhattan (top that!) I had a very successful, fruitful, creative career –
heck, I worked with Liza Minnelli and shook hands with Muhammad Ali. Tim Allen
once wanted my truthful feedback on some new stand-up material he was trying
out. I conversed with Sting backstage and interviewed the entire classic
company of Toronto’s Second City. I’ve mingled with legends… and Tim Allen. My
history of travel could be considered a thing to envy, consisting of years of
interesting, glamorous, fascinating and exciting journeys, by land, air and
sea, throughout these once United States and in foreign lands across the globe.
My family loves me, or fake it fairly convincingly, and I believe I’ve fostered fondness and affection of friends, although geographical
and other circumstances frequently find me in the company of but myself and a
not particularly empathetic or felicitous feline.
Yet, here I am at 61, having not lived what it is considered
the more conventional, and likely, emotionally satisfying life – not a single
spouse or solitary scion to be had (although, truth be told, I’m perfectly fine
san-scion) and so, when lights are diminished and head rests on pillow, it
occurs in isolation. Now, be not mistaken, I have dated, had relationships and cheerfully
and with gusto frolicked upon the carousel of carnality (although, one can always
use more turns on that merry go round), but have found no permanence, no true, lasting
love. And, far too many times, unlike Nat King Cole’s “Nature Boy” have loved, but
not been loved in return. And that (yes, finally a point) is what I now feel
is the real and true drawback and curse of being a weird guy (pardon, unusual
person) – decent company, knowledgeable, well-educated, handy with a humorous quip,
an impressive wardrobe befitting any and all occasions, well-mannered and well-behaved,
financially generous when out with others - and I could continue shamelessly searching
for admirable qualities (who else will?), but time and experience have shown,
not the type to tumble one head over heels, the sort to inspire fire, not a leading man of Hollywood's heyday.
Well, this has taken a troubling turn, but fear not,
patient and indulgent reader, but for one element (albeit a vastly crucial and
meaningful one) mine has been a full, interesting, rewarding life, I have
been places and done things that many may dream of but never fulfill (now, you’re
doubting me - how many Broadway and West End opening nights, regular Paris and London
excursions, and ocean voyages are in your high school reunion bios? How many of you have had your work on television and stage? Yeah, that's what I thought! And don’t
make me bring up Liza and Ali again!) and should the seemingly ceaseless
scourge of covid-19 ever abate, life will once more be pursued, full (or perhaps, demi) bore.
A final thought - where there is life, where there is breath, where there is desire and testosterone enhancing supplements. I guess there is still hope. Pickle ball playing ladies of Valencia Palms Restful Acres and Community, consider yourselves warned!
Should that conclusion not be a cheery enough note for you – Ladies and Gentleman, this is Tom Jones!!
Any comments, questions, criticisms, candid confessions, cash contributions? Contact me at butchersaprons@mail.com
