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Under the Burden


Every once in a while all I want is for people to know what I know. I want for friends who agree that the Philip Stark chairs at Pinkberry are ridiculous without having to explain who he is exactly.

Really I just want friends who know what I'm talking about all of the time regardless of how obscure I'm being.

I realize this is unrealistic.

My friend and I were waiting outside of the taco stand that Julia Childs made famous last summer and this woman started chatting with us. We were talking about the best taco places in LA and about how great her daughter was. She was forty-ish and super stylish; tattoos, hip haircut, Toms shoes, and the coolest ring. It was like a small gold crown that turned out to be her wedding band. Her husband had made them. After telling me about it she smiled ruefully and commented that her husband had designed the rings before Todd Oldham had made them popular and I knew exactly what she meant.

I do love my friends for who they are, and if I really wanted friends who knew what I was talking about most of the time I would not feel as cool as I do. And I know there is an infinite gulf between one person and another. And that this chasm cannot be crossed by simply talking about stuff and things.

Yet there are still days where I want a friend who speaks every permutation of my private language, who can track with my ramblings about webcomics and books and music and humor. and after tracking just go, "I know, right?"

Oh well.

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