Me and Lenny
Leonard Nimoy, years ago, wrote a book of poetry entitled "I am a romantic."
I remember him on one of the Merv, Mike or Johnny shows reading from the book, staring straight into the camera, trying to be taken seriously.
Poor guy had the whole Spock thing to live down. I am luckier in a sense. I have the whole hardass curmudgeon thing to live down. The advantage is that I'm not nationwide.
The next place I drop myself into will be able to see the real me from the get go. No previous reputation to live down.
Yes, me. Not only romantic. Not only hopeless romantic. Irredeemable romantic who thinks perfume on a pillow is a great thing and who's fear is living the rest of his life with plain-smelling pillows.
Me, who is not yet out of the shadow of fifteen years of marriage but is locked onto somebody else already and, for a lot of reasons, this is neither a rebound nor a passing fancy. This, I am sorry to say, is the real McCoy, all over again.
Me, who, had we been able to share some of those special moments-think making love by the full moon- would still be married to you. But sorry, I like to celebrate the meaningless moments. They may be all we get.
Me, who just shot a reply email to a woman who emailed me at 11.40 pm. The seduction continues. I guess I like the bleary eyed, day's growth of beard, loser image. It may not lead to perfect happiness, but to thine own's self, be true.
Me, who tells a friend to bedeck herself in cashmere. Who knows what tomorrow will bring?
Sorry Leonard. Liked your book. Think you're a pretty good actor. But when it comes to romantic, take a look at your six o'clock. That would be me with a full radar lock.
I remember him on one of the Merv, Mike or Johnny shows reading from the book, staring straight into the camera, trying to be taken seriously.
Poor guy had the whole Spock thing to live down. I am luckier in a sense. I have the whole hardass curmudgeon thing to live down. The advantage is that I'm not nationwide.
The next place I drop myself into will be able to see the real me from the get go. No previous reputation to live down.
Yes, me. Not only romantic. Not only hopeless romantic. Irredeemable romantic who thinks perfume on a pillow is a great thing and who's fear is living the rest of his life with plain-smelling pillows.
Me, who is not yet out of the shadow of fifteen years of marriage but is locked onto somebody else already and, for a lot of reasons, this is neither a rebound nor a passing fancy. This, I am sorry to say, is the real McCoy, all over again.
Me, who, had we been able to share some of those special moments-think making love by the full moon- would still be married to you. But sorry, I like to celebrate the meaningless moments. They may be all we get.
Me, who just shot a reply email to a woman who emailed me at 11.40 pm. The seduction continues. I guess I like the bleary eyed, day's growth of beard, loser image. It may not lead to perfect happiness, but to thine own's self, be true.
Me, who tells a friend to bedeck herself in cashmere. Who knows what tomorrow will bring?
Sorry Leonard. Liked your book. Think you're a pretty good actor. But when it comes to romantic, take a look at your six o'clock. That would be me with a full radar lock.
posted by The Caustic Bunny at 11:20 PM
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