Magic Man

I was in my doctor’s office earlier today, getting a best-left-unmentioned-painful-but-not-life-threatening lady bit issue seen to. The waiting room, like most, was filled with magazines I’d never read in a zillion years—not even if it was the last rag on earth would I even begin to page through Golf Digest or Ladies’ Home Journal. Docs make big bucks, right?  Can’t they spare a shekel for an office subscription to Bitch, Esquire or Mother Jones? Ah but wait, buried under one the towering piles of ESPN I spied a Rolling Stone. Huzzah!!!

I’ve been deaf for seven or eight (I forget how long) years but I love this mag still. There’s fab, insightful political writing, gossipy crapola (about folks I’ve actually heard of versus in People. Kim Kardashian...who!?), book and of course, music reviews.

The wait today was on the long side so I tucked into an article about John Mayer. When he came out, he was THE hottest, new, next big thing. Everyone young and not so youth endowed raved about him. I know I heard a tune or two but it made absolutely zilcho impression on me. None. Cero. I can bring loads of tunes into my head even now but, meh, his didn’t stick.

Apparently there was some big foofaraw over his ‘dating’ habits. Seems he bed a zillion and one half starlets. Phffft—big deal. But MORE was expected of him ‘because he’s so sensitive!’  Again—phffft. He’s a big star just doing what big stars can.

In the Rolling Stone piece he lays claim to having ‘Weapons Grade Charm.’ Em dude, I only mention it but making that statement makes you not so damned charming. Or was that the plan? There’s always a plan.

Molto slick-dick boys always skeeved me right out. Even before my carny years their shtick always stuck me as just that—a con, a game, a scam. All to get girls to drop trou and, possibly, fall adoringly in luuurrrrv. And then follow said slick-dicker around like a love slave.

Hurl.

I’ve always been way more into the direct approach. The huge charade seemed silly, a tad insulting and postponed the main event—a space and time where charm never hurts. Unless you want it to.

And then I met a breathtakingly gorgeous guy who I’d totally pegged as smoothie. He was too. I figured ‘joke’s on him. I’m just looking for some fun and he’s cute. He’s wasting some prime grade horseshit on me.’

Then, and THEN, I got to know him—we became friends. I found, honest to Kali, depth under that titanium clad sweet talk. Yeah, some of that surface was him playing the Casanova but, just as much, was him expressing his core deep romanticism.

No clue what he saw in me—a challenge perhaps or a time out from the Enchantment Olympics? Or maybe he just enjoyed my company? Hmmmm, I guess that could maybe happen.

In any case, of course we didn’t last. The Charm Wizard moved out to San Francisco and I met The Amazing Bob. 

My world immediately proceeded to rotate 50,000 degrees and I fell harder than King Kong.  
Magic Man—Heart