Yeah

He had oval wire-rimmed glasses and a trim Vandyke that made him seem both intellectual and sexy, as if he attended museum lectures and yet knew how to dance.

— Jesse Green, The Velveteen Father

Yesterday was an incredible day. We government employees had the day off for Good Friday. Earlier in the week, when the sun was shining and spring had finally sprung, I’d decided that if the weather were like that on Friday then I’d go to Central Park. Alas, the weather report said showers, but then later in the week they changed it to an early morning sprinkle followed by partly sunny weather.

Yesterday morning it was cloudy and dreary and I did laundry. But it was warm out, so after my clothes were clean I decided it was decent enough to go to Central Park.

When I left my apartment around 1 in the afternoon, it was still cloudy except for a few patches of blue sky. I went to the PATH station and then switched at the World Trade Center to the subway. When I emerged from its neutral depths, at 81st Street and Central Park West, I was hit by the blazing sun. The sky was deep blue! Not a single cloud! It was warm! I smiled. I crossed the street to Central Park and walked through the park and I was still smiling. I must have looked like Mary Tyler Moore or something. I was so happy. Ecstatic even.

I found a grassy area, relaxed, did some writing about the surroundings and the sights; excerpts are in my previous entry. Had a wonderful, wonderful afternoon. It just felt so natural to be sitting out there in the sun. This is what humans are supposed to do. How the heck did we get through the winter? It just feels so normal, so right to be in the sun on a temperate day. Our species evolved on this planet, of course, we matured under the sun, we absorb the sun’s energy like plants do, don’t we? The sun is our friend. The sun is our partner. The sun is our fuckbuddy. Love the sun.

And the weather was perfect. I even got a little sunburned.

I thought about going to Beth Simchat Torah, the gay and lesbian synagogue, for Friday night Shabbat services, but instead I came home and figured I’d settle in for a boring night. But you know what’s fun? When you have absolutely no plans but you unexpectedly wind up having a great evening with a friend. My friend Nick had left a message, and I called him back, and we wound up going bar-hopping in the East Village. The East Village bars are my new playground, I think.

I ate dinner and showered and changed and met up with him, and we went to Wonderbar. I know, I always seem to mention Wonderbar, but that’s because it’s such a fun place. Small and crowded and filled with a diverse, good-looking, no-attitude, East Villagey crowd.

I was pumped. I felt so amazingly good about myself and the way I looked. My goatee is about a week and half old and it’s grown in nicely. On top of that I was wearing my glasses, oval and wire-rimmed frames. The coup de grace was a clingy black t-shirt, tucked into a pair of jeans. Before I left my apartment, I looked at myself in the mirror. Damn, I thought. I look good. I’d fuck me.

Nick had never been to Wonderbar, and he wound up having a great time, which made me feel good. He’s kinda quirky and ornery and doesn’t like most bars, but he liked this place. We both got drunk, we both got hit on. All in a night’s work.

At one point I was using the bathroom, and I looked at myself in the mirror and was shocked. Who is this guy with the tight black shirt and the goatee and glasses? Is that really me? Do I know this guy?

I didn’t feel like myself. I was moving through the crowd like I owned the place. I felt confident and sexy and attractive and just damn good about how I looked and who I was. The goatee is the x-factor in my life. It makes me feel more secure, like less of a sheltered kid, like less of a nerd, it gives me an air of mystery.

After three and a half hours at Wonderbar, Nick and I left. We walked west along 6th Street at 3:00 in the morning, both of us drunk and yammering incoherently with each other, two drunk friends making no sense but on top of the world. Nick stopped to piss at a payphone. Then we walked again. Then we parted ways and I came home.

What a great day, what a great night. They don’t mass-produce ’em like this. Days like this are a rarity, each one fashioned painstakingly by hand out of tempered glass, each one lavished with care. You can’t buy days like this in bulk. When you come across one, appreciate it.