blond boys and other men

andy pink, the boardwalk, atlantic city, nj —

from the hallowed land of a shallowed mind —

my hair has shaded itself blond. upon birth, i was a redhead. i was one of those redheads that was lightening red. later it orange’d itself out. then strawberry blond haunted me for a good decade or so. but i’m at the point where i must admit: i am a lonely, simple blond. my hair in my nether regions has not only straightened out over the years (i thank — and i do — depakote for that) — my nether locks are blond with an approach to brown. i really have no trace of the viking in me anymore. i recently read an article about the “desexualization” of redheaded men (but not women) — though it was supposedly only to apply to the british isles. i would think prince harry had taken care to subvert the myth of the “desexualized” redhead — harry is quite lovely, and certainly more handsome than the coming monarch — but i sort of understand this idea of the “desexualization” of redheads.

i have always been considered handsome (often referred to as “distinguished looking”) with no problem unmasking a boy when i wanted, but i also understand this idea of the “desexualized” redhead. now that i am blond and mostly (happily) celibate — sex only voyeuristically, from afar, i am perhaps the only person i know who can ejaculate in stride — i can look back on myself and see the red viking in me with a sort of public corset, as if what i had to offer the world was my head rather than my loins. it’s difficult to assert one’s red character from elsewhere on the body in public. i myself am not attracted to redheads and have in fact never slept with one. i much prefer blonds (like my current self) and enjoy an occasional brunette if he is european and somehow simultaneously de-foreskinned (i believe there is a technical term for this).

being on the wellbutrin for the last 3 months or so i feel a resurgence in my loins and may venture out to find a made in the usa household good of 18-26. but i hope i will refrain. at 38, i feel like i am breaking some kind of law. i’m generally quite amoral (but a deeply lovely and kind person) — but attacking a boy (preferably blond) half my age feels wrong. perhaps instead i will find a lovely prostitute who — in the final calculation — will be taking advantage of me more than the reverse.

i take the wellbutrin as 75 cut into fourths (of about 19) 4x day. if i take all 75 at once i tend to get angry, must be because i have been mostly mixed for the last several months. the 19 stays with me for a couple of hours and seems to boost motivation, interest, and commitment. i am sure to have a more engaged spring, i do hope, but i don’t have a predictable cycle so i might simply collapse of the weight of the world for no reason other than the loss of my strawberries.

in general, i am sad. i have withdrawn from most people and am alone most of the time. it would be lovely to have a companion of some kind but i think i am difficult, straight-up, and my illness is such that i just can’t be counted on for consistent moods. i am sure that my students are aware of my mood inconsistencies in the classroom, but i’m also sure that most of them don’t have a handy name to tag me with, though the industry of bipolar evaluation and treatment is such that perhaps soon enough they will be diagnosing me from the back of the classroom.

i feel wan. i would like to eat forever but my personal trainer would be chagrined (for me) even though she would probably not say a word.

i think white people are quite awful, as a general rule, and i would never date someone with money. i love black people but it has slowly transitioned into an abstraction. i am more and more impressed with myself as life leads me toward death.

i don’t give the world more than another 30 years. to go out with everyone all at once — what could be a better escape from death than that?

cheers, beers, tears, and fears, your local congressman from the 7th district, andy

can’t figure out why i like that name so much. perhaps luke perry from 90210 — from back in my day, when it counted.