today: 4.12.00
every day

I am spending far too much time with my Optometrist these days. It might seem logical to make sure you always have a medical professional at the ready, but most would probably argue that a specialist such as an optometrist should not be one's first choice. Add to this the fact that nine out of ten times my optometrist is very drunk, bordering on coma, and it would be easy to conclude that my reasons for keeping an eye doctor in tow are not strictly medical.

The truth is, I just really enjoy being able to introduce someone as My Optometrist, which is exactly what I do as any occasion presents itself. And my optometrist is no ordinary professional. He is a fast-talking (almost indecipherable, actually; I usually translate for friends south of the Mason-Dixon line) Queens native who fidgets incessantly, subsists on a steady diet of Pepsi and holiday cookies, and races for the closest available woman in any room like James Belushi and Halle Berry race the sun. When most people meet my optometrist their immediate reaction is, "you let him touch your eyes?" Damn right I do.

And I'm not alone. My optometrist is a something of a local celebrity. He has hundreds of patients, most of whom he's dated. He gives eye exams to stars like Steve Buscemi and the Kids in the Hall's Mark McKinney. And there isn't an establishment in my neighborhood that doesn't greet my optometrist by name. (and even if the greeting is laced with joy sometimes and derision others, at least they remember his name) In his company, adventures await. Previous adventures include:

Can You Mix Ritalin with Zoloft?
She Was Rubbing My Ass, Too
This Is Where Abner Louima Was Sodomized; Now Finish Your Ice Cream
Halloween Candy + Budweiser = Friday Night

and, most recently:

If I Knew That Was A Birthday Cake, I Wouldn't Have Stood It Up On Its Side Like That (Love Wrangling)

And my optometrist is not the only person I associate with that others might consider a bit of a difficult character. There's Phil, The Professional Gambler (previously backgammon; now Texas hold em); Mark, The World's Gayest Straight Man; Rachel, Three Noses Later;James, The Recovering Coke Addict and Present-Day Ritalin Addict; Samantha, the Beautiful Illustrated Tattoo Artist and Amateur Trash Collector; and, of course, Captain Humongoloid. Their presence in my life is often scoffed at by the 'normals' I spend my other free hours with. And a friend recently asked me why I choose to surround myself with characters. This troubled me because it wasn't something I ever thought about before.

But I have an answer. (i think) Everyone has a perspective, and I'm tired of having grown up with the same perspective my entire life. We tend to be tracked with like individuals, share similar experiences (semester abroad, bad summer jobs, liberal arts college) and similar tragedies (unplanned pregnancy, drunk driving accidents). It is so refreshing for me to slip outside of that once in a while. Hang out with lunatics who would turn left where I'd turn right. Break all those unanimous decisions I expect when moving with most of my other friends.

And they're excellent people. I am not WIlliam T. Volman - I'm not going to surround myself with skinheads and Tenderloin junkies just for variety. My optometrist would pick me up from the airport if he could. My friend James has had wonderful parties and introduced me to really interesting people. And Captain Humongoloid lifted that tree off my grandmother.

I've got my head screwed on super-straight. I know who my friends are. And if it means that from time to time I'm going to get thrown out of a restaurant because James was doing lines of ritalin off the dinner table, so be it. There are plenty of restaurants in New York City.