Thursday, July 07, 2005
Bone Smokers, Knuckle Heads and Back Crackers
There are three kinds of men in this city: stoners, jocks and queers.Stoners: If you are anywhere near a window in Brooklyn, or between 14th and Canal Streets in Manhattan, you could flick a cigarette butt and hit one. These are renaissance guys: artists, writers, musicians, etc...They can be fun to hang out with, but they have major character flaws ranging from acute narcissism to chronic lateness. Don’t waste your time persuing a committed relationship with a stoner. He will ditch you for a bag of weed every time.
Jocks are hearty, herd-minded, guys. They work in the financial arts and mob the streets between Chambers and 96th shopping for expensive toys to bend your ear about. They may look good, but is proximity to a gym-toned body really worth jumping out a window for after years of listening to him talk about stuff?
Find the right queer and you’ve got a friend for life--but don’t discuss your bodily functions in any great detail. You will gross him out. Keep your conversations neutral, in the realm of the humanities, say, and you will enjoy a friendship full of warmth and candor. If you are near a window in Chelsea, wave.
Now let me tell you about my chiropractor: a soft-spoken, sturdy professional with a practice on one of the tree-lined blocks near Central Park. He’s the fourth kind of man: married -- happily I think, to a woman who takes him to a lot of Broadway shows. He’s about 63.
The day we first met, I spoke and he listened. He really listened. Leaning forward in his chair, he seemed intent on catching every inflection of my voice and divining every nuance of what I said. Based on what I told him, he led me to a table, instructed me to lie down on my stomach, and went to work on my back. His hands felt enormous. His adjustments were expert and true. When he cracked my neck I could hardly suppress a chuckle of delight. I see him twice a week and have seldom felt so cared for, yet so free.
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