i want to talk about perfection for a bit. namely, yours.

in this new branch of this new life in this new skin, i spend a lot of time imagining what it is i want versus what it is i already have. i have plenty. i want for little. i need inspiration. that's where you come in.

when i was younger, i wanted to be perfect. i was an excellent student who cried at every "B". once, in an ethics class at NYU, the professor and i did not see eye-to-eye at all. i knew if i submitted a final paper based upon her line of reasoning i would get an "A" in the class. but i had a crisis of conscience, as her line of reasoning was abhorrent to me. i remember asking the one person who was more demanding of me than myself for advice.  my father sat on the couch and listened to me as i cried over my dilemma. he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and clasped his hands together.  he pointed out that if i followed my heart instead of my head, that my 3.98 GPA would suffer. he asked if my convictions outweighed my need for success.  as the tears coursed down my face i simply replied, "yes, Dad."  my father put his head down, and when he picked it up again he, too, was crying.  he stood up, said "i am very proud of you," and walked out of the room.  it was one of the few times in my life in which he expressed approval of me. me = flawed.

i used to be a singer. a lyric coloratura soprano. i had a voice to beat the band when it came to opera, and Kathleen Battle was my personal vocal inspiration. but there was one problem.  i disliked opera. well, that's not true. i liked opera a lot. but i loved rock-n-roll.  i didn't want to be Nellie Melba, i wanted to be Annie Lennox. i wanted to stomp and strut and belt and make wild onstage love to an audience of thousands.  i wanted to hold that microphone in my hand and make it tremble in awe at my vocal prowess.  i drove my teachers crazy.  my vocal coaches were all greek women, and every single one of them complained that i was throwing away the possibility of fame and fortune by pursuing an unattainable dream. i was an outcast among my peers, as these young men and women devoted their time wisely to their craft while i hung out with the jazz musicians. i was befriended by Placido Domingo's son at one point, and we had a contentious relationship. i mocked him for being lazy and trite; i demanded to hear him sing in his voice, not in a mimic of his father's. in turn, he lectured me for being lazy about my gift as well, complaining that thousands of women would give anything to sound like me but all i could think about was shitty pop music. he said i was a "shame to god".  good times.  so i did what any stupid kid in my position would do: i tried to sing in both styles.  i know your next question, Dear Reader: in the end, where did that leave me?  well, it killed the gift. i can carry a tune, but the beauty is gone.  i still love rock-n-roll, though.  that'll never fade.  stupid. me = flawed.

but back to perfection.  i love perfection. in all forms. i love looking at a well-stained blood smear under a microscope, counting out loud with glee the number of easily defined eosinophils. i love a great cup of coffee in the morning. i love staring at beautiful people -- both men and women equally --  and admire their grace and flawless complexions. i love riding out on the sea, staring at the sharply-defined-yet-slightly-curved horizon. i love your laugh, the way it makes me bubble on the inside. i love the way Ewan McGregor hits those notes so purely in "Come What May" after the 3 minute mark and i can't catch my breath for fear of missing a single note. i love earthworms. grass. my iPod. hardcover books. perfection.

you are all so perfect, my friends, and i revel in each of your individual talents. i don't want to be you, but i surely admire you and envy your gifts. therefore, if you would please accept this poor soul's infection into your perfect hearts i would be ever so grateful and won't take up much room.  i promise. i want to watch you, see what makes you so special. i want to learn from you, drink in your uniqueness and marvel at your brilliance. i am your humble servant. take me now.

"I don't care if it hurts, I wanna have control I want a perfect body I want a perfect soul
I want you to notice when I'm not around You're so fuckin' special I wish I was special" ~ Radiohead