Dionysus

Dionysus was studying photography at the University.  He lived a couple of doors down from me in the historic Cooper Arms in downtown Long Beach.  One night after I finished working a late shift at the Shorehouse Café, waiting on obnoxious drunks coming out of the bars, Dion was in the lobby, sitting on the edge of the security guard’s desk debating the solidarity movement. 

 

  He brushed his long blonde hair away from his face

and behind his ears when he saw me walk in.  I had never talked to Dion before, just shared a friendly hello in the hallway. He spoke with a thick Polish accent.  He was beautiful, looked like a young Julian Sands. 

Dion  was slurring his words and the last thing I wanted to do was talk to another drunk.  Dion was relentless and intent on engaging me.  I did not want to be rude so I gave him my thoughts on the movement.  I was actually taking a course at UCLA that quarter where we were discussing the Prague spring.  So I offered a comparison for the discussion.  After 15 minutes of standing in the lobby debating, I suggested we move the conversation to my apartment. We walked up the stairs to the second floor.

 
We became lovers that night, an affair that lasted a long time.  I was such a serious student then that I told him  not to come by until after 11 as I would be studying. I was studying cultural and intellectual history and had as many as 33 books to read per quarter sometimes.  He always respected my wishes and came over shortly after 11 with a bottle of champagne. 

 I remember one night after too much champagne, I played the Polish composer Henryk Gorecki's Symphony Number 3. Tom Schnabel, a DJ at KCRW, was playing it on his world music show and the classical music station, KUSC, had it in heavy rotation at the time. Dion knew of Gorecki and became very animated; talking with his hands, moving to the floor in front of the stereo to listen closely. His eyes lit up when I handed him the CD cover.   Sitting across from each other cross-legged in front of my stereo, tears welled up in our eyes.   

 The symphony will make you cry.  It is in three movements and is about a mother, during Hitler's invasion of Poland, looking for her son she fears has been killed and is lying in a ditch somewhere. There are parts that just have to be listened to loud. The security guard came to the door during those parts and said neighbors were complaining. We turned it down. The name Dionysus was perfect for him, the god of wine, ritual and ecstasy. That was Dion.

Dion asked me to be his model for a school project.  He was working on shadows in black in white photography.  I reluctantly agreed.  I remember laughing and laughing when Dion wanted me to look serious.  I was a poor model, but we had so much fun that day I almost fell in love with him.

 

Addendum to Vicky and Sexy Lawyer

Sexy mayor of Tijuana from Showtime program, "Weeds" lets Nancy know who's boss (uploaded on Flickr by Luckypup)

I went out for margaritas and tacos yesterday with my friend Kristie, a fabulous videographer and writer of surf and sand stories for Foam magazine.

Anyway, she asked me about the sexy lawyer I wrote about in a previous post (August 27th) about the film Vicky Christina Barcelona. She asked why I didn't go to Mexico with him after we shared that absolute life changing night in that swanky hotel off the square in the town of Puebla in the summer of 1990.

In an effort to explain my decision making process, let me first describe what Saul looked like and his manner. The mayor of Tijuana that Nancy is sleeping with in the Showtime program, Weeds, is my Saul. One exception, Saul had wavy hair. The way Saul moved and his way in general is exactly like that mayor. Of course Saul was no drug dealer. I think?

We were both 31 at the time we met. I wanted to finish my degree at UCLA. He was already established in his career. Saul told me I could go to school at any one of the excellent universities in Mexico City or Vera Cruz. He owned houses in both cities.

It would have been too difficult for me to try to write research papers on Karl Marx, who I was studying at the time, in Spanish. No way Jose. That was one reason.

Plus to be perfectly honest, I think he was a possible player. He was just too good looking and on fire not to be one.

We did discuss that when I finished school a possible move to Mexico. However, in that two years so many things of course changed. I moved to Tucson after I graduated from UCLA for a couple of years.

The last time I called Saul was to tell him I was leaving Arizona and moving back to Los Angeles. A woman in a very sexy voice answered the phone, "Bueno." I hung up quickly and never called again.

Photo of Rafael Nadal posted on Flickr by a1y53 210

So end of story. Every decision we make in life changes are destiny. I do believe I am where I am supposed to be. Or maybe I am supposed to be in Mallorca right now, with Rafael Nadal, in a villa with an ocean view, infinity pool, drinking mojitos, naked.

Movie Review: Vicky Christina Barcelona

Hotel on Square in Puebla, Mexico, Photo taken by vkc (Flickr)

I saw the new Woody Allen film yesterday, Vicky Christina Barcelona. I just loved it. It is funny as hell. And man does that Javier Bardem look mighty fine. Much better than he did with that horrible haircut in No Country for Old Men.

This film made me think of the summer of 1990 I spent in Mexico when I had a wild fling with a sexy lawyer. The college friend I was traveling with met a poet and left with him for a weekend in San Miguel de Allende.

Long story short, after she took off, I met a sexy lawyer in an Armani suit in Mexico City. He helped me with directions for a bus ride to Puebla. We ended up traveling to Puebla together in his fancy black car, spent a most romantic afternoon in a cafe on the square, drinking wine, watching the afternoon rain shower, listening to the church bells echoing through the square, and ended up in a swanky hotel for the night and better part of the morning. A very good memory.

I thought that was the end of the story. A sort of a "what happens in Mexico, stays in Mexico." But this man insisted on coming up to see me. While picking him up at the airport, we had a moment of uncomfortable silence in the terminal.

I took him to my apartment in downtown Long Beach, across the street from the ocean. I opened up a bottle of champagne on my balcony, we clinked our glasses saying "salud" simultaneously. We looked out at the ocean silently. Before I had a chance to take a second sip of champagne, this man turned to face me and said, "marry me."

I told him a night in Puebla wasn't really enough to marry someone. He disagreed vehemently. He said our passion was principal. His exact words, "la cama es principal, Maria, es principal."

I said no of course to this proposal. I had to finish college. We did enjoy a week of unbridled passion together. If any of you watch the program Weeds on Showtime, this man is very much like the mayor of Tijuana Mary Louise Parker's character is sleeping with on the show.

During the next four years, this man wrote me the most romantic love letters (which I have saved), sent expensive gifts on my birthday, and called from time to time to invite me to meet him in some exotic location.

Anyway, go see this film. And if you think it strange that Javier Bardem's character approaches the two beautiful American tourists in a restaurant after an art opening and asks them both to take a small plane to a different town for the weekend, think again. Stranger things have been known to happen.

Even if you never had some wild fling (which I bet most of you have), this film takes you to the heart of Barcelona, love, lust, and passion. Made me want to get on a plane.

One last thing, when I left the movie theater, I took my car to a self serve car wash. I was so caught up in thinking about that night in Puebla, I drove off without rinsing the soap off my car. I was halfway home before I even noticed.

Addendum: I wrote an addendum to this post after many asked why I did not take Saul up on his marriage proposal. It explains in more detail why I said no, no, no. The addendum can be found on my Sept. 11th post, Addendum to Vicky and Sexy Lawyer.