Hungry eyes
On Saturday, I went into Hollywood for dinner at a sushi/shabu-shabu place. It being Hollywood, I got a little dressed up so I didn't feel like a land manatee walking around in a forest of willowy pipefish. It mattered none; my brick-house calves and healthy shoulders make me feel like a linebacker just walking down the street. At least I can rest assured knowing that my assets are God-given, and there are women that will happily dole out $10,000 or more to have the voluptuousness that I've inherited and cultivated through a steady regime of walking the dog, not sleeping enough, and having a strong taste for pizza and wine.
Waiting in the foyer of the restaurant, I spied four young swan-like girls all perched on the vinyl bench, waiting for their table. Their attire was sharp, and correct in its of-the-minute style. Their hair was perfectly coiffed in razor-cut mod styles, and their shoes were to die for. I'll admit that much. Their shoes put my Target-bought wedge heels to shame.
I noticed something about them though, that was difficult for me to pin down at first. There was something in the flicker of emotion on their faces; the patina of trying just slightly too hard. They sat up a little too straight, and slouched just a little too artfully. Their eyes shifted left and right, attempting to watch others watching them without knowing they're watching. See and be seen. Their eyes were hollow and empty.
One girl in particular looked especially frail. She had the most delicate, porcelain Asian skin I've ever seen. Her lips were parted slightly with a rosebud shape, and her nose seemed to just float dead center of her symmetrical, exotic face. Her eyes, though beautiful, were the most lifeless of the four with her. She seemed almost doll-like.
I watched her while she sat and waited for her food. The waiter brought her a small bowl of miso soup. Her eyes looked at it hungrily, but also with a little bit if indifference. The bird-like sips of her soup barely seemed to moisten her lips. When the sushi came out, she ate two pieces. Her friends ate a little more but not much. Most of the food vanished before the check came.
Beauty is so fleeting, and life itself not much more long-lasting. For what purpose does one choose to view the world through such hungry eyes? In a world where many die for a few grains of rice, a few sips of water, is it truly the expression of our decadence when we simple choose not to be decadent? Her face haunted the back of my mind all night. That poor, hungry porcelain doll.
Waiting in the foyer of the restaurant, I spied four young swan-like girls all perched on the vinyl bench, waiting for their table. Their attire was sharp, and correct in its of-the-minute style. Their hair was perfectly coiffed in razor-cut mod styles, and their shoes were to die for. I'll admit that much. Their shoes put my Target-bought wedge heels to shame.
I noticed something about them though, that was difficult for me to pin down at first. There was something in the flicker of emotion on their faces; the patina of trying just slightly too hard. They sat up a little too straight, and slouched just a little too artfully. Their eyes shifted left and right, attempting to watch others watching them without knowing they're watching. See and be seen. Their eyes were hollow and empty.
One girl in particular looked especially frail. She had the most delicate, porcelain Asian skin I've ever seen. Her lips were parted slightly with a rosebud shape, and her nose seemed to just float dead center of her symmetrical, exotic face. Her eyes, though beautiful, were the most lifeless of the four with her. She seemed almost doll-like.
I watched her while she sat and waited for her food. The waiter brought her a small bowl of miso soup. Her eyes looked at it hungrily, but also with a little bit if indifference. The bird-like sips of her soup barely seemed to moisten her lips. When the sushi came out, she ate two pieces. Her friends ate a little more but not much. Most of the food vanished before the check came.
Beauty is so fleeting, and life itself not much more long-lasting. For what purpose does one choose to view the world through such hungry eyes? In a world where many die for a few grains of rice, a few sips of water, is it truly the expression of our decadence when we simple choose not to be decadent? Her face haunted the back of my mind all night. That poor, hungry porcelain doll.
posted by The Semi-Pro Chef at Monday, April 30, 2007
4 Comments:
If you're a linebacker, then I'm a defensive tackle.
Or a sumo wrestler.
...
Same thing!
(Also, you write well)
Personally, I like it when women are willing to starve themselves to gain acceptance; it makes me feel warm and safe. It's bad enough that I have to worry about immigrants stealing my jobs and homosexuals trying to ruin my family, at least I don't have to worry about models stealing my food.
Hi Suzanne, it's nice to see you on blogger again. To this reflection I say-- Amen! I have spent a lot of time (scornfully, I admit) thinking about what a distraction from real life being hip can be, and how sad to be so caught up with appearing a certain way that the true self withers away. And cheers to real, happy, lived-in bodies!
So well put, yet again!
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