I have Morry to blame for this. He has a habit of continually wanting to read all my phone messages. Kudos to him as he knows many of the salacious entries are quite interesting but nowhere near as jaw droppingly gossip laden as any of his.
I was using one of my trusty Field Notes notebooks on Saturday. I simply used this particular one for work details but on one page, I made a personal entry inspired by Alexander Olch. Olch is the sometime film director, sometime tie designer who has a few interesting/odd hobbies (I saw some of his ties at Bergdorf Goodman last year and they were all pretty shit - I bought discounted Thom Browne skinny ties instead. On the other hand, his directorial debut not yet released in Australia looks fascinating).
Olch has managed to note down, catalogue and index all of the attractive, ordinary everyday girls he sees but never talks to. The girls you fleetingly fall in love with.
The descriptions are brief but illustrative. From memory, they are all typed on index cards which are then all filed in a wooded index card holder as you would find in a library. In essence, he has created a Dewey Decimal System of ephemeral desire. The casual encounters that fire one's imagination. Too brief to stimulate any conversation but too memorable not to commit to memory.
These are the girls we are still afraid to talk to.
Girl # 1. Fitzroy Post office Wednesday afternoon. Dark hair tied back, medium height. Boots. Dark clothes. An artist, possibly a sales assistant at a more fashionable clothing store (somewhere like Assin but probably not). Melbourne cool +++. Defining feature, incredibly large birthmark right cheek. I looked away quickly and then looked back. Such an imperfection. So beautifully imperfect. Distinctive. Confident. The perfect antithesis of every girl who hides behind her imperfections.
Morry, like me, you would have fallen in love.
For at least 5 minutes.