I have heard of happy fat people…but in the way some folks are mean drunks…I am a miserable fat person.  That summer of my 19th year had some dark moments.  Why was I on the planet, what is the point, is this all there is. I was a spinning wheel of teen angst…and then…..  I remember the following moment like it was rolled in glitter and basking in a shimmering sun.
 
I am standing by the antique roaster…I recall exactly what I was wearing ( but I wont horrify you with the details ) The door swings open bringing in a new light, along with an old man.  I turn to greet him..He was around 80 years old, and for me it was love at first sight.  We stand eye to eye or rather, eye to blackheads….this man has blackheads. Ancient blackheads..Blackheads that could tell the passage of time. I was mesmerized. It looked like someone had stabbed him in the face with a bucket of #2 pencils leaving behind the points. I feel my hand reach up towards his face…I have to physically bring it down with my other more rational hand. My voice quivers ” Good morning” I say, it comes out “ghhaa haaa ahhh ughh” I could not speak so overcome am I. Another girl waits on him. I walk by him, dangerously close, just to look at his blackheads for a little longer, I walk by again.  I even got a broom and swept imaginary morning crumbs from behind his chair. I smiled at him, I blushed…and then I concocted this plan. I am gonna quick lock the door, tackle him to the floor, stuff a napkin in his mouth and straddle his chest holding down his left cheek and gently working clean every 50 year old blackhead on his face.  I salivate thinking about the long plasticy worms of petrified puss…which I would save on a piece of archival paper to carbon date when that home technology becomes available….I can already see the shadow box I would create pinning the sebum like rare butterflies… I know exactly where I will hang it above my bed…sure to seal the deal with any potential lovers.  Forget etchings, I could invite suiters up to look at my octogenarian puss collection.
 
 I think maybe my tackling plan is too aggressive, I wonder if I could just ask him…can I just ask to pick at this total strangers skin in a coffee shop? We could go in the bathroom, I could apply a warm compress or make him lean over the dishwasher steam for a few minutes…Oh my God, thinking about his pores opening up in the dishwasher steam…I confuse the sensation with less pure stirrings.
 
Through a strength I have yet to duplicate….I managed to restrain myself from enacting any of my plans to be alone with the mans face…and possibly his back region.  I didn’t even try the “accidental” bump, in which my fingers land angled precisely askew the target and with such sudden pressure they force out the blackhead and in a graceful trajectory it lands across the room..And maybe the old mad wouldn’t even feel it… Maybe I am a masterful pickpocketer of the face.  Maybe I could get away with it…I watch him walk out the door, he looks over his shoulder on his way out…then picks up his pace.. The way you would walk in a dark alley when you realize you are being followed….I think I scared him.  That night..I can not fall asleep.
   
    That man and his life altering blackheads walked in and out of my life 18 years ago. Which means if I had given birth to those blackhead pustules  they would be packing up to go to college now.  I owe that man a debt of gratitude…Over almost two decades, in every sad or futureless moment….His face would appear before me…and my mood would shift.  I just have to think about him to get a second wind…to think that there is always something around the corner… I have yet to conceive a way to dig old man blackheads for fun and profit.  It seems they are not the prime ” facial makeover demographic” although there is a TV show in that.  Every dermatologist I know, refuses my offer to assist on an emergency on call basis…even though I have volunteered to get my own lab coat and wash my hands before I  have at it”.  I love my life..I do. I love being an artist and bringing peoples ideas to fruition. It is a calling …but picking at other peoples skin…it is a calling too…an undeniable, feel it in my bones and I know just what to do kind of calling.  I have come to the conclusion that the best way to be able to do the things I love..is to spread the word. I don’t quite have a logo for this OTHER venture..But I do have a slogan
”  Pick Me to Pick you! ”  And I hope very much that you do!