I remember my first: a pair of tortoise shell Ray-Ban Wayfarers, a gift from Dad on my 16th birthday. I believe he purposely bought them in tortoise shell rather than black to evoke the southern-California of his childhood. I used to drive around in my VW Bug, left arm enjoying the freedom of an open window, tortoise shell Ray-Ban Wayfarers straight killllling it. Thus began my love affair with sunglasses.

Alas, sunglasses are fickle, and have a tendency to leave before you ever really get to know 'em. My relationship with those Ray-Bans was bliss, but lasted an all-too-brief 6 months. I don't know what happened - I awoke one morning and they were gone. I cursed the sun.

Distraught, I did what any young man would do: I traveled to Tijuana looking to score a cheap replacement, and in an affront to the memory of my first, I picked up a pair of knockoff Oakley's in a light shade of tan. They were gaudy; really we weren't a fit. And the Oakley's would soon be replaced by a series of sunglasses picked up at gas stations, truck stops, 24 hour mini-marts. Sunglasses of every shade and shape. Brief flings with non-polarized pretenders. I was in a downward spiral.

I began to trust sunglasses again when at 18 I bought my first pair of Arnette's. For a punk kid trying to make it on the California-scene, Arnette's were the way to go, and together we looked fucking baddass. Light weight yet durable, just the way I like 'em. We could get little rough, but I didn't worry about them breaking. I remember the day like it was yesterday: We were in Santa Cruz - we spent a lot of time together on the beach that summer. I made the mistake that I knew never to make: In the course of my conversation with a couple fine looking ladies, I turned my back to the sea. And just when we were at our best the sea came from behind and took them away from me forever.

It wasn't long, however, before I got another pair just like them. Relationships of about a year, each much like the other - a sudden swoon, an even more sudden departure, generally happy - continuing over the course of about 8 years. There were mistakes, certainly - how can we forget the blue rims and yellow lenses incident of '99? - but these were years in which my relationship with sunglasses emerged from its adolescent experimentation and began to mature.

It's funny how things tend to return from whence they came. What was hip in the 50's and 60's is hip again in the 80's, and again in the later years of the first decade of the 20th century; Ray-Ban Wayfarers are currently enjoying a vogue unmatched since the halcyon days post-Risky Business. Likewise, it was back to Ray-Bans, back to the beginning, as I got older. Back to the beginning, but different. It's impossible that I shouldn't bring something of my experience with Arnette to my new relation with Ray-Ban. So instead of Wayfarers I decided on something sleeker, more tailored, mature. I believe they were called 'Predator', and together we set out with New York as our prey.

As I write this I find myself in a state of confusion and dismay. Last night, last night...I though they were with me as I stepped out of the cab, but I looked and they were gone, and as the cab sped down the avenue I knew I'd never see them again. We cut a fine figure, those Ray-Ban's and I, and though right now they're all I can think about, and I feel like I'll never get past this hurt, I know that soon I'll find another just like 'em.