Snapshots with Michael

— Lights out our first night. He lay on the blow-up mattress on the floor right below my bed. I lay in bed. Lights out. I lay there in silence, my eyes wide open, and I was just overly conscious of him being RIGHT THERE. After all these years. It was dark, but all I could think of was of him lying on the floor. Silence between us. Darkness. For maybe a minute. As we both lay there pretending to go to sleep. Suddenly, randomly, he started to laugh. And then I started to laugh. And then we both lay there, in the darkness, laughing for a good MINUTE. For no reason that we could really explain. There is no reason. But it was funny nonetheless.

— After the laughter calmed down – and it took some time – I said, through the darkness, “Okay, I have to get something off my chest. If I fart in my sleep … PLEASE. Do not judge.” Michael started laughing – and then we were off laughing again – and Michael said, “Why would I JUDGE a fart? Like … what’s to judge?” Then began a game, spontaneously – where we both took turns saying increasingly horrible activities, followed up by, “PLEASE. Do not judge.” (“If I blah blah blah … PLEASE. Do not judge.” Etc.) The game ended with a BANG when Michael said, “If I get up in the middle of the night, come over to your bed, and piss all over you …. PLEASE. Do not judge.” Then there was a pause and I had to say, “Uhm, I’m totally gonna judge you if you do that.”

— I had no idea how deeply I actually slept and now that Michael has informed me of it, I am rather alarmed for my own safety, in terms of fire drills and cat burglars. But apparently my alarm clock, the loudest alarm clock in the world, set to the most obnoxious radio station in the world – takes a good 15 minutes to actually wake me up. Apparently I lie there in peaceful DEAD TO THE WORLD slumber – as DJs shriek about sex and traffic and music and hip hop music plays and general morning hilarity ensues – and I do not wake up. Eventually I do – but Michael informed me that he almost thought I was in a comatose state, the alarm was so loud and there was NO response from my bed. He also said that the alarm was so loud and so sudden that he almost wet the bed. I am laughing out loud. He finally “snoozed” my own alarm for me. And went back to sleep. 10 minutes later, the alarm goes off again – and the DJs shriek about blowjobs and Eminem and there are sound effects and hip hop – and STILL I lie in peaceful slumber. Poor Michael – who had been traveling the entire day before – who got in at midnight – snoozed the alarm AGAIN. I am laughing out loud thinking of his torment. Its killing me. Finally, the damn thing penetrated my consciousness – and up I got, oblivious to the agony Michael had been thru. Lalala, I’m up now, let’s make some coffee … It was only later that Michael told me the entire drama.

— This afternoon I sat on my bed, looking over my Cymbeline script. A slight movement caught my eye and I glanced up to see the following horrifying action movie take place on my drapes: An absolutely MASSIVE spider, who had to be at LEAST .5 millimeters across, was racing up the side of my curtains. Yes. Racing. He was in a huge hurry, MASSIVE legs scurrying him along – and then I watched him do this (well, as you can imagine – first I screamed bloody murder and jumped off my bed in a panic – but then I stood back and watched this): He reached the top of my curtains and then propelled himself off like a damn bungee jumper – leaping down onto my bed, the bastard, where he took a tiny horrifying rest (that’s MY bed, you asswipe!!), and then he began climbing back up his own damn web that he left behind. It was a small Adventure-Travel exploit happening on MY curtains. He was taking over my whole apartment, and due to his hurrying energy I assumed he knew I was onto him. But I couldn’t figure out how to kill him because … he was on the curtains … I couldn’t throw a book at my curtains … because that would just bat him off into the atmosphere, where he could flail through the air and COME AND GET ME. All .2 millimeters of him.

— He is now peacefully hanging out in a hammock of own making off of my curtain rod. I hate him intensely. I mostly hate his ARROGANCE, his in-your-face defiance. He did all of this right in front of me. As though he didn’t care.

— And so just now Michael and I had this phone exchange: He: “Hi – I probably won’t be home until late.” I said, “Oh, that’s cool – I have one thing to ask – When you come back … would you mind killing a spider for me?” “Uhmmmmm … sure … do you think it will be there when I get back? Or will it somehow crawl directly into your mouth?” “I think he’s napping. He’ll be there. Do you have any ethical issues with killing a spider?” “None whatsoever.” “Oh, I’m so happy.” “So … you’re gonna be okay sharing space with it until I get home?” “It’s an uneasy peace. But I think it will maintain.”

— I love talking with someone who also knows the background to the filming of this scene. Somehow that scene came up. Oh, I know – we were talking about “the Method” and what a bunch of crap it can be. Hahaha Also how actors like Spencer Tracy or Cary Grant are as good as it gets – and Michael brought up Cagney. I said, “That scene in White Heat …” Michael said, “The prison scene?” “Oh. My. God.” Cagney knew what the scene would require of him. He knew he would have to just “go there”. So he said to Raoul Walsh, the director, before fiming it: “Just follow me.” Meaning with the camera. Because he knew he couldn’t worry about hitting marks, or keeping it in control. Gives me goosebumps. But I love it because Michael shares the same values and passions and interests as I do. We love that kind of shit.

— Oh, and this morning? I drank my coffee out of THE cup RIGHT AT HIM. “Hey, Michael. Ya see this? Ya get a load of this???”