Diary Friday: “his eyes are electric and wild”

This one’s for Mitchell. Well, you all can read it too … but he left me a message yesterday about how we were always “partners in crime” … which … we just WERE. The adventures he and I had. Nuts. (Someday I have to tell the story of Mitchell shouting at someone we had just met – yes, SHOUTING – “Look. I am a shrieking Zionist!!” I was like: Wow, we just started talking to this person 5 seconds ago … and we’re already here at this point? Well, all righty then. Oh – and that guy deserved it. We kept running into him over the years, and we ALWAYS referred to him as “PLO Guy.” No matter WHAT good things the guy ever did … he was always “PLO Guy”. “Oh guess who’s here.” “Who.” “PLO Guy.” “Oh, shit. Has he seen us?” “I don’t think so.” “Let’s escape into the night then.”) But also: You know that whole “wingman” theory of modern human courtship? Mitchell is literally the best wingman a girl could ever have (even though girls aren’t supposed to have wingmans, I guess). But seriously … you need a wingman? Mitchell is your guy. He’s so brilliant that you never even REALIZE that you are dealing with a wingman. He’s that good. I’ve been approached by wingmen before … and they should be wearing a sign around their neck: “HI. I AM A WINGMAN.” This is tiresome. But someone who can do it undercover? That is impressive.

This diary entry is a sequel to the one I posted last week. It’s the next time I saw M., I think – at least according to the ol’ journal. M., the brawny man who’s been on my brain for a bit. Just because of such and such. The first sentence of the following entry kind of sums up my entire emotional state that summer and fall.

OCTOBER

Okay, now, what’s my next adventure. Oh yes. Jackie was performing at the Wrigleyside that Thursday – and finally I could go to see her! Being freed from Golden Boy – and David and Mitchell were going – Jackie, Phil, Bridget – it was also MJF’s birthday, all kinds of things.

I came home from work. MJF and David had met for coffee. I primped for 2 hours before meeting them. I was out of control. By the time I left the apartment, I was a sight. Later that night, M. said I looked “scalding”. Thank God. Time well spent. [hahaha Honest to God. I had never been called “pretty” before though – never. So I cut my vain self some slack here. My first boyfriend said he liked my looks because they “weren’t classically beautiful”. Any woman knows that this is not a compliment. He never called me “pretty”. But M. did. From the start. At first I was like: “I’m sorry … what is this word pretty … I do not speak that language.” So if I sound vain … that’s because I kind of was. I was getting some self-esteem is what was happening. I calmed down eventually. But this diary entry is from the middle of that whirlwind.]

I went to meet MJF and David at a coffee shop up near the Wrigleyside. Bobby was with them. Bobby was actually going to go out with us. I was in a riotous mood. David had just gotten a root canal [Oh man. I remember that now. He was in agony!!] and his face was all swollen and he was in some major pain.

We headed for the theatre – Bobby marvelled at our group dynamic. He had never met MJF before. We arrived at The Wrigleyside. I remember thinking – “What if all THREE of them – Phil – M. – Rob – are there?” [Okay … this can’t be explained with any brevity. I was a playah, apparently.] I kind of hoped they all would be. To add intrigue and awkwardness and excitement.

I was so excited to see Jackie perform. It made me feel a little sick inside – watching friends onstage always does – even when I fully trust their abilities, as I do Jackie’s.

We got a front row table. The place was packed and loud and wild. Just how I like it. [Oh shut up. ] Jackie came over to us. She did so well, by the way. We were all VERY proud of her. Bridget and her friends came – we pulled up a table – Phil showed up – he has a goatee now –

I spotted M. wandering around in the back, drinking a beer. He had on this big floppy jacket he got in New Orleans. “It’s a banana picker’s coat,” he told me. (Whatever that means) It has big different colored squares – of red and black – picked out with gold thread [ The thing was just as hideous as it sounds, and he wore it pretty much every day for 4 years. But underneath the jacket – he would wear a white T-shirt, and battered jeans. Like – the dude NEVER dressed up. I am just laughing – this is the first mention of the “banana picker’s jacket” – I eventually would get so annoyed when he would re-tell me the story of how he bought it, and the story behind it that I would interrupt him and say, “M. You have told me this story 800 times. Yes. It’s from New Orleans. Yes. Banana pickers wore it. Please don’t ever tell me the story again.” But at this moment – it was all new.] – it’s very flashy. He had it on that first night we met out at Wise Fool’s Pub [I guess that was our first date? I have no memory of it, believe it or not]. He had on this bright turquoise T-shirt under that – and black pants – and big sneakers.

I could feel him see me right away. Like radar.

Then Rob arrived. We were sitting right at the head of the stairs – I turned around just as he was emerging – so I was the first person he saw. He actually was amazingly cool (for one of the most neurotic people I’ve ever met) – he saw me and his face lit up in recognition and greeting – there was very little weirdness.

The show, in general, was pretty bad. M. and Co. did not perform. There were some pretty agonizing moments – 2 or 3 people did really good work, Jackie included – Jackie did a wonderful Rogers and Hammerstein song – I was very very proud of her – she was “on” – and what’s even cooler – is she knew she was on. When you can start gaging yourself that way – it’s a good sign. So she could feel herself being connected. She was confident. She felt good about her work. I was so glad for her.

Rob performed. I’d never seen him perform before – he was GREAT! The dude always could make me laugh. [hahaha I went on one date with him and I’m talking about him as though we had been married for 17 years.] The very first time he opened his mouth – we all ROARED. The subject for the night was “Panic” – and each person stepped out of the line and said something they were panicked about – and Rob stepped out and said calmly, “I don’t know if my sweater is for a boy or a girl.” There was this thunderclap of laughter – Oh, and it really was a very very bad sweater (for a boy or for a girl) – and I could just tell that people had been giving him grief about the sweater all day. [And how about the banana picker’s coat, Sheila? You gonna comment on THAT sartorial choice, or are you gonna let it slide – because it’s M. wearing it?]

M. ran the whole show – did the intro – explained the rules – told us, as the audience, what was “expected” of us – he ran the dream [This was a very fun improv game. What it was was: They would ask someone from the audience to come up and tell about their day. Someone from the improv group – in this case M. – would ask questions. “What did you have for breakfast?” “And then what did you do?” “And then what?” Etc. Then the audience member would go sit down – and the improv team, based on what the audience member had revealed – would act out, collectively, “So and So’s Dream”. And it was all of those daily events twisted – or magnified – or morphed – it was always hysterically funny.] I got to just sit back and feast my eyes on M. M. is a big and, as David described him, “thick” guy – with manic blue eyes – that seem to shoot laser beams of light off the stage – they really do – his eyes are electric and wild – Especially when the lights hit him, and he’s laughing, or whatever he’s doing. They are amazing eyes. [They are.] Holding a beer bottle loosely by the neck in his hands – he’s kind of gangly – and the VOICE. Like I said before I even knew this guy – I could pick his voice out of a crowd. His voice – his phrasing – the hugeness of his voice – the way his jaw kind of juts out – so that sometimes he bumbles words – That doesn’t sound attractive at all – BUT IT IS. And the hair. The insane black hair. However, he could be totally bald and I would still find him hot. [Lucky M.] The voice reverberates. And the more I watch him – especially sitting in the audience – being able to really sit back and SEE him … the more I can see this … almost fragile honesty and openness. I know that sounds like a jerky thing to say – and it’s not always true. Because he does have a kind of swagger about him as well. Yes, that is a very good word for it. He has a swagger. But just the way he was asking the volunteer from the audience questions about her day – and reacting to her – listening to her – picking up on things she wasn’t aware that she said – but never making fun of her. His expression had this gorgeous honesty – or openness – He can’t help it or hide it. He may try to cover it up with swagger, or drown it with alcohol – but it doesn’t matter. It is so there. MJF even noticed it. Something about M. made him turn around and say to me, “He’s a nice guy, isn’t he?” Because it’s not always immediately apparent that M. is nice. But … he is. He touches me. Surprising. I don’t know what it is, but for the most part he is “big, dumb, and embarrassing”. For the most part, he is a very sad guy, pretty isolated, pretty inside of himself. But the look of him talking to Sarah, or to Mick – or to me, too – that look that comes into his eyes sometimes … It just kills me. Does everyone see it? I think a lot of people miss that about him. They see the swagger and nothing else.

David left early because the pain in his mouth became too huge. After the show, Bobby took off – I had to pee so bad so I said to MJF – “Tell Jackie to meet me downstairs.” The bathroom is down in the bar so I charged downstairs, went into the bar, and ran smack into M. He got that crazy “gumbo” look in his eyes when he saw me. [Why does that statement make total sense. I don’t know, but it just does.] We reached out, and touched each other hello – I said, “Hey” – and he looked like he was about to either do a bird call or take my nose in his mouth, or scream, “GOOD GUMBO.” I went on my way to the bathroom and he probably went straight to the bar and proceeded his self-destruction for the evening. But – there was no awkwardness. None. The only “awkwardness” I felt was before we made contact – we both knew the other one was there – because there is NO reason to be awkward. Or insecure. It doesn’t even occur to me to be either of these things when I am talking with this boy. I never duck and hide. [Not yet. But eventually you will. Once you become closer – you will start to ignore him in public. Because you’re nuts.]

So for a brief second we kind of circled each other – in passing – my hands on his stomach – his hands touching my neck – and then the night careened on.

We all (me and Phil and Jackie and MJF and Bridget) hung out and drank and had fun. (I drank FAR too much.) The place was packed. The music was enormously loud. MJF and I screamed over the music at Jackie about her work and how proud we were of her.

Oh, at one point during the show – the atmosphere on stage was growing increasingly hostile towards women. Hostility like that has a scent. There were 2 women up there (Jackie wasn’t one of them) to the 10 men up there – and it was scary to watch the men (in very subtle insidious ways) turn on the women – they closed ranks on them – put them down – used the women as the butts of their jokes … all kinds of misogynistic bullshit going on. It’s a fine line – but it was definitely crossed. It was scary. And the women up there were talented – had every right to be up there – much better than the majority of the guys up there attacking her (again, it was all very subtle). And one guy – whom MJF and I instantly loathed – he’s up there only for himself – and, as MJF said, “He is not nearly as cute as he thinks he is” – his whole thing is setting up funny moments for himself. He’s just the kind of improviser that M. despises. The ones who are only out for themselves. But anyway – this guy said this hugely hostile thing – now, I am as rude as anyone – I’m not a prude – and like I said, it’s a fine line – When jokes like that are not meant to put me down, dismiss me, threaten me, embarrass me, narrow me down to what I’ve got between my legs … I’m fine with them. But this guy said something about this one girl’s “titties – and it totally went over the line – you could feel it in the room – other audience members reacted too, not just me – It was just not embraced as a funny remark. And I suddenly was so enraged at what was taking place on that stage. Fuckers. Making that nice talented girl up there feel embarrassed – it was a remark meant to put her in her place. “Don’t think you can play with the big boys. You’re just titties to us.” That’s what was going on up there. He used her – a fellow improviser – to get a cheap laugh – which he didn’t get anyway. I couldn’t help it – I “Boo”ed loudly – and a bunch of people applauded my Boo. [hahahaha I’m stirring up shit in the improv club.] It needed to be done. I felt it needed to be done. Hostility towards women isn’t okay. I won’t be a part of it, I won’t be in the presence of it and not say anything. I don’t give a fuck.

I felt kind of weird after – I hoped that the girl didn’t think I was booing her – I was booing specifically the hostility of that boy. I mentioned to Bridget how torn I felt about it – and she said that she was glad I did it – she had felt the same way – and she had gone into the bathroom after that one improv – and the improv girl was in the bathroom, too, totally upset and crying.

All of this is a lead-in to another story. 2 guys on Jackie’s team came over and joined our group. Nice guys, I guess – but they seemed open and friendly – but I ended up getting into a huge fight with one of them about the “Boo” issue. And my anger is not “graceful” – MJF said he turned away for 2 minutes, turned back, and I was reading that one guy the riot act. Anyway, those guys did not know what they were getting into when they called me “defensive”, and when that one guy said the girl up there “started it”. I went in for the kill. I was not out of control – I was very articulate – and then one said, “You’re defensive.” I replied, “No. This is not defensiveness. This is anger. There’s a difference.” MJF leapt in, at one point, calmly – backing me up – he confirmed the hostile atmosphere towards women up on that stage – and wouldn’t ya know, once a GUY said it, they shut up. Sexist fuckers. I know no reticence right now – when it comes to speaking my mind. This phase needs to happen though. It’ll chill out, eventually.

The second they saw how angry I was – they did 2 things: They closed ranks on me, ganged up on me. But then, in the next second – after I said the “this is anger” thing – they dropped the subject like a hot potato.

MJF said, “They totally conceded your point, do you realize that?”

Jackie and Bridget took off, MJF and I stayed so he could finish his drink. It was his birthday! So finally MJF and I got up to go. I was coherent, lively, but make no mistake – I was very drunk. [“Make no mistake”?? Hahahaha Who ya talkin’ to?] MJF and I walked all the way home from the Wrigleyside – it was freezing cold and very windy – neither of us really recall the walk. It’s like there was a wrinkle in time, and suddenly we were in the apartment, the walk having been walked.

But there is one more M. encounter to dwell upon and pick apart. [hahahaha Honest to God. ] M. was sitting at the bar. By himself. A. was standing by the door with some popcorn. I don’t know why – but that was the tableau that was going on as MJF and I walked towards the door to leave. As I swooped by M., I kind of grabbed him from behind – on his waist – briefly – as I went by. “See ya” – and kept going. He reached out for me. “Where you going?” he asked. (Oh, for Christ’s sake. I have been sitting here all night and you haven’t spoken to me. So I’m leaving now.) He tried to stop me. Oh, so NOW you pay attention to me! But I kept walking. Nope. Too late. [Sheila! You’re hard core! I think this was part of the reason M. liked me. I was not a pushover. I was WEIRD, most definitely – but no pushover.]

A. stopped us at the door. He recognized me from the last time. He offered us some popcorn. We told him good show. Or – the first thing I said to him was, “Good show tonight.”

He gave me this deadly serious stare – one eyebrow cocked up – and he said to me, in the voice of a cowboy in an old Western movie, “Yeah, well, I think you need to make your peace with that man over there, little lady.” Gesturing at M.

WHAT?

I told MJF that later, and MJF said, “What does that mean?”

That was my reaction too. They all talk like that, too – as if they’re in some gangster movie, or Western, or film noir – or some hardened detective who’s seen too much too soon. I was talking to G. once, and he was telling me about some girl he was into. I said, “What’s she look like?” And he said, “She has a face that could make a priest kick a hole thru a stained glass window.” Ha. And I met her – and you know what? She did!

But these guys – they narrate things – they jump out of conversations that are going on and suddenly narrate to an invisible audience – They do inner dialogues of conflict, but they say it out loud – It’s hysterical. And you know, too, that they see themselves that way – with stark dramatic lighting, clouds of cigarette smoke, and bursts of terrifying music. This is the imaginary world these guys swagger through.

So A. was just looking out for M., I guess. Taking care of his friend. Had they spoken about it? A. had obviously noticed that M. and I hadn’t said 2 words the whole night. Make my peace with him, though? What?

So. I walked back over to M. MJF very deftly kept talking to A., eating A.’s popcorn. Said to me later, “Did you notice how I kept the friend occupied?”

(This is just how I imagined it would be when MJF moved to Chicago – the 2 of us setting each other up with men – and then talking later, manically, about every detail.)

So. I leaned on the bar next to M. Smiling at him. No words between us. His eyes kind of stun me. So I said, “How was detox?” (I plunged in as though no time had gone by at all.) And he took no time at all to leap into the here and now with me. No think time needed. No small talk. Ever.

He said emphatically, with utter commitment, “Oh, GOD. It was AWFUL. It was just TERRIBLE. No drinking, smoking, or eating for 4 days – just water. It was like being dead. And all through the 4th day, all I could think about was getting back into the race again.”

When he said, “It was AWFUL”, I said – sympathetic, “Oh, honey.” It kind of just slipped out. I never called him “honey” before. No wonder why he looks at me with confusion and curiosity.

We talked about the show. I was talking, and he interrupted me bluntly, and said, “You look scalding hot tonight.” This shut me up for a second. I couldn’t respond. And then I kept talking about the improv show as though that interruption hadn’t even happened. I confessed that I was the one who Booed. I didn’t want him to be mad at me for that. So I explained why I Boo’ed. I mentioned the difference between the guys he works with – and that loathsome guy. I never ever feel like M. and his friends dislike women. I never watch their shows and feel like they use women for cheap jokes. Even though there’s lots of rude macho swagger – it doesn’t have that snippy hostility … fine line. Also: you can make fun of women, as long as it’s funny. Do whatever you want to do – but it sure as shit better be funny. I said to M., “It seems like with you and your team – you are so in sync – you never go for the easy laugh. It’s all so intelligent, and connected – It’s like you guys can read each other’s minds or something.” He said, “It’s not that we read each other’s minds. We just DO it. We know how to do it. We know the craft and we DO it. We’re not up there for ourselves, or to do punch lines.” I said, “You trust each other. That’s obvious.”

M. said that he didn’t like running the shows – he did well, though and I told him so.

I asked him what he was doing for Halloween. I saw this brief … thing … flicker in his eyes – a thing I did not like. Something I can’t put my finger on – but I responded to it, in a tired voice, “Don’t worry. I’m not asking you out.”

This stopped him short, and he gave me this … weird inner-directed look. Like – he had been busted, or something – like I had read his mind, and it made him feel uneasy. I didn’t say anything. I just let him stew in his own awkward juices. He said, “I’ll be here. There’s a Halloween party after the show that night.”

I said, “I’m going to a party D.C. is having.” [Now this was odd – but D.C. was a friend of my friend David’s – great guy – and somehow we discovered, thru conversation, that D.C. had gone to high school with M. This was when I still knew ZERO about M. Oh – and that party? It was the Woody Allen/Mia Farrow party. I have more to say about … this whole “don’t worry, I’m not asking you out” thing. Fascinating. More so now than ever. ]

I gestured at MJF and said, “That’s my new roommate over there. We’re going as Woody Allen and Mia Farrow.”

The Woody/Mia thing didn’t register – all he heard was the word “roommate”.

“Roommate? You have a roommate? Sheila, all you have is a room. That is not an apartment. It is a room.”

“He’s my best friend. He just moved here.”

M. was totally overwhelmed trying to imagine 2 people living in my apartment. He said again, “But it’s just a room.”

A. and MJF eventually came over. I said, “M., this is MJF.” They shook hands. My heart cracked in a million pieces.

I said to MJF, “He can’t believe I have a roommate – with the size of my apartment being what it is.”

MJF said to M., “Oh, that’s right! You’ve been in that room!” (As though it were just occurring to him. I love him.)

M. is this big thuggish open-faced guy – with eyes that kind of wince and squint at you – trying to figure you out – weighing you in the balance – trustworthy or no? – also, like – well, like he said, “I’m beyond the point of small talk.” Why is he so endearing to me? Somehow, the thing has not imploded into awkwardness. [Oh – and years later – circa 2003 – over 10 years after this – M. and I relived a lot of our first encounters, just in conversation – and just LAUGHED at how WEIRD we both were.]

As we all talked, A., again, was as alert as a high-beam. He watched everybody closely.

MJF and M. bonded in annoyance about Samuel. [hahahaha That was my awesome awesome cat.] Samuel and MJF have totally bonded – Samuel loves MJF much more than me – but there are times when MJF wishes Samuel would LAY OFF in his tireless pursuit of love and closeness.

M., on the other hand, just doesn’t like cats. Samuel did not perceive this, however, and insisted upon curling himself around M.’s ankles, and meowing pointedly up at him, like: “I DEMAND LOVE FROM YOU!”

M. said, “That cat is only interested in shedding all over you. That’s it.”

He couldn’t get over me having a roommate. He called me “Room” – just to bust my balls. Finally, MJF and I decided to leave. We said bye – and M. said, “See you around ………… Room.”

[See, this still cracks me up.]

Bye, M. Bye, Mr. No Small Talk. Bye, Mr. Social WEIRDO.

But all in all. Not a lot of awkwardness. [WHAT????? No awkwardness? Are you kidding me?? I’m glad YOU’RE oblivious to it, Sheila!!]