The Pressing Attempt

Over the weekend I was visiting Ack, the ex-husband/best friend. We were discussing being "perved on" recently. Young Ack is getting some business. Offers. It seems that he, like I, is a winter flower; a cold day bloomer. The majority of the prospects are from a specific breed within the large feline varietal. Cougars. He only has himself to blame, really. He's particularly charming with the old girls. The older they are, the more charm he lays out.

You should see him with old Czech church ladies! By the time he's finished dazzling them, they're off preparing any number of culinary delights. He is Czech in descent. Czech's, like many other cultures, demonstrate love by plying food down the expanded gullets of many a young man. I visited his homeland once. I hope I don't offend anyone here, but wow... All the food is beige. Including the vegetables. Evenly spread out, flat, across the entire expanse of a 10" plate, one will habitually find 4 shades of edible beige.

Here in Toronto, we can buy all kinds of ingredients from all over the world, including vegetables that span the entire colour spectrum. He opts to satisfy his more learned palate when he chooses to cook at home. When I went over this weekend he had made what he called chili. It wasn't chili; it was more reminiscent of stew with ground lamb. I think he called it chili because of the texture of the meat. Whatever it was, it was delicious!

Ack's other invited guest was... Ah, crap! I'm not allowed to write his name. Everyone I write about will either have their given name used, or a created handle that I routinely beckon them with. This fellow is a director/producer/writer. Originally from India, raised Hindu, he has a sharp mind for business, though is at a high school or equivalent level when it comes to social propriety at times.

He's kept rather interesting company. Also, and this pains me because some of these stories are less than flattering, rendering them to me very funny, I'm not allowed to reveal anyone else's name either. As I love a good story, I will make a brutal attempt without disclosing/ jeopardising anyone, just for the purposes of illustrating his character further.

My favourite director in the whole world, who designs movies often like I dream, was woken by this fellow (I haven't thought of a name for him yet) at 7:30am. My favourite director's wife had invited this fellow over for an early morning meeting regarding a film they would be doing together. My favourite director asked the fellow if he'd care for any eggs. Raised by a diplomat, the fellow always learned to say "yes" to anything offered. He understood early in his development that to refuse an offering may culturally be perceived as insulting. Yes, he wanted eggs, please.

He mostly wanted to see what this director would do with the eggs. My favourite director's style is dark storybook/ science fiction/ fantasy. The fellow-with-no-name-yet was convinced he was going to have eggs... with creatures coming out them!

The Comrade: And?
The Yet to be Named Fellow: Nothing! They were the most boring eggs I'd ever seen! They were just scrambled!
The Comrade: You're an idiot.

[ 3 beers open in succession ]
[ 2 very loud, open mouthed belches emanate from both myself and Ack]

The Yet to be Named Fellow is visibly disgusted.

A name. A name. What's in a name? He is the son of a diplomat, so I could call him SOD. But then again there are a couple of British readers that may take that the wrong way.

Ack lives in a condo situation. Upstairs from him is Big Girl. She's not big as in wide. She's as tall as him. Clean over 6'. Apparently she's got big, floppy feet, which Ack finds rather hot. I think he just got used to my dainty size 10's. Big Girl had invited Ack out dancing.

The Comrade: Are you going to go?
Ack: Yeah, I'm thinking about it.
The Comrade: Are you sure you want to go dancing... you know... on your first date?
Ack: [an aside to the Yet to be Named Fellow] She has a problem with my dance ability.
The Comrade: No I don't! I just don't know if she'd consider it...well... hot. I mean, the Bob Fosse moves? With the hands? I don't feel confident about this.

Well, Ack has learned not to listen to me. Who am I, his ex-wife, to give advice on how to score with chicks? Nobody, I say!

Ack got himself all tarted up and left the key to his place with me, insisting I stay with The Yet to be Named Fellow to finish our discussion.

I was telling The Yet to be Named Fellow about the stuff that was going on in my life. He was nodding, at a certain point not listening, getting ever physically closer by the second. He made a comment about the stuff around my eyes.

The Yet to be Named Fellow: What is that stuff? [forcibly smearing index fingers along his own eyelids]
The Comrade: Eyeshadow?
TYtbNF: Do you think I could wear that?
The Comrade: I guess you could, but I wouldn't advise it.
TYtbNF: Well, it looks good.

After some time, and I mean only a few minutes, he asks me if he could kiss me. Though it is freezing outside, I think the doorhandle was still warm from Ack's handprint.

The Comrade: No!
The Yet to be Named Fellow: Yeah, I guess there's too much history.
The Comrade: Dude! We're in Ack's house! I'm his ex-wife! We're drinking his beer! Our bellies are full of his chili! You say he's your best friend! What are you doing?

I think I was blinking rapidly for about 10 seconds. I think I blinked out.

What we had been discussing prior to his wanting to apply his lips to mine... Ah! The Applier! That will be his name! was something I am quite involved with right now. Always considering new story ideas for film/ television, The Applier thinks it's a really good idea for a television series. I am inclined to agree with him. I'm not going to get into great detail, mostly because I haven't really figured out how it could it work effectively.

When I asked a few others to collaborate on the project, I was accused of "selling out" by one of them. Just by virtue of the fact that it is destined for television.

Oh, God! Was it true? I had given up television 9 months ago. Of the 500 channel universe, there was only a smattering of episodic planets that were either informative enough, truly entertaining or that had any real substance at all. My design was never to contribute to 90% of the banality that is prevalent in that medium. I wanted to be part of the 10% of decent, thought-evoking, hands around the world sort of construct.

Considering everything I hear, I admittedly shame spiraled. This was spoken by someone I thought knew me. Someone I trusted.

I asked for a second opinion and received this:

"... i know you enough to have seen your soul peeking out from time to time, and from what i have gleaned in the time i have known you is that YOU ARE A GREAT PERSON. by great, i mean 'good', as in 'the good people', the ones who better be in heaven, if there is one, when i get there. because there aren't enough good people on this earth, i'm hoping that the afterlife is just busting out with them. imagine how much fun it would be! people who want to do things without cruelty, explorers, believers. i find the worst people are those who are afraid to love. to love anything, to have an extreme passion for something absurd. of course people can have passions for 'art' and 'music' and other consumables. but to have a passion for something absurd is a true gift, because it's so true. your passion is life. and not a nissan-commercial version. a real bohemian passion for being alive. and WHAT A FUCKING GIFT IT IS. you have carte blanche with me, my friend, because your intentions are good (and if they're not, i'm sure there's a damned good reason, one that reflects your 'good person-ness') and your goals are beautiful."

Thank you, Ferg. I hope you know how special you are to me.

Last week I was out with my good friend Dirty. Fish 'n Chips, Becks beer, good times. She was actually rather quiet during that visit. Normally she's a constant stream of wonderful energy. She was rather pensive that day. She seemed a bit negative. At one point she asked me, "What makes you... You?"

I didn't understand.

She wanted to know if there was an encouraging force within my family's structure that produced a person who goes out in the world simply curious, full of wonder, full of expression. I came from a very repressive family structure. The subject of nature vs. nurture came up.

When I was 5 years old, I remember going shoe shopping with my mother. I was chatting with the shoe salesman amicably. She lectured me afterwards about talking to strangers. I didn't sense anything wrong with that person. In my life, I have never been placed in any real danger. I trust my instinct. Talking to people is actually more relaxing than being aloof. As I'm a huge easedropper and highly opinionated, talking to strangers is sort of the next logical step.

Where I have had great difficulty is acknowledging my abilities when it comes to finding work outside of what I already know. I'm not naturally adept at selling myself.

I think it all comes down to risk. Dirty is often afraid of being rejected by the world for simply who she is. She is effective and quite talented in what she does for a living, but when it comes down to her persona, her being, she feels perhaps slightly inadequate. I don't view any human interaction as any kind of risk at all. It's the most natural thing in the world to me.

Though it was perhaps inappropriate for The Applier to make a stab at a pressing, I don't, and thankfully Ack doesn't, hold it against him. Though it went nowhere, it was a risk he was willing to take, and I respect that.