Most of my Sweet Readers were right there with me, but I’ll write about it anyway.
Some friends and I went to see Jake Johannsen’s show at Acme Comedy Company on Friday. If you don’t know who he is, just trust that Jake is arguably The Funniest Man On Earth--but if you really want to argue about it I’m not sure that you and I can be friends. If anybody who doesn’t know me reads this it won’t make sense unless I mention that for just the last little while I’ve been humoring myself with a silly, gratifying, trivial, motivating, pointless, eternal, counterproductive, joyous, intermittent, profound, little-schoolgirlish crush on this man. That is, if you consider fourteen years to be just a little while. Don’t worry, it’s completely harmless, and it seems to amuse my friends. A girl's gotta have a hobby, and the rest of my life keeps me too busy and tired to start up a more traditional avocation. I thought the one negative effect was some sensitivity on my husband’s part about the whole thing, but apparently that’s not an issue. Evidence: Hubby didn’t even remember I was going to the show, and neglected to arrange a sitter as promised to watch our boy for the evening. So hey, it’s not hurting anyone--I’m free and clear! Unless Jake himself has been somehow adversely impacted, but I only bother him for a few moments at a time, with an average interval of about seven years. And the occasional inane e-mail. Oh, and some comments on his myspace page every now and then. But he’s a big boy, and I think he can handle it. If you’re not convinced of the innocuous and beneficial nature of this you’ll have to twist my arm (I dare you!) to force me to expound even more ridiculously on the topic, and believe-you-me I could take up lots of space rationalizing…um, I mean, explaining this. The lady doth protest too goddam frickin’ much already.
Something about the actual show itself should be said here, but there’s no way I could do it justice. You should check out Jake’s comedy for yourself. We all had, as they say, a blast!
Afterward, we went out to the lobby and I stood in line to buy one of his t-shirts and blather awkwardly at him for a moment. I had no idea my sister Máire was going to take a picture of us, even though I had asked her to earlier that day, and we had discussed it before dinner, and she sent our friend Shari over to warn me moments beforehand. Okay, I guess I wasn’t thinking too clearly--was it Jake’s proximity? Or the Long Island iced tea? Or, perchance, the rum and Coke? (The beverages were a disappointing attempt at preventative self-medication for the temporary anxiety and spazziness associated with the encounter we’re discussing here.) Anyway, I had the absence of mind to be startled when Jake came around the table and started to put his arm around me. Wha? It took a greater number of microseconds than I care to admit for me to register that he had seen her camera and was merely being a good sport for the requisite Jake-and-fan photo. It must have taken only a couple of seconds for my sis to point her camera and say (and here I must paraphrase because I wasn’t all there), “One…and…two…and…blink…and…now.” But the movie that is my life became so sluggish as she spoke that I swear her voice slid down a complete octave. I couldn’t savor the moment, thinking of nothing but how little I cared for any photo that had been taken of me in the last decade and how-very-much-I would-like-please-god-for-this-one-just-this-one-to-be-different-that’s-not-asking-a-whole-lot-please-please-please. At the flash of the camera, time sped to make up for lost…uh, time. I’m pretty sure I thanked Jake as I scurried away.
The last time I had spoken with him, the recurring phrase in my head was “f***ity f*** f***” for days afterward for me being such a dork, but this time I am strangely calm. I don’t think I would even be dwelling on it if I weren’t being pressured by my Sweet Readers to come up with another blog post. (Apparently, I missed the entire month of July.) Anything to amuse my friends.
Some friends and I went to see Jake Johannsen’s show at Acme Comedy Company on Friday. If you don’t know who he is, just trust that Jake is arguably The Funniest Man On Earth--but if you really want to argue about it I’m not sure that you and I can be friends. If anybody who doesn’t know me reads this it won’t make sense unless I mention that for just the last little while I’ve been humoring myself with a silly, gratifying, trivial, motivating, pointless, eternal, counterproductive, joyous, intermittent, profound, little-schoolgirlish crush on this man. That is, if you consider fourteen years to be just a little while. Don’t worry, it’s completely harmless, and it seems to amuse my friends. A girl's gotta have a hobby, and the rest of my life keeps me too busy and tired to start up a more traditional avocation. I thought the one negative effect was some sensitivity on my husband’s part about the whole thing, but apparently that’s not an issue. Evidence: Hubby didn’t even remember I was going to the show, and neglected to arrange a sitter as promised to watch our boy for the evening. So hey, it’s not hurting anyone--I’m free and clear! Unless Jake himself has been somehow adversely impacted, but I only bother him for a few moments at a time, with an average interval of about seven years. And the occasional inane e-mail. Oh, and some comments on his myspace page every now and then. But he’s a big boy, and I think he can handle it. If you’re not convinced of the innocuous and beneficial nature of this you’ll have to twist my arm (I dare you!) to force me to expound even more ridiculously on the topic, and believe-you-me I could take up lots of space rationalizing…um, I mean, explaining this. The lady doth protest too goddam frickin’ much already.
Something about the actual show itself should be said here, but there’s no way I could do it justice. You should check out Jake’s comedy for yourself. We all had, as they say, a blast!
Afterward, we went out to the lobby and I stood in line to buy one of his t-shirts and blather awkwardly at him for a moment. I had no idea my sister Máire was going to take a picture of us, even though I had asked her to earlier that day, and we had discussed it before dinner, and she sent our friend Shari over to warn me moments beforehand. Okay, I guess I wasn’t thinking too clearly--was it Jake’s proximity? Or the Long Island iced tea? Or, perchance, the rum and Coke? (The beverages were a disappointing attempt at preventative self-medication for the temporary anxiety and spazziness associated with the encounter we’re discussing here.) Anyway, I had the absence of mind to be startled when Jake came around the table and started to put his arm around me. Wha? It took a greater number of microseconds than I care to admit for me to register that he had seen her camera and was merely being a good sport for the requisite Jake-and-fan photo. It must have taken only a couple of seconds for my sis to point her camera and say (and here I must paraphrase because I wasn’t all there), “One…and…two…and…blink…and…now.” But the movie that is my life became so sluggish as she spoke that I swear her voice slid down a complete octave. I couldn’t savor the moment, thinking of nothing but how little I cared for any photo that had been taken of me in the last decade and how-very-much-I would-like-please-god-for-this-one-just-this-one-to-be-different-that’s-not-asking-a-whole-lot-please-please-please. At the flash of the camera, time sped to make up for lost…uh, time. I’m pretty sure I thanked Jake as I scurried away.
The last time I had spoken with him, the recurring phrase in my head was “f***ity f*** f***” for days afterward for me being such a dork, but this time I am strangely calm. I don’t think I would even be dwelling on it if I weren’t being pressured by my Sweet Readers to come up with another blog post. (Apparently, I missed the entire month of July.) Anything to amuse my friends.
2 comments:
FINALLY. ;-)
Touch it! Touch the happiness!
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