“same time, next year”

I think of this every year now and it still gets me.

Every year, during The Rock ‘N’ Roll Marathon, which was this morning, I think of an old customer of mine from little Boheme and his yearly marathon rendezvous.

This is what I wrote when he first told me about it two years ago:

…. He says he always stands at the same location every year to watch the runners and he always runs into the same woman and that they just chat and watch the marathon. So he says, “Now we have a kind of ‘Same Time, Next Year’ thing going on with the marathon. I’ll be standing in that spot tomorrow and I bet she shows up.” They just hang out for that brief period of time of the marathon; that’s all. It’s not romantic in the classic man/woman sense — (mainly because he’s gay) — but the fact that he does that and she does that, I dunno; it’s still romantic to me. It’s two people giving over to a kind of whimsy. They have no connection in life otherwise, but they are each other’s spontaneous marathon date. Every year, they are committed to that moment. And he was so looking forward to seeing her. His face just lit up talking about it and he was thoroughly unabashed, totally surrendered to what those moments are — their secret shimmering ritual.

It made my heart burst a little. The weird random ways that people connect. The ways they find each other. The spark of all that. How it has its own life, its own electric tingle. It’s like some divine serendipity. God’s a romantic, he is, up there in his heaven, not wanting people to be alone, just giddy sometimes with the ways he allows people to collide.

And, you know, every year when I think of this, I think of my customer, my friend, and smile because I just know he surrenders to the whimsy and brings her flowers.

I just know it.

He’s just that way.

another reason to love christopher hitchens

Generally, I find radio talk show host Hugh Hewitt a big ol’ blowhard and don’t listen to him, with two notable exceptions: When Mark Steyn is on and when Christoper Hitchens is on. Just now, I’m making dinner and Christopher Hitchens is on the show. I could listen to him forever. I heart him. So smart. So funny. SO British. Anyway, here’s the exchange I heard:

HH: So will Obama put Hillary on the ticket?

CH: Gahd, no!

HH: Why?

CH: Because he would never know a moment’s peace for the rest of his life.

HH: Why?

CH: Because he’d be hounded by a megalomaniac who’s shackled in marriage to a thug.

He then went on to talk at length about Hillary’s “FLAHbbergasting behavior” — not all of which I caught because I was laughing too hard at “FLAHbbergasting behavior,” at the punch, the contemptuous clip he gave that little phrase.

Hahahahahaha! I love you, Christopher Hitchens. There’s no one like you.

Call me!

some jeff bridges love

First, here’s smokin’ hot Jeff Bridges — aka, Tracey’s favorite living actor — his smokin’ hot wife and one of his daughters at the recent premiere of Iron Man:

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Mazeltov, Mrs. Bridges, on your hotness. I’d never seen you before, but I would want nothing less for Jeff Bridges. Your daughter is also pretty. I can see Grampa Lloyd in her face a little. Not that that’s a bad thing.

And this photo …. it just makes me so happy. Look at them.
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Married 30 years. Man, fidelity is sexy.

I loves me my roger!

Roger Ebert — my favorite movie critic of all time — made his first public appearance since cancer surgery. SO glad just to actually SEE him. I didn’t know, though, that he’d had part of his jaw removed and was unable to talk. I read he’s having more surgery to enable him to speak again.

Roger! Please get better soon! I know you’re still writing, reviewing, thank God, but I’m not ready yet for a world without your voice. I just love to hear you TALK about movies, hear the passion, hear just how darn smart you are about the whole topic.

I will happily procure you a voice box donor from any number of Boheme customers. Email me!

And, please, get better!

crack me up

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See this? It’s a picture of my friend, A, from The Beanhouse. He’s like a little sprite to me, with that face of his. He’s about 25, former military, and he’s hilarious. LOVES to talk. He now works for MB.

Anyway, I called the office the other day and A answered the phone. Within seconds he had launched into the story of his latest shenanigan and I was just howling. Seems he went up to this black guy at school and said, “What’s crackalackin’, homey?”

Oh, and when he re-enacted it for me, his voice was all high, like little Michael Jackson or something.

So the black guy is silent, then goes, “Dude …. you’re white.”

A is undaunted. He just says, “Fo’ sho’, homey.”

Black guy walks away, shaking his head, muttering, “That is one crazy mofo!”

And A was positively delighted with himself. Hahaha.