left of the middle

Mar 14, 2008 - 19:53 PM PST

Do you ever wonder why the sun shines in the day and the moon at night? I do all the time. I don’t know why people do the things that they do. All I know is that we can only make the best of it.

For instance: This woman was down the hall and three floors up from Dermot Wyand’s Apartment. In an instant girl this woman who couldn’t have been more then twenty made a determined walk from her apartment to the stairwell and down the hall to Dermot’s apartment, which she shares with her roommate Sharon. Dermot didn’t catch the woman’s name and he didn’t mind that. There’s not many guys who would. It’s not often that he does to him. It’s immaterial. They keep coming anyway. They say he has the glare. One soft and controlling unbelievable glare. I didn’t believe it when he told me. No one did.

You see Dermot was my best friend. Well he still is, one of them, but I don’t see him as much. I’m lucky every time I’m fired I get a promotion. I didn’t have to move but I did. I’m feeling bad about it for some reason.

I didn’t like Rolling Stone when I was a kid. But when the chance came up it was killed me but I had to do it. I didn’t like Peter Travers. He’s an idiotic asswipe. Don’t tell him I said that. Don’t tell him . . . I wanna tell him. I’ll tell him I said that. That’s a good one. I should write that down.

You see Rolling Stone fired me. There was an . . . unfortunate incident. I called Julia Roberts an overrated idiot of a talent that didn’t deserve to even be considered for an academy award. Apparently she’s dating the one of the editors. I should really learn to shut my mouth.

I have a tendency to shoot my mouth off at the worst of times. I went to The Chronicle in Washington. I grew up in Fairfax. A hole. I went to school there. I couldn’t wait to get out of there. So wasn’t happy to go back . . . but I did because my friend Andre’s first ex wife Leah actually makes friends in our business. And she suggested me. Apparently she’s respected. I get why but… whatever. There were five successes in my senior class at Lincoln. One worked at Microsoft in development and three at AOL. In their eyes, I wasn’t that lucky. And my other friend, the one I told you about, Andre Satterfield wrote for the New Yorker and now writes everyone’s favorite books about foibles in everyday life. Or so the New York Times Bestseller’s list says so. He wanted to grow up and be Andy Rooney. Which all right I guess but I didn’t expect to hear that from an eight year old.

He’s an idiot.

He’s been married three times and is twenty-nine. Impressive. . . really. Number one went to high school with us, Leah Melvey, an editor at the Philadelphia Journal she’s now my boss.

Pay attention it’s . . . a long story.

Her domain is the Philadelphia magazine. It’s in the weekend edition. Which means I’m stuck with her until my contract’s up. They have a son Finley. Named after me. I call him the fish. Because there can only be one Finley. I love that little guy. He’s eight.

Number two, Sandy Jeffers drove an ice cream truck, and number three Amanda was a doctor, a dermatologist. I don’t trust dermatologists I don’t go to them and I hate them. I had a problem with acne when I was in high school. I took some of this blue stuff from a dermatologist and my nose blew up like Rudolph and erupted like a geyser. It really sucked.

You know what else sucks, is having your picture next to your column. And I won’t mention the fact that people roll it up and swat flies with your face. And having idiots roll up on you and tell you that they thought “Mullholand Drive” sucked and I’m an idiot for ranking it number one. You see I rank my movies weekly from worst to first. Some people take issue with it. I don’t know how Roper and Ebert deal with that stuff without shooting themselves. For me that cruise they do in February would my downfall. Severed heads would be everywhere, I’d be cackling wildly while I stood on top of deck claiming “Victory is Mine!” as I heard the infant man boy child Stewie and his football shaped cranium in my countless tapes of the show “Family Guy”. Which I guess no one liked but me because you’re clueless. It didn’t stay on the air for long. I have every episode at home.

As you can probably tell by now, I have temper. But I’d like to say I’m not a horrible person. I just have a low tolerance for bullshit. And I just get frustrated sometimes. People annoy me and they give me migraines. Like Darren.

He’s another close friend. Darren Sexton is an idiot and is a limo driver for my sister Rae, a guru and spiritual guide to millions. Jerry Seinfeld is his hero and uses open mike nights to try break through he still lives in Fairfax and in Dermot’s mother’s basement. Dermot lived next door to the Sextons. He’s getting a long with mother. We all loved his mom. His Mom was HOT. It was the only reason we became his friends. I knew Dre because we lived three doors down from each other. I used to walk to school with them.

More on Rachel, she was a dot.com millionaire turned self-help guru you see on late night television. She one lived in an igloo for a month and ate only snow. Seriously. Her infomercials are usually sandwiched between Conan O’Brien’s Late Night Reruns out Drew Carey old episodes of the Tonight Show and another episode of Conan. I love Rae. She’s thirty-four and is my sanity. Or what’s left of it. She’s a great gal, happily divorced, and the only member of my family that I can remotely stand. I hate family reunions. And I hate infomercials because I get her advice for free and my life’s a mess.

Darren, Dermot, Dre and I met up at the reunion. On graduation day we all pledged we wouldn’t go but did anyway. It was a horrid event. Horrid. I hated it.

Horrid’s one of my favorite words.

I like the way it feels in my mouth when I roll the “r’s.”

That night, we went to Darren’s basement. Let me warn all of you who are thinking about this now, alcohol and pot don’t mix. So if this next part gets a little confusing. I tell you this because I barely remember the rest of the night. If someone told me this maybe things wouldn’t be as they are.

At 6 AM that next morning, I woke on the Sexton front lawn in my “come and get some boxers” with big red hearts with big smiles and flinging glow in the dark tongues, blue tongues alternated with pink areolas. Nipple clamps squeezing my nipple so hard. They would hurt for weeks afterward.

If I wrote this wouldn’t have been the way I’d do it.

It would be more like “You’ve got Mail.” I’d go to medical school and open a gigantic podiatry practice around the corner in some abandoned lot. Unknowingly, crush her business while befriending her and learning to love her via e-mail and discovering it is her and concocting a romantic end only rivaled by Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks’ previous work “Sleepless in Seattle.” I’d meet her in a plush garden worthy of the utter ungodly thoughts that only were by matched her beauty. But then again I’m not that lucky.

But it was at that moment that my life would change. She now stood above me. She towered. I hadn’t seen her since Darren’s sixteenth birthday. She was a freshman in college then. Some things grow finer with time. Most would say wine or cheese but they’re not worthy of admission in the same metaphor. She’s still unmatched. It was Darren’s sister. It still boggles that the same sperm and egg donors that produced the guy that routinely asked the following “Have you ever sucked the jelly out of a jelly donut?” And… “If so do you think the jelly could freeze your brain?” Also… “Do you think you could use a jelly donut for a bong? ‘Cause my apple blew up.” in the same conversation while balancing a lit wax candle on his head could get it so right.

Her name is Camilla every one calls her Cammie except for Dre who calls her “Foot Doctor.” Or. “Dr. Fung.” Because that’s what she does. I call her Camilla made really reconsider why I didn’t go to Med School. And everything I ever thought about podiatry in an instant. It’s amazing the things a guy would do for a girl.

I remember Dermot and my roommate at NYU, Lance once swam in the East River to get a girlfriend’s cellphone. He got sick and phone was ruined but . . . she was greatful and sometimes it’s worth it. It just sucks when you make an effort and it unrequited.

Camilla kicked me. Not hard but just enough. It didn’t hurt but . . . it was something I could get used to. I don’t know she noticed but I was glaring. She grabbed a nipple clamp I screamed and got up. I couldn’t stop glaring. I stood up straight. There was an instant connection.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she asked. Well maybe not instantly. She took me inside and I put on Darren’s old Hawaiian bathrobe and she got my pants. My shirt was shredded. It was another unfortunate incident.

“Put down the chain saw!” I screamed.

“Take off your shirt.” Dre demands. He held one of my arms.

“Come on man. What are you doing?” I begged him.

Dermot broke out a giant blue box cutter with four other box cutters attached to each side.

“What the hell is that?” I asked him Darren held my other arm and wouldn’t let go.

“I just made it last night.” Dermot said proudly

“You planned this?!!” I screamed.

“Ya.” he said with his Fargo accent.

If only his foot was in a wood chipper and movie logic was real. I’d look to Kevin Spacey for an answer. He always seems to have them. In The Usual Suspects he was asked.

“Why’d you kill him?”

“Because he was an asshole.”

“Do you think everyone who you think is an asshole should die?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“It might make the world a better place.”

A little creepy. But I like the way his mind works.

“Pick up a book, wack off, watch old episodes of Cheers and guess which year they’re from, you got way too much time on your hands. Dermot you don’t got... to get a job you just gotta.... gotta stop making megaboxcutters. You what... I got an idea. Remember when we were in school and used to try and guess which Celebes would be like if they were on drugs. You see today you got a whole new class of drugs to work with.” The forced me on the bed and hand cuffed me to the posts. “You know with Andro and Riddilne and Prozac. Just think, Robin Williams on Prozac. Mrs. Doubtfire wouldn’t be funny. Come on guys come on.”



I gotta get some new friends.

There was a moment with Camilla, which started a calamity, which started a romance, a friendship and a hell of a lot of debt. It just reminded me what my High School Economics teacher once said, “Marriage is a trap, totally unnecessary, an unnecessary moment that costs to much with little to gain but peace and brings nothing but pain.”

An interesting fellow . . . Shot in the back . . . Very sad.

That breakfast, as insignificant as seemed a week later started something I couldn’t stop. Maybe I wouldn’t want it to. It was the real reason why I had to leave the DC area. It was Camilla. I called her and wanted to take her out to lunch. She wanted brunch. I’d never had brunch before. I didn’t miss much. Brunch became Lunch. Lunch became an afternoon snack and that snack became dinner. Dinner became breakfast and then brunch and so on. A marathon date. They should be outlawed. I was so enthralled I couldn’t stop staring.

Every review became a puff piece.

Jerry Bruckheimer loves me. I actually admitted that Pearl Harbor made me cry. I was becoming someone else. And before I knew it we were living together.

Within a month, I asked her to marry me.

She said yes.

Then came the preparation.

Somewhere between that October when I proposed and our wedding day something I couldn’t explain happened. We bought a house. A big house. The money didn’t matter much then. Her career taking off and mine was steady. And I even made an appearance on the Today show and David Letterman’s critic’s “Top Ten Reasons Why Movie Reviews Make No Gosh Darn Sense.” I was number three. I met my idol, Alan Kalter. I always thought it would be cool to do what he does. I’d dyed my hair red and belt out.

And now the only man in New York who ain’t afraid of them evil tractor trailers . . . David Letterman.

Before I knew it was spring. Camilla took on a partner in her practice. I never met him. She wanted more time for me and our marriage. We were married in June, we in a shrink’s office in July, separated in August, and alone in October.

I spent the next year alone.

I heard that it’s better to have loved and lost then to have never loved at all. I say its commie bullshit. I got a new car I didn’t need and a house I don’t want. That’s why I had to get out of DC. That’s why I moved to Philadelphia. I’m working my way up the seaboard. I was hoping I could retire in Kennebunkport, Maine I’d party with Nell Bush and convince them of the greatness of Dumb and Dumber. I guess New York’s next.

A year passed. I received a call from Camilla and she received the final divorce papers and wanted to see me first. Neither one of us signed them. We met in Baltimore in the inner harbor. On a Friday in August, I signed away my heart. But think I found a new friend.

Every Friday since, no matter what the circumstances, or what else was in our lives. I raced from my apartment to the train station on Fridays and I always see her at our table. We treat each other every other week. It’s a sense of relief that I need. But there are still moments where I hope that this isn’t what we’re meant to be.

It’s disappointing . . . there are some pluses though. Female friends aren’t common phenomena for me. It’s like Homer Simpson said, “This is the greatest thing that happened since Haley’s comet collided into the moon."

His daughter Lisa said that never happened which may be true. But in my world it did. Camilla has been great for me. The guys don’t like her much, but that doesn’t really matter.

The moments we shared were nothing short of magical. It was all the great things we missed out on. A courtship of sorts. We did movies, amusement parks, malls it was a great year. But our Friday’s faded quickly afterward. I had to move on without a dependable shoulder to lean on and to long for. Soon every Friday became every third Friday, then every fourth, then fifth, then every couple of months. It seemed that she was starting to keep things from me. It even seemed as is Darren was doing the same. Then he just started to avoid me, as did Dermot. I can understand Darren, Cammie is his sister but Dermot . . . That hurt. I got a phone call. The Philadelphia Journal . . . Leah blew out her entire staff of critics

When I got the offer . . . that’s why I left the Chronicle I had to get out of D.C. . I always meant to lease an apartment somewhere but I didn’t. I commuted from ou... my house.

Then I didn’t see her four six or seven months. I hooked up with floozies at screenings like Mary Ann, Candy, Debra, Sadie, and Claire. What did I care? Like Kevin Spacey said in American Beauty, I was “just a desperate man with nothing to loose.” I hung out with my critic friends like Lyle Tucker who works at the New York Post and Dan Everett who worked at the Wall Street Journal before joining me at the Philadelphia Journal. I hated them. But I still had Andre. He was being iced out too. I guess he was too close to me. Andre hated traitors. He always said “If I ever meet John Wilkes Booth I’m gonna pull out his intestines and eat it with fava beans and a nice bottle of Chianti.” Don’t tell anybody but I love that guy.

Andre and I took the little Fish to a Redskins/Cowboys Game at Jack Kent Cook Stadium. I mean FedEx field. Thanks to Mr. Snyder.

He’s never been to a game before. And it was Monday Night Football the game was great the Cowboys won in shoot out. But I couldn’t get her off my mind. I would’ve sworn I saw her in the parking lot, in the crowd, on the scoreboard, all the cheerleaders looked like her, as did everybody in the band. I was losing it.

I went home. My house is large and bare. I have a television and satellite dish. Several VCR and DVD players and large surround sound television in my living room, as is my bed. There’s no box spring simply a mattress on the floor. I have no other furniture. Not even a refrigerator. I keep it to keep the past from fading away completely. Hoping that this isn’t reality. That all this would change. It didn’t know it but it was just about to.

I opened my mail and found out that I was cordially invited to the celebration of the union of Donald Riddick Carsay and Camilla Kathryn Sexton. My jaw dropped. First that she was dating a guy named Donald and second that she’s getting married.

So my first reaction was to give Donald an offer he couldn’t refuse or talk to one of Robert DeNiro’s boys or one of the guys Henry Hill knew. Did I tell you I did my thesis on Henry Hill and the truth about Goodfellas that it the greatest American film ever? Screw you Orsen Wells! But I realized wasn’t sane so I turned to the only person who could make since out of this. Rachel.

“What do you mean you don’t know what to do?”

“I don’t know what to do.” she said sipping at her cappuccino. We were at a coffee shop. And no it’s not Starbucks but it was crowded like was. I was uncomfortable.

“What do you mean you don’t know what to do? You’re supposed to be a spiritual guide to millions!”

“I know?”

“I demand satisfaction.”

“What are we in a bad Simpson’s episode? Why don’t you ask Homer.”

I bet he’d tell me to kick some ass.

“I bet he’d tell me to kick some ass.”

“You know if you’re not gonna listen to me...”

“That’s why I’m here.”

“Finley... I’m sorry but I can’t help you with this one. Because... I like Camilla…. I love Camilla she’s like a sister…. and I love you… you’re my brother. And I like you two together but… if she’s happy without you…” she sighed.

I knew what she was going to say. So I got up threw down ten bucks and I left.

I ran.

I went to the park that Andre frequents with Little Finley. They weren’t there. I sat in the park. It was truly like Men In Black. I didn’t think it was possible but I survived in the park on that bench. Not moving. Not thinking. Over one night, in the middle of July. I knew what I had to do.

I went home and I sent e-mail to Will Smith, Tommy Lee Jones, and Barry Sonnefield’s agents apologizing for my stupidity.

I went to the wedding in September, it was beautiful out. I ran into Darren he was manning the door. I slugged him. I passed Leah. I said hello and ran into Mrs. Sexton who I gave a full French kiss to. I hit Darren and his father Daniel who were noticeably upset. I then waited hiding in the crowd saw her walk that isle flowers in her hair big high-heeled white boots on. I watched her approached Donald Duck. So I broke out my big gat. Not my small one my big one and I shot Donald. I picked her up threw her over my shoulder and walked out. Everyone was dumbfounded… Donald’s parents quacked for revenge.

Well I didn’t do any of that any of that.

Well some of it.

I wanted this thing to be over.

So I went to the wedding. I went to the wedding in September. I ran into Darren he was manning the door. I slugged him. Dermot ran. I passed Leah. I said hello. She was already bombed. I ran into Mrs. Sexton. Who asked me why I was there? I told her that it was my wedding day. I wished I would have kissed her. Leah vomited. She panicked as I made a room by room search until I found Camilla.

I saw her smile and… the plan was over.

“Finley!!” she screeched. That high pitched annoying squeal that I once found charming. She was all dressed in white but not at all like I imagined “I was afraid you weren’t gonna show. You didn’t return the RSVP. I’m glad you’re here. And I’m sorry… I… I was ready… I didn’t think you wanted anything else… This one’s on me and I didn’t... And he swooped in and… I’m sorry.” she had a couple tears in his eyes.

“I forgive you.” I yelped out. “So ...” I could barley get it out. “Who is this guy?”

“He’s wonderful. He’s smart. He’s quick. You’d like him. He’s an accountant.”

“A yuppy... yummy” I was sarcastic. I was kind of hoping he was Donald Duck.

“Don’t be like that... besides I’m a yuppy and... you’re a yuppy.” Cammie lied.

“I’m. I’m not. No, I’m not. I’m not a yuppy. Don’t call me a yuppy. I’m not a yuppy. Young urban Professionals I live a fucking house in the fucking ‘burbs”

Well I’m not. I’m not one of them. I don’t wanna be one of them. Who’d wanna be one of them. They’re drones. They have no personality. Except for Cammie, and Andre, and Leah...

Damn it.

Back to Cammie.

“It’s good to have you back.” she smiled “You gonna watch.”

“Yeah... Yeah... I’ll watch. Sure... Are sure about this guy?”

“Yeah... Yeah I am. I’m very sure...

“You know I had this plan and you’re really screwing this up for me.”

She smiled. “I... missed... this. When I get back I wanna here from you... Darren has my new number.” She stared at me. “What did you do?!”

“Nothing.” I said innocently. “I just made the world a better place. Isn’t that why we’re here... to just make the world a better place, that’s why we’re here . Right?” I didn’t make any since but she seemed to get it.

“That’s what it’s all about... Wait a minute you never make the world a better place. Go apologize.”

I left. And I’m not a yuppy. And I didn’t. The asshole deserved it. And I’m not a yuppy. I ran into Leah outside. I held her hair back before she vomited. She said she’d make it up to me.

“If I’m not a yuppy. You’re not a yuppy.” Leah said. I kissed her. And that was disgusting. But that’s another story.

I sat on the steps of the church for hours. I looked up and stared at the sun and I sat beside myself and I asked myself if I ever wonder why the sun shines in the day and the moon at night.

“I used to.” I answered.

I told myself that I can’t control the things that people do. You can only make the best of it on this day and tomorrow and the next… That’s all I know to do.