Wednesday, February 11, 2015

I'm Fucking Up, Man! I'm Fuckng Up!: Or My Confession about Allie MacDonald

I wasn't going to write about the following.  "Publicize it," you know?  But I saw and heard and felt something tonight that sent me right here.

Nearly one month ago on a gently raining Southern California night, I reached out to Allie MacDonald (Stage Fright, among others) through one of her most formative, sentimental, fond and tight friendship and family projects.  The urge to do so was inexplicable and magical.  I did this in the third person assuming that she herself was not likely to ever see my message.  Then, two weeks later, I received a sweet reply from Allie herself.  I would say it was too sweet but I don't want to perpetuate a notion that a limit should be placed on sweetness.

Allie may well be the most generous actress in the world, maybe not in terms of sheer millions contributed to charity or hours put in on housing and feeding projects, but in terms of her sensitivity and generosity of spirit.  It's like she's on the hundredth floor and I'm on the second.  I want to ride with her up to the hundredth.   

I watched a video (a few, actually), from those glory days of 2011, kind of ground zero for Allie (in some ways).  She was performing songs in an open mic type of setting.  One song was about a homeless cellist who lived across from her house.  The fact that she had the sensitivity to notice, pay close attention to, and write a moving song about this man overwhelms me with humility.  However, it's not a permanent dip in the well of shame, it's a call for self-improvement.  Moreover, her sensitivity is highly infectious, every time I immerse myself in her whatever, my own sensitivity meter skyrockets.  Her tender voice and natural smile are devastating. 

Granted, I'm not a complete asshole, I threw up a Facebook post about a homeless(ish) Navy veteran who I encountered in San Diego, but only because he talked me up for twenty-plus minutes while waiting for the bus.

You may have read my nostalgic Cody Carpenter post.  A large part of the reason I even thought to write that subject up at that specific moment was Allie.  If I have a "brorgy" with Cody, Allie is invited.  She can be an honorary bro for that would-be night. 

The fact is, I did not want to let that reply from Allie be the end of it.  No, on some level I knew what I always wanted to do.  I felt the call to drop a fairly big request.  No less than friendship and genuine hang time.  I did this to myself, I create these emotional twisters based on hopes and dreams, usually they are completely in my head.  For once, I actually appear to have a genuine prospect (in terms of her eventual awareness).  But still, I imagine with such clarity and intensity that I can't get her out of my head (cue that song).  I want what's past to be a doorway to so much more.

I still hope she will be interested and make time for some togetherness once a month or every two months or whatever.  I know it's a leap.  But if anyone's capable of taking a generous leap, it's her.  And I keep this shit bottled up, I keep it secret, so nobody gets those absences that I'm feeling.  I live with ghosts of better days that are often so elusive.

Honestly, this year has been one of the high points of my life.  I met many authors of a certain area of fiction that interests me, and I am now part of their circles.  I've even initiated two collaborations.  Another very small work of mine was published on a very small forum (can't really call it a publication/journal/magazine).  Shit is happening.  And this year is my most promising graduate school application year yet.

And yet, looking at Allie,  I'm given a spiritual kick in the cheeks: it's not enough.  I traveled to Oregon and experienced my first airplane trip for the first time at the age of 30 (November 2014).  I'm fucking up.

I don't deserve Allie but I need her.  I need the soul-kicking, graceful beauty of someone like her in my life.  I need that push.  I need those who are just that much more accomplished and more graceful to carry me along and teach me how to fucking fish.    

Allie operates on many of the same wavelengths, she clearly has a thing for cute and quirk and random.  It just comes out sweeter with her.  It's like I'm making cookies and get impatient and don't run the beater long enough, she does.  If your soul mate is someone that makes you a better person, or forces your soul to grow the most, then it feels like she could be it.  That's such a selfish and presumptuous comment but that's a product of the funnel cloud that I'm spinning in.

Whether it's her accessible photos or her keen and misty-eyed songs, she always draws out more humanity and more vulnerability and more courage.  Whether it's her roles or her graceful interviews, it's that all-too-welcome reminder that I'm fucking up.  Gallagher smashed my head with a watermelon and I said thanks.

Yeah, I want to soak up Allie's warmth by osmosis.  By diffusion.  By infection.  By evaporated sweat that finds home on my own skin.  I want my shit to be irradiated.  I want to meet the parents.  I want to meet the dog.  I want to even go to Vietnam and meet the sister.  I want whatever I don't even know I can want from her.  She has that effect on me.  

No, I'm not fucking up to be sucked in by Allie.  No, I'm not fucking up with this post.  I'm fucking up because I need it.  Because I can't help myself.  She plays a part in the little task of unfucking up.  There's room for more screen time, so to speak.

Thanks for my most emotional blog post yet.
XOXO, SCOTT   
Put the "we" in sweet.

P.S. Thanks to the random, gray-haired dude with a ponytail from the Metrolink train who was yelling to a colleague: "You're fucking up , man!  You're fucking up!"  That shit stung because I knew I was fucking up worse, but didn't have the benefit of being called out on it. 

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