I was enjoying a slice of carrot cake at an outside table when he pulled up to park directly in front of me. His car was modest. Expensive. But modest. Small. Jet black. Shiny and sleek. Quite bad ass, actually. He thumbed the remote lock before moving to walk past my table. At first glance, I wasnt even sure it was him. The man looked so casual and...local. And more slender than on television. But as my darting eyes caught his profile, his identity was disclosed without a doubt. He stood outside the neighboring restaurant for a beat, looking at the menu in the window. As he entered the building, I debated following him in. That thought existed in my mind for a whole second before being stricken from the record altogether. Because I knew it would be the move of a potential stalker, or at least thats how he might view it. I wasnt even sure why my subconscious had entertained or allowed the idea, but anticipated it was just trying to let me know that this was an important moment. So I stayed seated as he went in for lunch. The next half hour was an interesting one. Part of me wanted to leave, mostly because the sun was no longer keeping my back warm as it had been earlier. And it can get cold quick in the shadows. But I didnt want to depart the situation without at least trying to make a connection with the man, out of respect for feeling like thats what I was supposed to do. I played with my phone for a little while and then opened up the book thats generally on standby in my backpack. The waitress brought me a glass of water alongside a request for what else I might desire. It was clear that she was about done with me, but I wasnt prepared to leave yet. Im okay for now, thank you, I said, while picking up the loaned fork to push some orange crumbs and iced raisins around on my plate. She forced out a smile and returned inside, just as the lead character exited the building next door. He turned to walk back towards the car parked at my feet, before having a sudden change of heart and diverting into the record store two doors down. This next destination was appropriate, as the first time I ever saw him he was thumbing through records. But I knew that it also equated to more waiting. The crumbs and raisins were gone. All I had going for me now was an untouched glass of ice-water. Id peek around the corner every few moments, hoping to catch him en route back while also praying that we didnt make eye contact lest he think I was stalking him. In retrospect, I kind of was...but with intentions that were nothing but honorable. Sure no suspects have ever said that. Its the timeless Serendipitous Defense. It had now been well over an hour, and my hands were starting to shake from the cold. I get cold easily. Plus all I was wearing was a summer tee and light jacket as this was supposed to be a day for brunch and sweets on the sunny side of the street and not shivering in a metal chair waiting for whatever was going to happen. But that’s the thing about instinct. You can’t ignore it. Although by this point in the narrative it seemed like the time had come to pack it in and move on. Then I saw him. About a Portland block down, walking back towards his car. The time had come indeed, but not to leave. To engage. I stood up and started moving towards him, with my motions unfolding based on his changing direction. When he looked straight ahead, I looked to the left. When he observed something of fancy across the street, my pace quickened to close in so that our initial interaction would take place adjacent to seated strangers and not in the middle of them. So when he stopped short to take out his phone and look at the ground, I was just a few feet away. Wasnt sure how to start the conversation, but heres out it went down. About three hours ago. Excuse me, sir? I began, making a conscious effort to speak calmly and not seem creepy. Yes, he said, looking up with a polite way about him. And then, Hi! It was like we were old friends. Hi. So…I dont wanna take your picture. Or get your autograph. But if youre interested, Id like to buy you a beer. And tell you a story. A Portland story. He laughed lightly and smiled before responding. Oh youre sweet, thank you. But Im just going shopping across the street and have to head out after that. I noticed that he was standing there, patiently. As in, he wasnt trying to escape the situation or avoid me. So I continued the dialogue. No worries. Before you go, would you mind passing along your publicists information? Id like to see about maybe hiring you for this large community event coming up at the end of November. Hmm. We’ll probably be back in LA by then, he said before returning to look back down at his phone. But you never know. His thumb scrolled through an address book, containing names that I could only imagine were awesome, and found the target contact. Here you go, he continued, showing me the email address. I entered it into my digital notepad and showed him the screen for clarification. Thats it! So whats the event? I didnt really know where to start, but knew that my time was as limited as could be. It was an elevator pitch. No matter what, some information would be lost. All I could do was put the big picture in his head. Well, its a Speakeasy at the Crystal Ballroom, I began. His eyebrows raised above the trim brown shades seated on his face. Curiosity piqued, if even for an instant. I’m in a band that plays vintage jazz, I continued as he stayed focused. 1920s and 30s. Weve brought a bunch of friends along that are kind of off the radar. Even though they’re brilliant. Its a special event thats a result of Portland, and yeah Im not sure if youd be interested in participating in any way but...well we need all the help we can on getting the word out. And then we talked a little more. I cant recall ever seeing his name in the tabloids, or reading something negative about the man. I don’t read tabloids, so that might be why. Surely hes had his moments of chaos. Of trouble and temptation. They must be so difficult to avoid in that world. But today, we were just two dudes on the street having a conversation about local music while he held a stack of records bought from a local record store. We spent a few minutes talking about the scene, before he said he had to take off. Right on. Well it was nice talking with you, I said. And if you want to know anything about the event, you can find all the info on our website. I presented an Inspirational Beets card, logo out, which he palmed with keen interest. As he flipped it over to scan the details, he let out a light laugh. It was a distinct laugh. Some of his signature characters came to mind. Nice. Yeah, I replied, my insides beaming. Its a fun sound. Well thanks again. I started to bow and walk away from him before realizing we should at least part ways with names. By the way, my names Pace. My heart wanted to give him a high-five, but the rest thought it best to stay professional. So I just extended a hand. Fred. Nice to meet you, he said, as we shook hands. Nice to meet you Fred. Enjoy the day. You too Pace. And scene. The funny thing is, three days ago I was googling his name in association with publicist and manager, in an effort to contract him in some way for this ambitious Crystal affair. Turns out all I had to do was sit outside a neighborhood restaurant and dig into a piece of carrot cake. What do you do what the adventure comes to you...? Whos to say what will come of that random interaction, if anything. But he knows about it. And maybe hell tell some of his Friends. Today was my favorite Portlandia sketch, by far.
Posted on: Tue, 15 Oct 2013 01:56:23 +0000
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