I don't go out a lot. Not (so much) because I don't get asked... but because there's little I'd rather do than cozy up in my pajamas and read or watch tv.
But last night, Ira Glass, host and narrator of This American Life, came to town and I wanted to see him. I have always been a fan of good storytelling and T.A.L. is some of the best storytelling around.
When I was young, I had my share of nerd crushes but I never allowed myself to date any of them. No. My dates were not pale-skinned and weak-sighted, buried in books and hiding behind cloudy, prescription lenses. No. My dates were smart, athletic, they knew how to PARTY and they were CUTE. Always, they were cute.
Shallow. I know. I was young. Insecure.
Give me a break.
But now, in my 40's, I have shed my superficial, worried-about-what-others-will-think-of-me cloak and find myself intrigued more by brains and less by looks. I find myself regretting the missed mind-expanding opportunities of my youth. I find myself with a crush on Ira Glass.
(Besides the fact that I'm happily married.)
I love his smooth voice, his sharp wit, his brawny confidence. He even dresses...alright. I can get past the coke-bottle lenses in anachronistic frames, the non-movie star features, the way he reminds me of boys who sat in the back of my classroom picking their noses.
But, as life often finds ironic ways to make it's point, my maturity has come too late. The current object of my affection could not care less about my admiration.
To Ira, I was just another notch on his fan belt.
My crush crushed me.
Karma is a bitch.
(This crappy photo is not my fault. I credit my dear friend, Sarah, who is my intellectual superior, an incredibly talented yogi, a many time black belt in karate, a fencing champion... but apparently not too great with the iPhone cam.) ;)
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
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