So, A Famous Writer/Actor and a Not-Famous-at-All Writer Walk Into a Bar…

After a wedding reception on Saturday a friend and I stopped at a bar, and it took me less than a minute to notice Mr. Famous Writer/Actor sitting, seemingly alone, a few seats down. A man whose plays I taught in my Intro to Creative Writing classes at Queens. I mean, I’m a full-blown groupie, and revere his dark, spare prose and understated acting style.

It also doesn’t hurt that he’s handsome.

I’d had a few drinks at the party so I was low on inhibition, and it suddenly seemed like a great idea to tell Mr. Famous Writer/Actor how much I admire his work. I leapt off my bar stool, marched over, and said just that, adding the part about teaching his plays.

Mr. Famous Writer/Actor: Really? Which plays did you teach?

Me, realizing my brain must have fallen out on the way over since I’m drawing a total blank on titles: Which? Plays?

Mr. Famous Writer/Actor: (…)

Me, desperately scanning my empty cranium for anything to help me look like slightly less of a moron: Oh, we studied so much of your work. The students loved it.

As if the compliment would disguise what must have looked like the lamest excuse to talk to him ever.

Mr. Famous Writer/Actor, being more gracious than he needed to be: So you teach writing?

Me, surprised he’s still paying any attention to me at all: I did. Now I just write. Mostly I blog and write a little for magazines, but I did finish a memoir, though it’s not published.

Lame. I sound so lame.

But then, something surprising happened. Mr. Famous Writer/Actor asked if I wanted to sit down. Why yes, I said, that would be nice. Then he asked if I’d like a drink. Yes, thanks. Margarita – rocks, salt.

Mr. Famous Writer/Actor: Hey, that’s what I’m drinking. Bartender?

We sat there for more than an hour (maybe longer, I don’t wear a watch), my poor friend totally forgotten at the other end of the bar. I asked Mr. Famous Writer/Actor where he lives (Kentucky, for the horses) and what he’s working on now (mostly short stories). He asked about grad school and my writing and living in Taos. He said he likes Taos and visits as often as he can. I didn’t say he should call me when he’s in town next, even though I wanted to. He’s Mr. Famous Writer/Actor! Where did I think this was going?

I like intense men. He’s that and then some – I don’t think he smiled once, and he kept his eyes on mine the whole time. His screen magnetism translates perfectly to a close conversation at the bar. Internet, I’ll admit it – I was having impure thoughts. I noticed an arc-shaped tattoo on the web between his thumb and forefinger, and I rested the tip of my finger on it.

“What’s that?” I said.

“The moon.” Then he traced the tattoo circling my wrist with his thumb. “I like this,” he said. “Have any others?”

Oh, Internet. I wish I could say that flirtation turned into some sexy film-worthy scene, but alas, it ended respectably. It was getting late, my friend was still waiting. I told Mr. Famous Writer/Actor it was nice to meet him. He said the same.

I saw him again last night, after his reading. He was friendly and warm. We chatted. I quietly swooned.

Today I’m left with a sense of missed opportunity. (No, not that kind. But believe me, I’ve thought about it.) There are so many other questions I could have asked him, about his life, his writing. And it makes me think about my own life. Meeting and talking with someone that accomplished, that talented, makes me want to be better. Do better.

Because even though I don’t expect, like he did, to win a Pulitzer, or even have that as a goal, today I feel insecure. I’m one small person with no incredible accomplishments, just a list of adventures and jobs and cities and people and some minor publishing credits. No greatness, just the experiences that make up a life.

I wonder what it’s like to be someone like Mr. Famous Writer/Actor, someone unapologetically himself with all his creative brilliance and charm, someone wholly invested in his work, pushing the boundaries of his talent. Maybe I just want to be more. But how?

I don’t know, but it’s time for a change, so this is the last Life on the High Wire post. The Great Scamp Adventure begins, and I’ve launched a new blog to document it – Gone Scamping. (Thanks to Summer for the name inspiration.)

And thanks to you for being part of the LOTHW community. Your companionship, advice, and encouragement have meant so much to me. Really. I hope to see you on the other side.

Equally Humiliating Punishment? Michael Bolton Karaoke

This week I go to Backus, Minnesota to pick up my Scamp. Yesterday I was packing for the road, and since I’ll be spending a couple nights in the Scamp after I leave friends in St. Paul, packing included household items.

I stood there amid a pile of random camping gear and extra kitchen stuff, fretting over such important questions as, Sleeping bag or actual bedding? And, How many wooden spoons are too many? (Answer: three.)

What I should have been fretting about is the fact that my car isn’t ready for the Scamp. Alan, my 70-year-old salesman, had helpfully sent a sheet detailing how my car should be wired for towing and the trailer’s electric brakes.

Instead of worrying how many ratty potholders I might need (as well as, why do I have eight of them? Which, yes, is more than enough), I should have been worried that the electrical wiring info sheet noted in CAPITAL LETTERS exactly how I should prepare in advance of picking up my new baby. None of which I’ve done. It also noted that if I chose to ignore said advance preparation, I should expect to be punished for my stupidity, and that public humiliation wasn’t out of the question. I’m guessing something involving an absence of pants and possibly a hedgehog.

So, one of the first things I’ll do when I stop for a visit with Mom is find a mechanic. I’m hoping that means Alan (who I have a little crush on) won’t discover that beneath my organized exterior lies an extremely selective attention span. I’ll post all about the trip when I return next week, with photos. Until then enjoy your week, wherever you are.

If It Makes You Feel Better, The Kitten Was Given CPR Immediately After the Photo Was Taken

Yesterday I went to an exhibit of Georgia O’Keeffe’s abstractions at the Georgia O’Keeffe Museum in Santa Fe. Gorgeous. I know I’m about the one-jillionth person to be so strongly affected by her work, but there’s something about it that makes me feel expansive, scrubbed clean, and it gives me a fresh perspective on my life and the world around me.

That feeling is tied up with O’Keeffe herself, and watching a short video about her – hearing her voice, seeing her walking alone through New Mexico’s high desert – only makes me feel more sure about the Scamp project. I’ve worried a little that I’ll get lonely on the road, that even though I’ll meet people along the way, those friendships will be fleeting, and mostly, it will just be me and the highway.

But O’Keeffe reminds me – it’s okay. It’s okay to be alone and to pursue your passions, and maybe, it’s okay to be a little lonely.

The exhibit walls feature O’Keeffe’s quotes, and there were so many good ones. One favorite is this, where she’s talking about painting, though it seems true about so many situations, like writing, love, or travel:

“Nothing is less real than realism …. Details are confusing. It is only by selection, by elimination, by emphasis, that we get at the real meaning of things.” – Georgia O’Keeffe, 1922

I leave on Monday to pick up my Scamp, and will post about that first leg of the journey here, then switch over to the new blog. I hope you’ll go with me. And just in case this post was too serious for a Friday, I’ll leave you with this. Enjoy your weekend.

Deciding About the Different

One thing you can always count on is change. Which is a relief if you’re in a bad place – you can’t go anywhere but up, and all that. But what if you’re in a good place, and things change for the… different?

My Argentina traveling companion and I aren’t, well, companions anymore, so aside from the disappointment of that, I had a decision to make: go to Argentina alone, or ditch the trip. And whenever I’m presented with a fork in the road, I pick it up and eat.

Ha ha! Seriously. When a decision is big because of financial or emotional risk, I march over to my notebook and lay out the pros and cons. I find answers in little hand-drawn charts, which for me, has been more useful than casting runes or reading tea leaves. (Here’s where a reader will announce his or her accuracy in telling fortunes with Oolong. And I will stand happily corrected.)

My chart and I came up with two options:

Plan A: Go to Argentina anyway. Spend the $3,000 (more expensive because I wouldn’t be sharing costs), and have what could be an amazing adventure in a place I’ve long dreamed of visiting. And the trip would certainly challenge my foreign travel skills, which might be a great thing. (I’d be on my own with lame Spanish and manual-transmission cars – you can rent automatics, but they’re at least twice as much. So I’d likely can the idea of driving to Mendoza, and stay in Buenos Aires the whole time.)

Plan B: Ditch the trip. It’s $250 to cancel the ticket (ouch), and I’d miss out. Sigh.

But. If I ditch the Argentina trip, I can start the Scamp project now. And really, isn’t that my focus? Not gallivanting in South America, but taking the Scamp out and starting this crazy U.S. adventure right away? (And think of the Egg McMuffins – my road-trip breakfast of choice – I could buy with $3,000!)

As my wise mother said, Argentina will always be there. Unless you consider the possibility of nuclear annihilation or global-warming-induced disaster, and if either of those things happen, I’ve got bigger worries than missing out on tango lessons and Malbec tasting.

So, I’m ditching Argentina – for now. My gut and the charts say it’s the right decision, and now that I think about it, I could actually drive to Argentina from here. (There’s a bit of finessing in Panama, but it’s doable.) Think they’ve seen a Scamp in the Andes?

How do you make big decisions?

Ayn Rand Fans Will Hate This Post

It’s September, the first month of my favorite season. Fall means change, a time for new projects after the ease of summer. Fall is crisp air and soft sunlight, time to unpack the sweaters and switch from white wine to red. Fall makes me happy.

What do I do when I’m happy? I read a 700-page book full of devastation and injustice. (You knew all that cheerful lightness couldn’t last for long.) If you haven’t yet read the late Howard Zinn’s A People’s History of the United States, you owe it to yourself to take it on. Zinn is a great writer, and despite the density and emotional difficulty of the material, it’s a pleasure to read. (It’s actually devastating, but in a good way. You know what I mean.)

What hit me hardest is that despite his truth-telling about hundreds of years of American cruelty and deception (the subtitle is “1492 – Present”), Zinn ultimately delivers a call to action, the optimistic message that people still have the power to create positive change. A good reminder in difficult times.

I haven’t talked much about the Scamp project beyond the fact that I’ll be driving all over the country and having adventures. (Um, yay!) But there’s a bigger question I’m trying to answer, a question that matters beyond my individual experience.

I don’t think we all need to be martyrs, only working for others. No. Life is for living and enjoying, but it’s also about leaving this world a better place than when we got here. We need to give back, even if it’s in the tiniest of ways.

So get a copy of the book if you haven’t already. I’m betting it will get you thinking about how you could be a more engaged citizen. I know many of you already give back, and to you I say, Bravo. Keep going. But I needed a reminder about why it’s important, and I’m grateful to Zinn for giving me a little push.

What do you do to make a difference?