Cool Hand Luke
So, I’m on the plane yesterday watching Cool Hand Luke on my newly acquired iPod Touch, courtesy of my friend, Celeste, and the Ellen Show. I hadn’t seen the movie since I was sixteen for a “movie analysis” class. We’d watch movies and write essays about them. Back then I could always do critical analysis, identifying symbolism and what-not, but until yesterday at twenty-four thousand feet I’d never “felt” the movie.
I’m lying there, trying not think about anything for awhile, not the trip, not Sara, not getting back to Tampa, absolutely nothing but watching a movie. Of course, I forgot that Cool Hand Luke begs one to be introspective.
So, I’m watching, slowly identifying with Luke stronger and stronger through his struggles. Lots of us have some Luke inside, some more than others, but he embodies very common human experiences and emotions. The sky outside the plane was so beautiful, we’re flying in and out of soft white clouds, the movie’s almost over. I’m doing fine until his talk with God at the end of his last escape-attempt, at which point everything that has happened over so many years hits me and I start sobbing.
I think, “You fucker, what are you doing? What the fuck’s wrong with you?” but I couldn’t help it. I’ve had that talk with God so many times. I’ve asked why He built me not to fit, and then stacked the deck against me so that maybe I can’t win. I don’t mean that in a “I so wish I could walk” kind of way, but generally in how I think and feel inside, I never really feel like I fit anywhere, like I know I’m in the wrong place, but I don’t really know where the right place is either. Actually, the right place is much clearer, but getting their is often murky. I’ve asked God about that too. I’ve begged forgiveness, asked for help, but just like for Luke, God never answers back, never directly, if at all.
I’ve been broken like Luke too, praying to God that I’d do anything, so long as I didn’t get hit again. Still, even after being completely broken, and knowing he was broken, it didn’t stick, he kept going. No help from anyone, let alone God, Luke tried one more time to make his way on his terms. He died trying to find what he wanted, but he died smiling.
I think that inability to quit, that little spark that God gives people, that He gave me, is often the one gift we get. It’s also a sadistic fucking joke. He knows how I feel, I’ve mentioned it before. I doubt that most prayers start with, “listen, you fucker,” but mine often do. God’s just out to watch and listen, which is why I do pray, but He sure as shit isn’t out to answer back openly. We have a very plain relationship, I don’t pretty up my prayers. God gives us free will, but I also think He gives us traits and circumstances that make us more fun to watch. At any rate, He didn’t answer Luke, and He’s not going to answer me. I’m going to do what I do until I can’t do it anymore. I just want to die smiling, with a cool hand.
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Back
Well, I’m finally back from L.A. It really was an amazing trip overall, it will take awhile to really decompress everything. It’s been pointed out to me that I’m a “negative Nancy” of late, but I’m going to write how I write as long as I feel it. The trip was spectacular and horrible all at once. It’s actually really difficult to sort it all out and write it right now. It was the best terrible trip I’ve ever had.
Ira and Sara
The Emmys were more fun than I could have possibly imagined. This American Life won Best Non-Fiction Series and the episode about me won Best Directing thanks to the incredible work of Adam Beckman and Chris Wilcha. Everything that day happened so fast, it’s kind of a blur. We walked the red carpet with Ira, which was pretty surreal, everybody yelling and snapping pictures. I only really remember bit and pieces, I was totally nervous. I remember when they won the two awards, which was definitely spectacular. I’ll be honest, I really wanted to win something, to be a part of something so incredible. I saw the work they did, they deserved the recognition.
Me and Sara
The after-parties were even better. The pressure was off, everybody was totally relaxed. You know, I can’t write right now. I just can’t. For now, I’ll just let some pictures say everything.
The Lord of the Dance
Ira, the Emmy and Me
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