Don Mann: Focusing on my Craft

Friday, Oct. 29, 2004 - 1:17 a.m.

I wrote this up in about 20 minutes for my english class. I figured I'd share it.

Love is a Camera Trick
By Don Mann

Atop a moonlit parking garage, just out of reach of the stars, the two lovers embraced each other just inches from the ledge. His hands in hers, she leaned forward, shyly keeping her eyes at his feet. As the tiny gap between them began to close, one could just make out the stars beyond them eclipsed by their silhouettes on this; the clearest of August nights. As he leaned forward my mind began to sing, a crescendo of orchestral proportion issuing from somewhere deep inside. My breathing became shallow, my heart began to throb. The two shadows on the ledge met, and I held my breath. The dark shapes became one, and the union was complete.
At least, that's how I imagined it. Without the sensationalism, the filler, the detail, how much could this single event mean? I watched these two from my Jeep, parked about 20 feet away, and somehow inside I knew that this was their first kiss. My feelings of sweet sensation were quickly replaced by disappointment. Would I have felt the same feelings I did, thought about this event the same way, if it hadn't been for preconcieved ideals imbedded in my mind?
I traced back my feelings, I followed them to their core. The soundtrack I heard in my mind, the way I saw the whole event from such a romantic perspective, all because of the media I'd been exposing myself to over the years. I began to see why I'd been so disappointed in my own love life, why those special moments never came my way; because no matter how hard you try, life is not television. It isn't film, it isn't literature. It is because of sensationalism that I'd come to expect too much from reality.
I began to wonder if anyone else felt the same way, or if there was perhaps another explanation for the way I felt. I asked my close friend and confidante Jesse how she felt when involved in a romantic situation, whether or not she experienced what I had. I sat down with her on a cool October night, and asked her about it.
�I know exactly what you mean,� she said, her brilliant crimson hair falling down about her shoulders like ink dripping down a page, �the shit they put in chick flicks and tv is a big fat lie.�
�But have you yourself ever felt this way, like you've been let down in your lovelife?� I asked, mentally noting the distant look quickly forming in her smoke-colored eyes.
�There was this guy once,� She began, her eyes now focused on her hands which were neatly folded in her lap, �his idea of a romantic night was to take me out on the beach in his car and talk about the 'mysterious ocean'. He'd play a song on the stereo, something he musta considered sexy or something. After a few minutes he'd pick a second he thought was especially deep to try to feel me up. It was kind of pathetic.�
I looked away, and thought to myself about how many times I'd tried to sneak in a kiss during the peak of a song, or during the climax of a film. In that moment, the experiences seemed comparable. I changed the topic then, because I could see that for some reason beyond my comprehension this tale had made her uncomfortable.
Now more than ever I see that sensationalism has warped the minds of more individuals than just myself. I hark back to famous love stories, things everyone had heard of, like holding a boombox over your head and blasting Peter Gabriel. The famous quips and lines of The Princess Bride. The heartfelt serenades of teen movies. It all was beginning to make sense to me now.
I have spent hours and days puzzling over a solution to this problem. How can one live up to the standards imposed by media, how can you compare to Hugh Grant...how can you be as witty as the unstoppable Cary Elwes? The answer is all too simple...you can't. Life isn't scripted, life has no soundtrack. If you buy into media's image of romance and emotion too deeply, you'll have no choice but to lead a disappointing life. Find your own path, find inspiration in media, but do not expect life to mimic this art. We all do what we can to make each moment special, and gauging oneself against absolute perfection is no way to go about it.
I return now to Jesse, who I spoke to a second time on this topic, this time over the phone. I imagined her in her comfortable little room in Portland, sitting atop her rosy-red sheets, the marble phone pressed gently against her cheek beneath a cascade of flowing hair. Her voice was as sweet as ever as she said hello.
�I've been thinking, Jesse, do you really think the world would be better without media's influence on our ideals?� I asked, trying to pretend I wasn't reading from a paper. I heard a sound, perhaps she was taking a drag from a long black clove cigarette.
�You called me at one am to ask me THAT?� She said wryly, a hint of fascitious tone showing through.
�Beats small talk, right?� I smiled, thinking back on our last few conversations. Most of them included references to weather, school, and music.
�Well, I don't think ALL media needs to go. People just need to stop taking it so seriously.� I could tell by her tone that by �people� she meant me. I grinned, and nodded to myself as I took down her words.
�Are you writing this down? What, am I a test subject or something?� She said, suspicion obvious in her words like ink spilled on a painting.
I couldn't hide the truth from her. I told her all about the project, and the conversation turned away from the subject at hand. I thought about how meticulously I had analyzed my every move, how deeply sunken into sensationalism I truly was. I thought to myself about how I was so deeply in love with this woman once, how I had tried to win her heart. I spent months trying to build up the courage to ask her to be with me, officially. Trying to find the right moment. Knowing her now, the way she thinks, the way she acts, I should have known that the right moment had already passed, the future we shared already set in stone. I still love her, and she loves me, and it doesn't need to be anything more than that.
I don't need a fanfare or orchestra to close up what still remains inside of me for her, I don't need to make it more sensational than it is. That's a task I can leave to the writers and poets. I am fine with settling for a simple goodbye, and hanging up the phone.

Delve Into The Past - Onward Into The Future