Thursday, November 15, 2012

Grant Central

I don't have a lot of friends. Some of that is by choice (I hate people). Some of it is by geography (I live in the suburbs). But most of it is purely my personality (I am unpleasant to people I hate, which is everyone). I am just a hard person to be friends with. I don’t like to leave the house. I don’t like going new places or meeting new people. When they were filming You've Got Mail, one of the scenes took place in an apartment in director Nora Ephron's building prompting Tom Hanks to quip that she would film a whole movie inside her own apartment if she could. I always liked that Nora Ephron.

So it was a conflict diamond of a moment when I saw on Facebook that my LA pal Grant Landry was in New York City. Facebook is the ruiner of worlds. People think Facebook friendship is the same as actual friendship (They couldn't be less alike). But more to the point, it is no longer possible to slip in and out of a city unnoticed. It is the digital equivalent of Meryl Streep caught hailing a cab in Heartburn.

Not a great movie but this is my favorite hilarious bit.

This is the second time in a year that I saw Grant was in New York and last time we messaged back and forth and never saw each other. So in that way that amuses strangers but makes no one want to be my friend, I replied to his status update that I looked forward to not seeing him again this time. Within minutes he texted me, asking when I got off the air and suggesting we get together for a beer.

Ahem. Beer Goggles Not Necessary
This left me stuck and it was my own stupid fault. If I hadn't insisted on being such a bitch, I could have quietly slipped out of the studio after the show ended and raced home to watch the latest episode of Survivor while consuming a Marie Callendar pot pie filled with caloric regret. And this is not to say that I didn't want to see Grant. I do. I always do. Grant is both amazingly hot and unbelievably hilarious. There is nothing more attractive in a man. Also his ass is a work of art. If he had lived in Italy 500 years ago, someone would have painted it, sculpted it, or chiseled it. It could have been on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel instead of bouncing around behind the bar in low slung jeans during Twink Tuesdays at Micky’s West Hollywood.

Seriously! Drop a quarter in and make a wish.
So I think I have inappropriately established that I did want to see Grant. I just didn't want to go to the House of Brews and meet his friends and brave the cold. I want to see Grant when the noon light breaks through my window and my eyelids flutter slowly open for the first time, like in a Lunesta commercial. And I should note that I have woken up and found Grant staring down at me before, but it was because I fell asleep watching TV at my friend David's and after his shift he dropped by. So he put his face really close to mine and when the proximity woke me up, I was suddenly alert, disheveled, disoriented, bad-breathed and panicky. But still, obviously very romantic.  

If nothing else, I am willing to accept the punishments I mete out for myself. And in this case, it was me being social and showing up at the House of Brews. Last night, Josh Kilmer-Purcell had texted me because Jaymes and James from Chippendales were in town and they were all having drinks. Josh suggested we all get together after the show if they were still out, but as much as I love Josh and Brent who I never get to see, I can’t say I wasn't relieved when word came back from Josh that they were old and had already gone home. Honestly, I was running down the street to catch the train when I got his text. So even though I would have turned around and joined them if they were still out, clearly I was already on my own Amazing Race home.

So if I don’t even want to leave the house to see people I genuinely care about, what hope is there for me in this world? I fear my only option at this point is to move back to the city. I love living in a Douglas Sirk movie but even though I think it is All That Heaven Allows with my domestic tranquility and my red plaid coat, in reality, I dress like a hobo and Rock Hudson is not sprawled out on my davenport. 

This is how I imagine my life in Westchester. I'm insane. 
I am two raccoon and a headscarf away from Grey Gardens and not in the kind of hilarious, ironic way that makes people come by for a musical number and stories about Christine Ebersole.  My piano doesn't even have a working middle C!

My recent years of trying new things have brought me on many adventures and I have met some great people along the way. Perhaps I am being too hard on myself, like when I lost that porn award in a tie. Grant is nominated for something now and I promised I would encourage people to vote for him. After all, an actor can dine on an Oscar nomination forever, but if it is an award no one has heard of, it is important to be the winner. That is a good lesson for me too. I showed up tonight and chatted amiably and had a good time. It is okay to be someone no one ever hears from but if they do hear from you, you really have to go for it.  


Read more of Derek's adventures in When Nightlife Falls and Colonnade: A Life In Columns. Both are available now on, and in digital form for The KindleThe Nook, and in the iBookstore. 

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