<body> YOU: On My Blog <body>
Tuesday, November 20, 2007

As a comedian and mental health industry consumer, I regularly face intense highs and lows. Mostly lows. But I have a little trick that has been expediting the healing process. I have a motivational coach that exists only in my brain. He is modeled after Djimon Hounsou's character, Juba, from
Gladiator. And, yes, I do love that movie. And, yes, I have seen it half a dozen times. And, yes, I will see it again. There is some sort of manskirt-shaped hole in my heart that it fills. Go ahead, judge me.

So, I was in the office getting down about life when I started to slip into the netherworld of sadness and failure that is Juba's domain in my mind. Juba only has two volumes: a thunderous, righteous bellow or a meaningful, tender whisper. He was just in the middle of forcing me back into reality with a hushed: "I will see you again... but not yet. Not yet!" when I was snapped back into reality by the ringing of the phone.

Y'all, it was Rutger Hauer on the line.

It was the first time in my life I was tempted to believe in the hot, steaming turd Oprah calls "The Secret." I think I have been putting out minor celebrity vibrations and the universe had finally responded to my needs. See how easy it is? If only Israelis and Palestinians would put out vibrations and get on the right frequency, they might be able to get their shit together.

Reader, I digress.

Rutger Hauer, you are one of my favorite references. You didn't know this when we spoke. But my heart, how it fluttered - leapt, even - in my chest when I heard you so confidently respond to my workplace greeting with "Hello, this is Rutger Hauer." It was so natural, Rutger. As if every ringing phone should be answered such a way. I salute your boldness in assuming I'd even know who you are. But you are the man, so it's a valid assumption.

Oh, Rutger, how we chuckled over your technical problems that prevented you from emailing. How we reveled in the modern day conundrum of keeping in touch! And when you asked me if I could text you a co-worker's email address, a single tear drove down the highway of my cheek.

Do you know, Rutger, how hard it was for me to not let you know how much I have admired your ice cold steeliness since that first day our eyes locked while you were in
Blade Runner? DO YOU KNOW?! I was only six, but I knew from your perfect Aryan stare that you meant business. You are my go-to guy whenever I need a suitably obscure android reference.

If only I had the bravery to ask you to say that line to me over the phone, "I want more life, fucker."

I would have said, even more tenderly than Juba, "I know, Rutger, we all do."

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