Compassionate Prick

This is a piece I wrote and performed on stage for the UNCAB-LAB One Year Anniversary Show - its a little rough around the edges and I'm sure has its fair share of typos and other errors, but I decided to post it, cause hey, why the hell not.

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I consider myself to be a sensitive person. But that’s not just who I am, that’s not what defines me. I’m also a prick. I’m not running around kickin puppies, driving an SUV or voting republican, but I can be at times, a cold hearted, sarcastic, judgmental jackass. I was an attorney at law – enough said? This dichotomy makes sense - my mom was very sensitive and overly emotional where my dad was raised in a strict Irish Catholic family where the only socially acceptable ways to show your feelings were: (1) frowning; (2) laughing at others; and (3) being drunk. For most of my life these two sides have co-existed fairly peacefully. Until last week, when I realized these two aspects of my personality are at war with each other, war for ultimate control of my very soul. “What happened Tom?” you may be asking, well, I went to go see the movie WANTED.

I was visiting a friend of mine in northern California. On Saturday we spent the day in Napa, tasting wines, appreciating the scenery, being kind of sensitive. On Sunday, feeling that my macho side was being neglected, I suggested we go see the movie WANTED. In case you don’t know, in WANTED Angelina Jolie transforms the cubicle dwelling soft spoken dreamy eyed dork of James McAvoy into the GREATEST ASSASSIN EVER. 2 Hours of nonsensical comic book violence – bending bullets, future predicting LOOMS .. you heard me THE LOOM OF FATE a large wool spinning loom tells the assassins who their target is, and Morgan Freeman as the good guy who may be a bad guy but has impeccable fashion sense. Bullets travel miles to pierce skulls, one guy shoots a guy in the head point blank range, keeps the gun in his skull, using him as a shield and he keeps on killing other bad guys, and then there’s a scene when the good guys and the bad guys fight on train, the train falls into a chasm, gets lodged between the walls, but they just keep on fighting – its exactly the kind of ultra violent, macho, Hollywood gloss job that men are supposed to love. I didn’t, hell, I didn’t even like it. It had no brains, besides the ones that were splattered all over the screen. But what I did love. ohh - Angelina. Every time she was on screen, my breath caught a bit. I know, I KNOW .. she’s too freaking skinny but … holy shit is she sexy. There’s a moment in … well, I’ve always been a fan of Jennifer Anniston. I thought Brad and Jennifer, to the extent I thought about it at all, made a lovely couple. When Brad left her for Angelina the entire world had an opinion about it but me, until I saw WANTED, there’s a scene when Angelina steps out of the shadows I thought “I get it Brad, dude I get it.” I would leave any woman I was with for Angelina – even though it would be wrong, it would not last, and it would end with tears and pain and probably bloodshed, but I would do it. I would have no choice. The woman is a witch – a sexy, beautiful, enticing witch. Her siren song is far, far to strong for mortal man not to heed. She’s what would be referred to in the law as an attractive nuisance.. something that is clearly dangerous yet in-spite of that danger and likely because of it, idiots are gonna try and play with it and, more than likely, end up bruised, maimed or dead and then suing someone for not keeping them away from it. Man, you could put a fence around Angelina Jolie, but I’m the idiot whose gonna climb it, is what I’m trying to say.

As I was walking out of the theater, disappointed, trying to come to terms with the fact that I was never gonna get those two hours back, I over-heard someone declare with pride “That was a great movie.” My initial thought was “of course you thought so you idiot,” and as I turned around to see who had the NERVE, the NERVE to express an opinion contrary to mine I realized the voice was attached to a smiling, happy go lucky young man, a smiling happy go lucky young man with Down’s Syndrome. Everything froze for a moment as the fact registered in my stupid, stupid brain – and then I reacted in what felt like a very slow motion, awe inspiring, almost WANTED MOVIE moment – no, no bending bullets, no gravity defying flips, no subtle puckering of Angelina Jolie’s Lips – no, massive droplets of saline infused water burst from my soul windows and streamed down my face. That’s right I started to cry like a baby right there in the middle of the FREEMONT 16 MULTIPLEX. I exited, making like David Caruso – carefully applied my sunglasses in an effort to stop the tears. On my way out I caught a glimpse of that same young man giving a hug to his father – thanking him no doubt for allowing him the opportunity to watch people kill each other with knives, bending bullets and exploding rats (that’s right people exploding rats) and my $16 Target Sunglasses proved about as effective as the Louisiana Levees in preventing the aquatic onslaught.

Now, in the spirit of full disclosure, I should say that I was pretty tired before I saw the movie, as I said I spent the previous day drinking too much wine and spent the previous two nights sleeping on an inflatable mattress in my friend’s living room. I hadn’t slept on such a mattress since my ex-fiance left and took everything .. the bed, the couch, the step stool .. she took the step stool, who takes a step stool? She took the step stool, put it in storage with everything else, until she found a new apartment. Why the step stool, she didn’t have any shelves to reach, she didn’t have a kitchen to have shelves in .. I had a kitchen, I had shelves, couldn’t use anything that was on the shelves, cause I did not have a step stool. What she didn’t take, I can only imagine because she could find it, was the inflatable mattress that I slept on amongst the tumbleweeds in my vacant room for a month.

Where was I .. oh yeah, crying ….
I discussed the crying, the struggle, the drama with my therapist, wondering if I was on the verge of an emotional breakdown .. and yes, when you cry in public its an emotional breakdown, its only when you cry on stage, in your therapists office or in the middle of a post-coital heart to heart that its called an emotional break THROUGH. My therapist says its ok, he says its more than ok, he says its great that I can be honest with the way I feel and can show it. He also thought it was great when I told him I punched a pimp on Hollywood Blvd because he was accosting some woman I didn’t know. That’s right, I punched a pimp, I defended a ladies honor, of course he punched me much better and much harder than I punched him, and, of course, the lady fled into the distance without so much of a “thanks you gallant, virile, macho man.”

I’m a complicated man. Sometimes too sensitive, sometimes too much a jerk .. I’m a compassionate prick. Maybe it’s a good thing. Maybe I can use this dichotomy to change the perception of being a modern man. He can be a jerk but he’s not afraid to cry and he can punch a pimp if he has too. Like maybe do a remake of the Dirty Harry film MAGNUM FORCE, starring me, but instead of wearing a suit and dispatching the villain with a .357, I’d wear a nice sweater vest and break out a Magnum of Bordeaux, pour him a glass and explain to him the errors of his ways. When he doesn’t give up, I break the bottle over his head (in the director’s cut, I’d probably sodomize him with the bottle - I’m just brain storming) and end the film with a nice solid cry as my character contemplates what he just did and the beautiful sunset.

Maybe that won’t sell, but I’m working on accepting the fact that I’m a compassionate prick, its OK to be at times insensitive and at others be too sensitive and cry more often than the rules of Machismo dictate. The Rules of Machismo, in case you were wondering, allow only one time for a man to cry and still be manly, and that is, and I quote, “when it’s the only way to get her into bed.” For the record, I have never cried to get a woman to sleep with me. But it’s nice to know that I could.