Flashing in my pan...

People interest me. Watching them has been a hobby for the longest time. I meet so many that while it may not have the extreme and evocative consequences that a new, wonderful meal is almost certain to have on me, it gives me great pleasure to discover new, wonderful personalities all the time. Sometimes they’re ones I would never have the chance to gravitate toward in a crowd. If you work in a very cold building with great coffee and large plaques celebrating the single handed inception of the first automated sliding door, chances are, even if we have some bizarrely mutual friend and end up in the same room somehow, we wont head straight for each other to have a fun chat on why I like Indian stir fry on my fusilli. However, if by some second bizarre chance card in my pack or yours, we end up faced with the prospect of small talk and opening lines, I may just discover that you’re the first woman I’ve met who strangely loves absolutely anything made of wax as much as I do. And we may talk for a while and then a lot longer, and realize we speak the same language. Often it’s not about what you do have in common.
Some of the most fascinating people I’ve ever met aren’t nice, just very interesting. Some are friends, dear and distant, some are family. A couple of boyfriends, colleagues, senior professionals, an old teacher, old flame….

I met A a long time ago. A’s ability to get things done is immense. He motivates and manages and manipulates, all with the ease of the performer that knows he is too good to slip for even a second and break that perfect illusion created in that moment. A is a tiny man, and under ordinary circumstances, might have been nondescript. But under no circumstances, is A ordinary. His eyes glitter; his small, imperfect body is so alive it could catch fire. In fact, A is on fire. He loves success and he knows he is the glorious one, adored for all the wrong reasons. There are those around him that see the shrewd, cunning man he intrinsically is and the many masks he has perfected over the years. And they, like me, would work with him (under certain conditional terms born from the wisdom of experience), in a heartbeat. Because A can extract from a performer like no other. Because A knows exactly what you are capable of, as an actor, and I have realized, as a human being. Some strange power dancing in those amused eyes sees through you and knows if you are lying about your lover, your lines or your linen. A just knows. And the way to handle that is to simply let him know and not waste your time and his fabulous energy in confirmations, denials or anything but what he can give and take from you. I hate to admit how devilishly attractive A is. And so is the devil I’m sure.