[I’ve had three cigars and I don’t know how many brandys…]
Above is the photo of a truly brilliant man who knows who I am, yet he knows nothing of “Mystery Man” or my blog or Script Magazine, although he has Script on display in his very popular cigar store.
Hehehe…
And he knows important people, too. I frickin’ love that man. He’s the smartest cigar aficionado on the planet. In the photo, he’s smoking something Cuban while following his favorite football team (USC) on his laptop, and yet, he’s chomping on Cheetos.
Hehehe… I LOVE that man.
My shoe photo was taken outside of his cigar store. I’m there all the time. I once pointed out the sex article in Script Mag, and he loved it. “This is really deep stuff,” he said. “Did you write this?” No, I told him. I just loved the article, I said, and then I laughed.
His favorite paragraph was about Annie Hall. I wrote, “Annie Hall gave us scenes filled with problems in the bedroom (usually bad timing, mood-killing mishaps, or lowered romantic interests) all of which satirized the idea that sex was the foundation upon which all contemporary relationships were built. Here, if the sex was dead, so was the relationship. You may recall the sequence where Annie and Alvy are seeing their respective therapists and revealing their differing perceptions about the same question of 'How often do you have sex?' Alvy: 'Hardly ever. Maybe three times a week.' Annie: 'Constantly! I’d say three times a week.' Hehehe… Those two seemed fated to always be searching for a love that lasts but never find it, which was punctuated by Woody Allen’s non-linear structure.”
Coincidentally, we watched the last half of Annie one night last week. My favorite scene (and his as well) is when Diane Keaton sings in the club. God, that just cuts right into the heart. Everyone in the store was silent when Keaton sang. When it was over, he lamented the sad state of contemporary clubs today and how no one showcases singers in wonderfully intimate settings like that. Oh, screw it. Here's a vid:
BTW - the hands of the African American man in the foreground are none other than… well, I probably shouldn’t tell you.
Hehehe… SO very sorry.
Yeah, yeah, I get complaint e-mails every time I share personal bits about myself. Some people love the mystery, but sometimes, I can’t help myself. It gets old being mysterious ALL the time, ya know.
-MM
