There is something about croissants that lend themselves to breakfast, in my opinion. I have no idea how I formed this opinion, I just know that I have it. But it's not much of a stretch, opinion-wise, is it? When people imagine a croissant, they often imagine it stuffed with eggs, ham, and cheese, and lightly baked until the whole thing is a warm, melty mess of delicious.
I was hoping that this is how Keshav would see it when I presented him with this croissanwich on this morning, although perhaps with less enthusiasm than anticipated. But he did seem pleased, so I was pleased. That's love, I think. Having a role in his well-being and happiness is something that brings me great joy. Is it selfish when everyone wins?
I actually combined a couple of recipes this morning to make the croissanwich, by drizzling some honey on it, once assembled, and then sprinkling on some Everything Bagel Seasoning on top before popping it in the over for 10 minutes. The honey offsets the Dijon mustard nicely, I find, and the Everything Bagel Seasoning, is, well, everything.
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As I write this, I am trying to see as many of this year's Oscar-nominated films as I can before the ceremony next month. But it is tough going, because so many of the nominees for Best Film are difficult films to watch. Is the world really this fucked up right now, of is it a coincidence that so many films are dark and disturbing?
I remember how, a couple years ago, I watched The Substance and just thought to myself "What the fuck is this fucking film?" I thought the same thing while watching Bugonia this year. While a deserving film, it made me long for the days when Tootsie was a contender. Wasn't the original purpose of film to entertain? Now it seems that so many films intend to shock or repulse the viewer.
This is why I can't believe it took me so long to finally watch The Baltimorons. I have had this film on my list since I first because aware of the buzz it was getting, but I think I had a hard time imagining how it could be a satisfying film. But it continued to call to me--call me crazy, but I am a sucker for any film that begins with a suicide attempt (think Harold and Maude).
Anyway, the premise is that it's Christmas Eve in Baltimore, and a man has to find an emergency dentist, which he does, and they end up kind of falling for each other. Oh, did I mention there is an age gap between them? And that the man has a fiancée? Well, there is and he does.
But despite the odd premise, this is an old-fashioned romantic comedy, where two unlikely misfits find each other in a harsh world and make a connection. It is a lovely film, and the critics are right when they commend the chemistry between the two leads. And if you ask me, any film that makes downtown Baltimore seem romantic has pulled off a miracle.
The film is co-written by Jay Duplass, which means that the screenplay is smart and warm-blooded and messy. Don't get me wrong, I am fine with any film that has a big bow at the end, as long as that bow is earned, but I prefer messy to neat in my romantic comedies because real romance is messy. Not exactly what people would guess about me, I suspect, but there it is.
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I remember times in my life when romantic tension made a moment feel magical. It felt magical because it usually came as a surprise, as it did in this film. When romantic tension happens, it can feel like a reminder that "anything is possible"--like a big shot of B-12 in the ass. But this is not always a good way to begin an actual relationship.
I remember years ago during one of the many AIDS LifeCycle rides where I was volunteering with Gear and Tent, and I met a guy on our team who began to flirt with me. It was sweet and romantic, and at the time I was seeing a guy back home who was not sweet and romantic with me (this was before Keshav). I remember how this guy and I circled around each other for a few days, and how I felt like I was back in high school crushing on a boy.
One night, after I had gone into town with a friend for a burger, we passed by this guy's truck on our way back to our truck, and I had an inkling. I told my friend "You go ahead" and I walked over to the guy and told him that I wanted to say goodnight to him, which I did, followed by a kiss on his cheek. I nearly floated back to my truck.
We only spent one actual night together during the week, but it felt special to me. And at the end of the week, I said goodbye to him, telling him that I probably would never see him again (we did not live in the same state). I never did see him again.
But that was okay with me. I had a relationship back home I had to figure out, and this guy did not live anywhere near me. It was a perfect "vacation romance" and that is how I wanted it to remain. It was perfect in an of itself.
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In The Baltimorons, they make a different choice than I did. The film ends before we find out if this was a good choice or not, and that is what makes it a romantic comedy, because it explored the most romantic time of a relationship: the beginning, or the potential for a beginning. Not that romance cannot happen in a long-term relationship, but it is different then--softer, richer, calmer, safer. When two people first meet, by contrast, there is just the unknown and nothing ahead but possibility. The energy can feel electric, and can fuels powerful fantasies that get a person through a lonely Christmas Eve, for sure.
I sometimes worry that Keshav will want to feel that magic of the unknown, because, why wouldn't he? I certainly have many more experiences of this than he has. I have told him that there is much that is not known between us, but that is not quite the same as the unknown of an unknown. I have also told him that should he want to feel this feeling with someone other than me, that is fine, as long as he realizes that candy is sweet, but it is not something you would want to eat everyday.
He assures me that this is not likely to happen, but he cannot truly know--he is still young.
The other experience I noticed when I think of The Baltimorons is a bit of sadness that this feeling of magic most likely is behind me. I truly cannot imaginea future where a stranger catches my eye and makes my heart skip a beat--I feel like I know too much about love, and am too firmly, and happily planted in my marriage. Plus my heart skips a beat from time to time when I think of, or look at, my husband. Not always from passion necessarily, but more from deep love and appreciation that he has chosen to spend his life with me--ME!
A good film makes us feel things, I think, and a great one makes us feel things deeply. This is what I seek out in movies--an experience of deep feeling. This reminds me sometimes of what I miss, of what I have forgotten, of what I have yet to experience. A good film jolts me awake in a way, kind of like when you turn the crank of a music box when the song starts to fade. I am reminded that I still have a song to sing, a story to tell, and kisses to give and receive. I sometimes just need something to turn my crank.
Don't we all?
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