I'm moving!

To a place that's slightly less ugly, and where I don't have all of my formatting issues worked out. 

http://bentramer.tumblr.com/

Someone out there is Lisa's fantasy. Pray she never meets him.

Note: Below you will find the opening sequence from the 1990 film "Lisa".  Please allow the clip to play in the background while you read this entry as the score will no doubt set the proper mood.  Pay particular attention to the haunting call and response between twisted calliope and sultry sax.  Ah yes, the sound of innocence lured to corruption by the promise of forbidden sensuality. 

Once upon a time there was a boy named Beanface, or so he came to be called because he frequented The Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf located on the first floor of my office building. We were ships passing in the night, he and I.  For quite some time I knew nothing about him other than the fact that we worked in the same building and seemed to be on similar schedules.  Everyday at noon, I would step out for some fresh air and to enjoy a cup of coffee where I would inevitably run into Beanface returning from the 24 Hour Fitness across the street.  Messenger bag slung casually over one shoulder, his forehead glistening with the sweat of homosexual gym exertion, he would stop for a cigarette before returning to work.

At 3pm he would once again slink downstairs for a cup of joe and a smoke with a gang of several surly cohorts on whom I also bestowed facial monikers: 80s face, Methface, Tallface, etc.  During an otherwise uneventful elevator ride, I discovered that The Faces were all a bunch of panty pushers employed by a well-known trashy lingerie company whose corporate offices were located several floors below mine. 

Bean's was an ageless beauty.  Was he 21 or 41?  Who could say.  He was slim-hipped and inexplicably tan, seemingly capable of only two facial expressions: stone face and goofy grin.  The all-too-infrequent grin revealed an endearing gap between his two front teeth, while also etching deep lines around his mouth and eyes which might have led one to believe that he fell closer to the 41 end of the age spectrum. 

I know what you're thinking, this all sounds so utterly...resistible.  Maybe it was my workplace boredom.  Maybe it was a contact high from the revolving cast of crackies wandering Sunset Blvd. Or maybe Bean truly did weave some kind of strange spell that would shame even Stevie Nicks' brand of shawl twirling sorcery.  I couldn't deny that I was becoming smitten, and soon began to wonder if our criss-crossing paths might have been paved by fate with a little help from her friend destiny.

As the weeks rolled on, I began to fantasize about being the type of person who really takes a bite out of life and thinks nothing of asking out a total stranger.  No big deal, right?  Maybe it could just go something like, "Listen up, Bean. I'm a dude...you're a dude...let's just be dudes and see what happens."  As far as opening lines went, that one was soon relegated to the bottom of the list, but I filed away a slew of other possibilities and somehow also managed to convince myself that perhaps Bean had spotted my dorsal fin moving through the water and was waiting patiently for me to make a move.  How could the universe not reward such a wanton display of boldness?  When the time was right, there was only one way this thing could go.  Advantage: me. 

And so the day finally arrived.  I felt good about my wardrobe selection.  I had the elements on my side; the sky was exceptionally gloomy and a steady rain was beginning to fall. I work best under cover of mist and shadow--the less they see the better.  I had firmly decided to put an end to this madness once and for all and to make a move should the opportunity present itself.  In the early afternoon I made my way downstairs to suss things out.  Sure enough, there was Bean.  Alone.

At that point I left my body and allowed some unknown force to speak through me.  I only wish said force was Patrick Swayze, and that Bean had stared directly into my soul with dewy eyes while "Unchained Melody" swelled around us.  Instead some kind of awkwardly clucking banshee took hold and rattled off what seemed like one excruciatingly long word while Bean looked on in wild-eyed amazement.  From my vantage point hovering above the scene, I remember Bean saying that his name was actually Chris (!) and that he had in fact been in a relationship for several years.  Well played, Bean.  Well played.  I then muttered a few non-sensical final words and turned to walk away, pausing briefly to let the rain wash away my humiliation. 

Not surprisingly, there was one final scare in store.  The next morning when I arrived at work, the elevator doors opened to reveal Bean riding solo without even one additional passenger to act as a buffer to the awkwardness.  He attempted to make polite small talk while I attempted to keep from ripping my face off. 

Make no mistake--asserting one's sexuality and taking a chance on a handsome stranger is always a highly punishable offense.  If only that simple fact had not somehow completely slipped my mind.  If only early 90s softcore teen slasher "Lisa" had been released on DVD this whole thing could have been avoided.  I had nothing but a hazy memory of seeing the movie with my parents during its brief theatrical run.  My VHS copy recorded off of Showtime had long since gone missing and was thus unavailable for reference.  We will briefly review a few key points, after which I highly recommend that you go watch "Lisa" on YouTube, pausing between 10 minute segments to take notes.  

Staci Keanan pulls an about-face as she moves from playing a sassy teen with Two Dads to a puberty ravaged brat with no dads and an over-protective single mother named Katherine (Cheryl Ladd). Lisa is the product of a Catholic education and her mother's crippling fear of men rooted in pre-marital sex and an unwanted pregnancy which left her estranged from her family.  Katherine has since moved on to manage a successful flower shop in Venice, California, a modest attempt to beautify a world being systematically raped by hamfisted males.  Determined to save her daughter from suffering the same fate, she forbids Lisa  to date under any circumstances until she reaches the fully ripened age of 16.  

Needless to say, Lisa is positively buzzing with repressed sexuality and regularly goes on the prowl with her best friend Wendy.  Unimpressed by high school boys, the two girls have devised a can't miss approach to scamming yuppies cruising around Venice in BMW convertibles.  Our teen temptresses slip out of their Catholic school uniforms and take to the streets clad in garish Easter dresses and Easy Spirit pumps.  One girl will then leap in front of a car and halt traffic so that her friend can jump from the bushes and pose for a Polaroid with the unsuspecting driver.  The Polaroid is pasted into a handcrafted scrapbook, whereby Wendy and Lisa promptly begin placing calls to the DMV and are able to secure phone numbers using license plate information.  Phew! 

Unfortunately for Lisa, hers isn't the only game in town.  It seems that the Candlelight Killer is waging a war against successful thirty-something women living in pastel houses with lots of mirrored furnishings.  We are treated to an intimate look at how the killer carries out his work with two sequences involving career women wearily removing their earrings while listening to their answering machine messages.

BEEP. This is Richard. I'm in your apartment, and I'm going to kill you.

Before those chilling words can even sink in, the Candlelight Killer wraps his hands around his victim's throat and escorts her into the bedroom which is now decked out like Carrie White's house when she gets home from the Prom.  The final crushing squeeze is delivered with a heartfelt "I love you."  

Meanwhile, Lisa is sent on an errand to buy rice, dressed like a boy wearing a baseball cap and packing Mace at the insistence of her mother.  She literally bumps into Richard, the Candlelight Killer himself who is fleeing a crime scene with blood on his hands, but nevertheless takes the time to engage her in polite conversation.  He delivers a fatal blow of the verbal variety when he makes the mistake of saying, "You must be what, 16?"  Once Lisa's trigger phrase has been uttered there is absolutely no stopping her and it isn't long before she's phone flirting with the Candlelight Killer on a nightly basis.  

Bound and determined to seduce the older man and thus prove her maturity, Lisa goes about impersonating her mother and even manages to orchestrate a face-to-face encounter. With both parties intent on seeing their respective projects through to the end, they proceed armed with only half-truths which begin to snowball dangerously out of control.  As Lisa compulsively hits redial and Richard violates Katherine's parked car leaving behind the stench of cigarette smoke and the arrogance of a man with finely chiseled features, the tension mounts as we rush towards the inevitable showdown pitting mother-daughter tag team against male oppressor.  

And thus we return to Beanface and a hard lesson learned.  For you see, a film like "Lisa" serves to caution us and hold up the mirror of truth in the non-threatening guise of Lifetime appropriate entertainment.  What is reflected back is an exaggerated fun house image, the kind that somehow manages to always make you look fat and crazy.  I didn't jump in front of Bean's car wearing kitten heels and a miniskirt from the Contempo Casuals clearance rack, but in my heart I felt like that 14 year old girl desperately trying to prove something to herself.  After I asked him out, did I inadvertently become involved in a game of cat and mouse leading to an attempt on my mother's life? Well, not exactly.  But following our encounter my confidence lay bruised, battered, and motionless on the floor and nobody rushed in armed with a baseball bat to save me.  Cheryl Ladd was right: men are bad, and I'll never ask one out again.

BEEP. This is life. I'm in your apartment, and I'm going to kill you.

Things are looking "Swell"!

 Allow me to begin with a convenient factoid: many therapists report that the majority of "crisis" calls are received on Sunday evenings.  It seems that after a bustling Saturday spent darting in and out of garden parties, banquets, and cotillions, Sunday presents a blank canvas on which the mind is free to doodle. For those who find themselves dreading the start of another week toiling away at a thankless job, said doodling can turn to violent and panicky scribbling in short order. 

And how are you feeling on this lovely Sunday evening? Take a moment to project yourself several hours into the future. Will you throw open the shutters and greet the world like a cartoon princess who can't wait to discover what adventures the day has in store? Or will you groan in protest when your alarm sounds and make yourself late to work by refusing to move until well into Regis and Kelly's morning banter? Um...for example. If things have stalled out on the career front and you find yourself feeling trapped, perhaps it's time to consider a change.

The very thought of setting off on a new career path most likely causes you to begin reciting a carefully practiced list of excuses and rationalizations. Good news! At this very moment that list is slipping into a khaki vest and boarding a plane bound for Australia. What of the old hag who's been babysitting your dreams and refusing to let them go out and play? That's right, the babysitter is dead. Now what are you going to do? Don't get bogged down in any insecurities related to education, qualifications, or experience. Straighten your shoulder pads, sweep your hair into a sophisticated up-do that speaks of worldly confidence, and go for it.

You have passion!  You have life experience!  You have an eye-popping resume that may or may not have been copied out of a book.  When you manage to infiltrate your chosen field, your ability to multi-task while successfully thwarting a surly receptionist's attempts to sabotage you will surely capture the attention of your superiors.  When all else fails and you have no idea what the QED report is--delegate!  Put together a creative team with the skill set necessary to get the job done.  If your company is faced with an uncertain financial future, hire your siblings to serve hors d'oeuvres to industry bigwigs and your friends to act as models in a fashion show of insanity.  You have successfully risen to the top and single-handedly saved the company.  And what of all those naysayers who said you'd never amount to anything?  Well, they're just a bunch of old whores.

"I'm right on top of that, Rose!"