First Amendment Second Thoughts

The great thing about free speech is I don't have to listen to it.

— Hᴏʟʟʏᴡᴏᴏᴅ Dɪᴄᴋ (@HollywoodDick) November 6, 2012

Moondance

There's a thrift store on my street that has a bookcase full of CDs for sale. They are refugees of the iPod revolution, during which thousands of people voluntarily exchanged all of their high-quality audio recordings for crappy, compressed MP3 files to be played through microscopic "ear-bud" speakers -- essentially the musical equivalent of listening to the roar of the ocean through a sewer pipe. But their loss is my gain. Especially when the CDs go on sale for one dollar each. At that price, they're practically disposable.

A few weeks ago, I noticed the $1 sale sign and went into the store to browse the shelf. Usually there's a lot of stuff I don't care for, but every once in a while, I find a real gem. On this particular occasion, I found a pristine copy of Van Morrison's classic album, Moondance.

Although I know every song on the album note for note, I've never actually owned a copy. So it was a real treat to pop it into my stereo and let it spin from beginning to end. Just about every song is a chestnut. And every one brings back a flood of memories. But the title track brings back the strongest memory of all. Whenever I hear the song Moondance, I am reminded of the first date I went on back in college. It was with a girl named Ann.

Freshman year, I didn't really date anyone at college. First semester, I was still in love with my post high-school sweetheart. Unfortunately, that relationship didn't survive the whole semester. Over Christmas break, I managed to win her back, but by Spring break it had ended again. I tried to salvage the relationship once more over the break, but that didn't go too well. For the rest of the semester, I was pretty much a wreck.

By sophomore year, I was ready to begin dating again. I was running on the cross country team and Ann was on the women's team. She was cute, kind of quiet -- a "normal" girl compared to some of the other women I'd met at Wesleyan. I asked her to go see a movie: Midnight Cowboy was playing at the Science Center auditorium that Friday. Now, you may think that Midnight Cowboy is not exactly first date material. And you would be exactly right. It's a great movie, but it really left me in a weird state. Kind of depressing. Actually, very depressing. I couldn't get the ending out of my mind.

I walked Ann back to her dorm after the movie. I couldn't shake the image of Joe Buck and Ratso in the back of that bus bound for Miami. I needed to talk about it. We got to Ann's room and she put on a record. She skipped track one and went straight for track two, the title track: Moondance.

Well, it's a marvelous night for a moondance 
With the stars up above in your eyes 
A fantabulous night to make romance 
'Neath the cover of October skies…

I'm not sure exactly what happened next. I do know what didn't happen: fantabulous romance. Somehow I completely missed out on what was going on and ended up back in my dorm room. Alone. Everyone I told about the date said the exact same thing: "She played Moondance? And you left? What were you thinking?"

But that's the problem -- I was thinking. I was thinking about the movie. I was thinking about the song. I was thinking about what I was doing in her room. Thinking, thinking, thinking. Too much thinking, not enough moondancing.

And I never asked her out again. I don't know why. I wound up dating another girl who was very different from Ann in every way. She was great. She was beautiful. She was super cool. Maybe a little out of my league. I took off second semester that year and by the time I got back, she had moved on.

I always wondered, though, what would have happened if I had been more aware of the not-so-subtle message Ann was sending me on that crisp October night. For all I know, she might have been the one woman I was meant to be with. And I blew it. Missed out. Dropped the ball.

It wasn't the first time.

Back in junior high, there was this girl I met in our church youth group. She wasn't like the other fourteen year old girls. She was like… a woman. She was gorgeous. And sweet. And lots of fun. Her name was Lorraine.

There was this one time when Lorraine was at my house with some other kids. We were all hanging out in the basement. Lorraine and I were sitting on the old metal cot that served as a couch. At some point, someone threw a blanket over our heads. It was kind of a gag -- like, "now you two can make out - ha ha." I felt embarrassed. Not for me, but for Lorraine. She shouldn't have to suffer such indignation -- being trapped under a blanket with the likes of me. I hurried to remove the blanket to save her from any further shame.

But, in that fleeting moment before I got the blanket off our heads, I noticed two things: 1) Lorraine was looking right at me and smiling, and 2) She wasn't making any effort whatsoever to remove the blanket. So why was I in such a hurry? Didn't matter -- by the time I had processed the information, the blanket was off and we were back in the real world.

Of course I never followed up on that moment. I mean, I couldn't really ask her about it. And I was still bewildered by the fact that she hadn't screamed and quickly whipped the blanket off our heads and run out of the room. I never did ask her out on a date. I had never asked anyone out on a date before and had no idea how it was done. I think she started seeing one of the other guys in the youth group. He was older. He had a car.

I'll never forget the look in her eyes when we were under that blanket -- it haunts me.

Then there was that rich girl in Manhattan. We worked together as temps in a prestigious law firm in midtown. Her father had recently been indicted in a big insider trading scandal. We went out for dinner one night and somehow wound up at her place. Although I guess it must have been her parent's place, because it was pretty damn big for Manhattan. High ceilings, leather couch, nice view. We sat on the couch and talked. Before long, I noticed, she had cleverly steered the conversation to the subject of back rubs. Now, this time, I knew what was going on. I may be dumb, but even I know what "back rub" means. But for some reason we never got around to the back rubs.

And to this day, I don't know why.

Oh, wait -- yes I do: Because I'm an idiot.

The last time something like this happened was just after I moved to Hollywood. She was an actress -- a very sexy redhead. She was out here from New York auditioning for TV pilots. I knew her through a mutual friend and we started hanging out together, since she didn't know anyone else in town. We went to a few bars -- she was into karaoke. She got a little frisky a few times. Said some fairly suggestive things. But I didn't take her seriously. She was a big smartass like me and was probably just messing around.

Besides, she was married.

One night we went out and she had a few drinks. She climbed up onto the bar and started attracting a lot of attention. I decided to intervene. I managed to talk her down. Actually, I had to drag her down. At this point she was clinging onto me. So we started slow dancing. She asked me to sing to her. So I did. Nothing wrong with that. A little harmless fun. I got her home all right. Got myself home too. But I couldn't stop thinking about that slow dance. My arms around her. Singing softly in her ear. I was hooked.

Can I just have one more moondance with you, my love? 
Can I just make some more romance with you, my love?

After that she started sending me these emails filled with sexual innuendo. They were pretty hot. It wasn't helping.

She invited me over one night for margaritas. I decided to find out how far she was willing to go with this flirtation thing. Call it a social experiment. I brought some tequila and limes. And some of those temporary tattoos. We drank a bunch of margaritas and started playing this game: You tattoo me and I'll tattoo you. It got a little intimate. And very intense. I was trying so hard not to cross the line. But the line was getting very blurry. And she was applying a dragon tattoo onto my neck.

With her tongue.

Then we started talking about her marriage. It was in trouble. She had already had an affair with a trumpet player back in New York. She said she was attracted to passionate artistic types. We talked for a long time, sprawled out on her couch. We were very close. And getting closer. The line was all but invisible at this point.

I was way too drunk to drive home, so I stayed the night. But I didn't cross the line. Technically. But I so wanted too. Why should I care if she cheated on her husband? Again. That's their business, not mine. But I was a good boy.

An extremely frustrated good boy.

She went back to New York not long after that, but said she would return. I waited all summer to hear from her again. Finally, she did come back. And this time she was officially separated from her husband. So I did the right thing, right? I'd waited for her to become available. Now we could finally finish what we almost started.

But things were different this time. Gone was the innuendo. Gone was the flirting. Gone was the magic. Now that she was "available" she was even less available that before. It seemed unfair. I could have easily taken advantage of her in her weak and vulnerable state. But no -- not me, I had to respect her crappy marriage and be considerate of her stupid fragile feelings. What a dork. And what did I get for my troubles? A peck on the cheek and a hug.

And then she was gone.

I have told this story to a few of my (male) friends and about half of them said I should have gone for it. The rest said that I did the right thing. I'm not sure who is right. Would my life have turned out any worse if I'd crossed that line? Probably not. I'd probably have an awesome memory, accompanied by a certain measure of guilt. But hey, guilt is for suckers.

So the next time I'm the the presence of a beautiful and desirous woman who is sending me clear and unambiguous signals of her amorous intentions, I will not waste my time THINKING about the consequences, or the ramifications, or her honor, or some stupid movie, or the fact that we work together. I will simply act. Boldly and without hesitation. That's what I will do.

Yeah, next time.

Brazil

Listen, kid, we're all in it together.

A few weeks ago, I received a letter from my bank which began, "We've been listening to you." The letter went on to tell me that henceforth, I would be subject to a monthly service charge of 15 dollars on my checking account.

I'm pretty sure I never said I wanted that.

I went in to the bank the next day to tell them that they needed to work on their listening skills. They thought that was pretty hilarious. I spoke to a Personal Banker about my situation. She told me that to get rid of the service charge, I would need to switch to a more basic type of account. But when she tried to change my account, she was unable to do so -- The System wouldn't let her. She spoke to the Bank Manager, but the Bank Manager was powerless to intervene on my behalf. The System had spoken.

The only option available was to close my old account and open a new one. Easy Peasy, right? But, before I could close the account, it had to have a zero balance. That meant no outstanding checks or holds or payments pending. Thus spake The System. It being the beginning of the month, I had just written a rent check. So I would have to wait for that to clear. Plus I have several recurring automated payments tied to the account, including a couple on PayPal. And not all of them conveniently take place at the first of the month. So I had to find a time when all my payments had cycled through The System, and then quickly pounce.

Meanwhile, I signed a bunch of forms so that my Personal Banker could set up the new account in readiness for the Big Switcheroo. Then I waited.

But I did not wait idly. Each day I went online to check the status of my old account: rent check - cleared, Visa card - cleared, PayPal - cleared. So far so good. Just for kicks, I checked the new account as well. There I found a negative balance of 59 dollars: 19 bucks for new checks and a 40 dollar overdraft fee.

What the...?

I went down to the bank and spoke to my Personal Banker. She told me that The System had automatically charged me for the new checks, even though it shouldn't have. Then it hit me with the overdraft fee just for good measure. She graciously removed the charge and the overdraft fee and apologized for The System's overly zealous actions.

I told her that the time had come for El Switcherino. Close my old account and transfer my money to the new one. The window is open. The time is ripe. All ashore that's going ashore. Etc., etc.

But wait... What's this? The System says I have an outstanding hold on the account and it cannot be closed. I asked my Personal Banker what the hold was for. She said she did not know. I asked her who would know. She said that only I would know. "How would I know?" I asked. She said that I would know because I was the one who had made the transaction. But I pointed out that all of my transactions were accounted for. There was nothing outstanding. Please close the account now. She shook her head sadly. The System will not allow it.

At this point I was becoming a little agitated. Also, I was late for work. My Personal Banker seemed to sense my mood and suggested that I come back on Monday to close the account. With any luck the missing hold will have cleared by then. Instead of leaping across the desk and strangling her with my bare hands, I suggested that she figure out exactly what the hold is for, leave that amount in the old account and transfer the rest to the new account. Then, when the hold clears and the balance zeroes out, close the old account.

My Personal Banker agreed with my plan and promised to call me with an update. I went into work, where I spent most of the morning obsessively monitoring my account status online. I saw that most of my money had been debited from my old account, except for about 12 dollars to cover some Thai food I had picked up the night before. This transaction had already appeared on my old account, but for some reason was still on hold. What I did not see was any money whatsoever having been transferred into my new account. I called my Personal Banker and politely inquired: "Where the hell is my goddamn money?" She became quite flustered and promised to call me back right away. A few minutes later, she called and assured my that my money was being transferred into the new account right away and that as soon as the hold cleared, the old account would be closed.

Of course she was lying.

I spent the weekend trying to switch my automated payments to the new account, only to find out that I had to wait for the next billing cycle to do so. In the meantime I had to schedule one-time transfers to keep from missing my payments. The System, you see. At one point, I checked my old account and discovered that the hold had cleared, but there was now an overdraft on the account in the amount of the tip I'd left at the Thai restaurant. I called the bank's 800 number and transferred that same amount back into the account, so that come Monday morning, it would zero out and my Personal Banker could close it down. Be done with it. Once and for all. And good riddance, I say.

But that, as I'm sure you have now guessed, never happened.

I did not get a call from my Personal Banker on Monday. I did not hear from her at all. I received my statement in the mail and saw that I still had a positive balance on my old account to the tune of Three Cents.  Three measly cents. Interest. Automatically credited to me by: The System. All-knowing. All-wise. All-getting-on-my-very-last-nerve.

Once more unto the breach...

I go to the bank. I show my Personal Banker my statement. She tells me that I can't close the account if there's still money in it. I tell her that I know that. Fix it. I do not slap her with the back of my hand. She promises to take care of everything. I give her my paycheck to deposit, and I leave. Later at work I check my status and I see that the three cents was transferred and the old account is finally, mercifully closed.

What I don't see is a credit to my new account in the amount of my paycheck...