|Original Art by Craig Boldman - www.craigboldman.com|
Story Sent in by Amy:
Marc and I met on a dating site and most of our first bunch of emails were all about movies. We sent each other recommendations. He turned me on to Sam Peckinpah's work, and I introduced him to Darren Aronofsky. He rented Pi and would not shut up about it:
"Oh my God the part with the black and white and the numbers and the drill and the woman and the Jews and the black and white oh my God what the hell did I just see what happened?"
Not long after, we ended up on a date together. It was meant to be your standard dinner and see-what-happens, but Marc clearly had something different in mind. We met up in front of a restaurant, but he said, "Follow me. Trust me on this."
I accompanied him to a park across the street from the restaurant. Once we were there, he grabbed my hands and said, "One day my mother told me never to look at the sun, and then one day I did!"
He then beatboxed the Clint Mansell score to the film as best as he could (which wasn't that great): "Bffh-bidda-bff-bicka-wicka-wicka-bff-dicka-bff-dicka-bff-bff-bfffh!" and swung me around and around. I was in heels and so I tore away from him as quickly as I could, but he grabbed for me again, and again I ripped away.
"Marc!" I said, "I'm glad you liked Pi so much, but I'm not really up for dancing to it."
"One day my mother told me never to look at the sun, and then one day I did!" He then spun around by himself and beatboxed away. Once he was done, he said, "Okay, so dinner! Bffh-bidda-bff-bicka-wicka-wicka-bff-dicka-bff-dicka-bff-bff-bfffh!" and he ran across the street to the restaurant, not even waiting for me.
Thinking that I had somehow agreed to a date with a five-year-old, I still wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. After all, his messages made him sound pretty smart, and aside from a few moments in which he seemed a bit immature, nothing really prepared me for this sort of behavior.
At dinner, he pretty much did behave himself, but by that, I mean that he punctuated most of his actions with a softer, more subdued Clint Mansell beatboxing. I tried to distract him from his childish behavior by asking him questions, but he replied to each with a short answer and some dismissive beatboxing.
He insisted on picking up the check, then asked me if I wanted to go back to his house to watch Pi. I politely declined. He asked me again, and I declined again. He asked me a third time, and I declined, a little less politely.
He then pointed at me, beatboxed louder than he had before, stood up, and leaned in suddenly to kiss me. I pushed him away, but he didn't miss a beat. He kept making those spit-laden noises with his mouth as he danced his way out of the restaurant and out of my life for good.