Date Night - A Blog by Mari: John Cleese at UCSB, 2 years ago

I went to speak to my adviser about graduation, and when I left Anne’s office I noticed a poster with John Cleese.

What’s this? Here? When?

I traced over the date and time:

TONIGHT!?

After I purchased the ticket, my fantastical mind began to play the rest of our lives together. I’d arrive at Campbell Hall and sit in the front row. Then, after the screening of A Fish Called Wanda, I’d say something to him like, “I loved you in Notting Hill.”

He would frown and sparks would ignite, and he would say he needed to eat and I’d tell him I knew where he could get excellent Taco.

We’d laugh.

We would find real tacos, eat, chat it up, and he would pause. Through his enormous British teeth, he would say, “There’s something lovely about the way the light hits your eyes.”

I’d say there was something lovely about every bit of him.

We would walk along the “American Riviera” and talk about Mickey Roarke and Rutger Hauer and contemplate when the two men would merge and finally become one person. We would avoid conversation about Monty Python because that’s like asking Willie Nelson to sing On The Road Again. But we’d throw a few breaths over his new role as Q in Bond.

Then, under a busted out boardwalk lamp, he’d kiss my cheek. In silence, we’d ride home in his private car and he would ramble to me about his marriage, talking about leaving his wife. And I, desirous of a drama-free life, would say: Nay. It can’t ever be, love.

He would walk me home, all the way to the front door. And as he was staring down at me, he would glance at the bathroom window and whisper into my ear: “only an angel could shit in a bathroom with stained glass.”

I would have to give it back. That kiss. I would push up on tippy-toes while he lowered himself a few feet, and my lips would brand the line of his jaw, just beneath his ear-lobe.

And he would see me inside–I mean, he would see me into my house–or maybe he would see me inside. It’s only the most kindred who can see the essence of us and still fall madly in love anyway. I’d close the door and peek through the blinds and watch as he pushed his hands into the warmth of his pockets and walked to his car and disappeared.

But, of course, ya know, never. Also, have you seen him lately? He’s getting up there…But I thought of this on my way to the library and giggled, so I had to share.

Published by permission. Visit Mari's blog at http://www.mari-go-round.com/