Missed Connections, in True Life

I’ve been terrible about Hurling Words, writing too much for corporate America to concentrate on my own thoughts. Damn if I am falling into a rat race trap here. (I should mention that my language may reflect the amount of Westerns I’ve been watching lately).

That being said, I had a Missed Connections experience recently, and I thought it would be an excellent way to return to your good graces if I shared it with all you kind people out there.

Let’s begin the story – Once upon a time…

It was a Saturday night in Williamsburg. It was a night of New York coincidence, warm bars, and loud music, but that’s not really what our tale’s about. This one starts at the end. Because, you see, I was on-my-way-home. Which meant walking arm in arm with just the loveliest ladyfriend a girl could have and being assaulted by foul subway graffiti.

The platform was full of leather and plaid and over-sized glasses for heroin-chic faces. And luck was on our side, we had no more than four minutes to wait for the train. Funny how a little liquid courage can make time just fly on by, like it’s late for a party. Headlights rounded the corner and the L train charged forward, the last car coming to a standstill in front of us.

Our poor spot of choice ended damn smack in the middle of two sets of doors. Commuters will recognize our subsequent position in front of the doors as the “Oh, sorry, let me – are you getting off? I’ll move – oh goodness, the door is – let me just -” and awkwardness aside, it is prime for accidental elbow jutting and toe treading.

We jawed and guffawed through a few stops, letting the train clear around us, eyeballing the other occupants, maybe eavesdropping on a topic or two – then clear across the other side of the car, who should I spot?

“Hey, turn around slowly, Willem Dafoe is on our train.” She craned in response,
“He looks just like him.” A little taller maybe, younger certainly, with a red bandana that spoke of Platoon. But that hair, those cheek bones.
“That could be his son!” My eyes continued to flick to him for the rest of the ride. The doors chimed open to our area of East-east-east-eastest-east-Williamsburg. I side eyed Willem to see his plan.

He stepped off the train and turned left.

We went right.

“He got off at our stop. HE-GOT-OFF-AT-OUR-STOP.”

I stumbled home and exchanged my layers for the comfort of pajamas. As I am a 21st century girl, I lay back on my pillows, laptop in hand and it came to me.

WWW(dot)craigslist(dot)org

I dragged the cursor to that anonymous hot spot of internet hot spots.

Willem Dafoe on the L Train – w4m 26

I think I saw you on the L train tonight, Willem Dafoe.

You might’ve just been a kid in a red bandanna.

But I’m pretty sure it was you, Willem Dafoe. Then you got off at my stop. Damn, Willem Dafoe, whatchu doin’ in Bushwick?!

Laptop safely tucked away, I fell into the heavy sleep of a Saturday night well spent.

As this was my first Missed Connection posting, I naively assumed that that was that.

The responses began to trickle in a day or two later. April wanted me to clarify if I truly was a woman seeking a man (she couldn’t know that it was so much more than that, could she?), and Dante needed to know the exact location of this supposed Willem Dafoe doppelganger – or maybe just where I lived. His message was brief, and so his motives suspect.

Then there was Kings, who just wanted my body to sing for him. Because, you see, he wanted to play me like an instrument. But I was not to be played.

Lastly, the elusive Patrick, who only emailed me to say: “I know who you are looking for.” But if he did know, he wasn’t talking.

Then, nothing. I joked about the experience at after work happy hours and cafeteria lunches, but as with most memories in the making, the immediacy of it all fell away. I forgot to even think of it.

Fast forward a year in the wild wild west of the internet. Or, in the real world, ten days later.

Sitting at a friend’s, waiting to start my french toast project, I idly hit the mail button on my phone as I am wont to do.

Connecting…

Connecting…

Checking mail…

Downloading 1 of 2…

Downloading 2 of 2…

At the top:

oedwotd subject “muggy, adj./2” – Word of the Day from the OED

But below that! Fate had intervened!

Jesse ****             subject hey it’s willem dafoe jr.

my friend in chicago came across your craigslist post — ha i get that all the time.  that’s so funny.  only time i’ve ever worn a red bandanna.  wasn’t i awesome in Platoon?

Could it really be him? I was raised during the height of web-paranoia. I knew better than to trust a stranger ON THE INTERNET.

So, I found him on Facebook.

Friends, readers, it was him. It was my L-Train Willem Dafoe. How did he find me? Why was his friend in Chicago searching through Brooklyn Missed Connections? Was Peter his friend?

I’ll never know the answers to these questions. I replied, exclamation points abound,

“Willem Dafoe, you just made my day!”

And that’s where I’ll leave it.

Independence! (Independents?) Indie-pants, depends.

There was a quote in this morning’s Shelf Awareness about what Indie book stores represent:

“Independent bookstores are the places where freedom of speech and anti-censorship are integrated into everything we do. We are spaces where difference–of ideas, sexuality, spirit, politics, and philosophy–is embraced and not feared. Politics and Prose has been exactly this kind of place for the past 27 years. Independent bookstores are essential to their communities and hence to a truly democratic nation. The survival of our bookstores relies on children becoming informed and engaged in our midsts. Only through the nurturing of this future community will we ensure having a customer base on which to rely.”

It is a pretty verbose way to say: “Indies promote thought” (and of course, I mostly agree with it, grand statements aside). A few paragraphs down, there was a note about how big chains were faring in today’s largely digital world – about the big chains’ need to remake themselves to better understand and serve their communities.

I wonder how these big chains ARE serving their communities. As far as I can see, on some level, Indies still cater to their community in the same way that a local Barnes & Noble may do so – they order the books they think  the people who come into their stores will buy. Most may not have coops that are quite as influential as say, having your book on the front page of Amazon, or in the front table at B&N. So, with chain stores and digital behemoths, should they have the same sense of responsibility to their customers? To keep them informed of not just when the new Stephenie Meyer or Dan Brown novels are coming out, or when they can get that next Glenn Beck picture book, but also of books highlighting local politics or a title you may never have dreamed of buying in a thousand years, without someone saying – hey, you should check this out.

Do they have a responsibility to personalize the experience, I guess, is what I’m asking. Not a responsibility in a moral sense, or from some sense of duty – but tradition? Customer service? People are getting cheated out of knowing any better!

… You think that maybe this (and the ease & accessibility of the internet) is why a lot of chains may be falling under? … Of course, this is all conversation that’s happened and is happening and will probably continue to happen for quite some time. But, whatever. I’ma say what I’ma say.

With the enormity of what Amazon gives us, there’s also a sense of panic when trying to figure out what you really want. And so, I believe (or maybe just really want to believe) that independents are (or will) make a comeback, among people who value the experience,  conversation, and above all the sense of community involved in book shopping.

… Of course, this is all tied in with whether or not book publishing itself will figure out a way to stop being so damned costly and damned repetitive (if I like this, then MAYBE I WANT SOMETHING DIFFERENT AND NEW). (But I will not go on that rant today, no, sir.)

To go back to the “promoting thought” comment, we (…I) like to complain about the obscene amount of power Amazon holds over the book industry and book buying habits of the masses – but I sometimes forget the political and psychological effects of the big-digital-business experiment. I don’t necessarily mean “political” in an industry way, but, how big business defines what people are exposed to.

I’ve mentioned before how this country seems to get less and less “American” with every passing day – with one group or another being legally or illegally put down for being different. You see it in the media – Oh hello Ground Zero Mosque that is niether at Ground Zero, nor a Mosque. And you see it in our book stores with the perpetuating of certain titles or authors, or even just trends (ahem, Vampires).

Not to say that one is equal to the other – but, if all we’re exposed to is one point of view, well, then, shit. How will books that aren’t like anything else out there be released? I’d suppose their platform would have to be the independents that may not need to rely on history for every title that comes through their stores.

With the word count I’m at, I’ve come too far to comfortably publish something with the thought: Sure, my friends will read this – because they won’t. It’s too freakin’ long.

… My bad.

Well, this is all kind of a roundabout love letters to Indies. I support them, you should, too. Unless you want to get stuck with getting a goddamn John Grisham novel or, dare I say it, a Sarah Palin book of Essays (Times, They Are a’Changin’) every Christmas because no one decent gets published anymore.

Chew on that you kindlers.