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August 25, 2006
Scenes from a Wedding
"Is that your bag Ma'am?"
"Yes, yes it is."
The Character Actor plunges through the crush of bodies, grabs Karen's suitcase, and like the characters he always plays, yanks the heavy bag up from the airport luggage carousel, and sets it down right at Karen's feet as if it weighs no more than a feather.
"Anymore I can help you with?"
"No, thank you so much."
The Character Actor smiles and even gives Karen a little bow of the head. I think he did the same little gesture in Goodfellas right before he, actually his character, blew another character to kingdom come. That's the thing about actors: most of them have no lives of their own, they are empty vessels. Even when they are not working, they pull scenes to help them get through real life.
Karen and I exit the terminal.
"That man who just helped you, great character actor."
Karen looks over her shoulder.
"Really, how do you recognize him?"
I shrug. Mr. Modesty. It's what I do.
Karen says, "I never would recognize him, ever."
But I know what Karen is thinking, and it goes something like this: "How is it that Robert can recognize some obscure Hollywood character actor, can remember scenes and full patches of dialogue from films he has not seen in over 20 years, and yet when it comes to relatives, he has no idea who is who in the family?"
It is a mystery.
Karen and I have just returned from a wedding back east. There, as usual, I am confronted with cousins, uncles and aunts, great uncles and great aunts and countless children of first, second and third cousins. And not only do I have no idea how most of these people are related to me--I'm lucky if I can even remember their names.
It's nothing personal. It's just a, er, kinship disability.
Scene One:
Someone comes over to me at the wedding and tells me how much they like Seraphic Secret, how much they enjoyed The Hebrew Kid and the Apache Maiden, and we fall into easy conversation.
Hey, listen, I'm a writer, compliment my work and I turn into a slobbering puppy dog.
Being polite I say: "By the way, what's your name?"
He looks at me, wide-eyed.
"I'm Yossie, Karen's first cousin, Uncle Moshe's son from St. Louis."
Ouch.
Now, I'm pretty sure Yossie hates me. He's thinking I'm some Hollywood snob.
So Karen takes me aside and gives me a complete rundown on that branch of the family, who's married to whom, who the children are. I'm really afraid she's going to start outlining the European roots of the family and then there's going to be a test. She's like Margaret Mead giving a power-point presentation. She's using her most patient kindergarten teacher tone of voice with me, but it's hopeless. I'll never remember all these relatives.
My mind wanders. I'm thinking about the wedding scene in The Godfather. What a great film. What a great way to start a movie. I ponder what little dramas are being played out here, at this Orthodox Jewish wedding.
My imagination kicks into overdrive: That tall woman in the nose-bleed heels over there is sneaking out for a secret tryst with --
"Robert?"
"Yes?"
"You're not taking any of this in are you?"
"Not really."
Scene Two:
Someone, a relative, no idea how he's related or what his name is, comes over to me and tells me that he really likes my blog, and wants to know how I know so much about war and military thought.
"I have seen every great Hollywood war movie ever made, plus I've seen Akira Kurosawa's Seven Samurai countless times."
"You're kidding?"
"I read a lot too," I add weakly. "The complete works of Sir Charles Oman."
"But... but your blog, Seraphic Secret, you seem so... knowledgable."
"Sorry."
I should have told him that I'm really an instructor at West Point specializing in Fourth Generation Warfare, screenwriting is just a part-time gig.
Disappointed, he walks away shaking his head. Another relative, another enemy. Gosh, if I keep this up, the family may well expel me.
Scene Three:
Another relative approaches, wants to know what I think about the war and Hizbullah and Olmert.
I'm drained. I'm finished. I throw up the white flag.
"I'm just a dumb Hollywood screenwriter, what difference does it make what I think?"
"You did win an Emmy, right?"
"Um, yeah, but that was for a screenplay. Listen, I just write a blog. I'm just an ordinary guy like you."
He smiles. Raises his glass in a L'chaim.
Naturally, I have no idea who he is. But at least he doesn't hate me.
Karen and I wish you all a lovely and meaningful Shabbos.
Posted by Robert J. Avrech at August 25, 2006 11:32 AM
Comments
Seraphic Secret is private property, that's right, it's an extension of our home, and as such, Karen and I have instituted two Seraphic Rules and we ask commentors to act respectfully.
1. No profanity.2. No Israel bashing. We debate, we discuss, we are respectful. You know what Israel bashing is. The world is full of it. Seraphic Secret is one of the few places in the world that will not tolerate this form of anti-Semitism. That's it. Break either of these rules and you will be banned.
To borrow a phrase from Secretary Rumsfeld: we go to war with the family we have, not with the family we want. Sounds like there was a truce in effect (more or less) during the wedding.
These vignettes are immensely endearing, thank you!
Posted by: Jeremiah at August 25, 2006 12:09 PM
How on earth could anyone - especially anyone related to you - hate you? You're too easy to like, and too hard on yourself.
Posted by: Jackie Danicki at August 25, 2006 12:18 PM
Jackie,
Ditto!!
Posted by: Lance at August 25, 2006 12:30 PM
Jeremiah:
The family is very nice and really are a wonderful group of people. They put up with me.
Posted by: Robert J. Avrech ![[TypeKey Profile Page]](http://www.seraphicpress.com/nav-commenters.gif)
at August 25, 2006 12:43 PM
Jackie:
People hate it when you don't know their names--especially if you are related and you've met them at every family wedding, bar mitzvah, etc. for the past 25 years.
Posted by: Robert J. Avrech at August 25, 2006 12:45 PM
Yes, you're "the California cousin." :-)
Posted by: Jeremiah at August 25, 2006 12:46 PM
Jeremiah:
Lots of the cousins secretly ask: "Do you think we'd be happy there in LA, I mean the weather is nice and all, but is it Jewish enough?"
Hello, we're Los Angeles, not Fargo.
Posted by: Robert J. Avrech at August 25, 2006 01:00 PM
I'm with Jeremiah. I love these little vignettes.
Posted by: Kent at August 25, 2006 02:24 PM
Obviously your family doesn't know the secret to getting you to remember their names...BRING YOU BABKE :)
Posted by: cruisin-mom at August 25, 2006 08:30 PM
I think there is a lot for wearing badges to make it simpler. Something like "Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die."
Posted by: Michael Jennings at August 26, 2006 03:57 AM
Michael: LOLOLOL!!!!
Posted by: cruisin-mom at August 26, 2006 11:23 AM
Thanks for a hilarious and much-needed break from contemporary politics!
Posted by: Sara at August 26, 2006 12:15 PM
ha ha - funny scenes
now I've gotta meet you just to see if you'll remember me the next time
MH
Posted by: mata hari at August 26, 2006 06:58 PM
Kent:
Consider these: Scenes from a modern day Shtetl. And enjoy.
Posted by: Robert J. Avrech at August 27, 2006 08:16 AM
Randi:
My family eat to live not to bribe. Go figure.
Posted by: Robert J. Avrech at August 27, 2006 08:19 AM
Michel:
"Hello, my name is Robert J. Avrech: I have seen The Seven Samurai a zillion times. Any questions?"
Posted by: Robert J. Avrech at August 27, 2006 08:23 AM
Sara:
Yes, you are welcome; we all need a break.
Posted by: Robert J. Avrech at August 27, 2006 08:24 AM
MH:
It's only relatives I can't rememember. There are so many, and they all have the same names.
Posted by: Robert J. Avrech at August 27, 2006 08:26 AM
I should have told him that I'm really an instructor at West Point specializing in Fourth Generation Warfare, screenwriting is just a part-time gig.
No, that would be Michael Medved!
Posted by: Solomon2 at August 28, 2006 11:21 AM
I believe I once told you a "tactic" -- supposedly a journalistic one -- to help learn a person's name.
A person whom you supposedly know starts blabbing to you and you're clueless as to who they are. You say, "I'm sorry...what was your name again?"
They say, "So-and-so" -- usually their first name. And you respond, "NO, I meant your family name." And they'll give it to you.
And there you have it: the first name...and last name.
(okeydoke, so maybe that's only a tactic to learn a name, not a means of remembering it!)
Posted by: Pearl at August 29, 2006 06:22 PM
Pearl:
Not a tactic appreciated by family, believe you me.
Posted by: Robert J. Avrech at August 29, 2006 06:27 PM
This post really resonated for me. Reminded me of Neil Simon's comment about being bad at poker, because he pays great attention, but not to the things that will help him win the game.
Posted by: rabbi neil at August 30, 2006 04:32 AM
Rabbi Neil:
How true. I do pay attention. At the wedding I was deeply focused on the way women dressed. How come so many looked like, well, doilies?
And then there's my friend in the movie industry, a costume designer, gay natch, who assures me that the key to a women's personality can be found in her... footwear.
I'm impressionable. Ever since then, I've been trying to find a pattern.
Karen thinks I'm totally mad.
But this costume designer is so talented, how can I possibly discount such a theory?
Posted by: Robert J. Avrech at August 30, 2006 07:31 AM