"Are you going to be downtown this morning for the filming of Merv? They're on Castle Street I believe."
Ms. Wonder and I were having coffee on the lanai but I wasn't my usual chatty self. I suppose my feelings were oozing out.
"Not planning on it," I said. "Too muggy. And it's a Christmas movie--hard to get in the spirit when the heat index is 100 degrees."
"Southport should have some cooling offshore breezes," she said. "The Summer I Turned Pretty is there this week."
You may think it's nothing to get excited about but for me, it's a reason to get out of bed in the morning. There are other reasons, to be sure, but I'm specifically referencing the 6 AM de-bedding, not the 4 AM or 2 AM. Completely different reasons and generally not all that exciting.
"I won't be going to Southport either," I said. "I don't want to drive Highway 87--too narrow--and Highway 211 is being widened from 2 lanes to 4 all the way to Long Beach."
She gave me a look accessorized by tight lips and lacking not the smallest sign of an eye twinkle. A moment passed between us when I thought it likely that I could be bitch-slapped in about 3 seconds.
"Have you forgotten what I told you at breakfast?" she said.
"Of course, I have," I said. I saw no reason to deny something that could easily be proved in court. I do often forget. Life in the suburbs with its lack of mental stimulation has caused my natural attention deficit to reach a stage where it borders on mad cow disease.
It was difficult to identify the look she gave me now. It was something I might expect to see on the face of Island Irv when trying to persuade him to become an accessory to the fact in some scheme I'm plotting.
I thought I should continue the conversation and hope that she cooled off before hotting up to the point of leaking at the seams.
"The weather is just way too hot and humid along the Carolina coast," I said, "and although our fine old metropolis is buzzing right along with summertime festivals, hoards of vacationing hominids, and the ubiquitous film crews, it's just too much to deal with."
"Look, baby," she said, "I know how much you love hanging with film crews and keeping your social media public updated. But your interest has gone flat lately. The good that you know you should do, you do not. What'sup?"
"You know," I said and it probably sounded like a plea for help. "Schopenhauer says.... At least I think it was Schopenhauer but possibly Shakespeare...that all the suffering in the world can't be mere chance. The Universe must intend it."
"Yeah, I know who spews that asbestos into the air," she said and she patted my arm lightly as she said it, "Princess Amy can't find anything to bitch about so she's practicing chair yoga and can't be bothered with you. Sounds like the perfect time to get yourself knee-deep in life and bump into some opportunity."
"Well, of course, you're right, Poopsie," I said. "You always are. But it's hard to churn up interest and motivation out of, what's the term, thin air?"
"Don't churn up anything," she said. "Just go, make it happen, Data. Engage!"
"I love it when you say that," I said and I meant it with knobs on.
"Look," she said, "I know that you consider yourself something of a local reporter at large, an arts and culture blogger, but I think you're missing a wonderful opportunity."
This piqued my interest no small amount. "You do?" I said. "What opportunity?"
"Think of yourself as an extra," she said.
"A movie extra?"
"Sure," she said, "don't you see? You're someone important to the production, like an extra. In fact, you're necessary. The shooting would stop if the extras weren't there. Their presence in the film is what gives it believability, makes it real."
"Hmmmm," I said, "and I meant it to say that she'd interested me strangely, like the feeling you get when Superman sneaks into the phone booth and comes out with an attitude that says, I'm gonna get all up in there. She had captured my attention and the old cogs were whirling."
Now when I say the cogs were whirling you must remember that when a man with my attention span is plunged in thought, the machinery just whirrs for a while, and then that's the end of it. Suddenly everything gets quiet with little to show for it.
"Extras don't have speaking parts," she said, "and their acting ability isn't important, but they must perform their roles precisely and on time, just as the stars of the film. Without the extras, there's no movie, no television story."
"That's me," I said. "I'm an extra!"
"That is definitely you," she said.
"Excuse me, Poopsie, I'm due in Southport. The Christmas episode for Summer I Turned Pretty, Season 3 is planned for the next few days and I don't want to miss the decorating of Main Street."
"My extra!" she said and I could feel the pride in her voice. Made me feel good.