My Friends Live in the Magic Box
I will never forget the sting of pain I felt as I watched Danny and Sandy zip up into the skies at the end of “Grease.” While all the other students of Rydell High enjoyed a day of frolic at the school’s carnival, I collapsed into a fit of sobbing that would have made Glenn Beck look only moderately upset. It was graduation day and that meant it was time to say good-bye to all of my friends. Frenchie? Rizzo? Teen Angel? Will no one stay with me?
That was the first time I remember feeling depressed after finishing a film in which I knew the characters were actually my friends, but it was certainly not the last. At this point, you may be rethinking your friendship with me, and I do not blame you. However, the time has come to open the closet door and come out. I, Joey Kuba, believe that I am a friend to almost every movie and television character that I have ever met. Phew, that feels better already.
I could definitely chalk this hysteria up to the fact that I possess a fiercely overactive imagination, but I have recently discovered a much more likely reason. The people I meet while watching television or a film are much better than real people. There it is. I am not referring specifically to any of my friends or loved ones, but more to people in the general sense. People (in the general sense) are often greedy, selfish, ignorant, needy, stubborn and annoying. On the opposite end of the spectrum, when I do meet people that are kind, funny, loving and loyal, I cannot push pause and keep them around. If only I could have a rewind button for life! Of course I would also require a mute button that I could, and definitely would, use with reckless abandon. No, Jehovah’s Witness, you should be quiet now. Republicans, shhh!
What does it say about me that I am completely content to be locked away in my room with hours of television and film at my disposal? There are days when the thought of interacting with actual human beings is nauseating. I have gotten through a number of uncomfortable situations by telling myself that it will all be okay, for I can soon return to my cabin and spend time with my friends at 30 Rock, McClaren’s Pub, a mining town in Northern England, or Truvy’s Hair Salon. Is that wrong? Do I need to speak with one of those magical mind-shrinking shamans that many other New Yorkers rave about? The answer to both of those questions is a clear I have no idea. What I do know is that I love my friends dearly. This time I am referring to the actual human beings. However, every now and then I will shut myself away from the “real world” (oxymoron alert!) and spend some much needed quality time with friends who will always make me laugh, or cry, or question why I am on this planet, or simply allow me the chance to feel nothing for two whole hours.
I wish I could stay a little longer, but I have to get going. Seth and Ryan asked me to go sailing to Catalina with them. I think Summer and Marissa will be coming along as well. Either way, this is going to be an epic trip. What could possibly go wrong?
Until next time…
