Imagine meeting a team of HOT college football players on Spring Break. Imagine they liked you and your friends. Imagine they were actually nice. Like, really nice. Midwest nice. Imagine they called your squad “Philly,” so you weren’t expected to be as nice, and of course that’s where your college is located.
Through the magic of AOL Instant Messenger, imagine keeping in contact and, 5 or 6 years later, having a layover in the same airport with the tall, dark, and one-quarter Native American one.
He was in Terminal A. I was in Terminal C.
…and that’s how your flight’s on time, but you still have a missed connection.
I have this friend who’s really into Larry David. She recently told me about the time she ran into him at the Skirball Cultural Center in Los Angeles, checking out the Paul Simon exhibit. Apparently he spent hours in there reading every word he possibly could while she followed him around and snuck a picture, which she later posted to Instagram. At one point he even turned around and gave her a “What? Are you going to say anything or what?” kind of gesture. She was totally starstruck, froze, and did not say anything.
A couple days later I had a dream. Larry David and I were hanging out. He was driving with me as I was on my way to pick up a kid. I told him about my friend, in the dream, and shared her story from the Paul Simon exhibit. He was all, “Let me give you my email address. She should write me sometime,” and I gave him a paper which turned into a band-aid wrapper. He wrote it down: firstname.lastname@example.org. And I remembered all this when I woke up.
Obviously I texted her this dream immediately and then emailed the address. Unfortunately the user no longer exists and the message bounced back to me.
That’s my story of many missed connections with Larry David.
This isn’t really a personal missed connection but one I think about frequently. As a fan of the 1997 animated feature Anastasia, I had been waiting for some kind of live action adaptation for awhile—movie or musical. Currently, there is a musical version that’s partially-adapted from the movie, partially-adapted from the much older live action film with a slightly different story. I saw a production of this musical in L.A. last October, and it was lovely.
However, there was a brief moment where gloriously floppy-haired musical theater babe Aaron Tveit was going to play Dimitri (originally voiced by John Cusack) in the Broadway version. The precise appeal of this potential casting lies in the seductive combination of Tveit’s hair, his charming persona, beautiful voice, stage presence, and overall hotness. We, as a society, were not prepared by how perfect this casting would have been, but I will never stop thinking about this missed connection.
As many seniors in high school must do, I had a difficult decision to make. I’d narrowed my potential college decision down to two choices and it was the last days to decide. It was Saturday, and the check had to be in the mail by Monday. My mom and dad had (appropriately) pestered me for weeks to just make a pick, but I could not. At one point, I’d decided on one, only to quickly flip my choice, and then immediately go back to the stalemate. I was stuck.
I had tickets to a Red Sox/Devil Rays (it was that long ago) game Sunday and was planning on going with my dad. Planning on, but not actually going because mom and dad (appropriately) threatened me that without a final decision, I was not allowed to go. Partly stubbornness—but mostly indecisiveness—led me to miss the game, and instead my little brother went with my dad. As I sat home frustrated and collegiately constipated, I turned on the game to watch the Red Sox starter, Derek Lowe, pitch a no-hitter, something I’ve always wanted to see in person. It’s my white whale. This April will mark 18 years since my missed connection with baseball fate, and I am still chasing that elusive no-no.
You know what’s complicated? Making friends as an adult, particularly after moving to a new city. You know what makes it even more complicated? Working from home. I decided that the only way I could find people to hang out with is via an app. I downloaded Bumble to use the BFF function and spent the first day swiping. The next day, I got a notification: Someone likes you! But when I opened the app, I couldn’t see them. Because it wasn’t someone I’d swiped right on. Bumble told me I *could* see them… as long as I upgraded to the paid version. Yeah right; like I’m gonna PAY to make friends. So instead, I pour one out for all the missed connections I’ll never see because ain’t no way Bumble is getting my money.
The place: London. The year: 2014. A month into my study abroad, I was enamored with England—the culture, the architecture, the increased chances of seeing a celebrity.
With the London Film Festival, the probability jumped even higher. Of interest to me and my friends was Ansel Elgort who had recently rose to fame with The Fault in Our Stars. He was cute and around our age, so of course we had to try to see him. While we couldn’t make it to his premiere, we went to a screening of the film the next day, hoping he may appear. He didn’t. He was also a no-show when we purposely walked around the city after.
As we rode the train home, though, he popped up on my friend’s Instagram feed. He posted that he was in London, taking pictures with fans. We were too far out to turn back. Our train car collectively groaned.