Nonsense Verse: William H. Macy's ass

Three boys from the conference--JD, Mark and Kevin--and I had the same flight out of Gainesville at 10:30 a.m. As we sat in our hard little seats at the Gainesville airport, waiting to board the plane, Kevin said to Mark, "Hey, did you see the William H. Macy doppelganger over there? In the blue shirt, talking on a cell phone?"

I looked up from my book to glance in the direction of the TV that was blaring reports from Fox news, but the doppelganger had walked out of view. And then I thought, What the hell are you looking for? It's not even the real William H. Macy.

Then, as we were called to board, I fell into line, and there was the man in the blue shirt, standing in front of me. He was bearded, wearing some comfy-lookin' shoes, and carrying a trio of black laptop bags. If I hadn't been wearing my boots, he would have been about three inches taller than me.

But there was just one thing: This was no doppelganger. This was actually William H. Macy.

Or at least, I was 99 percent sure it was. And He was standing so close to me that if I wanted, I could totally just reach out and grab His ass.

There's always the thought when I catch a glimpse of someone famous that no, that wasn't really Him. So of course part of me really, really needed to know, lest I end up drifting through the rest of my sad little empty insignificant life, forever wondering, Was it? Was it? Could I really have just reached over and grabbed William H. Macy's ass?

I tried furtively to get a better look at His profile, to see if this was, indeed, the character actor who so brilliantly turned the hickish "Darned tootin'" into a must-use indie-hipster catchphrase. I still wasn't sure, until He turned His back toward me and planted His feet firmly into the ground: There was that posture that I now realize I know very well from seeing so many of His movies--a straight back, a solid stance, an energy of anticipation emanating from His arms, and His ass just perched there, taunting, going, "That's right--this is William H. Macy's ass."

That's when I felt the familiar tremor of panic inside and the internal dialogue start: Please, oh please, don't let some dolt come up and actually do what I want to do but am not going to do because I'm way too cool and start talking at Him and saying how much he loves His work and wow, gosh, gee, tehee, and essentially make an embarrassment out of himself for being so droolly and common and pathetic.

Luckily, we filed toward the check-in point without incident. And, sure enough, the airline agent tore William H. Macy's stub and said to Him, as she said to everyone else, "Have a nice flight … Mr. Macy."

Swoon.

After we landed in Atlanta, JD and Kevin were waiting on the tarmac when I descended the plane's stairs.

"That really was William H. Macy," said Kevin, who'd been sitting in the seat directly behind Him.

"I know," I said. Aren't I clever.

Kevin: "He's on His way to Morocco."

Me: "How do you know that? You talked to Him?" Oh my god I can't believe that you actually, like, tapped on His shoulder from the seat behind Him and started talking.

Kevin: "No. I eavesdropped. Someone else was talking to Him. He's going to New York, then Spain, and then to Morocco."

Me: "Hm." Trying to exude an air of cool disinterest. That's right--don't even bother saying "I wonder what for."

JD: "Are we too cool to ask for an autograph?"

Me: "YES." Emphatically.

Kevin: "Some other couple finally broke down and came up to Him and told Him they liked the movie 'Pleasantville.' "

Me: "Oh my god. 'Pleasantville'?" Jesus, people. If you're going to do it, at least try to muster some indie cred--don't talk about "Pleasantville" of all things. I mean, it was fun, it was good, it's a great movie to watch when you're home sick from work, but if you're going to walk up to William H. Macy, at least tell Him that you loved Him in "Door to Door." Or "Focus." Or even "Benny & Joon."

Kevin: "Yeah. He said, 'That was a sweet little movie, wasn't it?' Obviously He has all His lines figured out."

Me: "Obviously." Oh, dear William H. Macy, wherever you are, bless you for being so kind and courteous to the uncool Little People who threaten to cast all us cool Little People in an unflattering light. We cool people who would never dream of coming up to you and talking to you about your movies. Who would never coo and slaver and stare in your direction. And who would never contemplate the consequences of grabbing your ass. Oh, no. Never, never.