With Amy, this last week, there was good news and bad news. The good news is that she dumped her spacey shag partner, David, who, while expressing some small hint of serious commitment intent last week (read: agreed to stop "shagging" for five minutes), came back from his "business trip" to Costa Rica ready to relapse back into some quasi-teen hip-hop stupor — this from a 27-year-old "corporate consultant," mind you — showing off his manly mettle by yacking with someone on the phone in some funkadelic gangsta code and then braying like a drunken lunatic in a karaoke bar. Apparently David's new intent, once arriving back in New York City, was to have Amy observe this juvenile pathos with her own eyes and come to some (hopefully) dreadful conclusions. It worked. Whatever happened in Costa Rica, the marriage Hydra went up in flames.
By David W. Taylor (
Email Me)
Reality Reel Media
08.06.0
The phone thing was odd. David calls Amy after flagging a taxi at the airport and in mid-conversation excuses himself to take another incoming call on yet another cell phone. Here is the audio: "Yo K!... What up?!... Rockin'!... First & first, center of the universe..." Yeah... I knew it!... pimp or drug lord.
Amy listens to this rap schtick and is astounded, telling us that some of David's personality quirks are "like forcing me to watch Beavis and Butthead." Later, after watching David get freaky in the karaoke bar, Amy finally admits that, "I don't think I'm going to marry him." And, another brilliant piece of deduction: "If I'm not going to marry him, what am I doing hanging out with him?" Bingo.
The bad news is that Amy also dumped Matthew — the completely sane, sensitive, caring, intelligent, mature, pleasant looking RESIDENT DOCTOR! — who actually made attempts to act his age (28) during the actual initial dating process. Naturally, for Amy, it all came down to the Kiss (or "kissability" or a "good smoocher" paradigm). After dinner at her place and curling up in front of the tube to watch Sean Penn play a retard in "I am Sam," Matthew grabs his overcoat and muffler and says his gentlemanly goodbyes at the door, placing a few perfunctory pecks on Amy's burning lips. The door shuts and Amy turns to the camera and deadpans, "So, he's nice."
Which, of course, is the kiss of death from a would be lover like Amy. Matthew, I suppose, wasn't "hot" enough... too cerebral; too much talking; too analytical... not enough tongue and licking and grinding. No dark vibe. No stabs at rampant shagging.
Matthew would have probably made a great husband and father (and provider) but Amy wants something more. Like the unattainable. She doesn't know what exactly — Matthew, The Man: "I don't know what it is... feels a little off..." — but she'll know it when she finds it. That's right. Like a man who wants a slut and a saint, Amy wants David and Matthew conjoined... a bad boy rolled into a good man. Hey, good luck. Life should be so long.
