“I know within ten seconds if a guy is dangerous or crazy or simply disgusting” Shira explained to me. “I knew you were nice and I could talk to you.” This was a huge relief.
Five years ago I learned that for only $150 a person could have an hour Skype call with Shira Sands. Surely the greatest deal ever, but I’m prejudiced, she was my favorite adult film actress.* It was the first time I actually googled an adult film actress, not to search for videos, but to answer the burning question who is she.
On Shira’s Twitter I saw a link to her website. She was a “life coach”. I’m not mocking her, not at all. I needed some guidance; a little coaching never hurt anyone.
I’m guessing the ostensible asexual nature of her website (except for the provocative photo of her in a sun dress on her home page) generously gives cover to some of the married guys out there getting their Skype time with her. “Who the hell is Shira Sands?” The husbands know, of course, the inevitable approaching queries, after their wives see their credit card statements. “Life coach” they might say. “I’m trying to become a better man.” Of course women aren’t stupid and this wouldn’t be a conversation ender. I suspect most of these guys probably didn’t think that far ahead. But that is their problem.
Within three minutes of clicking on her twitter link I filled out the online form requesting to become a client. She got back to me quickly and we set a time for the appointment in three weeks. I knew this would be an exhilarating three weeks. I would spend dozens of hours immersed in a Mitty fantasy...talking to this woman, creating scenarios where Shira says, with complete sincerity (and just a whiff of desperation) I really look forward to meeting you Max.
None of my waking fantasy life, my Mittydom, has me doing anything remarkable. Thurber’s Walter Jackson Mitty fantasized about being a fighter pilot and a surgeon but I would describe, without irony, most of my fantasies as being “reality based”. They are plausible. I will never perform brain surgery but it is not impossible, for example, that I run into Whitney Cummings in a bookstore and we hit it off. Someone hostile to me could say it is pathetic to be so immersed in a fantasy life and be so maladroit in the real world and I would have to concede his point. But…this nemesis could not prove, with scientific and mathematical certainty, that I am not in fact Whitney Cummings's type. I would have to meet the woman for this to be disproven.
One morning I was having breakfast with my father in Maine when he shared the dream he had the previous night. It was about Gene Hackman. The dream did not have an elaborate narrative. It was just about Gene Hackman showing up in my dad’s yard and them having a conversation. I asked my dad what they talked about.
“Nothing much. He was curious about my gardening, asking lots of questions.”
“What was he doing in Maine?”
“We didn’t get to that. It was all about gardening. His really wanted to know what I was up to.” My father paused for a moment. “Maybe we started talking about walking into town and getting lobster rolls and root beer, but I can’t remember exactly. I only remember the gardening”
That same day I asked my father what he thought about when he took Marco, his golden retriever, for long walks each day. “I dunno, my mind wanders. I’m basically a Mitty type.”
I didn’t ask him to elaborate, I’m deeply familiar with the archetype and didn’t need him to say more.
Now, back to my dear Shira, it took some work but eight months after clinking on her link I bought her a ticket to fly from her home in Atlanta to San Diego. I was picking her up at the airport....
*here is where Max stopped writing for thirty minutes as he debated whether to call her an “adult performer” or “porn star” or just stick with “adult film actress.” He took this seriously, considering the matter as he went to the beach and had a roast beef sandwich (extra pickles). Adult film actress was the least pejorative, so it seems appropriate to Max, seeing how he loved her and all. It is worth noting that Ms. Sands has massive breasts. Max, to be fair a deeply introspective man, is probably not entirely aware of the meloncentric nature of his soul.