Smile Like You Mean It

• Lori Palminteri
• Uncategorized
• August 3, 2015

I’ve been coming home late, more than ready for bed, only to find my door has been blocked by a large, intricate, and quite impressive spider web.  The spider sits in the middle with a confidence that is both annoying and admirable.  It’s a good spot, for sure.  The light outside the building is the brightest on the block.  In the summer time, it’s teeming with bugs of all types.  What is it about nocturnal bugs?  They only come out at night, only to swarm the brightest light source.

“Look,” I say to the spider, “I get it. You’re pretty smart. You found the sweet spot in Astoria, and soon you’re going to be horrifyingly huge, but I have to destroy your web, again, because you’re in my way.”
I take my key to her web, like a machete to brush.  The spider scurries along…
I open my lap top and go through emails, and browse social media to decompress before bed.  Here, the feeds are flooded with selfies, and poses, and disingenuous smiles.  This was a trend I noticed in high school, when Facebook was something your mom definitely didn’t have.  And I want to state here that I am not bashing Facebook or any social media.  That’s not the problem.  I think they’re great, actually.  It’s people who are the problem.

Almost immediately after joining Facebook, I remember everything becoming about appearing to have a good time, rather than having one.  Girls more than guys, would dress up, and take picture after picture of “how much fun they were having.”  These pictures would end up on Facebook, and the memory of the night would be this disillusioned version of reality.Television is a source of illusions, even the news has so drastically moved to show-business, there isn’t a single trustworthy source.  This anti-truth has spread further than just the tube.  It’s worse than Howard Beale envisioned, because our ego’s have disrupted a certain honesty, and thus we have done something terrible… we ruined the smile.

I’m not going to tell you I’m a comic for any other reason than the fact that I’m an ego maniac.  I’d be lying to you if I said otherwise.  But there is something special about a genuine smile.  I mean real smiles.  Not the smile put on to help a costumer.  Not the smile when you meet someone new.  Not the smile people put on for Facebook to show everyone what a great time they’re having (by the way, you’re ego maniacs too). The smiles I want are the ones that start in the eyes.

My nephew, almost one year old, has a toy corn on the cob in one hand, and a toy carrot in the other.  He’s banging them together, blabbering incoherent baby talk. He stops.  He looks at me, and smirks.  Then, he continues living life totally in the moment.
A young woman sits on the subway, headphones in, wearing a casual dress.  Her hair is up in a messy bun.  She’s looking at the window, then she looks down to her phone at a text message.  She reads the text multiple times with a smile before she responds.
Rush hour in Penn Station.  People wait for their track to come up, ready to rush for their train, ready to throw elbows for a seat.  It’s the same thing every day.  A man sips a beer, with a backpack over one shoulder.  Another man stops and they both light up, and they give each other a “bro” hug.  “Holy shit, how have you been?”  “It’s so good to see you.” “We got to catch up.” “How are your kids.”  This lasts a couple minutes before they part ways, promising to get drinks one day.  Based on their smiling faces, they mean it, but even a stranger watching from a distance knows they probably won’t see each other again until it happens by chance.

A band plays for an audience with a good energy.  The guitar player and the singer exchange a gleeful glance.  A stand-up can appreciate the feeling of a stage-high, but we experience it alone.  It’s obvious it’s there’s a special connection most will never fully understand.

A young man read a book, and his mind is transported to another time, or dimension.  He’s immersed in the words, and wherever he is, he’s thrilled to be there.

Consumed by greed, I want these moments.  Do you know how frustrating it is to be drawn to something intangible?  It’s not real, yet it’s the only thing that is actually real.  And I want it for myself.  I want to inject it, to smoke it, to embrace to, to be in it, I want it forever.  If I could steal it from you, like pickpocketing cash, I would.  I want your special moments, even though I have mine, I want yours too.  But I can’t take them from you, not at all, not if you don’t smile like you mean it.

What is it about nocturnal people?  They only come out at night, only to swarm the brightest light source.