Nightlife: Hillarie Burton Edition

You can see the original of this article at http://www.starnewsonline.com or in the Thursday’s paper.

Thursday Night: I was late to the Grey Gardens Spring Fashion Show and fundraiser organized by my colleague Jess James. Tickets were $25 dollars a head. I got a free ticket by nefarious means. The irony of getting a free ticket to a fund raiser wasn’t lost on me. I’m a horrible person. The fashion show at Odessa is a yearly “must-do” and I felt like an ass for missing it. I over extend myself, promising fifty things but only delivering on half. I did manage to sneak my way in, later, after all the fashion was gone and the show was over. There were still tons of people in Odessa, many and multiple people garbed in ties and dresses and talking about, I’m sure, interesting subject matter. Then I fell in love. There was this girl talking to some friends of me. Why would someone like her be talking to friends like mine? My friends don’t speak in complete sentences. Some of them even exist without a cell-phone. Most times, when my friends talk, I end up text messaging someone more important. Who was this girl? It was sunshine beaming through storm clouds. A slight moment of hope.

“What are you about?” she asked me.

“I’m no big deal. What do you do?”

“I act,” she said.

“Do you like 30 Rock?” It’s the only television show I watch. That and Man v. Wild.

“Its my favorite!” she said. “Tracy Jordan is my celebrity crush!”

We talked, about television and Tina Fey and other cultural hot points. I suddenly had an epiphany. Like global warming, this whole dating thing could be possible. The girl walked off to get another drink and I leaned over to one of my homeboys.

“What’s that girl’s name?” I asked.

“That’s Hillarie Burton, you moron.”

“She famous?”

“She’s on One Tree Hill!” he screamed in my face.

“Is that a TV show?”

Friday Night: Terrazzo out at Landfall Shopping Center is one of those places that make you wonder about Wilmington. Have you seen the lobby? They even have this cool waterfall wall thing. It is a little piece of New York dropped on the pretentious side of town. I had on a colored shirt. I wanted a fruity drink.

“Can I get a Malibu Sunrise?” I asked.

“Really?” My friend Will’s aesthetics were offended. His girlfriend looked at me in disgust, like I was the worst type of person: a man that wanted to get drunk off of a drink that tasted like Kool-Aid. I told them Hillarie Burton.

“Isn’t she married,” My friend Dana asked.

“I can’t tell if people are married or not,” I said. “What business do married women have talking to me anyway?”

“Maybe they want to be your friend?” my friend Dana asked.

“Why would they want that?”

It is a zombie plague, this marriage. All my friends are moving in with people and buying thousand dollar rings and financing mortgages and saying absurd crap like, I’m pregnant, or, I should get a retirement plan. This level of adulthood frightens something soft inside of me.

“You know what I want?” I asked the table. “I would appreciate it if all married, engaged, or uninterested women would just, like, not talk to me.”

“What about the waitress here?” Dana asked, trying to be funny.

“You order for me,” I said, finishing my drink in one mad gulp. “I would like another Malibu Sunrise, please ma’am.”

Saturday night: The Fashion show at Odessa served two purposes. It helped raise money for DREAMS of Wilmington, for the children. And it showed people how to attract the opposite sex. That’s the only reason why we wear fancy clothes. It’s the truth. Late, Saturday night, I watched reruns of 30 Rock.

“The only reason men start dressing well is because they are getting someone to have sex with them.” Jane Krajkowski’s character said with such bold conviction. What other secrets does television hold, I wondered. I got on hulu.com and perused. I watched old episodes of Dawson’s Creek. Actors and actress’s acting like us, walking around on our streets, trying to answer the same questions we try to answer on a regular basis. Does a single person’s life make for good drama? It is strange and disturbing to me that I can accidentally hit on an international superstar in a town that has no conception of city zoning. Does entertainment truly know single people? The beautiful Alicia Keyes is making a show now? Has it come down to this? At one in the morning, I decide a need a beer. And driving downtown, I see them, the young and the fancy, raking up credit card debt so they can finally find someone to get married to. Like most things that are true, I can’t decide whether it is good or bad.

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2 thoughts on “Nightlife: Hillarie Burton Edition

  1. I

    If I were her lover,
    I’d wade through the clover
    Over the fields before
    The gate that leads to her door;
    Over the meadows,
    To wait, ‘mid the shadows,
    The shadows that circle her door,
    For the heart of my heart and more.
    And there in the clover
    Close by her,
    Over and over
    I’d sigh her:
    “Your eyes are as brown
    As the Night’s, looking down
    On waters that sleep
    With the moon in their deep” . . .
    If I were her lover to sigh her.

    II

    If I were her lover,
    I’d wade through the clover
    Over the fields before
    The lane that leads to her door;
    I’d wait, ‘mid the thickets,
    Or there by the pickets,
    White pickets that fence in her door,
    For the life of my life and more.
    I’d lean in the clover—
    The crisper
    For the dews that are over—
    And whisper:
    “Your lips are as rare
    As the dewberries there,
    As ripe and as red,
    On the honey-dew fed” . . .
    If I were her lover to whisper.

    III

    If I were her lover,
    I’d wade through the clover
    Over the field before
    The pathway that leads to her door;
    And watch, in the twinkle
    Of stars that sprinkle
    The paradise over her door,
    For the soul of my soul and more.
    And there in the clover
    I’d reach her;
    And over and over
    I’d teach her—
    A love without sighs,
    Of laughterful eyes,
    That reckoned each second
    The pause of a kiss,
    A kiss and . . . that is
    If I were her lover to teach her.

    -Madison Julius Cawein

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