I truly believe I’m going to die young.

I didn’t always think so, but two summers ago I was a tour leader on a teen tour—basically a mobile summer camp for teenagers. We drove by bus from New York to San Francisco, hitting parts of Canada and the Midwest and Midnorth along the way. About 50 rich, puberty-ridden 15- and 16-year-olds and us: 6 twenty-somethings looking for a last chance to discover America.

Cue Simon and Garfunkel.

Over the July 4th Holiday, we stayed a few days in Ann Arbor, Michigan. It was an interesting town. We got to eat in some nice places, see the Big House, go ice-skating.

It was also the site of the trip’s first laundry stop, a place called Mr. Stadium. For some reason or other, it was one of the most famous coin laundromats in America. They sell tee shirts. I bought one.

Towards the end of the laundry stop, a few of the kids discovered that one of the elderly ladies there could read palms. Word spread and 2 minutes later, 45 of the little bastards were crowded around this poor old woman, thrusting their claws palm-up in her face.

Finally, our tour director mercifully ordered the kids to disperse and get on the bus. As they filed out, I walked over and asked if she had time for one more. I had never believed in palm reading, but I figured this would be a free chance to try it out.

She picked up my right hand and turned it over, studying it with her eyes and own hands. She slowly ran her pointer finger over the crevices of my palm, weaving her way through.

She told me I would love someone very much. If you have children, she said, you will be very devoted to them.

Then she stopped and looked into my eyes.

Your lifeline splits, she said. Then trails off soon after.

What does this mean, I asked.

It means you will have an unfortunate life event: An accident, a sickness, some sort of adversity. But you will survive it. Only not for long after.

Cue DeVotchKa.

For two years now, I have been haunted by this old woman’s  prediction.

And I probably always will be.

Pillowtalk: Adam & Eve

“Adam, I’m hungry”

Pillowtalk: Paris & Helen of Troy

“Of course I’ll move away with you”

Pillowtalk: Harland and Wolff (1909)

“I want to build you the biggest boat the world has ever seen”

Pillowtalk: German whore and Hitler

“Ja, you would be so good in politics Dolphy boy”

Pillowtalk: David Bowie & Transgendered Star Salesman

“You mean like short in the front and long in the back?”

Pillowtalk: Young couples in love on November 4, 2000

“Cmon baby, let’s just stay in bed all day.”

Pillowtalk: Madonna & Guy Ritchie

“Of course I’ll remake Swept Away”

Pillowtalk: Tom and Katie

“I love you too Tom”

I respect you, actors and actresses.

You try and capture life and play it back.  And while a writer or an artist do the same thing, we don’t actually do it.  We don’t reenact the moment itself.  We experienced something.  We vomited it back out on to paper or canvas or wireframe.  But you take the most intimate human moments, moments that sometimes only one other person will ever witness, and recreate it for the gazing crowd.

I can try to write pillow talk that aches and breathes, but you make it ache.  You breathe it out into our faces.

I can try and write a speech where the protagonist screams at his dead father in a rainstorm.  You actually go out into a field of rain, screaming and crying until the muscles in your face hurt.

I can write a scene where a man eats raisin bran alone.  His hair is unwashed.  His clothes are no longer meant for the real world’s eyes, just sightless milk jugs and dirty dishes.  You actually sit there.  You eat the raisins and the bran flakes.  We watch you.  And so it is real.

As opposed to me, who may have never spoken to a girl and pillows, may have never screamed at the rain, may have never eaten unwashed.  Because if no one sees it, it never happened.

People whose Pillow Talk I wish I could have heard (and what I imagine it was).

Mike O’Malley, the host of GUTS, and Moe, the British referee from GUTS

Mike:  You really gave it your all.
Mo:     I know.
Mike:  Well, I’ve got to get going.
Mo:     Mike?
Mike:   Yes.
Mo:      Am I really more fun than the Aggro Crag?
Mike:   Yes, Mo.  Yes you are.
Mo:       Cheers, mate.
Mike:    Alright, we got a show to do.
Mo:       Where is my whistle?

David Beckham and his wife, Victoria Beckham a.k.a. Posh Spice

Victoria Beckham:   Are you awake darling?
David Beckham:      Gooooooooooooooooooooooo
Victoria Beckham:   Please stop.
David Beckham:      ooooooooooooooooo
Victoria Beckham:   David, I’m serious.
David Beckham:      oooaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
Victoria Beckham:   You act like a bloody schoolboy.
David Beckham:       aaaaaaaaaaaaallllllllllllllllllllll.

Tom and Roseanne Arnold

Roseanne Arnold:    Nachos?
Tom Arnold:        Cake.
Roseanne Arnold:       Cake nachos?
Tom Arnold:               If we have the stuff to make them.

Jon and Kate Gosselin

Jon:     I love you.
Kate:   Fuck off, you stupid piece of shit.
Jon:     Do you want to spoon?
Kate:   I’d love to spoon with you, but unfortunately I don’t spoon with pieces of shit.

Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie

Angelina:  Brad?
Brad:         Yes, Angie.
Angelina:   My lips are fake.
Brad:          Well, my back is fake.
Angelina:   What?  Why?
Brad:          Don’t ask questions.  Come here.
(They kiss)
Brad:           Now, where do you want to get a kid from next?
Angelina:    Well, I would like to have one that is good at skiing.
Brad:           Hello Norway.

Ben Affleck and Jennifer Lopez

Affleck:  You were amazing.
J-Lo:       So were you.
Affleck:  Like unbelievable.
J-Lo:       So were you.
Affleck:  Let’s make a movie together.
J-Lo:       Yes, people will love it.
Affleck:  Yes they will.

Song: Death Cab For Cutie – “All Is Full Of Love” (Bjork Cover)

Pillow Talk from Blommit on Vimeo.