Paper Back

Tim Hennessy is like a living obituary. He walks around half dead, an inflated sense of accomplishment no one buys. And today he turns 29. A fact, I'm sure he'll embrace with the gusto of 300 pound fat woman who's been told the elevators are broken, you'll have to take the stairs.

One of my best friends, Tim has always been a simple man whose enjoyed the little things in life. Like a baseball bat to the crotch. Or a Hollywood debutante nipple slip. These are blessings that put a satisfied smile on his smug face.

I first met Mr. Hennessy during our freshman year at the University of Wisconsin Oshkosh. Our encounter is what film critic Roger Ebert would call a 'meet cute.' We were both film geeks perusing the aisles of a campus poster sale. And not unlike that famous scene in Disney's Lady and the Tramp where the two mutts are unknowingly sucking on the same string of spaghetti, Tim and I had unconsciously grabbed the same one sheet for John Woo's The Killer. Fortunately for us, lips did not lock. Instead a mutual appreciation for Hong Kong cinema guided our friendship for the remainder of the semester.

I discovered a lot about my new friend in a relatively short period of time. By simply scanning the poster laden walls of his dorm room , I knew everything I needed to know about Tim. He had quite the fondness for comic books, blues music, and Sandra Bullock. Not much has changed except I think his perverse self pleasures are now fulfilled by his literary wet dream, Zadie Smith. He likes his women intellectual, but silent. Sometimes his beautiful, loving wife fits into that equation, but only when he's too lazy to conjure up fresh fantasies surrounding the high point of his life, a book signing in which he met Ms. Smith. I've been told the gibberish that spewed from his agape mouth was equivalent to a child's first words. For a man who doesn't know when to shut the fuck up, this was a first. Sadly, it was also the last time Mr. Hennessy would be at a lost for words. He's been talking shit non-stop ever since.

So I really think it was destiny that Tim and I would become such close friends. In high school, I used to spend my study halls in the library. But instead of hitting the books, I'd comb the back issues of Premiere and rip out pictures of my cinematic idols. I also started reading the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel. Apparently, the paper thought it would be fun to have high school students review films. I particularly responded to one such review of the Bruce Willis vehicle, The Fifth Element, by a goofy looking white boy from Racine. He had made a humorous observation of Bruno's penchant for wife beaters. I laughed. Then I met that critic a year later. And I laughed again.