When it comes to hobbies, I’m a reader and my wife is a doer. I’ll study up on the latest, most elaborate, intricate, complicated software program that promises to turn even the tinniest eared idiot into an instant musical genius. Upon finishing the book, I’m off to something else, never having even created a two bar lyric.
As if that isn’t dufus enough: My favorite time to read is during morning walks, the neighbors gawking at me as I stroll past, buried in my latest book. True, I occasionally run into a parked car, but how can you put a price tag on knowledge?
My wife on the other hand studies nothing, does everything. She’ll pull a hobby out of the hat and proudly present polite company with a perfectly frightful example of her handiwork. I’m squirming in my chair.
My problem is that she keeps at it and gets better and better and better. 
And I get jealous.
Her current hobby is filmmaking. 
She started with the dumbest short, a horror film about our friend’s three year old that is more arcane (hard to understand) than Fellini at his most obscure. It’s loaded with all the things I read a film-maker shouldn’t do (zooms, dissolves) when I was studying how to make films (but never shot a foot of video.)
Her second project: a dance contest starring me. The problem is: First, I can’t dance; and Second, I don’t want to be paraded around in front of the neighbors just because I’m strutting across the living room listening to my iPod. My rapture is my business!
Anyway, she’s shooting this sort of a Napoleon Dynamite send-up starring me, and
making me do stupid dances around the house, (and around Times Square in front of vacationing New Yorkers!)
We went to see this movie about Krumping, a hip-hop dance move that’s so fast you think the film is speeded up. Of course, my version looks a bit odd, elbows flying everywhere, neck bobbing, but, hey, when you’re dancing in private, imagining you’re impressing some model, you don’t expect to see yourself on a home movie at a neighborhood party. You’re just fantasizing, right?
Unfortunately, my wife is always lurking, the red light on record, catching my every goofy pirouette.
The problem is that she insists on showing rough-cuts to all our friends. It’s embarrassing. I’m listening to Beyonce on my iPod, jerking my hips and get this eerie feeling. I’ll wheel around and see a camera recording my every move. It’s like 24 hour-a-day Candid Camera or Caught-on-Film or Punk’d or something. Not a moment’s peace. 
Now, every time I get out of the shower I have to look both ways.
But the woman really pulled a number recently during a Malibu overnight camping trip. She’s constantly got the camera trained on me, and finally, a bit fed up, I made a critical error, I mooned her.
Next thing you know the neighbors are laughing as I saunter down the street reading about how to build a geodesic dome, DIY skyscraper on my empty lot. (I just know I’ll get around to it someday!)
Sure enough, my wife has put the camping video up on YouTube, that website where you can post your videos for everyone to see. And guess what scene has everybody laughing?
I race home demanding she take out my 57-year old behind.
“You can’t do this! It’s not fair. Pull that movie off the web and edit that scene out.”
“You know if you pose for a camera, someone’s going to see it!” she says.
“What? Have you got some entertainment lawyer advising you? Get my behind off the web!” I say, which gets a smirk and that’s about it.
Time passes and I happen to overhear my wife asking various people for a release on her latest daring documentary: “I’m uploading this film of you pulling your nose hairs to YouTube. Can I have your permission, please?” she says in her fakest, politest tone.
“Wait a minute. I didn’t give you a release on that last one! You have to take it down, or I’ll sue you,” I say victoriously over dinner that night.
This gets a glare.
I swear, one of these days I’m going to stop reading and start doing. In the meantime, I’m staying fully clothed around my wife, lovey-dovey or not.
P.S. If you’re looking for a thrill, don’t hold your breath ogling for my rear end on the web. She finally took that masterpiece down. But you can see her other classics on youtube.com. Just search ribisi.

 

Al Ribisi’s real job involves printing and mailing. He can be reached at al@alribisi.com.