I think he's got a bit of a crush...

Earlier this week I attended a taping of our author interview show, Between the Lines, at the Margaret Mitchell House as a part of their Center for Southern Literature. The author was the noted British historian, Simon Schama, and he was talking about his newest book, Rough Crossings: Britain, the Slaves, and the American Revolution. Having left the history buff behind me years ago, I apparently missed out on the Schama phenomenon. Okay, I’m such a doof that I just found out (through the last few days of obsessive research) that he was a guest on Morning Edition just last month. Where have I been? And to what have I been listening? Clearly, nothing of historical import.

Anyway, at the taping I sat smack dab in the middle of the seats and had a rather open view to Simon. Well, this witty and brilliant Englishman began his spiel by talking about Spamalot, and I was hooked. You see, as the director of the Lit admonished all to turn off their cell phones and pagers, Simon asked the audience if anyone had seen Spamalot. Naturally I raised my hand. He then described how at the top of the show the Spamalot audience was encouraged to turn on their cell phones and make calls for the show is crap and you wouldn’t want to pay attention anyway. I laughed, indicating that I understood its humor, and I think he took notice. He probably also took notice because I was the youngest female in the audience by decades.

The interview was going well, and I was very happy for the host, the former First Lady of Atlanta. So, even though the ever-rising temperature of the room was challenging my awakedness (they had to turn off the AC for the recording), I hung on with a smile apparently planted throughout, for Simon commented on this on his way out of the venue. Simon stuck around for a book signing, and as he was leaving, he stopped right in front of me to say how much he appreciated my beautiful smile. It was a very good thing that I had no idea how big a deal he was in certain circles, for I sometimes can get quite a bit flustered and tongue-tied. Hard to believe, but so true. As I watched him leave, little did I realize that I would be quickly on his heels. I was talking to a colleague who was at the taping with a Schama groupie. He, along two other groupies, asked Simon out to dinner, and I was persuaded to go along. Okay, so not much cajoling was needed or used. I am, after all, the most going-outtest girl my Benjamin ever did know. Wait, there’s just a bit more.

When we reached the restaurant I was mortified that he would think that I was a stalker. I was not. I was just there with the Schama stalkers. However, my fears were alleviated when I introduced myself as Wanda, and he immediately made a reference to “A Fish called…” Don't know why this made me feel better. Maybe it's because it's one of my favorite movies of all time, or maybe it's simply because now he may remember me as more than a potential stalker? The table the restaurant gave us normally seated 10-12, so the six of us had about 3 feet of clearance between each of us. Since this was a stalking party, much musical chair shifting had to be done. Some long and chaotic minutes later, I was chosen to be seated (rather closely, mind you) between the two men that were at the table, hmmmmmm. Simon and I had a great ‘ole chat, and the evening ended with us exchanging emails, a hug, and a kiss. The plan is to keep in touch, and I will muster up the courage to write him soon and thank him for such a lovely meal. In the mean time, I must say that I’m the one that has got a bit of a crush now…