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It is after midnight on a Thursday evening. Normally this means I would be in bed, trying to force my insomniac brain to stop thinking so I could start my long, slow process of attempting to gain a few hours of sleep before the start of my work day.
But I know there's no chance of knocking out at a decent hour tonight. Not when my mind is racing even more than usual replaying today's sequence of events.
Where to start?
Honestly, this story goes back about a month ago, when a friend tipped me off that CM Punk, one of my favorite wrestlers, was going to be hosting a theatrical screening of WWE's soon-to-be released DVD documentary on his life and career, titled "Best In the World." I was excited about this for a number of reasons.
1. I had seen the trailer, and it featured footage from his IWA days, a period of his career which I TREASURE because I got to see a good deal of his 2004-2006 run with that company live and in person.
2. The screening was in Chicago, at the beautiful, historic Portage Theater, which I had not yet had the pleasure of visiting.
3. The screening was free.
4. It was a chance to see Punk in the flesh. Duh.
So anyway, I looked into the details further, and was slightly disappointed to learn that it was going to be happening on a Sunday afternoon. Sundays, for those of you who don't know, are the one day of the week that I tend to be pretty protective of my time, because that's when I have my regular writing group meet-up with my friend Steph and lately that has been the only chance I've had to continue work on my novel.
So I had to sit there for a minute and think, "Is Punk worth this sacrifice?"
Luckily I didn't have to think too hard, because the screening was quickly shifted from it's original Sunday afternoon time slot to the evening of October 4.
Relieved, I marked this on my calendar and anticipated that I could hop the train and a bus to the theater from my office.
And then the days started passing.
And then I made the mistake of reading stuff on the Internet (both on Twitter and a message board I check occasionally for news), where people speculated that the theater would be packed. That fans would come from far and wide for the free movie. That there would be people camping out to get one of the 1000 allocated seats.
And I started getting paranoid.
In the midst of all this, the above-mentioned Steph also informed me that she would be out of town the evening of the screening, and asked if I would mind stopping in to feed her cats, which I often do and which she does for me in return. When I mentioned my plans to see this film, she said no worries, it would be okay if the feeding took place a little later than usual, and I told myself I could manage both the movie and the kitties. I'd just cut out before the start of the Punk Q&A if need be.
But then the day got closer.
And some people confirmed via Twitter that they were planning on camping out. And I started worrying that there would be a lot of people seeing this and following suit. And I remembered the crazy, long-ass lines for Punk's photo and autograph at WizardWorld (which amassed in spite of the hefty charge for these items). And I thought to myself, "Well it's gonna be even more nuts since the film is free. Shit."
Taking the day off work was not an option. Not for me, anyway, due to this being one of my busiest times of the year.
So I tried to calm down and decided to follow any reports I could find this afternoon, so I'd have a sense of whether it was even worth trying to get in, or if I would be shut out before my work day was over.
I saw a few tweets from people who said they were already in line. I read them and found myself feeling incredibly resentful. Quite honestly, I was seething, because it seemed so unfair that my sense of responsibility (personal and professional) might be the thing to keep me from experiencing something so historic and memorable as seeing the premiere of a film about my favorite topic featuring a favorite performer.
"They don't deserve that film more than I do," I thought. Obviously I was feeling a little entitled, which I hate to admit because I hate seeing that in other fans.
But I vented to a couple friends throughout the day, and one of them (hi Max!), who had been to the Portage before, reassured me that it was a pretty big place and should not fill up before I got there.
This put me at ease somewhat, and throughout the work day I continued to monitor the line progress and also completed my two most pressing projects at warp speed. By about 4:00, I learned that there were only about 200 people gathered, and since I had been on duty at 7:30 this morning for a conference call, I felt justified in asking my boss if I could pack up earlier than usual. She gave me her blessing, encouraged me to enjoy myself and I was off like a shot to the cab stand in front of our building.
Even though I was feeling better about my chances, I wasn't gonna gamble on the CTA, so I splurged on a taxi straight to the theater and finally started to feel some relief when I walked down Milwaukee Ave. to find a line that was only about two blocks long (maybe 300 or 400 people tops?). I stepped into my space in the line by about 4:45, which was perfect because the doors were opening at 5:30 and I settled into my usual observer-of-wrestling-culture mode.
Some of the things I saw:
A woman in a car slowed to ask what we were in line for, and a guy behind me wise-cracked, "Drugs."
Two teenage kids tried offering five-dollar bags of weed to all of us.
A woman wearing a large Angry Birds mask handed out postcards for the costume shop across the street.
And then the line started moving, none too soon, because it was starting to drizzle and as I got closer I noticed a WWE flag near the marquee, and various WWE Superstar theme music blaring from some loudspeaker, and an official WWE photographer moving throughout the crowd to snap group photos and capture the homemade signs that people brought with them (he even shot from the roof of a building across the street at one point).
We got closer, and soon I was past the velvet rope and close to the box office and I knew without a doubt that I was going to get in and the kicker was when I was within steps of the entrance and the salty scent of popcorn wafted through the open door and then I was inside and a man carefully fastened my wristband and another man checked my bag and then I was getting snacks and finding a seat.
That's when I looked around and saw how fast the street had cleared. And how many empty seats remained. And I felt foolish for having been so insecure. By 6:15, I'd estimate there were maybe 500 or 600 people in attendance? Why had I ever worried I'd be excluded. But that didn't matter because I was there and I made friendly chit chat with the woman a few seats away from me, who had travelled via Amtrak all the way from St. Louis with her son, who was determined to be present for this screening.
I heard someone excitedly squeal that Punk had arrived with his entourage.
I glanced up towards the projection booth at one point, and just happened to catch a glimpse of Punk pacing before a large spotlight.
I saw Lita.
I saw Colt Cabana.
And then they showed a bunch of WWE movie trailers. And they showed trailers for other WWE documentaries.
And they flashed Punk movie trivia on the screen so everyone could shout out the answers.
The best was when they showed the "Tribute to the Troops" recap/montage, and many people booed loudly at the sight of Nickleback playing their music.
I munched on buttery popcorn. I sipped my Diet Coke. Cocktails were available, but I'm not a big drinker by nature, especially when I'm by myself, and anyway it didn't seem right to watch a film about someone dedicated to the Straight-Edge lifestyle while swilling booze, ya know?
So finally Punk's better-known companions (Marty DeRosa, Lita, Cliff Compton, and Cabana) took the stage and introduced each other. And Punk was introduced. He was so pleased to get this rolling. And they ribbed us by showing the beginning of a Triple H movie first, before truly getting to the main attraction.
The funny thing is, I don't have a whole lot to say about the movie itself.
I mean, it was really well done. I hooted and cheered for the IWA footage. I realized that I have subconsciously given elements of Punk's personality and history to one of my novel's main characters. I clapped during the replay of the infamous "Pipe Bomb" promo. And I appreciated the subject matter and the interviews, and the love and care that went into crafting the whole thing.
And then it was over. And then Punk announced that he had bought the entire audience milk and cookies, and had his friends pass them out. As we munched (well, I saved mine, because I wanted to bring it home and take a picture of it) he agreed to take questions, and unlike my usual self I stood up and waved my arm, hoping to be noticed, until I spotted the small line forming near the front of the stage.
I listened to the first couple questions. Generic stuff, mostly. "Where's your favorite place to wrestle?" "Who do you want to work with that you haven't yet?" And I formed a question in my mind that felt original, and that I was genuinely curious about - not just asking for the sake of being able to say that I asked Punk a question. And in that moment, something came over me.
I'm not normally much for speaking up during Q&A type things. I usually worry that I'll babble or lose my words or say something stupid, revealing myself as the shy nerd that I am.
But for whatever reason, all those concerns took a flying leap out the window, and I was suddenly bolder than usual, determined to be heard for once. So I left all my belongings at my seat, and I made a wide arc around the theater in order to grab a spot in the question line. As I started moving closer to the front, I felt all this nervous anticipation coursing through me, realizing, "Holy shit, I'm going to speak directly to Punk, and he's going to respond!"
When it came to be my turn, I said hi, loudly as I could to make sure I could speak, and I said (taking into account the numerous comments from Lars Frederiksen throughout the film). "I really love your current entrance music. But will we ever have the chance to hear Rancid do an entrance theme for you?"
Punk smiled.
Smiled! At me!
And then he repeated my question for the whole room to hear. The whole time I felt myself struggling between wanting to make sure I focused on him as he responded, and wanting to run away and hide for having dared spoken to a man I admire so much. I was also marveling at hearing my own words coming through him!
Then his answer came. I can't quote verbatim, but it was something to the effect of, yes, he had discussed the idea of Rancid doing his entrance music, and he would be interested, but their style of music didn't necessarily match up well with men bouncing around in their underwear.
It was a good answer. Thoughtful. Substantial.
So I thanked him. And returned to my seat.
A woman in the row behind me, a mom from Elk Grove Village who had come with her husband and son leaned forward and asked me, "Was he cute?"
I said yeah.
She sighed like a teenager and said, "He's got such a nice smile. I just love it."
We giggled together over him for a few minutes, and then things wrapped up with Punk answering another music-related question. Something about how if he had a DeLorean he would use it to travel back in time to see bands like The Misfits in '89 and Guns and Roses on the Sunset Strip in '86. And the Clash. Then he thanked us again and said he was sorry but he had to wrap things up.
"You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here," he cracked.
I said bye to the nice Elk Grove Village lady, and then I hightailed it out of there, wanting to get home to Steph's hungry kitties as soon as possible.
I just missed the Irving Park Rd. bus, so I walked along that street to the Blue Line instead, and along the way I passed an Irish Pub whose name I can't recall at this moment. But its doors were wide open, and Guns and Roses was blaring out from inside.
November Rain.
Walking through the cool, crisp night, feeling absolutely high from getting exactly what I wanted - I couldn't have asked for a more perfect ending to a tremendous evening.
Oh, wait. Yes I could!
This:
But I know there's no chance of knocking out at a decent hour tonight. Not when my mind is racing even more than usual replaying today's sequence of events.
Where to start?
Honestly, this story goes back about a month ago, when a friend tipped me off that CM Punk, one of my favorite wrestlers, was going to be hosting a theatrical screening of WWE's soon-to-be released DVD documentary on his life and career, titled "Best In the World." I was excited about this for a number of reasons.
1. I had seen the trailer, and it featured footage from his IWA days, a period of his career which I TREASURE because I got to see a good deal of his 2004-2006 run with that company live and in person.
2. The screening was in Chicago, at the beautiful, historic Portage Theater, which I had not yet had the pleasure of visiting.
3. The screening was free.
4. It was a chance to see Punk in the flesh. Duh.
So anyway, I looked into the details further, and was slightly disappointed to learn that it was going to be happening on a Sunday afternoon. Sundays, for those of you who don't know, are the one day of the week that I tend to be pretty protective of my time, because that's when I have my regular writing group meet-up with my friend Steph and lately that has been the only chance I've had to continue work on my novel.
So I had to sit there for a minute and think, "Is Punk worth this sacrifice?"
Luckily I didn't have to think too hard, because the screening was quickly shifted from it's original Sunday afternoon time slot to the evening of October 4.
Relieved, I marked this on my calendar and anticipated that I could hop the train and a bus to the theater from my office.
And then the days started passing.
And then I made the mistake of reading stuff on the Internet (both on Twitter and a message board I check occasionally for news), where people speculated that the theater would be packed. That fans would come from far and wide for the free movie. That there would be people camping out to get one of the 1000 allocated seats.
And I started getting paranoid.
In the midst of all this, the above-mentioned Steph also informed me that she would be out of town the evening of the screening, and asked if I would mind stopping in to feed her cats, which I often do and which she does for me in return. When I mentioned my plans to see this film, she said no worries, it would be okay if the feeding took place a little later than usual, and I told myself I could manage both the movie and the kitties. I'd just cut out before the start of the Punk Q&A if need be.
But then the day got closer.
And some people confirmed via Twitter that they were planning on camping out. And I started worrying that there would be a lot of people seeing this and following suit. And I remembered the crazy, long-ass lines for Punk's photo and autograph at WizardWorld (which amassed in spite of the hefty charge for these items). And I thought to myself, "Well it's gonna be even more nuts since the film is free. Shit."
Taking the day off work was not an option. Not for me, anyway, due to this being one of my busiest times of the year.
So I tried to calm down and decided to follow any reports I could find this afternoon, so I'd have a sense of whether it was even worth trying to get in, or if I would be shut out before my work day was over.
I saw a few tweets from people who said they were already in line. I read them and found myself feeling incredibly resentful. Quite honestly, I was seething, because it seemed so unfair that my sense of responsibility (personal and professional) might be the thing to keep me from experiencing something so historic and memorable as seeing the premiere of a film about my favorite topic featuring a favorite performer.
"They don't deserve that film more than I do," I thought. Obviously I was feeling a little entitled, which I hate to admit because I hate seeing that in other fans.
But I vented to a couple friends throughout the day, and one of them (hi Max!), who had been to the Portage before, reassured me that it was a pretty big place and should not fill up before I got there.
This put me at ease somewhat, and throughout the work day I continued to monitor the line progress and also completed my two most pressing projects at warp speed. By about 4:00, I learned that there were only about 200 people gathered, and since I had been on duty at 7:30 this morning for a conference call, I felt justified in asking my boss if I could pack up earlier than usual. She gave me her blessing, encouraged me to enjoy myself and I was off like a shot to the cab stand in front of our building.
Even though I was feeling better about my chances, I wasn't gonna gamble on the CTA, so I splurged on a taxi straight to the theater and finally started to feel some relief when I walked down Milwaukee Ave. to find a line that was only about two blocks long (maybe 300 or 400 people tops?). I stepped into my space in the line by about 4:45, which was perfect because the doors were opening at 5:30 and I settled into my usual observer-of-wrestling-culture mode.
Some of the things I saw:
A woman in a car slowed to ask what we were in line for, and a guy behind me wise-cracked, "Drugs."
Two teenage kids tried offering five-dollar bags of weed to all of us.
A woman wearing a large Angry Birds mask handed out postcards for the costume shop across the street.
And then the line started moving, none too soon, because it was starting to drizzle and as I got closer I noticed a WWE flag near the marquee, and various WWE Superstar theme music blaring from some loudspeaker, and an official WWE photographer moving throughout the crowd to snap group photos and capture the homemade signs that people brought with them (he even shot from the roof of a building across the street at one point).
We got closer, and soon I was past the velvet rope and close to the box office and I knew without a doubt that I was going to get in and the kicker was when I was within steps of the entrance and the salty scent of popcorn wafted through the open door and then I was inside and a man carefully fastened my wristband and another man checked my bag and then I was getting snacks and finding a seat.
That's when I looked around and saw how fast the street had cleared. And how many empty seats remained. And I felt foolish for having been so insecure. By 6:15, I'd estimate there were maybe 500 or 600 people in attendance? Why had I ever worried I'd be excluded. But that didn't matter because I was there and I made friendly chit chat with the woman a few seats away from me, who had travelled via Amtrak all the way from St. Louis with her son, who was determined to be present for this screening.
I heard someone excitedly squeal that Punk had arrived with his entourage.
I glanced up towards the projection booth at one point, and just happened to catch a glimpse of Punk pacing before a large spotlight.
I saw Lita.
I saw Colt Cabana.
And then they showed a bunch of WWE movie trailers. And they showed trailers for other WWE documentaries.
And they flashed Punk movie trivia on the screen so everyone could shout out the answers.
The best was when they showed the "Tribute to the Troops" recap/montage, and many people booed loudly at the sight of Nickleback playing their music.
I munched on buttery popcorn. I sipped my Diet Coke. Cocktails were available, but I'm not a big drinker by nature, especially when I'm by myself, and anyway it didn't seem right to watch a film about someone dedicated to the Straight-Edge lifestyle while swilling booze, ya know?
So finally Punk's better-known companions (Marty DeRosa, Lita, Cliff Compton, and Cabana) took the stage and introduced each other. And Punk was introduced. He was so pleased to get this rolling. And they ribbed us by showing the beginning of a Triple H movie first, before truly getting to the main attraction.
The funny thing is, I don't have a whole lot to say about the movie itself.
I mean, it was really well done. I hooted and cheered for the IWA footage. I realized that I have subconsciously given elements of Punk's personality and history to one of my novel's main characters. I clapped during the replay of the infamous "Pipe Bomb" promo. And I appreciated the subject matter and the interviews, and the love and care that went into crafting the whole thing.
And then it was over. And then Punk announced that he had bought the entire audience milk and cookies, and had his friends pass them out. As we munched (well, I saved mine, because I wanted to bring it home and take a picture of it) he agreed to take questions, and unlike my usual self I stood up and waved my arm, hoping to be noticed, until I spotted the small line forming near the front of the stage.
I listened to the first couple questions. Generic stuff, mostly. "Where's your favorite place to wrestle?" "Who do you want to work with that you haven't yet?" And I formed a question in my mind that felt original, and that I was genuinely curious about - not just asking for the sake of being able to say that I asked Punk a question. And in that moment, something came over me.
I'm not normally much for speaking up during Q&A type things. I usually worry that I'll babble or lose my words or say something stupid, revealing myself as the shy nerd that I am.
But for whatever reason, all those concerns took a flying leap out the window, and I was suddenly bolder than usual, determined to be heard for once. So I left all my belongings at my seat, and I made a wide arc around the theater in order to grab a spot in the question line. As I started moving closer to the front, I felt all this nervous anticipation coursing through me, realizing, "Holy shit, I'm going to speak directly to Punk, and he's going to respond!"
When it came to be my turn, I said hi, loudly as I could to make sure I could speak, and I said (taking into account the numerous comments from Lars Frederiksen throughout the film). "I really love your current entrance music. But will we ever have the chance to hear Rancid do an entrance theme for you?"
Punk smiled.
Smiled! At me!
And then he repeated my question for the whole room to hear. The whole time I felt myself struggling between wanting to make sure I focused on him as he responded, and wanting to run away and hide for having dared spoken to a man I admire so much. I was also marveling at hearing my own words coming through him!
Then his answer came. I can't quote verbatim, but it was something to the effect of, yes, he had discussed the idea of Rancid doing his entrance music, and he would be interested, but their style of music didn't necessarily match up well with men bouncing around in their underwear.
It was a good answer. Thoughtful. Substantial.
So I thanked him. And returned to my seat.
A woman in the row behind me, a mom from Elk Grove Village who had come with her husband and son leaned forward and asked me, "Was he cute?"
I said yeah.
She sighed like a teenager and said, "He's got such a nice smile. I just love it."
We giggled together over him for a few minutes, and then things wrapped up with Punk answering another music-related question. Something about how if he had a DeLorean he would use it to travel back in time to see bands like The Misfits in '89 and Guns and Roses on the Sunset Strip in '86. And the Clash. Then he thanked us again and said he was sorry but he had to wrap things up.
"You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here," he cracked.
I said bye to the nice Elk Grove Village lady, and then I hightailed it out of there, wanting to get home to Steph's hungry kitties as soon as possible.
I just missed the Irving Park Rd. bus, so I walked along that street to the Blue Line instead, and along the way I passed an Irish Pub whose name I can't recall at this moment. But its doors were wide open, and Guns and Roses was blaring out from inside.
November Rain.
Walking through the cool, crisp night, feeling absolutely high from getting exactly what I wanted - I couldn't have asked for a more perfect ending to a tremendous evening.
Oh, wait. Yes I could!
This:
