I know a little bit about everything; but not much about anything.  Floating on the outer edges of intelligentsia,I know lots of smart people who invite me to hang with their group of friends which turns out to be a clique of aficionados. Sometimes they are wine aficionados, sometimes movie aficionados, sometimes fashion aficionados. I’m never able to participate in the conversations. I sit there like a mute never knowing when to interject and offer my thoughts. It’s starting to piss me off. I’ve learned that most true aficionados exist on the southernmost border of Cool which connects to the northernmost border of Nerd. So really, aficionados are Cool Nerds.  Once an aficionado realizes you’re not up to speed, they quickly become a Mean Cool Nerd which can be dangerous and deceptive; much like a toy poodle with rabies.

Recently I was at Dyno’s, a spot in Hollywood frequented by directors, actors, screenwriters. With it’s cinema-themed décor, it’s considered an inspirational spot to talk shop if you’re in the movie business. I was invited by my friend Bruce McElvoy to join him and his friends for drinks. I was hesitant because Bruce and his friends are all in The Biz (as it’s called in LA) and I’m a yoga teacher with a fairly mainstream taste in movies. I assumed that once again, I was being roped into hanging with Mean Cool Nerds just a little too excited about French New Wave Filmmakers. But on this night, I refused to sit there like a drunk mute. I was determined to state my truth and speak my passion about movies even if my favorites weren’t sophisticated.

Sure enough, the conversation began and as usual, I had nothing to say.

One of the movie aficionados, Abbey Jonas, wore a black beret with a long pony tail. Her t-shirt read, “Go ahead. Make my Day,” her tribute to Clint Eastwood, She kept talking about “verbose storytelling-oriented dialogue and themes from 1940’s crime novels in most Tarantino movies.”

Another of the movie aficionados, Mike Williams Johns, wore a black beret with curly blond hair. I don’t know why he had three names but he always introduced himself using all three names. He interrupted Abbey Jonas, “I agree with you. Tarantino films are an amalgamation of decades combined, a little 50’s, a little 70’s - true post modern in every sense.”

I couldn’t take another second of this jibberish. I looked deep within and summoned the courage to speak my truth. I took a deep breath, prayed to God for extra strength, and interrupted everyone while also accidentally spitting a little on Mike Williams Johns across from me as I stated: “I’ll tell you what was a great fucking movie. Titanic! The scene where Rose tries to jump ship and she’s hanging and about to fall off the ship and Jack grabs Rose by the hand and describes the freezing ocean as a million needles poking your skin! Goddamn was I scared! Goddamn!”

I did it. The aficionados were stunned. At first I felt that my comment was up to speed and quite brilliant. The silence at the table made me think the aficionados were impressed with my knowledge. I proudly sat back, unbuttoned my very top bottom so that my shirt was no longer buttoned all the way to the top but rather almost all the way, and spread my arms across the booth as if to say, “Now who’s your friggen a-feesh-ionado?!”

The Mean Cool Nerds turned into a bunch of rabid poodles nipping at my heels saying things like “You’re a dumb yoga teacher” and “It’s people like you____” and “Both you and James Cameron can suck my ____”

I sat there but didn’t budge and only cried a little. Even in the most adverse conditions, I’d spoken my truth and claimed yet another giant yogic triumph. As Kenji Miyazawa said, “We must embrace pain and burn it as fuel for our journey.”

.