INSOMNIA @ WAZEE SUPPER CLUB It had been another long sleepless night in a long series of sleepless nights. Insomnia has been something that has plagued me for most of my adult life. When you have it you are never really asleep and never really awake. Infomercials are my primary connection to the world after dark. Overly enthusiastic pitch masters peddling their wares in front of overly excited studio audiences. From time to time I switch over to late night evangelists, infomercials for the soul. A wonderful little TV bubble world where you can be saved from a myriad of sins by simply putting your hand on your television screen. I've been saved hundreds of times and although I may have eternal peace in the afterlife I still have found no sleep in the here and now. The worst part of this existence is the sunrise. The gray light of the new day finding its way into the gritty sleepless sunken sockets I call eyes. That's when everything starts to become surreal, like a copy of a copy of a copy. The shadows are a little too dark, the highlights are washed out into blank spaces. The details become fuzzy and lost, running together into one long day. Watching the muted light filtering through the blinds onto the remote in my hand I begin to chant David Byrne lyrics in my head. :This is not my beautiful remote, this is not my trembling hand." It goes on and on. I head for the clubhouse of my condo and begin my day on the treadmill --a device that reflects, no, actually mocks, the progression of my life. A few miles on the mill, then half an hour in the tanning bed, followed by a steam sauna. By all intents and purposes a wonderful way to start the day, but I'd trade it all for the luxury of hitting the snooze button on my alarm clock. After a quick shower and a breakfast shake I'm off to meet the day. I was supposed to meet my photographer Sean about a shoot and talk over a few ideas for a new head shot package. We were going to meet at the Wazee Supper Club in about 4 hours, but I decided to head down there early for lack of something better to do. I was thoroughly impressed as soon as I walked through the door. First of all, the sun shining through the stained glass made the morning seem much less cruel. The warm wood atmosphere slowly began to sink into my jangled nerves as I sat at the bar drinking coffee and looking over the menu. I started to relax a little and found my appetite so I ordered the appetizer combo: grilled Z-sticks, wings, mozz sticks, Thai chicken spring rolls and bread sticks. As I ate I became a little more relaxed. "This stuff rocks," I mumbled to myself around a mouth full of food. My waitress must have heard me as she was passing because she said, "if you think this is good you should try our Bianca Style pizza." I agreed to a small one and in record time she brought out the most awesome pizza I had ever stuffed in my face. It consisted of fairly simple ingredients: olive oil, fresh garlic, sweet basil, and mozzarella. But the combination of those few unassuming foods created a flavor that was beyond explanation. My mouth came alive and the sensation washed over my entire body. I ordered another, this time a large, and polished it off almost as quickly as the first. Then the miracle occurred "maybe it wasn't a genuine." According to Hoyle "miracle" but a miracle in my life nonetheless. I began to feel sleepy! Not just the usual drowsy desperation of an insomniac that taunts you with the unfulfilled promise of sleep, but genuine sleepiness! Maybe it was the warm glow of a stomach full of awesome food. Maybe it was the inviting atmosphere and relaxing environment, or maybe it was a combination of both but it was happening! I jumped back in my car and headed home with tears of relief in my eyes. As soon as I hit the bed I curled up in a ball still fully clothed and drifted off to the place that babies go when they sleep. Completely careless, totally out of touch with the world, I dreamed the day away. When I finally awoke it was to someone pounding desperately on my door. I opened the door to Sean's startled face. I had missed our meeting. "I've been pounding on your door for five minutes," he explained. "I was driving by and saw your car, but when you didn't answer I thought something was wrong." He stopped in mid-sentence. Looking a little confused he asked, "were you sleeping?" A question he or anyone else had not asked me in a very long time. I just smiled and nodded, closed the door and went back to bed. All Rights Reserved © 2001 Go-Go Media, LLC