This story was originally published as a serial travelogue.
Bonus material:
Original song, “Face In the Moon,” by Yippee Coyote.
(Requires Flash Player.)
Coming home to Connecticut, to my husband and my kids, my friends, even my job — I felt good. Like I’d set out to do something and accomplished it, by golly. And I’d had so much help getting there! I felt tremendous gratitude towards the universe.
Massive thanks go out to:
My husband, a modern-day Gabriel Oak, who puts up with 94.7% of my bullshit (and not just in this story but ALL THE TIME.)
My kids, who are wonderful, and who behave themselves more often than I give them credit for.
My mother-in-law, not only for tolerating this insanity but for actively encouraging and participating in it.
People I’ve never even met, on twitter and tumblr, who cheered me on and rock the fellowship of our shared fandom. And Amy and Vanessa, my Armitage Army companions here in town, who get together with me one evening a month (when all of our kids are abed) for wine and hors d’oeuvres and unashamed fangirling.
The tow-truck driver and Enterprise Rent-a-Car, without whom I’d still be sitting, crying, by the side of the road.
SPIRIT airlines — let’s face it, I fit squarely into their “cheapskate” demographic and I’m proud of the fact.
All of the friendly crew members on the movie set who helped me out, especially Richard’s assistant, Crystal, who really went out of her way to make sure I got to meet him.
Richard himself, for being so sweet and so gracious with his “aw-shucks charm” (the British equivalent is actually “tally-ho charm.” I looked it up!)
The greatest gift of the whole experience, though, has been clarity. I mentioned earlier that I was in a bit of a rut when all this started. Well, once I returned home, the rut was gone. I was completely ready to do things I hadn’t been anywhere near ready to do before. Mundane-seeming things, possibly (taking care of myself, being more present and more generous with my family) …but there you go. Maybe I needed to succeed at doing something totally crazy — a grand, silly, selfish gesture — to remember who I am and remind myself of what’s really important in my life.
In any case, I am happy with the outcome. And to top it all off, my dear friend (and fellow Armitage Army member) Amy wrote an original song about this whole… thing… which she has recorded IN THE KEY OF AWESOME. She insists it’s an early, rough cut and will improve with backing vocals and additional instruments….maybe…. but for now, I can’t think of any better way to complete the story. Enjoy.
CLICK THE MOON TO LISTEN:
You will then need to click “Play” in the window that opens; Flash Player required - does not work on iOS devices.
P.S. - Amy! How did you know about the voice in my head??! Call me so we can compare notes. xo
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if you enjoyed this story, you may also like my other works:
…and check out Amy’s amazing band, Yippee Coyote.
Animated gifs courtesy of con4cyn and gaporter and chibihobbit.
My time in Detroit was nearing its end, and only a drive to the airport stood between me and my flight home. More on that in a moment — but first, a brief detour into Detroit history, and why this travelogue is thusly titled…
Back in the 1970’s, when Detroit was in serious decline, an earnest young woman named Emily Gail worked very hard to promote her grassroots “Say Nice Things About Detroit” campaign. You can read more about it here, but basically it was this really super-sweet, pro-Detroit civic-booster meme that predated the Internet as most of us know it. She used wall murals, bumper stickers, t-shirts, matchboxes, and live events to get the word out.
As my Michigander husband tells it, once the 1980’s rolled around (with Detroit still in serious decline), locals started riffing on the slogan, making signs and wearing t-shirts that mocked it in the most wicked ways.
I love everything about this story! — the woman who conceived of the idea; her tireless efforts to promote it; and the darkly cynical reactions of the city’s inhabitants. It reminds me that folks were earnest and funny and snarky and creative way before the Web came along and greased the wheels (or poured gas on the fire, depending on how you look at it.)
So back to 2012: Another warm and sunny August day. My mother-in-law drove us south towards the airport, taking a detour through the strange, ghostly city of Pontiac, where Black Sky was filming on a street they’d gussied-up to resemble small-town Oklahoma.
Coasting down I-75, we actually had a talk about politics — ME! and my MOTHER-IN-LAW! — on President Obama’s healthcare policy, its merits (or lack thereof), what it meant personally to each of us, and our nation’s future prospects in that arena. And even though we found ourselves (as usual) on opposite ends of the spectrum, we managed to have an engaging and respectful discussion (!) and even found some common ground between us (!!) Could this form the basis for some future détente?
Right in the nick of time, the airport was reached; goodbyes were said; warm hugs exchanged. I ventured inside the terminal and treated myself to a “Big Front Seat” upgrade on SPIRIT Airlines, thus safeguarding both my kneecaps and my will to live for the next several hours. I still had to get past the security checkpoint, and I was shocked to be asked the purpose of my trip — something I hadn’t been questioned about on any domestic flight in ten years. And I had to answer honestly!
Thank goodness she was an actual human being and not the usual TSA troll, because it could have gone so differently.
6. Viva Detroit!
Once I stopped hyperventilating — with the help of several Large Animal Tranquilizer Darts — we were free to spend the next two days soaking up all the diverse culture Detroit has to offer. (By which I mean we had lunch at Chipotle.) KIDDING!!
First, a lovely shopping binge…
(I took this opportunity to wirelessly inform the tumblr Armitage Army of my morning’s escapades!)
At this point, we were straight-up GIRLFRIENDS. (Once you’ve been bra-shopping with a fellow female of our species, you’re kind of bonded for life. I’m just saying.)
The following day, we paid a visit to Cranbrook (which Eminem strongly disapproves of).
…and went to the MOVING PICTURES!
We even watched a little teeny tiny bit of cable news, against my better judgement…
Unfortunately, there was no political middle ground anywhere in sight. We soon switched to The Vicar of Dibley “Handsome Stranger” episode, in the interest of Family Unity.
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5. The Big Day.
I didn’t sleep well Monday night — kind of like the night before a big test at school when you feel absolutely unprepared for it. (I turn 40 next year, and I STILL get those nightmares where I show up late for the S.A.T., and I can’t find the right classroom, and furthermore I am bereft of a Number Two pencil.)
Among the many things I’d left behind in Connecticut were my dignity (which I was totally okay with) and my makeup. MY MAKEUP!!!!!
Fortunately, my mother-in-law, a recently-retired dermatologist, had a drawerful of makeup samples, including foundation in Luminous Kabuki White (my color!) I spackled over the worst of the undereye circles and used blusher as eyeshadow, MacGyver-style. I also donned a pair of my father-in-law’s black dress socks to complement the outfit I’d worn while traveling the day before. (As a married woman, I had to wonder, with great concern: How on earth would Richard Armitage be able to resist me?)
We gulped down frozen blueberry smoothies and loaded my sign into the car. Our destination was Oakland University, in Rochester — the last known filming location. If my mother-in-law had any doubts at this point, she masked them expertly. (Apart from having me and my sister-in-law stand at the outer edges of all Family Portraits, so we can be easily cropped out in the future if needed — but that’s tangential, really.)
We found the movie-set right on the university campus — they were still there from last week! (Which is fortunate, because I really didn’t have any other brilliant ideas for finding them.) Leaving my mother-in-law and my sign in the car — I didn’t want to seem like a TOTAL nutcase straight off the bat — I spoke with one person, then another and another, worming my way into their good graces, and finally I spoke with Richard’s assistant, Crystal, who was really incredibly kind.
(Actually, everyone on the crew who I spoke with was kind. I appreciated that, because they didn’t have to be. They could have just told me to get lost. But I did have a good story, coming all the way from the East Coast to meet my favorite actor. Crazy-lady-style, but not TOO crazy. It’s a fine line I walk.)
Crystal said he’d be by to see us within the hour, and my mother-in-law and I waited for Mr. Richard Armitage on this nice grassy hill, soaking up the warm sunshine. Thinking back on it (as I do, from time to time, like every ten seconds since it happened), this is THE moment I need to recall whenever a Slice of Zen is necessary in my crisis-riddled existence. Because isn’t life pretty much perfect when you’re sitting in the sun with nothing in particular to do and Richard Armitage is going to swing by momentarily?
And then, as promised, up the hill he came: Richard Armitage, accompanied by Crystal and a security dude. He was very sweet, very friendly, very tall, and oh so very handsome. Down-to-earth, yet obviously cultured and intelligent — there’s a light on upstairs with this man, which is possibly the sexiest thing about him. The British accent is just icing on the cake, ladies.
(In the interest of completeness, I have to mash the keyboard here — ASDFGHJKL; E;AAOIJEFNAAIEIREWAI APOIFMNAO UNF THE SOUND I MADE WAS NOT HUMAN — okay, you get the point. More of this is freely available on tumblr. I disclaim all responsibility, especially for the stuff I wrote.)
He liked my sign. I gave him a little “Richard Armitage Goes to Michigan” cartoon I’d made for his birthday (which was the following day.) We took pictures:
I wrote a complete play-by-play (with color commentary!) blog post on the day all of this happened, if you’re a die-hard fan and require all details and must know every word that was uttered. For the purposes of this story, we chatted a little bit about this and that. I was rendered almost speechless with awe, but I managed to do a fair imitation of a functioning adult. Mr. Armitage was very generous with his time — he even insisted on getting a picture with me and my mother-in-law!!
In short, it was an experience I’ll never forget. And then it was time to say goodbye to this fine fellow, and off he went to film his movie, Black Sky (which is WAY outside of my target demographic, and I am totally seeing it ten times when it opens, and you should too. Bring all your friends.)
My mother-in-law and I looked at each other.
“Oh my God!” I squeaked. “We did it! We totally did it!”
“You did it!” she countered. Then she mused: “You set aside two and half days for this. It’s eleven o’clock in the morning on the first day, and we’re done. Now what?”
We’d emerged from the crucible intact. Stronger, arguably. But our greatest challenge — spending two full days together, alone — still lay ahead.
4. On the Ground.
At the airport, my mother-in-law was waiting for me with two slices of pizza and a big cup of ice-water. And a smile! I was so glad to see her, and to have my feet on the ground in Detroit — truth be told, I felt slightly giddy. Girls’ Time!
Once we settled in the car, she stated matter-of-factly that she hadn’t thought I would actually come.
“Me neither!” I gushed, ready to cement our relationship on a whole new immature fangirling level.
“No — I really didn’t think you’d come,” she said. “I’m worried that we won’t find out where they’re filming and your whole trip will be for nothing.”
I felt a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Lady, you are harshing on my mellow…
“Did you say you had a way to find out where they are?” she asked. “I haven’t seen anything since last week in the local news.”
“I have some feelers out,” I said lamely, thinking of my 27 followers on Twitter.
I don’t think she meant to be mean, or fracture the fangirl fantasy. She was just being realistic. Airing legitimate concerns. In her own sensible, Midwestern, salt-of-the-earth way, she was right — not unlike Marge Gunderson in Fargo.
At this point I sensed that our adventure was at a crossroads, so I gathered up every ounce of positive energy I had and put it out there. “Come on, of course we’ll find them!” I said in my most reassuring Mom-Voice. “And if we don’t — well, we tried. I still get to spend some quality-time with you, and that’s one of the things I’m most excited about for this trip.” (Don’t laugh; this was true. I was excited about two things on this trip, and spending some quality time with my mother-in-law was one of them.)
Once we arrived at the house, I had about an hour before bed, so I visited the Keep Calm-O-Matic website to print out what I needed for my fan-sign. Sitting at my in-laws’ dining room table, I assembled the sign with scissors, a glue-stick, and a large piece of foam-core board. My father-in-law stood nearby, hands in his pockets, watching my craftwork with mild interest.
“The Richard Armitage blogosphere says that having a sign improves your chances of meeting him,” I offered up as possibly the worst conversation-starter in the history of the universe.
“I see,” he replied, not unkindly.
Note: My father-in-law left the house at the earliest opportunity the following morning, driving several hours “Up North” to go sailing by himself on Lake Michigan.
3. Slumming It.
Against all odds, I had made it to LaGuardia Airport in time to catch my flight. My husband dropped me off, then sped off homeward with the kids to put the entire wretched experience behind him. Some Maker’s Mark may indeed have been necessary, once he arrived home…
Now, back to me. For those of you fortunate enough to have never flown into or out of LaGuardia, may I simply say that this particular airport is a cesspool of humanity and TSA agents. The decaying infrastructure is beyond pathetic…. and you have NEVER seen such a wretched hive of scum and villainy (unless you’ve just deplaned from your flight on SPIRIT airlines!)
For my part, unprepared as I was, I had no deodorant, no toothpaste, no breath mints, and no clean underpants with me. (Upside: I fit right in on SPIRIT airlines!) Knees jammed up tightly against the seat in front of me, I felt — and heard — ominous creaking sounds throughout the fuselage as our rattletrap aircraft took off for Detroit.
Allons-y!
That weekend, my husband & I drove up with the kids to see my dad in Vermont. Before leaving, I’d packed a suitcase for the Detroit trip, including some supplies for a cute sign to bring to the set. (The Internet consensus seemed to be that having a sign might improve one’s chances of success.) I left said suitcase at home in Connecticut, thinking I’d have time to grab it on my way down to New York.
The following Monday, en route to Connecticut, an hour and half south of my parents’ house — in Petersburg, New York — our car died.
My husband was driving when it happened; he managed to ease it off onto the shoulder, with some difficulty, as the power steering had gone. The tachometer was at zero. The car was totally just — DEAD.
My husband, a Car Guy (from Detroit!), got out and looked under the hood, wiggled some things around, then came back & tried to start the car.
Nothing.
We sat there for a moment in total silence.
“This…. is bad,” he said.
And I knew he was right — I did! — but I was crestfallen at missing MY CHANCE — now that I’d committed to this Fool’s Errand, I really just wanted to do it so badly. A very-immature part of me wanted to leave the car by the side of the road and hitchhike down to LaGuardia Airport as a family.
My husband’s saner head prevailed. I called Enterprise Rent-a-Car, who (God bless them!!) sent someone over to pick us up — me and the kids and the booster seats and our bags — then drove us to their office in Bennington, Vermont, which by some amazing coincidence was right around the corner from the car dealership my husband was having the car towed to. We were a bedraggled bunch — my younger daughter (age 5) had one eye swollen shut thanks to a yellowjacket sting at my dad’s, and my 7-year-old was several days into a week-long hair-brushing strike.
She got us into a lovely Honda Accord, lickety-split.
Over at the car dealership, my husband arrived in the tow-truck with the car. I got the kids situated in the waiting room and called SPIRIT Airlines, only to find that there were no further flights to Detroit that day, and moreover, all NYC-Detroit flights were fully booked for three days. Changing the flight was hopeless. My husband thought perhaps the car would be an easy fix, but my skepticism and inner drama bubbled over into a needy, whining froth: “Can we pleeeeeaaaaaase just go to the airport?” I begged. My husband, bless his heart forever, relented, and we piled into the rental car.
We booked it down the Taconic Parkway. There was simply no time to swing by our house to pick up my suitcase with everything in it. I had the clothes on my back plus a couple random items I stashed in my purse. In other words, I was WHOLLY UNPREPARED… going to meet Mr. Richard Armitage exactly as I was!
I was wearing a good bra, providentially.
Dateline: August 2012. I’m a happily married mom of two girls… way too old to do crazy stuff like this.
But….! My favorite actor (Richard Armitage) was filming a movie in the Detroit northern suburbs. They’d started shooting right after we returned from our annual summer pilgrimage to visit my husband’s family in Michigan - such bitter irony! I made sure to whine about it extensively on twitter and tumblr, just in case anyone was unaware of my inner turmoil.
I kept seeing news tidbits on the filming - the locations were a stone’s throw from my inlaws’ house! I’d e-mail these to my mother-in-law, and she e-mailed me back encouraging me to come visit her so we could try to meet him in person. I demurred — it was too expensive; it was too crazy; I couldn’t take time off from work — but nevertheless, THE SEED WAS PLANTED. I wanted to be convinced.
Finally, a fellow fan posted some wonderful news to the fan forums: She’d visited the movie set and met Mr. Armitage! I e-mailed the story to my mother-in-law, and a flurry of late-night e-mails ensued that gave me the push I needed — I was finally convinced; I would go to Detroit the following Monday afternoon — with absolutely no idea where (or even if) they were filming. I cleared it with my husband (who is now officially a candidate for sainthood); put in for vacation at work; and bought a cheapo ticket on SPIRIT airlines, allowing myself 2½ days to accomplish the task at hand.
I must confess I was a tad nervous about spending so much time alone with my mother-in-law. We don’t see eye-to-eye on much; it’s an election year… feelings are strong on both sides…
Nevertheless, I threw caution to the wind…. This was going to happen.
