Paul Feig - Superstud: Or How I Became a 24-Year-Old Virgin

Ive always been a hopeless romantic.

If I had a dime for every time in the past that I have walked on the beach at night by myself, humming the theme from Against All Odds or that Chicago song After All That Weve Been Through (or whatever its called) or that Barry Manilow song Come into My Arms (or whatever that songs called) as I fantasized I was actually walking hand in hand with one of the myriad of girls I happened to be in love with at that moment, Id have at least enough dimes to get myself a good-sized sandwich, drink, and dessert. Ive driven more miles in my car at night with the radio blasting the love-gone-wrong songs of Elvis Costello or Bob Dylan or the Tangerine Dream soundtrack from Risky Business than most cross-country truckers log in during any given year. And Ive gotten misty in more Woody Allen relationship films (Annie Hall, Manhattan, and Hannah and Her Sisters, specifically) than, well, probably anybody.

Theres just always been something about trying to find those perfect moments in life, the ones where you feel loved and needed and fulfilled, that has driven me to do so many embarrassing things over the years. They never seemed embarrassing at the time but, once looked back upon, they cause me to cringe in the same way I cringe when I think about the time I wore a powder blue disco jumpsuit to high school with the mistaken impression that it would actually make me look cool.

It didnt.

But despite my lifetime membership as a semi-mature, card-carrying geek, and despite the misconception some people have of the nerds of this world being asexual creatures who care more about Japanese anime drawings of women than real living, breathing females, Ive actually spent a lot of time and energy looking for romance. And Ive misguidedly spent a lot of money trying to buy it, in the form of expensive dinners, impressive gifts, and good tickets to pricey events, all meant to kick-start the blossoming of Love from an otherwise unwilling prospective girlfriend. And because of all this, I can definitely confirm that the old saying is trueYou cant buy love.

Well, unless youre a millionaire. Then you probably can. Just not quality love.

You have to be a billionaire to buy that.

But I digress.

Ill never forget the moment when I realized how desperately I wanted true romance in my life. It happened on a Saturday night. I was about twelve and was in Kalamazoo, Michigan, for a guitar competition. My mother and I drove up and spent the weekend in the hotel where the judging was taking place, and I was having a great time. Even though I wasnt much of a guitarist, for some reason I had picked just the right piece to play on my classical guitar for that days competition, and the planets had aligned so that when I got up to perform in front of the judges, I was actually good, scoring an amazing 100 out of 100 points. I went from ranking as one of my guitar teachers biggest embarrassments to being his star pupil within a matter of minutes and was feeling no pain as I went into the evenings celebrations. The music association that ran the competition was putting on a dance for all the participants, and the whole thing seemed magical to me as soon as I walked in the door with my mother. The large hall was packed with young musicians of all ages, and the band performing was amazing, made up of professional players who were using the event to really show off what they could do on their instruments. I was standing and watching as they performed the Dan Fogelberg/Tim Weisberg song Tell Me to My Face, which was one of my favorites at the time, and the lead guitarist, who was also an older friend of mine from music school, was performing a truly amazing guitar solo.

There was something about the all-encompassing power and volume of the music and otherworldliness of the flashing lights and being surrounded by people who were talented and creative and not the kind of people who were mean to you or wanted to beat you up that all combined to make one of those magical moments that sometimes occur in lifewhere you feel transported out of your body, away from all your earthly cares; in which you see the world in a different light, as a collection of people and energy, and you suddenly love it all and want to experience it all. As I stood there watching and listening, my twelve-year-old brain taking in so many new emotions and stimuli and suddenly feeling so happy to be alive, I noticed a girl standing in front of me, with her back to me. She seemed to be about my age, maybe a year or two older, and was a few inches shorter than I was. I had the feeling that she was very pretty, but I couldnt tell since I was looking at the back of her head. But I remember staring at her hair. It was long and dark and hung down straight and simple as it magically reflected the lights from the stage. I stared at the perfectly straight center part in her hair, and then followed the silken-looking tresses as they spilled onto her shoulders and hung down her back. She was thin and delicate and was wearing a simple shirt and jeans. And because she was swaying lightly to the music, the ends of her hair were floating back and forth gently, brushing against her shirt as if they were ghostly fingers caressing her softly. I was close enough where I thought I could smell the powdery aroma of her perfume and the sweet scent of her shampoo, although its hard to say if it was coming from her or one of the many other girls crowded around us. But I was suddenly overwhelmed by it all as I continued to stare at the top of her head. To this day I dont know why I was so affected by the part in her hair, but I couldnt stop looking at it, at her. It somehow made her seem so human, so real and attainable, and I was overtaken with the strangest feelinga realization that if you could get a girl to fall in love with you and to become your girlfriend and marry you, you would possess that person, just like she would possess you. Not in a desperate way or in a way that meant she was something you owned, but in the sense that she was yours, that she was a fellow human who had dedicated her life to being with you, just as you had dedicated your life to being with her. You could be hers, and you would belong to each other. If I were to become her boyfriend, I thought, then I could see that part in her hair every day. I could reach out and touch it if I wanted to. I could kiss the top of her head and she would love me. And if I married her I would actually have a person in this world to whom I belonged. The thought so overwhelmed me that I literally felt everything else around the two of us melt away, as if she and I were the only people in the room. She obviously had no idea this was happening behind her and simply continued watching the band, swaying contentedly to the music. But I felt lighter than air as we stood there, and I didnt want the moment to end within my lifetime.