A Lynching on the Prairies

No, not that kind of lynching. Sure, the prairies are still stinking with their share of red necks, but this is a Lynch of a different colour. David Lynch.

I went to visit my little brother in Penticton over the long weekend, and while sipping Cab Sauv on his sprawling balcony, he casually mentioned that he had met David Lynch in Regina last year. What is up with that? How did he meet David Lynch and not even tell me? David Lynch. My all time favourite brilliant, inspirational, amazing, crazy genius. This is the man who wrote Blue Velvet. The man who gave a name to the "people like Frank" in this world.

Okay, sure, it's not cool to name drop celebrities you may have encountered. Like, for instance, I don't go around telling everyone that I've met Bill Clinton, Mia Farrow, and Stephen Baldwin. Well, I do tell them about Stephen Baldwin, because he was such a huge loser. And it's just funny to tell people that you met Stephen Baldwin. Especially when you tell them how he was shopping with some slag and trying to play the "I'm Stephen Baldwin" card to get you to give him a discount on his pants. And, technically, I have told people about the Clinton and Farrow meetings. So I guess that means I'm not cool. But I don't care how lame it would make me look, if I had met David Lynch--people would be told. Ad nauseam. And then a little more for good measure.

The reason my brother had met The Man was because Jennifer Lynch (David's daughter) was directing a movie (Surveillance) that was being shot in Regina. Ira, my brother, used to work in film and television in Regina. His main gig was as set decorator for a Canadian TV show called Corner Gas, but being a big fish (or any sized fish) in a small pond like Regina, meant that he also worked on most major films that came to town. Unfortunately, Ira didn't have much to say about his close encounter of the Lynch kind. He just said Dave-o looked kind of weird and nervous.

I suppose if I had had the chance to meet him, I wouldn't have had any more to report. It's not like he's going to ask me to grab a Slurpee with him and discuss transcendental meditation for hours on end before revealing to me the secret of how he created the Eraserhead baby. Or would he? I'm going to pretend he would. In fact, I think I'll take the David-Lynch-meeting anecdote away from my brother and tell everyone it was me. But with the Slurpee/meditation/Eraserhead baby ending. So, forget all that stuff you just read about my brother--have I ever told you about the time I met David Lynch?