Giving T.Hanks

“The X factor in all of this is a degree of perseverance that you must have. You’ve got to pursue,” Tom Hanks says.

Linda Sivertsen and Danielle LaPorte recently interviewed Tom Hanks for my favorite podcast, the Beautiful Writers Podcast, to discuss his new book, Uncommon Type: Some Stories. The clacking of his vintage typewriter is music to my ears, as are the goodies he shares on perseverance:

There are people out there “that are wicked talented and creative but they’re waiting for permission to do it or they’re waiting to be invited into the process. They’re waiting to be asked or they’re waiting to be discovered. And that’s not the way it works. You have to pursue twenty-four hours. You’ve always got to be thinking of it, you’ve always got to be thinking of a story, you’ve always gotta be thinking of creating your own outlet for the stuff that is inside you. And it doesn’t matter if it goes anywhere. You know, it’s funny, my daughter, who is a screenwriter, she stumbled upon this reality...if she works really hard and makes it as great as she could possibly make it, it doesn’t actually have to become a movie for her to benefit from the work that she’s done — she’s gotta get paid, you know, that’s nice — but just completing it from the beginning to the end is a reward in and of itself that gives her all the satisfaction in the world.”

Well, I sure needed to hear that. Thanks, Hanks. And it reminded me I had written a thang about sweet Hanks a few years ago that I’ll share here.

My niece sent me the best thank you note I’ve ever seen and I’ve been musing about Thomas Jeffrey Hanks ever since.

I had a fantasy today about meeting Tom Hanks. What would I do? I usually don’t get too star-struck, though I think for Tam Honks (thank you, Fey-Poehler for that nickname) I would make an exception.

I’ve loved you since Bosom Buddies. I had a Steiff kangaroo I named “Kip” after you in Bosom Buddies. I think your character on Bosom Buddies is why I have a strange and maybe slightly fetish-y attraction to drag queens.

Too weird.

My husband suggested if I met the man I just sing the song from Big:

Shimmy shimmy cocoa puff, shimmy shimmy rock
Shimmy shimmy cocoa puff, shimmy shimmy rock
I met a girlfriend — a Triscuit!
She said a Triscuit — a biscuit!
Ice cream soda pop, vanilla on the top
​Ooo, Shalita, walkin’ down the street, ten times a week
I meant it, I said it, I stole my mama’s credit
I’m cool, I’m hot, sock me in the stomach three more times

Yeah, that would go over better. I love everything about Big. All I wanted was to stand out the top of that limo with you set to Billy Idol’s “Hot in the City” and then jump on the trampoline with you. I also wanted to play chopsticks on the grandest of pianos in FAO Schwartz with you.

How about that moment at the end of Captain Phillips when you’re with the medics and you break down because you held it together for so long and to save the lives of your crew and keep a strong face? That was incredible. It made me cry, a lot. It was such a real moment. Thank you.

Forrest Gump? Are you fucking kidding me? I think Steve Schuler, who did a lot of around-the-house work for my parents when I was growing up, said it best: “Forrest Gump has EVERYTHING.”

Philadelphia, The Green Mile, Toy Story, You’ve Got Mail, Splash?!! Motherfucking SPLASH!!! 

A League of Their Own. The Money Pit. The Burbs. WTF.

Dipping your toe in the Coen brothers water with The Ladykillers. Sleepless in [GDMF] Seattle. And don’t get me started about Saving Private Ryan (which spawned the best porn spoof name I’ve ever heard: Shaving Ryan’s Privates). Come on.

All the while — being NICE. God I HOPE Tom Hanks is as nice in real life as he’s seemed all these years. Maybe it’s best I don’t meet him. But I want to. Not in, like, a stalker-y way. In a I-want-you-to-dress-like-a-woman-and-I’ll-wear-a-mermaid-tail-and-break-glass-with-my-voice-while-jumping-on-a-trampoline-and-we’ll-share-a-box-of-chocolates-while-following-where-feathers-lead way. Yeah… WAY less creepy.

Hanks for the memory
Seattle afternoons, high-pitched mermaid poons
Money pits, pirated ships and 1930s prison goons
How lovely it was

Hanks for the memory
Of boxed chocolates and tiny corn, shaving Ryan's porn
Woody for kids, those Klopeks and The DaVinci Code's Catholic scorn
How lovely it was

Hanks for the memory
Partnered up with Hooch, or rocking one red shoe
The mispronounced “Oneders” in the cute That Thing You Do
How lovely it was

Hanks for the memory
AOL’s “Hello,” you thought of Jenny so
Volcano Joe, perdition roads, volley-bros (<-- that one's a stretch) before hoes
How lovely it was

Ah, Tom. This week I give thanks for you. And writing, the Beautiful Writers Podcast, the Beautiful Writers Group and all of my beautiful fellow writers in it, my husband, my cat, my family, my sweet friends, art, beauty, music, love, drag, the truth, and the click-clack of the keyboard under my fingers. Yes, holidays can be a whole lot of bullshit, but being grateful and making a note of it fills me with more delight than nibbling tiny corn at the Rainbow Room.