Brendan sits at his couch playing video games. The phone rings. Brendan answers it.TOMMY I heard you lost your job.BRENDAN How? That was 20 minutes ago?TOMMY You’re mom told me. After I had sex with her.BRENDAN Dude!TOMMY Haha, bitch. Why does your mom call all your friends? It’s weird.BRENDAN It was worse when I had the colonoscopy.TOMMY Why don’t you take this as an opportunity to do something you’ve always wanted to do?BRENDAN Date a Slovakian honor student?TOMMY Better. Work in the field of waste management.BRENDAN How is that better?TOMMY Well, it’s less illegal.BRENDAN How is it illegal at all?TOMMY I’ve said too much. Hangs up the phone. The phone immediately rings.BRENDAN Hello?MOM Brendan lost his job and he still wets the bed.BRENDAN Mom?MOM Brendan? Damn speed dial!BRENDAN Stop telling everyone I have a dysfunctional urethra!MOM Gotta go! And your little sister is pregnant again.Mom hangs up the phone. Brendan’s phone rings immediately again.BRENDAN What?TOMMY Well?BRENDAN Well what?TOMMY Are you going to be a garbage collector?BRENDAN No!TOMMY (overly sarcastic) Then why don’t you look into the prestigious and lucrative world of video game design.BRENDAN Video games? I like getting stoned and playing them. I could get stoned and design them too?TOMMY Sure, getting stoned, whatever. My dad needs another garbage truck dri--BRENDAN You’re right! I’ll follow my dream of creating the great medieval sandbox cooking sim with warlocks from the future! TOMMY You’re serious? If I don’t get another driver, I’m going to have to call Crazy Eddie. No one calls Crazy Eddie.BRENDAN But where can I get training to make such a game?TOMMY I’ll tell you if you pick up this shift for me.BRENDAN Getting fired was the best thing that ever happened to me!TOMMY Yea, it’s sad when people kid themselves. Phone beeps.BRENDAN I have another call.MOM My son is a garbage man! And my husband has hermit crabs. On his penis!BRENDAN Mom! I’m going to be a game designer!MOM That’s even worse.BRENDAN No, Mom. It’s what I’ve always wanted to do!MOM I’ve always wanted to date a Portuguese lacrosse cheerleader, but those giant mascots always get in the way.BRENDAN The security guards? Yea, they suck. I love you too! Clicks back to TommyBRENDAN Tommy!TOMMY (Tommy is talking to someone in his house, while waiting on the phone.) --Twenty bucks doesn’t get you dime bag anymore, it gets you-- (To Brendan) Brendan! So the trucks leave at--TOMMY No I’m going to start my new life tomorrow. If only I knew where to get training.BRENDAN You should go to the Institute of Video Game and License Plate Design.TOMMY The Institute of Video Game and License Plate Design? What’s that?BRENDAN They teach you how to bake cup cakes. What do you think it is?TOMMY Thanks Tommy. What’s the phone number?BRENDAN Do you have a pen? It’s 1 800 how the fuck should I know?TOMMY Carefully writing down... (slowly) --the -- fuck --shoul-dBRENDAN It’s on the garbage route, next to the arcade and unemployment office.TOMMY Thanks, Brendan.BRENDAN 4 am! Brendan hangs up the phone.TOMMY I can’t wait.Cut to advertisement graphic with voice over.VOICE OVER The Institute of Video Game and License Plate Design. Call today. We’ll take you even if you aren’t Asian!
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
The Institute of Video Game and License Plate Design.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
The gift of Chance.
He was reading a news paper and sitting on a bar stool in the middle of an alley way on an early summer night. He wore a tan trench coat and round rimmed glasses. His slicked back hair reminded me of Christian Slater. I thought the fortune teller was full of crap. I never thought this guy would be here. But sure enough, it was exactly as she said. The alley way was the length of a football field.
I felt uncomfortable approaching him. Like I had no right to be there. I stood there waiting for him to look up from the paper. But he never did. I finally broke the silence "Are you Chance?"
"That is what people call me." He still did not look up. He simply turned the page of the news paper. I had hoped he would be more welcoming. I didn't know how to go about proposing the business I was there for. I felt foolish. I froze. Again, I expected him to interject or to alleviate the disturbance I had caused in his reading. But he just kept on with the paper. After another minute or so I inquired,
"I've been told you can...answer things."
"Yes. That is a way of putting it." I was relieved. If you have ever tried to buy pot from someone that you've only heard sells pot, you get very apprehensive when you approach them.
"You have the money?" he added still looking at the paper.
"Ye- yea. It's all here. You can count it." I handed him a sealed manila envelope. He took it and grabbed my hand as if we were shaking. But he was not giving me a salutation.
"It's all there. Follow me." He folded the news paper and tucked it up in his arm pit.
"How long were you waiting for me?"
"I wasn't waiting for you."
"Why were you sitting in an alley in the middle of the night?"
"I was stationed there. Now, if you please, I'd like to keep the conversations to a minimum. I was about to apologize but he sent me a glance which silenced me. As we continued through the alley for what seemed like an hour. Gradually the stench of the city seemed to sterilize. The smells of urine and garbage melted to nothing and then flourished into a pleasing aroma. Like an old cellar. We arrived at what I could only describe as a fallout shelter. But it looked like it was Egyptian. It was made of yellow and orange stone and pictures were carved into the wall.
"This is it?" I asked.
"This is it." He retorted. It dawned on me that he had been doing this for a long time.
"Give me your hands and close your eyes." Chance commanded. I hesitated. I expected him to sting me or something. But I knew I had no choice and did as he commanded.
"Connection is a two way street. Just relax and let them pass," he assured me as he grabbed my hands.
"Let what pa--?" But before I could finish I was bombarded with images. A burning barn, a mother giving birth, a girl tricker treating as a princess. The images accelerated. A dog run over, two women between the sheets, a man throwing over a table... faster and faster. Then Chance let go of me and I fell to the ground.
"What was that?" I demanded. Chance had a hand against the wall. He was recovering too. He pushed his glasses back into place with his index finger. "I told you to relax." He went over to the door of the shelter. He took a deep breath with his hands in front of his heart. With his exhale he "pushed" an invisible something into the door and held his hands flat against it.
"It's ready for you, James." he instructed.
"You get my name from our 'exchange'."
"I got more than your name." he snapped back. I pulled myself up from the ground.
"What will it be like when I go in there?"
"I don't know. It's different for each person."
"You've never been in there?"
"The temperature dial doesn't go into the oven." I grimaced at the metaphor.
"What if I want to leave?"
"Just call out my name. I should be able to hear you."
"Should be able to?"
"Sometimes the trance is too strong. But that rarely happens. Don't worry about it. Shall we?" He gestured to the door.
"Okay...okay." I took a deep breath. He opened the door. I was in another place.
My father sat at this work bench. He looked exactly like I remembered him. With one hand he held a bottle and with the other a long pair of tweezers. He was assembling a ship. It was the Santa Maria. It would come to sit on the mantle piece above the fire place. Eventually, I would come home one night and in a drunken rage, throw it against the wall, completely shattering it. Mom would never talk to me the same way again. The tears welled up in my eyes and an enormous lump swelled in my throat. I found my hand in front of my face, knuckles at my nose and my thumb and index finger massaging my upper lip as my whole fist trembled.
"Chance." I managed to inaudibly squeak out, in a weak plea. It was already too much.
"James! I didn't hear you come in. Would you hand me a glass of water?" I went over and opened the cupboard next to the sink. I've not seen these glasses in almost a decade. A red plastic one from a Mr. Ghatty's Pizza. A commemorative Spider-Man Collector's cup picturing the Maximum Carnage crossover. Sarah's hand painted 5th grade art project cup, with flowers and the sun, smiling and wearing sun glasses. Then there was Dad's favorite glass. Tall and slender with divits along the center. It was from an old glass ware pattern we previously had and this was the sole surviving piece from the set.
I carried the glass to the refrigerator, flipped the switched to "crushed ice" and filled the glass half way, then flipped the switch to "chilled water." Focusing on the details on the kitchen gave me refuge from looking at him. It allowed me to collect myself. The water filled to the top and I stayed there stalling.
"James? Are you going to be much longer with the water?"
"C-" Another breath and I swallowed. "Coming." And I handed him the water.
"How was football practice? Is your arm better?"
"Yea, it's doing better." I just went along with it. I had no memory of hurting my arm at all.
"Good. You can help me build the addition next week."
"Sure. Looking forward to it." With that he put down the model, took off his glasses and gave me a hard look.
"You are awfully, agreeable. Did you fail Mr. Olsen's Chemistry test?"
"What do you mean?" I felt like an impostor in my own skin.
"There's always a fight with you to do chores unless you've done something. Out with it."
"Dad, there's nothing wrong." Only, that I was preparing to confront my dead father on something I'd been holding back for over half my life.
"Whatever it is James, I'm going to find out sooner or later. You mother or I will have to sign something. And don't you dare try to forge my signature again or you won't be going to Homecoming this year." I didn't want to bring it up yet. I wanted to linger in the past for just a little while longer. But then I remembered, I wasn't here to relive the past. I was here to say what needed to be said.
"You always were so damn sure of yourself."
"You had better watch your mouth, young man."
"I watched my mouth for years. We all did. We let you do whatever you wanted." I had always pictured this moment with me yelling at the top of my lungs, blunt at a hammer. But instead I found myself as the sarcastic passive aggressive teenager I was pretending to be.
"How dare you use that tone of voice with me James Mattheiu Mitchell. I am your father and you will give me the respect I deserve."
"How about you be the father that Mom, Sarah, and I deserved?"
"I don't care if your arm is still hurting, I will get my belt and give you so many lashings you'll be sleeping on your stomach for a month! I've worked 6 days a week for 20 years to give this family what it deserves--
"And to give the Olsen family what it deserves." With that he froze solid trying to make sense of it. "Yea, I know about that."
"What are you talking about?" he denied.
"Don't do that." I insisted.
"Look, I don't know what you think you know."
"Believe me. I know. We all did. But we will let you get away with it. Mom won't have the courage to confront you. She's... she's too scared she'll lose you. So she will play dumb for years until you finally do leave. You wait until Sarah goes to college. Then you finally go. And you tear this family apart. "
"James, whoever has contacted you is obviously trying to hurt this family. I don't know why--"
"Stop lying damnit!" I yelled louder than I ever have in my life. "Nicole Olsen in Hartford, Connecticut. She has a hair salon she owns and runs. You already have a son with her. In two years you'll have a daughter, too."
He was absolutely dumbfounded. People are very good at leading different roles in different situations. Some people would consider it a mask. They aren't necessarily lies but often are. But when person is forced to reconcile those contradictory parts, it's like having the identity ripped from your face.
"How do you know all of this?" he capitulated.
"Nicole contacted Mom. That confirmed it. But all the 'business' trips, that was when we first started to know."
"What about all that future stuff? The daughter and when I leave you?"
"You wouldn't understand."
"It's worth a shot."
"I didn't come back to explain. I came here to tell you what an asshole you are."
"Came here?"
"All the years you went back and forth, you weren't fooling anyone. Any reprimand you thought you were avoiding, and hell you thought you were escaping, by not getting caught, pretend that is a measurable tangible thing. And instead of you feeling it, the rest of us did. We suffered. But we kept it hidden, like you kept your secret family hidden. Only we were better at it."
He went over to his chair and sat. That chair was his throne. He was running away. Like he always did when he didn't have control. His eyes darted around. He started to speak, opening his mouth but then almost immediately closed it again.
"You don't have it in you to apologize. Never in my life have I seen you ever own up to anything."
"Get out." He weakly commanded. I scoffed.
"You know, I had always thought, given the chance, you'd have some explanation. Some saving grace that you just didn't say. But you don't. You are just a selfish coward of a man. This was a waste. I'm glad you left, you failure." He was still sitting on the chair staring into space.
"Chance. I'm ready." The door appeared and I went to escape once and for all. But I was interrupted.
"Wait. Please." With my hand on the knob, I still didn't look. I just waited, like he pleaded. My heart was pounding. I couldn't decide if I wanted to hear him or not. But I knew that if I left, I would always wonder. That's why I came here. I turned around. And now my father sitting in his thrown was 15 years older, the age when he died.
"I'm sorry for the way things turned out, James. You are right. I was a miserable failure. I failed you as a father. I was not a decent man. I indulged and I ran from my responsibilities. That's no excuse and I don't have any good explanation. But what I had with your mother was not a good situation and the life I was living was so far from what I needed, it ate at me until I had no soul. I made a choice when I met Nicole. For me it was the right choice even though it wasn't a good choice. But I want you to know James, I was always proud of you. I kept an eye on you. You made better choices than I did. And I'm very glad you turned out the way you did."
"Bullshit. If that were true then why didn't I ever see you again?"
"Because I was afraid of you. You were right. You always were. I ran from so much and if I ever saw you again, I'd have been forced to face it. I was a coward and I just couldn't take it. But for what it is worth I'm sorry." He started to leave up the stairs.
"Where are you going?"
"I don't think your friend Chance can give you any more time."
"Wait what? How do you know about--"
"You've only got a few seconds. You can just leave or maybe lay into me again. Or you can say good bye and let it go once and for all." I didn't expect any of this. I still couldn't forgive him. 2 minutes of an apology didn't undo a whole life of grief. But I couldn't be angry any more.
"Well, I understand. I don't deserve to be let of off the hook." He continued up the stairs again.
"Dad!"
"Yes, James?"
"I don't love you, but thank you." He smiled and left me for the second time.
I found myself outside the door lying on the floor. Chance helped me up.
"How'd it go? You get your money's worth?"
"Would it matter to you one way or the other?"
"No, not really." He adjusted his glasses again with his index finger. I dusted myself off.
"Tell me one thing, Chance."
"Yes?"
"What happened in there, was that what really would happen if I confronted my father," then clarifying "and then he came back several years older?" Chance looked perplexed.
"I mean, was it just purely in my head. Or were you just telling me what I needed to hear."
Chance took a moment, looked me up and down, gave a sideways grin and said, "James, I honestly have no idea."
I felt uncomfortable approaching him. Like I had no right to be there. I stood there waiting for him to look up from the paper. But he never did. I finally broke the silence "Are you Chance?"
"That is what people call me." He still did not look up. He simply turned the page of the news paper. I had hoped he would be more welcoming. I didn't know how to go about proposing the business I was there for. I felt foolish. I froze. Again, I expected him to interject or to alleviate the disturbance I had caused in his reading. But he just kept on with the paper. After another minute or so I inquired,
"I've been told you can...answer things."
"Yes. That is a way of putting it." I was relieved. If you have ever tried to buy pot from someone that you've only heard sells pot, you get very apprehensive when you approach them.
"You have the money?" he added still looking at the paper.
"Ye- yea. It's all here. You can count it." I handed him a sealed manila envelope. He took it and grabbed my hand as if we were shaking. But he was not giving me a salutation.
"It's all there. Follow me." He folded the news paper and tucked it up in his arm pit.
"How long were you waiting for me?"
"I wasn't waiting for you."
"Why were you sitting in an alley in the middle of the night?"
"I was stationed there. Now, if you please, I'd like to keep the conversations to a minimum. I was about to apologize but he sent me a glance which silenced me. As we continued through the alley for what seemed like an hour. Gradually the stench of the city seemed to sterilize. The smells of urine and garbage melted to nothing and then flourished into a pleasing aroma. Like an old cellar. We arrived at what I could only describe as a fallout shelter. But it looked like it was Egyptian. It was made of yellow and orange stone and pictures were carved into the wall.
"This is it?" I asked.
"This is it." He retorted. It dawned on me that he had been doing this for a long time.
"Give me your hands and close your eyes." Chance commanded. I hesitated. I expected him to sting me or something. But I knew I had no choice and did as he commanded.
"Connection is a two way street. Just relax and let them pass," he assured me as he grabbed my hands.
"Let what pa--?" But before I could finish I was bombarded with images. A burning barn, a mother giving birth, a girl tricker treating as a princess. The images accelerated. A dog run over, two women between the sheets, a man throwing over a table... faster and faster. Then Chance let go of me and I fell to the ground.
"What was that?" I demanded. Chance had a hand against the wall. He was recovering too. He pushed his glasses back into place with his index finger. "I told you to relax." He went over to the door of the shelter. He took a deep breath with his hands in front of his heart. With his exhale he "pushed" an invisible something into the door and held his hands flat against it.
"It's ready for you, James." he instructed.
"You get my name from our 'exchange'."
"I got more than your name." he snapped back. I pulled myself up from the ground.
"What will it be like when I go in there?"
"I don't know. It's different for each person."
"You've never been in there?"
"The temperature dial doesn't go into the oven." I grimaced at the metaphor.
"What if I want to leave?"
"Just call out my name. I should be able to hear you."
"Should be able to?"
"Sometimes the trance is too strong. But that rarely happens. Don't worry about it. Shall we?" He gestured to the door.
"Okay...okay." I took a deep breath. He opened the door. I was in another place.
My father sat at this work bench. He looked exactly like I remembered him. With one hand he held a bottle and with the other a long pair of tweezers. He was assembling a ship. It was the Santa Maria. It would come to sit on the mantle piece above the fire place. Eventually, I would come home one night and in a drunken rage, throw it against the wall, completely shattering it. Mom would never talk to me the same way again. The tears welled up in my eyes and an enormous lump swelled in my throat. I found my hand in front of my face, knuckles at my nose and my thumb and index finger massaging my upper lip as my whole fist trembled.
"Chance." I managed to inaudibly squeak out, in a weak plea. It was already too much.
"James! I didn't hear you come in. Would you hand me a glass of water?" I went over and opened the cupboard next to the sink. I've not seen these glasses in almost a decade. A red plastic one from a Mr. Ghatty's Pizza. A commemorative Spider-Man Collector's cup picturing the Maximum Carnage crossover. Sarah's hand painted 5th grade art project cup, with flowers and the sun, smiling and wearing sun glasses. Then there was Dad's favorite glass. Tall and slender with divits along the center. It was from an old glass ware pattern we previously had and this was the sole surviving piece from the set.
I carried the glass to the refrigerator, flipped the switched to "crushed ice" and filled the glass half way, then flipped the switch to "chilled water." Focusing on the details on the kitchen gave me refuge from looking at him. It allowed me to collect myself. The water filled to the top and I stayed there stalling.
"James? Are you going to be much longer with the water?"
"C-" Another breath and I swallowed. "Coming." And I handed him the water.
"How was football practice? Is your arm better?"
"Yea, it's doing better." I just went along with it. I had no memory of hurting my arm at all.
"Good. You can help me build the addition next week."
"Sure. Looking forward to it." With that he put down the model, took off his glasses and gave me a hard look.
"You are awfully, agreeable. Did you fail Mr. Olsen's Chemistry test?"
"What do you mean?" I felt like an impostor in my own skin.
"There's always a fight with you to do chores unless you've done something. Out with it."
"Dad, there's nothing wrong." Only, that I was preparing to confront my dead father on something I'd been holding back for over half my life.
"Whatever it is James, I'm going to find out sooner or later. You mother or I will have to sign something. And don't you dare try to forge my signature again or you won't be going to Homecoming this year." I didn't want to bring it up yet. I wanted to linger in the past for just a little while longer. But then I remembered, I wasn't here to relive the past. I was here to say what needed to be said.
"You always were so damn sure of yourself."
"You had better watch your mouth, young man."
"I watched my mouth for years. We all did. We let you do whatever you wanted." I had always pictured this moment with me yelling at the top of my lungs, blunt at a hammer. But instead I found myself as the sarcastic passive aggressive teenager I was pretending to be.
"How dare you use that tone of voice with me James Mattheiu Mitchell. I am your father and you will give me the respect I deserve."
"How about you be the father that Mom, Sarah, and I deserved?"
"I don't care if your arm is still hurting, I will get my belt and give you so many lashings you'll be sleeping on your stomach for a month! I've worked 6 days a week for 20 years to give this family what it deserves--
"And to give the Olsen family what it deserves." With that he froze solid trying to make sense of it. "Yea, I know about that."
"What are you talking about?" he denied.
"Don't do that." I insisted.
"Look, I don't know what you think you know."
"Believe me. I know. We all did. But we will let you get away with it. Mom won't have the courage to confront you. She's... she's too scared she'll lose you. So she will play dumb for years until you finally do leave. You wait until Sarah goes to college. Then you finally go. And you tear this family apart. "
"James, whoever has contacted you is obviously trying to hurt this family. I don't know why--"
"Stop lying damnit!" I yelled louder than I ever have in my life. "Nicole Olsen in Hartford, Connecticut. She has a hair salon she owns and runs. You already have a son with her. In two years you'll have a daughter, too."
He was absolutely dumbfounded. People are very good at leading different roles in different situations. Some people would consider it a mask. They aren't necessarily lies but often are. But when person is forced to reconcile those contradictory parts, it's like having the identity ripped from your face.
"How do you know all of this?" he capitulated.
"Nicole contacted Mom. That confirmed it. But all the 'business' trips, that was when we first started to know."
"What about all that future stuff? The daughter and when I leave you?"
"You wouldn't understand."
"It's worth a shot."
"I didn't come back to explain. I came here to tell you what an asshole you are."
"Came here?"
"All the years you went back and forth, you weren't fooling anyone. Any reprimand you thought you were avoiding, and hell you thought you were escaping, by not getting caught, pretend that is a measurable tangible thing. And instead of you feeling it, the rest of us did. We suffered. But we kept it hidden, like you kept your secret family hidden. Only we were better at it."
He went over to his chair and sat. That chair was his throne. He was running away. Like he always did when he didn't have control. His eyes darted around. He started to speak, opening his mouth but then almost immediately closed it again.
"You don't have it in you to apologize. Never in my life have I seen you ever own up to anything."
"Get out." He weakly commanded. I scoffed.
"You know, I had always thought, given the chance, you'd have some explanation. Some saving grace that you just didn't say. But you don't. You are just a selfish coward of a man. This was a waste. I'm glad you left, you failure." He was still sitting on the chair staring into space.
"Chance. I'm ready." The door appeared and I went to escape once and for all. But I was interrupted.
"Wait. Please." With my hand on the knob, I still didn't look. I just waited, like he pleaded. My heart was pounding. I couldn't decide if I wanted to hear him or not. But I knew that if I left, I would always wonder. That's why I came here. I turned around. And now my father sitting in his thrown was 15 years older, the age when he died.
"I'm sorry for the way things turned out, James. You are right. I was a miserable failure. I failed you as a father. I was not a decent man. I indulged and I ran from my responsibilities. That's no excuse and I don't have any good explanation. But what I had with your mother was not a good situation and the life I was living was so far from what I needed, it ate at me until I had no soul. I made a choice when I met Nicole. For me it was the right choice even though it wasn't a good choice. But I want you to know James, I was always proud of you. I kept an eye on you. You made better choices than I did. And I'm very glad you turned out the way you did."
"Bullshit. If that were true then why didn't I ever see you again?"
"Because I was afraid of you. You were right. You always were. I ran from so much and if I ever saw you again, I'd have been forced to face it. I was a coward and I just couldn't take it. But for what it is worth I'm sorry." He started to leave up the stairs.
"Where are you going?"
"I don't think your friend Chance can give you any more time."
"Wait what? How do you know about--"
"You've only got a few seconds. You can just leave or maybe lay into me again. Or you can say good bye and let it go once and for all." I didn't expect any of this. I still couldn't forgive him. 2 minutes of an apology didn't undo a whole life of grief. But I couldn't be angry any more.
"Well, I understand. I don't deserve to be let of off the hook." He continued up the stairs again.
"Dad!"
"Yes, James?"
"I don't love you, but thank you." He smiled and left me for the second time.
I found myself outside the door lying on the floor. Chance helped me up.
"How'd it go? You get your money's worth?"
"Would it matter to you one way or the other?"
"No, not really." He adjusted his glasses again with his index finger. I dusted myself off.
"Tell me one thing, Chance."
"Yes?"
"What happened in there, was that what really would happen if I confronted my father," then clarifying "and then he came back several years older?" Chance looked perplexed.
"I mean, was it just purely in my head. Or were you just telling me what I needed to hear."
Chance took a moment, looked me up and down, gave a sideways grin and said, "James, I honestly have no idea."
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Finding the Sun.
This is something I wrote 2-3 years ago. It's one of my favorite things I've ever written. I thought I'd throw it up here.
My mind, my resolve, my future, withering away bit by bit till it is nothing more than a puddle reflecting a mountain of potential it once was.
I take another drag of my cigarette. It is 30 minutes till places and I've had my 3rd cigarette of the day after downing my Red Bull. Daniel is smoking with me. We are talking about Battlestar Galactica. If I were the actor I wished I was, I'd be in the dressing room reviewing my actions, finding my emotional cues to memory to make my moments hit like they should. But I am not the actor I was trained to me. To be honest I frankly don't have the desire any more. It is probably because I simply don't have the talent. If I had the want and the will, talent wouldn't matter as much. But a lack of appreciation for my perception of the art has left me frustratingly stabbing in the dark. No bullseye leaves me aimless and drifting. I don't want fame anymore. The mythological exhilaration of the stage is a joke to me. I once believed whole heartedly that it existed but I really don't anymore. And that is the scary truth. I'd much rather have the money. But since I have left college I no longer have a path drawn for me which will train me to make money. My sister was right. I should have gotten a business degree. I should have minored in theatre or art or what it was I thought I wanted.
Daniel is talking about something he thinks is profound. It is meaningless as I have already thought of it and I already know where he is going with it. He bores me, but his attention is comforting. He makes big hand gestures and widens his eyes as he talks about something that minutes later I will completely forget. I inhale my cigarette smoke as if it were pot and I hold it a little too long. Maybe the nicotine will give me the fix my body wants but it doesn't. I've never really like nicotine. My body likes THC. But I must spare my body of such things. I'm trying to clean myself up.
Daniel seems so hackneyed to me now. Jesus he's silly. And in 27 minutes I have to love him in front of an audience. I must be rejected and stare in to his eyes longing his comfort and love. Even though on stage he will never give me the slighted bit of love or even tempting love. Daniel will play the end of the play through the beginning, middle, and end. It frustrates the fucking hell out of me. But now it is my job to find a part of myself that loves him. I pretend his eye movements are charming. I will take in his half smirk which I know is filled with discontentment and dissatisfaction and pretend it is cute and something to long for even though in actuality I find it pathetic. Any moment I can make any contact with him I will treat as a drop of water in the desert and drink in it. It is all I know how to do and it frustrates me.
We finish our cigarettes and go inside to the dressing room. Daniel goes to his Ipod to listen depressing music so he can reach an emotional state. I go to mine but for different reasons. Well for the same reason but a slightly different approach. I am under the impression he is trying to achieve an emotional state. I on the other hand am trying to establish character. The difference is slight but important. Abigail is talking with Cordialia. Abigale and I have virtually no connection which I guess works because our characters don't either. But I chop that up to me not having done sufficient work on our relationship. It was a fucking 45 page play. Why didn't I do the sufficient homework? This is another sign this line of work isn't for me. I scroll through my Ipod and find Happy Hardcore Vol 7 and listen to the techno song 'follow me.'
In the basement dressing room there are 11 people. Eight from my show, two from the next show and our stage manager Penelope. I don't know why Penelope is down here instead of doing stage manager stuff. Daniel runs out of the room. He seems to do much of the administrative work since he works at the theatre. Work the stage manager should be doing I guess. I pull out a letter from an ex-girlfriend. Not really a girlfriend, since we were never official. But the letter commands an emotional response none the less. It was a break up later, my only window into the logic and mind of someone who didn't feel I was good enough to be with them. I study specific sentences, wording, and syntax looking for clues to a deeper meaning or key to avoiding future unhappiness. I replace her voice with Daniel's. I change subtle phrasing to fit the situation of the play. The effect is a subtle mental state slightly different. I wonder if it makes any difference in the slightest.
Penelope announces 15 minutes to places, but we may hold an extra 5 for the audience. I try to keep in the mindset of my character but it just won't stick. I think about the problems of work, food I want to eat, and what I plan to do when I get home rather than the lovesick longing or the marriage doomed escapistic mentalities of my character. I tell myself once again I'm in the wrong business. The 10 other people in the room continue to chat and joke. I wonder why they don't struggle like I do. Soon I will start to do physical exercise. Partially to get into character as who I am playing cares much about his looks but mostly because before the play starts, six of us have to wait outside in 40 degree weather in beach clothes outside the theatre, endure an 8 minute introduction by our stage manager then enter as if it were a fun sunny day at the beach. This is the trouble with doing Albee's Finding the Sun in Seattle during February.
It is now 8:05. The play should have started five minutes ago, but we are still waiting on people who have purchased tickets but not yet arrived. I've run out of warm up exercises. Each moment that passes feels like atrophy. We are getting antsy, which means the audience is getting antsy. An antsy audience means an uncomfortable audience. The audience makes or breaks the show. I can tell if it will be a good show or not in five minutes of curtain. If they laugh at Henden's “Oh the sun” a senile realization of what everyone else is clear on it will be a good show. If they don't, we are in for a hard time. Finally Penelope comes down and tells us places. Daniel, Edmee, Cordila, Gertrude, Abigail, and Fergus rush to places. Henden goes to the bathroom. If I go to places knowing that Henden might not make it I will be nervous. So I stay behind in the dressing room and do fifty push-ups. JD and Alex remain in the dressing room and tell me to breath as I do the push ups. Their show does not start until our ends. They have to be there early for fight call. As I said before the push ups make me look a little better, but I do them do keep warm. The minute I step outside from the downstairs dressing room I will have to wait outside the doors of the upstairs performance space.
Fifty. My heart is pounding and I am warm. Henden finally makes it out of the rest room. We still have several minutes as Penelope is still making announcements. I take one last good look at Daniel. I drink in what ever it is he is doing and pretend to cherish it as pure love. He opens the door. It is time to start the show. I wish I had gone to the restroom.
I take another drag of my cigarette. It is 30 minutes till places and I've had my 3rd cigarette of the day after downing my Red Bull. Daniel is smoking with me. We are talking about Battlestar Galactica. If I were the actor I wished I was, I'd be in the dressing room reviewing my actions, finding my emotional cues to memory to make my moments hit like they should. But I am not the actor I was trained to me. To be honest I frankly don't have the desire any more. It is probably because I simply don't have the talent. If I had the want and the will, talent wouldn't matter as much. But a lack of appreciation for my perception of the art has left me frustratingly stabbing in the dark. No bullseye leaves me aimless and drifting. I don't want fame anymore. The mythological exhilaration of the stage is a joke to me. I once believed whole heartedly that it existed but I really don't anymore. And that is the scary truth. I'd much rather have the money. But since I have left college I no longer have a path drawn for me which will train me to make money. My sister was right. I should have gotten a business degree. I should have minored in theatre or art or what it was I thought I wanted.
Daniel is talking about something he thinks is profound. It is meaningless as I have already thought of it and I already know where he is going with it. He bores me, but his attention is comforting. He makes big hand gestures and widens his eyes as he talks about something that minutes later I will completely forget. I inhale my cigarette smoke as if it were pot and I hold it a little too long. Maybe the nicotine will give me the fix my body wants but it doesn't. I've never really like nicotine. My body likes THC. But I must spare my body of such things. I'm trying to clean myself up.
Daniel seems so hackneyed to me now. Jesus he's silly. And in 27 minutes I have to love him in front of an audience. I must be rejected and stare in to his eyes longing his comfort and love. Even though on stage he will never give me the slighted bit of love or even tempting love. Daniel will play the end of the play through the beginning, middle, and end. It frustrates the fucking hell out of me. But now it is my job to find a part of myself that loves him. I pretend his eye movements are charming. I will take in his half smirk which I know is filled with discontentment and dissatisfaction and pretend it is cute and something to long for even though in actuality I find it pathetic. Any moment I can make any contact with him I will treat as a drop of water in the desert and drink in it. It is all I know how to do and it frustrates me.
We finish our cigarettes and go inside to the dressing room. Daniel goes to his Ipod to listen depressing music so he can reach an emotional state. I go to mine but for different reasons. Well for the same reason but a slightly different approach. I am under the impression he is trying to achieve an emotional state. I on the other hand am trying to establish character. The difference is slight but important. Abigail is talking with Cordialia. Abigale and I have virtually no connection which I guess works because our characters don't either. But I chop that up to me not having done sufficient work on our relationship. It was a fucking 45 page play. Why didn't I do the sufficient homework? This is another sign this line of work isn't for me. I scroll through my Ipod and find Happy Hardcore Vol 7 and listen to the techno song 'follow me.'
In the basement dressing room there are 11 people. Eight from my show, two from the next show and our stage manager Penelope. I don't know why Penelope is down here instead of doing stage manager stuff. Daniel runs out of the room. He seems to do much of the administrative work since he works at the theatre. Work the stage manager should be doing I guess. I pull out a letter from an ex-girlfriend. Not really a girlfriend, since we were never official. But the letter commands an emotional response none the less. It was a break up later, my only window into the logic and mind of someone who didn't feel I was good enough to be with them. I study specific sentences, wording, and syntax looking for clues to a deeper meaning or key to avoiding future unhappiness. I replace her voice with Daniel's. I change subtle phrasing to fit the situation of the play. The effect is a subtle mental state slightly different. I wonder if it makes any difference in the slightest.
Penelope announces 15 minutes to places, but we may hold an extra 5 for the audience. I try to keep in the mindset of my character but it just won't stick. I think about the problems of work, food I want to eat, and what I plan to do when I get home rather than the lovesick longing or the marriage doomed escapistic mentalities of my character. I tell myself once again I'm in the wrong business. The 10 other people in the room continue to chat and joke. I wonder why they don't struggle like I do. Soon I will start to do physical exercise. Partially to get into character as who I am playing cares much about his looks but mostly because before the play starts, six of us have to wait outside in 40 degree weather in beach clothes outside the theatre, endure an 8 minute introduction by our stage manager then enter as if it were a fun sunny day at the beach. This is the trouble with doing Albee's Finding the Sun in Seattle during February.
It is now 8:05. The play should have started five minutes ago, but we are still waiting on people who have purchased tickets but not yet arrived. I've run out of warm up exercises. Each moment that passes feels like atrophy. We are getting antsy, which means the audience is getting antsy. An antsy audience means an uncomfortable audience. The audience makes or breaks the show. I can tell if it will be a good show or not in five minutes of curtain. If they laugh at Henden's “Oh the sun” a senile realization of what everyone else is clear on it will be a good show. If they don't, we are in for a hard time. Finally Penelope comes down and tells us places. Daniel, Edmee, Cordila, Gertrude, Abigail, and Fergus rush to places. Henden goes to the bathroom. If I go to places knowing that Henden might not make it I will be nervous. So I stay behind in the dressing room and do fifty push-ups. JD and Alex remain in the dressing room and tell me to breath as I do the push ups. Their show does not start until our ends. They have to be there early for fight call. As I said before the push ups make me look a little better, but I do them do keep warm. The minute I step outside from the downstairs dressing room I will have to wait outside the doors of the upstairs performance space.
Fifty. My heart is pounding and I am warm. Henden finally makes it out of the rest room. We still have several minutes as Penelope is still making announcements. I take one last good look at Daniel. I drink in what ever it is he is doing and pretend to cherish it as pure love. He opens the door. It is time to start the show. I wish I had gone to the restroom.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Hold Up.
This is a scene I wrote a while ago when I first started writing seriously. Thought I'd throw it up here.
Hold up.
Scene 1
Corner bus stop. 6 am on a Saturday. Eerily deserted. An overcast day. It is chilly but not cold. Upon lights up, we see Victor staring down the street anticipating a bus. He is a man in his early 30. He checks his watch.
Victor: Damnit!
He paces a bit, all the while keeping his attention on the very spot the bus will turn the corner and then will be visible. Michael appears strolling to the bus stop. He is well dressed, the same or similar age to Victor.
Michael: Hi.
Victor: Hey.
Michael: The 46 come by yet? His attention now is also on the horizon, but he is more at ease than Victor. Also Michael only glances at the horizon from time to time, his attention is less focused and more relaxed.
Victor: Yea I think so.
Michael: It could just be late.
Victor: It’s 15 minutes already.
Michael: I’ve seen later.
Victor: Yea?
Michael: A bus can break down.
Victor: Well I don’t see anyone around. Usually means it came.
Michael: Not this early. Especially on a Saturday. (Yawns)
A few moments of silences as Michael sits at the bench. He takes out a cigarette. Victor remains fixed. Michael searches his pockets.
Michael: Shit. You don’t have a light do you?
Victor: Huh?
Michael: A light? Indicates the cigarette.
Victor: Oh, yea. Victor goes over to Michael on the bench.
Michael: Thanks. Lights the cigarette. Offers Victor one.
Victor: Uh..um. No I don’t think so.
Michael: Ok. Thanks. Returns the lighter.
Victor walks a few steps to the curb, closer than he has been.
Michael: You quit?
Victor: Trying.
Michael: I’ve done that a few times. But I always come back. I fall apart at work if I don’t have one.
Victor chuckles.
Michael: Oh yea? You know the feeling?
Victor: Oh God yes.
Michael stabs out the cigarette.
Michael: I never finish.
Michael takes out a flask. Victor tries not to stare.
Michael: I just take a sip. We all are flawed individuals. My ritual. I smoke half a cigarette and wash my mouth out. Indicates with flask. When I start the day, again at lunch, and once more before I leave.
Victor is skeptical.
Michael: It’s better than a gallon of coffee. At my office, there’s this perky obsessive woman who never drinks water. Just coffee. Constantly. We have a pool going for the day her heart explodes.
Victor laughs.
Michael: Breakfast of champions? Extends flask.
(Beat.)
Michael: It’s time to face the fact you’re catching the next bus.
Victor is almost broken.
Michael: What are you going to do for the next 40 minutes?
Victor accepts the flask.
Michael: I’m Michael.
Victor: Victor. Takes a sip. Oh my god. Is this a single malt?
Michael: You know your Scotch.
Victor: You kidding me? (Beat.) Something’s different about this one.
Michael: I tricked you. It’s not a Scotch actually. It is a Japanese Whiskey. Suntory Yamazaki. 18 year.
Victor: Yes! It won the Double Gold at the San Fran Spirits in ‘05.
Michael: You’ve had it before?
Victor: No, but we serve it at my restaurant. It’s $110 a bottle.
Michael: Waiter?
Victor: Living the dream. You drink this every day.
Michael: Well, not always this one. But it is Saturday.
Victor: Yea, why are you going into work on a Saturday?
Michael: Middle managers fucked up a big account.
Victor: What do you do?
Michael: I oversee the downtown branch of Meisner Millers and Gold.
Victor nods.
Michael: It’s a financial firm.
Victor: Oh! Nice.
Michael: Has its perks. Which restaurant?
Victor: The Market Grill.
Michael: On 6th right?
Victor: That’s the place.
Michael: They do breakfast now?
Victor: Brunch. But they start really early.
Michael: Ah.
Michael: How’s waiting tables?
Victor: It was nice when I was 22.
Michael: Tips good? Market Grill’s a nice place.
Victor: It used to be enough.
Michael: What do you really do?
Victor: Excuse me?
Michael: No one just waits tables. You an actor?
Victor: (chuckles) No.
Michael: Not a painter. I’d have to guess Musician.
Victor: How’d you know?
Michael: You’ve been rhythmically tapping you thigh.
Victor: I’m a terrible poker player.
Michael: You got any gig’s coming up?
Victor: No not really.
Michael: Got a CD?
Victor: An old one. Self produced. Got tired of standing on the street.
Michael: What guitar did you have?
Victor: A Fender Stratocaster. I had a generous uncle. But I sold it.
Michael: What? Why?
Victor: Sometimes you just gotta face facts…
Michael: Sometimes you just gotta wait for the next bus.
Victor: Sometimes you gotta get off a sinking ship.
Michael: So what’s next?
Victor: I… don‘t know.
Michael: You ever thought about job in finance?
Victor: At a place like yours?
Michael: Sure.
Victor: Haha. That will be the day.
Michael: Why not?
Victor: I don’t have MBA.
Michael: You wouldn’t be a manager anytime soon, but brokers make good commission. Learning the ropes doesn’t take long.
Victor: Are you offering me a job?
Michael: Thought cross my mind.
Victor: Why would you want me to be a financial broker? You don’t even know me.
Michael: There are certain types of people who tend to do well in finance. I am where I am because I’m good at spotting them.
Victor: Are you scouting?
Michael: Always. In an job interview I can tell in 30 seconds. The best ones don’t need 10 seconds of financial training. And an MBA from an Ivy League, doesn’t guarantee people skills.
Victor: I’ve got people skills. What do brokers usually take home?
Michael: Starting? About a “k” a week. That can triple.
Victor: And you’re considering taking a chance on me?
Michael: Why don’t we walk over to 32nd and we’ll get a cab downtown? Chat on the ride. I’ll ask you some question, but I think I know what I need to. Then I’ll have the cab drop you at your restaurant.
Victor: Umm… beats waiting for the bus.
End of Scene 1.
Scene 2
The men walk. Victor has Michael’s flask in his hand. Both men are jovial.
Michael: …but the dog has peed all over the rug, the vase is shattered to shit, and Molly just looks at me with these laser beam eyes. All I can say is, “I told you I’m afraid of spiders.”
Both men burst out laughing.
Victor: I’ve read tabloids more plausible than that.
Michael: I shit you not.
Victor: My god. No idea what I’d do in that situation.
Michael: Michael search his pockets Oh shit..
Victor: What?
Michael: I left my wallet back at my condo. Got my check book and my keys. I could have sworn…
Victor: So what now?
Michael: The taxis are cash only. Why don’t you pick up the cab and I’ll write you a check?
Victor: I barely have enough for lunch. You have your cards?
Michael: In my wallet. There’s an ATM across the street.
Victor: You know, I think the next bus is almost here.
Michael: The cab is 20 bucks tops. I’ll write you a check for $50. Inconvenience fee. Takes out check book. He is filling out the check as he is talking. What is your last name Victor?
Victor: Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.
Michael: What? You don’t think the check will clear?
Victor: It’s not that, thanks for the walk…but I don’t feel right.
Michael: Just a cab ride. If you don’t like the check, we can go to my office. I’ve got cash there.
Victor: Here’s a thought, just give me your business card and I’ll call you. I’m late enough as it is.
Michael: That’s why we should cab.
Victor: I’m sorry I have a thing about cabs.
Michael: Why are you being all weird?
Victor: I’d rather take the bus. It’s nothing…it’s not you…
Michael: Victor.
Victor: Yea?
Michael: I think you’d better go over to that ATM.
Victor: Why is that?
Michael Reveals gun in holster.
Victor: Fuck.
Michael: That’s right.
Victor: I don’t know what you are thinking but I’m not going to an ATM.
Michael: Do you want to test me?
Victor: Look I’m just going to grab my wallet. See, I’ve got 15 dollars in here, That’s it.
Michael: Give me the wallet.
(Beat)
Michael: Debit card.
Victor: You think I have any more in the bank?
Michael: It’s worth looking.
Victor: I’m a waiter. How much do you think I have?
Michael: Let’s do a balance inquiry. If you have less than 50 bucks, you can go.
Victor: Gives Michael the wallet. Why are you doing this to me? You were drinking $110 whiskey?
Michael: You don’t know shit about whiskey. Inspects wallet. Victor Evans.
Victor: You know, the most you can take out is $300?
Michael: You’ve got two ATM cards here. Who is Eloise Marshall and why do you have her bank card?
Victor: She’s no one.
Michael: Did you steal your ex‘s bank card?
Victor: I don’t know the PIN to that one.
Michael: We’ll see.
They walk a bit in silence.
Victor: Does the bus stop con work a lot?
Michael: Well enough on pathetic chumps?
Victor: I’m pathetic?
Michael: Yes sir.
Victor: Why because I’m 30 and I wait tables?
Michael: If that’s all you are doing, yes.
Victor: You are so full of shit.
Michael: Do you really want to antagonize me?
Victor: I need this money, Michael.
Michael: I do too, Victor.
Victor: I really need it.
Michael: Too bad. They arrive at the atm. Step right up. Show me that balance.
Victor goes to the ATM and inserts card. After a few moments, the money dispenses as does a receipt.
Victor: Here. Hands Michael the money. Michael counts it.
Michael: It’s only $240. Victor hands him the receipt.
Victor: Remaining balance: Two dollars, thirty four cents. Thanks.
Michael: Fair enough.
Victor: Okay. We done?
Michael: Victor?
Victor: What?
Michael: The other card.
Victor: You’ve got $240. Let’s just leave it at that and part ways.
Michael pulls out the pistol, cocks it, and aims it at Victor.
Michael: Put the card in the machine, Victor.
Victor puts the card in the machine. Then does nothing.
Michael: What are you waiting for?
Victor: It’s not my money.
Michael: I don’t care.
Victor: I don’t know the code.
Michael: I’m not going to ask you again.
Victor: What do you want me to do?
Michael: I want you to stop lying to me and use the card.
Victor: I’m lying?
Michael: You don’t believe I’ll shoot you in the knee cap.
Victor: I can’t tell you something I don’t know!
Michael: Then why do you have the card Victor?
Beat
Michael: Well? Did she give it to you? Did you steal it?
Victor: No it’s--
Michael: You wouldn’t have it on you if you didn’t know the PIN.
Victor is stumped.
Michael: So unless you can tell me why you really have this card, I’ll find your little girlfriend Eloise, and I’ll get her to tell me the PIN.
Victor: It’s 2 3 10.
Michael puts his gun away, goes over to the ATM, sprays something on the camera. Enters PIN.
Michael: Thank you, Victor.
Victor: Please don’t do this.
Michael: You can go now.
Victor: Eloise Marshall isn’t my girlfriend.
Michael: Try match.com
Victor: She’s my daughter’s mother.
Michael looks at Victor.
Victor: And she’s trusting me.
Michael: Ok.
Victor: You‘re right. I’m pathetic. Three months ago it was a miracle if I stayed the whole day sober. I’ve let down my parents, my friends, everyone. Keeping a job for more than 6 months is a monument. Then Diana was born.
Michael: 2-3-10?
Victor: Now Eloise doesn’t like me very much. I did a lot of not nice things to her. But she has the mercy of an angel and the faith of a nun. She wants her daughter to grow up with her father. But he can’t be pathetic. He has worth something. So instead of going to court and making me pay child support, she gave me one last chance.
I put 200 dollars in her account every week. I have to ability to take money out. But I won’t because the card in that machine is trust. The most important trust that has ever been given to me. I value it more than my guitar, more than the whiskey, more than my freedom.
Yes, you could walk with this money, and I could tell her what happened, that you robbed me. She might accept it. And she might forgive me. But deep down, I will have lost the last ounce of trust she ever gave me. She will always wonder if I just lied to her again or that I was hanging out in the wrong part of town, practically asking to be robbed. She will begin to close me out. She will never fully let me into Diana’s life ever again. That’s what you will be stealing from me Michael, or whatever your name is. If you have any decency, any sympathy, please let me keep this.
(A moment.)
Michael: You have a picture of her?
Victor: Yea. It is in the wallet. In the insert.
Michael takes a good hard look at the picture.
Michael: She’s pretty.
Victor: You have no idea.
Michael ejects the card from the machine.
Michael: Alright. I’m going to buy this picture from you. Here’s $240. Puts the money and cards back into the wallet. And here’s Eloise’s card back.
Victor: You know I’d really rather you di--
Michael: I can keep the $240.
Victor: Never mind.
Michael hands the wallet back to Victor.
Michael: Now, get out of here.
Victor: Thank you.
Victor runs off. Michael looks at the picture for a moment then take out a cell phone.
Michael: Yea. Percy? No, not yet. I swear to God by tomorrow. No that’s not necessary. Please…you know me.
Black Out.
Hold up.
Scene 1
Corner bus stop. 6 am on a Saturday. Eerily deserted. An overcast day. It is chilly but not cold. Upon lights up, we see Victor staring down the street anticipating a bus. He is a man in his early 30. He checks his watch.
Victor: Damnit!
He paces a bit, all the while keeping his attention on the very spot the bus will turn the corner and then will be visible. Michael appears strolling to the bus stop. He is well dressed, the same or similar age to Victor.
Michael: Hi.
Victor: Hey.
Michael: The 46 come by yet? His attention now is also on the horizon, but he is more at ease than Victor. Also Michael only glances at the horizon from time to time, his attention is less focused and more relaxed.
Victor: Yea I think so.
Michael: It could just be late.
Victor: It’s 15 minutes already.
Michael: I’ve seen later.
Victor: Yea?
Michael: A bus can break down.
Victor: Well I don’t see anyone around. Usually means it came.
Michael: Not this early. Especially on a Saturday. (Yawns)
A few moments of silences as Michael sits at the bench. He takes out a cigarette. Victor remains fixed. Michael searches his pockets.
Michael: Shit. You don’t have a light do you?
Victor: Huh?
Michael: A light? Indicates the cigarette.
Victor: Oh, yea. Victor goes over to Michael on the bench.
Michael: Thanks. Lights the cigarette. Offers Victor one.
Victor: Uh..um. No I don’t think so.
Michael: Ok. Thanks. Returns the lighter.
Victor walks a few steps to the curb, closer than he has been.
Michael: You quit?
Victor: Trying.
Michael: I’ve done that a few times. But I always come back. I fall apart at work if I don’t have one.
Victor chuckles.
Michael: Oh yea? You know the feeling?
Victor: Oh God yes.
Michael stabs out the cigarette.
Michael: I never finish.
Michael takes out a flask. Victor tries not to stare.
Michael: I just take a sip. We all are flawed individuals. My ritual. I smoke half a cigarette and wash my mouth out. Indicates with flask. When I start the day, again at lunch, and once more before I leave.
Victor is skeptical.
Michael: It’s better than a gallon of coffee. At my office, there’s this perky obsessive woman who never drinks water. Just coffee. Constantly. We have a pool going for the day her heart explodes.
Victor laughs.
Michael: Breakfast of champions? Extends flask.
(Beat.)
Michael: It’s time to face the fact you’re catching the next bus.
Victor is almost broken.
Michael: What are you going to do for the next 40 minutes?
Victor accepts the flask.
Michael: I’m Michael.
Victor: Victor. Takes a sip. Oh my god. Is this a single malt?
Michael: You know your Scotch.
Victor: You kidding me? (Beat.) Something’s different about this one.
Michael: I tricked you. It’s not a Scotch actually. It is a Japanese Whiskey. Suntory Yamazaki. 18 year.
Victor: Yes! It won the Double Gold at the San Fran Spirits in ‘05.
Michael: You’ve had it before?
Victor: No, but we serve it at my restaurant. It’s $110 a bottle.
Michael: Waiter?
Victor: Living the dream. You drink this every day.
Michael: Well, not always this one. But it is Saturday.
Victor: Yea, why are you going into work on a Saturday?
Michael: Middle managers fucked up a big account.
Victor: What do you do?
Michael: I oversee the downtown branch of Meisner Millers and Gold.
Victor nods.
Michael: It’s a financial firm.
Victor: Oh! Nice.
Michael: Has its perks. Which restaurant?
Victor: The Market Grill.
Michael: On 6th right?
Victor: That’s the place.
Michael: They do breakfast now?
Victor: Brunch. But they start really early.
Michael: Ah.
Michael: How’s waiting tables?
Victor: It was nice when I was 22.
Michael: Tips good? Market Grill’s a nice place.
Victor: It used to be enough.
Michael: What do you really do?
Victor: Excuse me?
Michael: No one just waits tables. You an actor?
Victor: (chuckles) No.
Michael: Not a painter. I’d have to guess Musician.
Victor: How’d you know?
Michael: You’ve been rhythmically tapping you thigh.
Victor: I’m a terrible poker player.
Michael: You got any gig’s coming up?
Victor: No not really.
Michael: Got a CD?
Victor: An old one. Self produced. Got tired of standing on the street.
Michael: What guitar did you have?
Victor: A Fender Stratocaster. I had a generous uncle. But I sold it.
Michael: What? Why?
Victor: Sometimes you just gotta face facts…
Michael: Sometimes you just gotta wait for the next bus.
Victor: Sometimes you gotta get off a sinking ship.
Michael: So what’s next?
Victor: I… don‘t know.
Michael: You ever thought about job in finance?
Victor: At a place like yours?
Michael: Sure.
Victor: Haha. That will be the day.
Michael: Why not?
Victor: I don’t have MBA.
Michael: You wouldn’t be a manager anytime soon, but brokers make good commission. Learning the ropes doesn’t take long.
Victor: Are you offering me a job?
Michael: Thought cross my mind.
Victor: Why would you want me to be a financial broker? You don’t even know me.
Michael: There are certain types of people who tend to do well in finance. I am where I am because I’m good at spotting them.
Victor: Are you scouting?
Michael: Always. In an job interview I can tell in 30 seconds. The best ones don’t need 10 seconds of financial training. And an MBA from an Ivy League, doesn’t guarantee people skills.
Victor: I’ve got people skills. What do brokers usually take home?
Michael: Starting? About a “k” a week. That can triple.
Victor: And you’re considering taking a chance on me?
Michael: Why don’t we walk over to 32nd and we’ll get a cab downtown? Chat on the ride. I’ll ask you some question, but I think I know what I need to. Then I’ll have the cab drop you at your restaurant.
Victor: Umm… beats waiting for the bus.
End of Scene 1.
Scene 2
The men walk. Victor has Michael’s flask in his hand. Both men are jovial.
Michael: …but the dog has peed all over the rug, the vase is shattered to shit, and Molly just looks at me with these laser beam eyes. All I can say is, “I told you I’m afraid of spiders.”
Both men burst out laughing.
Victor: I’ve read tabloids more plausible than that.
Michael: I shit you not.
Victor: My god. No idea what I’d do in that situation.
Michael: Michael search his pockets Oh shit..
Victor: What?
Michael: I left my wallet back at my condo. Got my check book and my keys. I could have sworn…
Victor: So what now?
Michael: The taxis are cash only. Why don’t you pick up the cab and I’ll write you a check?
Victor: I barely have enough for lunch. You have your cards?
Michael: In my wallet. There’s an ATM across the street.
Victor: You know, I think the next bus is almost here.
Michael: The cab is 20 bucks tops. I’ll write you a check for $50. Inconvenience fee. Takes out check book. He is filling out the check as he is talking. What is your last name Victor?
Victor: Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.
Michael: What? You don’t think the check will clear?
Victor: It’s not that, thanks for the walk…but I don’t feel right.
Michael: Just a cab ride. If you don’t like the check, we can go to my office. I’ve got cash there.
Victor: Here’s a thought, just give me your business card and I’ll call you. I’m late enough as it is.
Michael: That’s why we should cab.
Victor: I’m sorry I have a thing about cabs.
Michael: Why are you being all weird?
Victor: I’d rather take the bus. It’s nothing…it’s not you…
Michael: Victor.
Victor: Yea?
Michael: I think you’d better go over to that ATM.
Victor: Why is that?
Michael Reveals gun in holster.
Victor: Fuck.
Michael: That’s right.
Victor: I don’t know what you are thinking but I’m not going to an ATM.
Michael: Do you want to test me?
Victor: Look I’m just going to grab my wallet. See, I’ve got 15 dollars in here, That’s it.
Michael: Give me the wallet.
(Beat)
Michael: Debit card.
Victor: You think I have any more in the bank?
Michael: It’s worth looking.
Victor: I’m a waiter. How much do you think I have?
Michael: Let’s do a balance inquiry. If you have less than 50 bucks, you can go.
Victor: Gives Michael the wallet. Why are you doing this to me? You were drinking $110 whiskey?
Michael: You don’t know shit about whiskey. Inspects wallet. Victor Evans.
Victor: You know, the most you can take out is $300?
Michael: You’ve got two ATM cards here. Who is Eloise Marshall and why do you have her bank card?
Victor: She’s no one.
Michael: Did you steal your ex‘s bank card?
Victor: I don’t know the PIN to that one.
Michael: We’ll see.
They walk a bit in silence.
Victor: Does the bus stop con work a lot?
Michael: Well enough on pathetic chumps?
Victor: I’m pathetic?
Michael: Yes sir.
Victor: Why because I’m 30 and I wait tables?
Michael: If that’s all you are doing, yes.
Victor: You are so full of shit.
Michael: Do you really want to antagonize me?
Victor: I need this money, Michael.
Michael: I do too, Victor.
Victor: I really need it.
Michael: Too bad. They arrive at the atm. Step right up. Show me that balance.
Victor goes to the ATM and inserts card. After a few moments, the money dispenses as does a receipt.
Victor: Here. Hands Michael the money. Michael counts it.
Michael: It’s only $240. Victor hands him the receipt.
Victor: Remaining balance: Two dollars, thirty four cents. Thanks.
Michael: Fair enough.
Victor: Okay. We done?
Michael: Victor?
Victor: What?
Michael: The other card.
Victor: You’ve got $240. Let’s just leave it at that and part ways.
Michael pulls out the pistol, cocks it, and aims it at Victor.
Michael: Put the card in the machine, Victor.
Victor puts the card in the machine. Then does nothing.
Michael: What are you waiting for?
Victor: It’s not my money.
Michael: I don’t care.
Victor: I don’t know the code.
Michael: I’m not going to ask you again.
Victor: What do you want me to do?
Michael: I want you to stop lying to me and use the card.
Victor: I’m lying?
Michael: You don’t believe I’ll shoot you in the knee cap.
Victor: I can’t tell you something I don’t know!
Michael: Then why do you have the card Victor?
Beat
Michael: Well? Did she give it to you? Did you steal it?
Victor: No it’s--
Michael: You wouldn’t have it on you if you didn’t know the PIN.
Victor is stumped.
Michael: So unless you can tell me why you really have this card, I’ll find your little girlfriend Eloise, and I’ll get her to tell me the PIN.
Victor: It’s 2 3 10.
Michael puts his gun away, goes over to the ATM, sprays something on the camera. Enters PIN.
Michael: Thank you, Victor.
Victor: Please don’t do this.
Michael: You can go now.
Victor: Eloise Marshall isn’t my girlfriend.
Michael: Try match.com
Victor: She’s my daughter’s mother.
Michael looks at Victor.
Victor: And she’s trusting me.
Michael: Ok.
Victor: You‘re right. I’m pathetic. Three months ago it was a miracle if I stayed the whole day sober. I’ve let down my parents, my friends, everyone. Keeping a job for more than 6 months is a monument. Then Diana was born.
Michael: 2-3-10?
Victor: Now Eloise doesn’t like me very much. I did a lot of not nice things to her. But she has the mercy of an angel and the faith of a nun. She wants her daughter to grow up with her father. But he can’t be pathetic. He has worth something. So instead of going to court and making me pay child support, she gave me one last chance.
I put 200 dollars in her account every week. I have to ability to take money out. But I won’t because the card in that machine is trust. The most important trust that has ever been given to me. I value it more than my guitar, more than the whiskey, more than my freedom.
Yes, you could walk with this money, and I could tell her what happened, that you robbed me. She might accept it. And she might forgive me. But deep down, I will have lost the last ounce of trust she ever gave me. She will always wonder if I just lied to her again or that I was hanging out in the wrong part of town, practically asking to be robbed. She will begin to close me out. She will never fully let me into Diana’s life ever again. That’s what you will be stealing from me Michael, or whatever your name is. If you have any decency, any sympathy, please let me keep this.
(A moment.)
Michael: You have a picture of her?
Victor: Yea. It is in the wallet. In the insert.
Michael takes a good hard look at the picture.
Michael: She’s pretty.
Victor: You have no idea.
Michael ejects the card from the machine.
Michael: Alright. I’m going to buy this picture from you. Here’s $240. Puts the money and cards back into the wallet. And here’s Eloise’s card back.
Victor: You know I’d really rather you di--
Michael: I can keep the $240.
Victor: Never mind.
Michael hands the wallet back to Victor.
Michael: Now, get out of here.
Victor: Thank you.
Victor runs off. Michael looks at the picture for a moment then take out a cell phone.
Michael: Yea. Percy? No, not yet. I swear to God by tomorrow. No that’s not necessary. Please…you know me.
Black Out.
Monday, September 6, 2010
When your mom calls at 1:07 am, it is never good news.
Tyler, I know this is your experience and if you want this post taken down I'll do it immediately.
We walk out of Garage after a semi successful night. We beat Ariel and Mikey at pool in front of the girls they were trying to impress all the while charming those very girls with "higher value" and wit. Earlier in the night, I opened a three set of attractive girls at the bar top at Barca. The night was by no means perfect. No numbers were closed and no kino had been escalated. But in the grand scheme of things, Tyelr and I are starting to get our game solid and once we get back from our respective trips out of town we will be unstoppable. Also, Tyler is quickly becoming my best friend in Seattle.
We feel good. We are going over what went wrong and what went right. Tyler lets me in on Canada girl's final IOI, playfully rustling his hair, before tromping off with her friends. I'm sure Ariel is about to explode under his serious anxsty Filipino exterior. Tyler is vibrant, illuminated even. I joyfully lament my missed opportunity. We are happy in the ways we failed because we learned and also went farther than either one of us had gone before. It truly feels like victor and because it was a team effort, it is all that much sweeter.
Tyler's iPhone vibrates in his pocket. I guess it is Erica. It's not. MOM is at the top of the caller ID. I know instantly something terrible has happened. The worst thing I can think of is that Tyler's father has died. I brace myself for that. I also wait for Tyler to say "What?" Or "Wait, what?" or perhaps "Mom, slow down and tell me again." I'm looking for him to deny the moment and search for confirmation. Tyler never does. He might have said "Ok." But I don't remember specifically. I do remember him nodding and looking in different directions. Not up or down, just side to side. And in a controlled manner.
That what Tyler does. He's always in control. Come to think of it. I've never seen Tyler any different. From the time I first met him he was always been an authority figure in the most demanding and dizzying place I have ever had to work. And he has always been the person most together at that facility. And now I am watching him in what may be one of the most crucial moments of his life and he is no different.
Tyler informs me simply that his mother's boyfriend has died. This boyfriend also happens to be Tyler's former karate instructor. I think I must have said "oh shit." "Oh shit" just seems so trite and common place. Sometimes I think my capacity to feel genuine emotion is greatly diminished. Like that a part of me rotted away sometime ago and now I just do what is expected.
I offer to go with Tyler. Ride with him to Kirkland. I want to be there for him. Be apart of this experience. I lessen the pain as he is driving alone to his mother's. I want to be there when he needs to take a break and go outside of her house among all the craziness. When it is seemly over in the morning, and he has put his mother to bed, I want to go out with him to some shitty IHOP or Cindys and order eggs and coffee. He will stare into the void and I will receive whatever he needs to express.
He responds with a yes to my offer to go with him. He may have even said, "Yes, that would be good." Then a wave of sleepiness washes over me. I also think that chances are he will need be there for his mother and I will just be sitting in some strange living room, sitting on some unfamiliar sofa, and adding an unwanted element to an already horribly burdened mother. Tyler may feel compelled to entertain me or at the very least tend to me in some way. However, the primary motivator for my next sentence really is because I'm tired and I don't want to be stuck.
"Actually, why don't I drive?" I have withdrawn my selfless offer to be there for him in exchange for the ability to escape when ever I want. He replies something to the effect of, " You know what. I think I'm okay. This probably won't hit me till later." I feel bad. What I feel shouldn't matter. He reveals a missed opportunity to speak to his former instructor and I try to comfort him telling him why I won't watch the movie The Deer Hunter.
I drop him home. He remains optimistically upbeat. "Despite the obvious, I still consider tonight a win." Then he reveals that since it is passed midnight, it is now his birthday. I think about when he checks his facebook wall, all the people who will wish him a happy birthday. I will think, if only they knew. I want people from work to rally around him. I want Tim Butorac to call him. I think of getting home and signing on to Star Craft II, looking for him and tell him to call Tyler. This is probably not what Tyler wants. I have no idea if this is what he needs either.
A bike falls over on my right as two cops arrest a skinny black man. I'd guess he was 40 or 50. Katie Perry's Teenage Dream plays on the radio. Someone on I-5 is pulled over. Black spray paint obscures the 60 on the speed limit sign. Details on a night like this jump out. Suddenly I am very sick of the song on the radio. I enter my apartment to discover I had left a light on. I picture Tyler's mother crying on his shoulder and I wish I had done more for him.
We walk out of Garage after a semi successful night. We beat Ariel and Mikey at pool in front of the girls they were trying to impress all the while charming those very girls with "higher value" and wit. Earlier in the night, I opened a three set of attractive girls at the bar top at Barca. The night was by no means perfect. No numbers were closed and no kino had been escalated. But in the grand scheme of things, Tyelr and I are starting to get our game solid and once we get back from our respective trips out of town we will be unstoppable. Also, Tyler is quickly becoming my best friend in Seattle.
We feel good. We are going over what went wrong and what went right. Tyler lets me in on Canada girl's final IOI, playfully rustling his hair, before tromping off with her friends. I'm sure Ariel is about to explode under his serious anxsty Filipino exterior. Tyler is vibrant, illuminated even. I joyfully lament my missed opportunity. We are happy in the ways we failed because we learned and also went farther than either one of us had gone before. It truly feels like victor and because it was a team effort, it is all that much sweeter.
Tyler's iPhone vibrates in his pocket. I guess it is Erica. It's not. MOM is at the top of the caller ID. I know instantly something terrible has happened. The worst thing I can think of is that Tyler's father has died. I brace myself for that. I also wait for Tyler to say "What?" Or "Wait, what?" or perhaps "Mom, slow down and tell me again." I'm looking for him to deny the moment and search for confirmation. Tyler never does. He might have said "Ok." But I don't remember specifically. I do remember him nodding and looking in different directions. Not up or down, just side to side. And in a controlled manner.
That what Tyler does. He's always in control. Come to think of it. I've never seen Tyler any different. From the time I first met him he was always been an authority figure in the most demanding and dizzying place I have ever had to work. And he has always been the person most together at that facility. And now I am watching him in what may be one of the most crucial moments of his life and he is no different.
Tyler informs me simply that his mother's boyfriend has died. This boyfriend also happens to be Tyler's former karate instructor. I think I must have said "oh shit." "Oh shit" just seems so trite and common place. Sometimes I think my capacity to feel genuine emotion is greatly diminished. Like that a part of me rotted away sometime ago and now I just do what is expected.
I offer to go with Tyler. Ride with him to Kirkland. I want to be there for him. Be apart of this experience. I lessen the pain as he is driving alone to his mother's. I want to be there when he needs to take a break and go outside of her house among all the craziness. When it is seemly over in the morning, and he has put his mother to bed, I want to go out with him to some shitty IHOP or Cindys and order eggs and coffee. He will stare into the void and I will receive whatever he needs to express.
He responds with a yes to my offer to go with him. He may have even said, "Yes, that would be good." Then a wave of sleepiness washes over me. I also think that chances are he will need be there for his mother and I will just be sitting in some strange living room, sitting on some unfamiliar sofa, and adding an unwanted element to an already horribly burdened mother. Tyler may feel compelled to entertain me or at the very least tend to me in some way. However, the primary motivator for my next sentence really is because I'm tired and I don't want to be stuck.
"Actually, why don't I drive?" I have withdrawn my selfless offer to be there for him in exchange for the ability to escape when ever I want. He replies something to the effect of, " You know what. I think I'm okay. This probably won't hit me till later." I feel bad. What I feel shouldn't matter. He reveals a missed opportunity to speak to his former instructor and I try to comfort him telling him why I won't watch the movie The Deer Hunter.
I drop him home. He remains optimistically upbeat. "Despite the obvious, I still consider tonight a win." Then he reveals that since it is passed midnight, it is now his birthday. I think about when he checks his facebook wall, all the people who will wish him a happy birthday. I will think, if only they knew. I want people from work to rally around him. I want Tim Butorac to call him. I think of getting home and signing on to Star Craft II, looking for him and tell him to call Tyler. This is probably not what Tyler wants. I have no idea if this is what he needs either.
A bike falls over on my right as two cops arrest a skinny black man. I'd guess he was 40 or 50. Katie Perry's Teenage Dream plays on the radio. Someone on I-5 is pulled over. Black spray paint obscures the 60 on the speed limit sign. Details on a night like this jump out. Suddenly I am very sick of the song on the radio. I enter my apartment to discover I had left a light on. I picture Tyler's mother crying on his shoulder and I wish I had done more for him.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
He Who Walks Alone.
Brian enters Michael's bedroom.
Brian: Is your mother around?
Michael: No. Why?
Brian: I'm sorry about Jessica.
Michael: Does Mom have to tell everyone? I just want to be left alone.
Brian: She didn't tell me. I had a feeling.
Michael: Great. Have your feelings somewhere else. I put that sign up for a reason.
Brian: That's no way to talk to you're Uncle.
Michael: You aren't really my Uncle. You were just a friend of my dad's.
Brian sits down in Michael's computer chair. Puts a box on his desk.
Michael: That's my chair. No one sits in it but me.
Brian: Laughs. You are so much like Jean-Luc.
Michael: I'm nothing like my father. What's the box for?
Brian: We'll get to that. Talk to me about Jessica.
Michael: I don't want to, I just want to be left alone. Grabs one of his guitars off of the wall and sit sits on the edge of the bed turned away from Brian. Michael gets up to grab the other guitar. Brian takes the seat back.
Brian: Fine. Keep your captains chair.
Michael: What?
Brian: Never mind. Brian starts to play. "With your feet on the air, and your head on the ground..."
Brian tunes the guitar. Better. "Try this trick and spin it, yea."
Michael: What is that?
Brian: You don't know the Pixies?
Michael: Do you know The Crash Course?
Brian: I don't listen to shitty music. Besides it was Jean Luc's duty to give you the gift of the Pixies. That song is called Where is My Mind? Your dad taught it to me when we were in high school. He taught me to play guitar.
Michael: Sounds like he taught you a lot more than he taught me.
Brian: He wanted to teach you a lot.
Michael: I'm sure.
Brian: When Helen was pregnant he and I would sit out in this park smoking cigars and he'd just talk about all the things he couldn't wait to teach you.
Michael: If you two hadn't been smoking so much, he might still be here.
Brian: I'm sorry you didn't get the time to spend with him I did.
Michael: Are you done? I'm sick of entertaining you.
Brian puts way the guitar and remains standing over Michael.
Brian: I know you are hurting but that doesn't give you the right to be a little shit. You are better than that.
Michael: I'll be whatever the hell I want to be. Just because you hung out with my dad doesn't make you him. You are just a sorry excuse for a father.
Brian: If Jean Luc could hear you--
Michael: But he can't.
Brian: Takes the box off the desk. You aren't ready for this.
Michael: I'm too old for your stupid toys anyway.
Brian: Too bad, you dad really wanted you have it. As he exits. By the way, I knew Jessica was cheating on you.
Michael: Bull shit.
Brian: It's true. It was with Randy wasn't it.
Michael: I didn't tell mom that.
Brian: I told you she didn't tell me. I could tell.
Michael: How?
Brian: You want me to sit down?
Michael: You didn't know.
Brian: You gave her everything. Answered every text as quickly as she sent them. You were always there for her. The perfect boy friend. Then one day you could feel her slipping away, just when you started to feels crazy about her. But she started hanging out with Randy more. Sound familiar?
Michael is silent for a bit.
Brian: I thought so. I could see her pulling away from you. I knew it was inevitable.
Michael: Why hell didn't you say anything if you knew??!!!!
Brian: You wouldn't have believed me. You barely would have listened. And you wouldn't have known what to do to keep her. You believe me now?
Michael: I did everything for her.
Brian: I know you did.
Michael: Why did she turn into a cheating whore?
Brian: Most woman will if you let them.
Michael: Let them? You are saying it was my fault!
Brian: Yes.
Michael: Fuck you! I loved her.
Brian: I know. I had this conversation with Jean-Luc quiet a few times.
Michael: I'M NOT A LOSER LIKE MY FATHER!!!!
Brian: Don't you DARE call your father a loser. He was the best man I have ever known. Will ever know. I'd be nowhere if it wasn't for him.But that doesn't mean he didn't make mistakes. He just wanted you to learn from his rather than fall into the pits of your own.
Michael: What does that have to do with Jessica?
Brian: Because we were a lot older than 16 before we learned what we needed to not let women push us around. Which exactly what happened with her. I've been there. Jean-Luc was there. But together we learned how to not let that happen. Once your father learned his shit, he was unstoppable. Don't tell Helen that by the way.
Michael: What do you mean?
Brian: You want to know how to make a girl attracted to you? Any girl attracted to you? I know you loved Jessica, but you've always wanted Stephanie.
Michael: How do you know that?
Brian: You are more like your dad than you are willing to admit. You think she's above you. But she isn't. In that box is the best present Jean-Luc could ever give you. It's self respect, confidence, identity, and what is necessary for you to be a man. I didn't become a man until I was 28. I wasted a lot of time. You don't have to. You don't have to be frustrated, wondering when the woman of your dreams will sit next to you on the bus. Or praying to God when it will be your turn. In that box are all the answers.
Michael accepts the box. But hesitates.
Brian: Open it.
Michael does.
Brian: First off is 500 Days of Summer. It's a movie that is pretty much what's going on with you and Jessica. But it will show you were you need to go. Next is Silver Bullets. It's the manual of all manuals. Everything you've been taught about women by TV, movies, and other women is a bold faced lie. Women don't know what really attracts them. And they certainly won't admit it. That book will tell you those things and it will tell you how to execute it. And then there is He Who Walks Alone No More. If Silver Bullets is the ultimate manual then He Who Walks Alone No More is the Bible. Recognize the author?
Michael: By Ezekiel?
Brian: That was your father's pen name.
Michael: He wrote a book?
Brian: He redefined everything. Jean-Luc was a fucking genius. He took everything he learned and combined it with everything he knew about psychology and wrote that book.
Michael: Why didn't he give it to me himself?
Brian: He wanted you to have it when you were 13. But I thought you needed to be a little older. With this material you are going to weld a lot of power. You needed to have your heart broken at least once. You needed to have some concept of the damage you could inflict. Plus, you were with Jessica. So you didn't need it.
Michael: Does mom know all this?
Brian: For the most part. She didn't want you to have any of it though. She wanted you to stay "sweet."
Michael: Does it really work?
Brian: You bet your ass it does. It will take some time and you are going to have to get over some fears. And you are going to need a friend to learn this with. I never would have learned it if I didn't have your dad pushing me.
Michael: How come I never saw any of this in him?
Brian: Well it got him to one place, then he met your mother and he didn't need it anymore. And once you were born he had pretty much everything he ever wanted. He spent the rest of his life struggling to maintain that. But he went though a lot of pain to get there. He just wanted to give you the short cut. I know this is a lot of material to take in especially since you've got Jessica baggage to deal with. But soon she's going to be nothing to you. I need to get going. If you have any questions let me know.
Michael: Hold up.
Brian: Yes?
Michael: Did he really talk about me when you two used to smoke in the park.
Brian: I'll put it this way. When Jean-Luc and I stumbled on to this material, we read and re-read. Drilled and practiced. Coach each other. Supported each other. Night after night. We were there for each other for glorious victories and miserable failures. We did that for years. And if you total us all those hours on the phone, the text messages, the winging. I guarantee it is less then the time he spent talking about you. Good luck.
Brian exits. Michael opens up 500 Days of Summer.
Michael: What the hell is a DVD?
Brian: Is your mother around?
Michael: No. Why?
Brian: I'm sorry about Jessica.
Michael: Does Mom have to tell everyone? I just want to be left alone.
Brian: She didn't tell me. I had a feeling.
Michael: Great. Have your feelings somewhere else. I put that sign up for a reason.
Brian: That's no way to talk to you're Uncle.
Michael: You aren't really my Uncle. You were just a friend of my dad's.
Brian sits down in Michael's computer chair. Puts a box on his desk.
Michael: That's my chair. No one sits in it but me.
Brian: Laughs. You are so much like Jean-Luc.
Michael: I'm nothing like my father. What's the box for?
Brian: We'll get to that. Talk to me about Jessica.
Michael: I don't want to, I just want to be left alone. Grabs one of his guitars off of the wall and sit sits on the edge of the bed turned away from Brian. Michael gets up to grab the other guitar. Brian takes the seat back.
Brian: Fine. Keep your captains chair.
Michael: What?
Brian: Never mind. Brian starts to play. "With your feet on the air, and your head on the ground..."
Brian tunes the guitar. Better. "Try this trick and spin it, yea."
Michael: What is that?
Brian: You don't know the Pixies?
Michael: Do you know The Crash Course?
Brian: I don't listen to shitty music. Besides it was Jean Luc's duty to give you the gift of the Pixies. That song is called Where is My Mind? Your dad taught it to me when we were in high school. He taught me to play guitar.
Michael: Sounds like he taught you a lot more than he taught me.
Brian: He wanted to teach you a lot.
Michael: I'm sure.
Brian: When Helen was pregnant he and I would sit out in this park smoking cigars and he'd just talk about all the things he couldn't wait to teach you.
Michael: If you two hadn't been smoking so much, he might still be here.
Brian: I'm sorry you didn't get the time to spend with him I did.
Michael: Are you done? I'm sick of entertaining you.
Brian puts way the guitar and remains standing over Michael.
Brian: I know you are hurting but that doesn't give you the right to be a little shit. You are better than that.
Michael: I'll be whatever the hell I want to be. Just because you hung out with my dad doesn't make you him. You are just a sorry excuse for a father.
Brian: If Jean Luc could hear you--
Michael: But he can't.
Brian: Takes the box off the desk. You aren't ready for this.
Michael: I'm too old for your stupid toys anyway.
Brian: Too bad, you dad really wanted you have it. As he exits. By the way, I knew Jessica was cheating on you.
Michael: Bull shit.
Brian: It's true. It was with Randy wasn't it.
Michael: I didn't tell mom that.
Brian: I told you she didn't tell me. I could tell.
Michael: How?
Brian: You want me to sit down?
Michael: You didn't know.
Brian: You gave her everything. Answered every text as quickly as she sent them. You were always there for her. The perfect boy friend. Then one day you could feel her slipping away, just when you started to feels crazy about her. But she started hanging out with Randy more. Sound familiar?
Michael is silent for a bit.
Brian: I thought so. I could see her pulling away from you. I knew it was inevitable.
Michael: Why hell didn't you say anything if you knew??!!!!
Brian: You wouldn't have believed me. You barely would have listened. And you wouldn't have known what to do to keep her. You believe me now?
Michael: I did everything for her.
Brian: I know you did.
Michael: Why did she turn into a cheating whore?
Brian: Most woman will if you let them.
Michael: Let them? You are saying it was my fault!
Brian: Yes.
Michael: Fuck you! I loved her.
Brian: I know. I had this conversation with Jean-Luc quiet a few times.
Michael: I'M NOT A LOSER LIKE MY FATHER!!!!
Brian: Don't you DARE call your father a loser. He was the best man I have ever known. Will ever know. I'd be nowhere if it wasn't for him.But that doesn't mean he didn't make mistakes. He just wanted you to learn from his rather than fall into the pits of your own.
Michael: What does that have to do with Jessica?
Brian: Because we were a lot older than 16 before we learned what we needed to not let women push us around. Which exactly what happened with her. I've been there. Jean-Luc was there. But together we learned how to not let that happen. Once your father learned his shit, he was unstoppable. Don't tell Helen that by the way.
Michael: What do you mean?
Brian: You want to know how to make a girl attracted to you? Any girl attracted to you? I know you loved Jessica, but you've always wanted Stephanie.
Michael: How do you know that?
Brian: You are more like your dad than you are willing to admit. You think she's above you. But she isn't. In that box is the best present Jean-Luc could ever give you. It's self respect, confidence, identity, and what is necessary for you to be a man. I didn't become a man until I was 28. I wasted a lot of time. You don't have to. You don't have to be frustrated, wondering when the woman of your dreams will sit next to you on the bus. Or praying to God when it will be your turn. In that box are all the answers.
Michael accepts the box. But hesitates.
Brian: Open it.
Michael does.
Brian: First off is 500 Days of Summer. It's a movie that is pretty much what's going on with you and Jessica. But it will show you were you need to go. Next is Silver Bullets. It's the manual of all manuals. Everything you've been taught about women by TV, movies, and other women is a bold faced lie. Women don't know what really attracts them. And they certainly won't admit it. That book will tell you those things and it will tell you how to execute it. And then there is He Who Walks Alone No More. If Silver Bullets is the ultimate manual then He Who Walks Alone No More is the Bible. Recognize the author?
Michael: By Ezekiel?
Brian: That was your father's pen name.
Michael: He wrote a book?
Brian: He redefined everything. Jean-Luc was a fucking genius. He took everything he learned and combined it with everything he knew about psychology and wrote that book.
Michael: Why didn't he give it to me himself?
Brian: He wanted you to have it when you were 13. But I thought you needed to be a little older. With this material you are going to weld a lot of power. You needed to have your heart broken at least once. You needed to have some concept of the damage you could inflict. Plus, you were with Jessica. So you didn't need it.
Michael: Does mom know all this?
Brian: For the most part. She didn't want you to have any of it though. She wanted you to stay "sweet."
Michael: Does it really work?
Brian: You bet your ass it does. It will take some time and you are going to have to get over some fears. And you are going to need a friend to learn this with. I never would have learned it if I didn't have your dad pushing me.
Michael: How come I never saw any of this in him?
Brian: Well it got him to one place, then he met your mother and he didn't need it anymore. And once you were born he had pretty much everything he ever wanted. He spent the rest of his life struggling to maintain that. But he went though a lot of pain to get there. He just wanted to give you the short cut. I know this is a lot of material to take in especially since you've got Jessica baggage to deal with. But soon she's going to be nothing to you. I need to get going. If you have any questions let me know.
Michael: Hold up.
Brian: Yes?
Michael: Did he really talk about me when you two used to smoke in the park.
Brian: I'll put it this way. When Jean-Luc and I stumbled on to this material, we read and re-read. Drilled and practiced. Coach each other. Supported each other. Night after night. We were there for each other for glorious victories and miserable failures. We did that for years. And if you total us all those hours on the phone, the text messages, the winging. I guarantee it is less then the time he spent talking about you. Good luck.
Brian exits. Michael opens up 500 Days of Summer.
Michael: What the hell is a DVD?
Monday, August 23, 2010
Reflections
The second night in a row I was called off from work. If you believe in God, you might say he is trying to help me out. If you don't believe in God then randomness happened and I am home. After the bus ride, I ventured into the smoke shop by my apartment. I pointed to a cigar priced $8.99. All the stores in Lake City are owned an operated by people of an indiscriminate brown race. Indiscriminate in that I've never taken the time ask. The brown and bearded clerk handed me the one next to it. I corrected him and indicated the one that I wanted. "The big one?" he asked. "Yes, I have a long book to read," I lied. I had two short books to read and a hell of a lot of writing to perform.
I have now finished that big cigar and I am pretty dizzy and nauseous. My options were either pot or alcohol. Neither of which help with reading. I hope someday soon my reading and writing will not need drugs or stimulants. But for now that is the only way I know of to push through.
Stephen King is a great writer. I know. I've read two of his books now. The Shinning and On Writing. I don't know why I find reading so difficult. Looking at my computer monitor makes me more nauseous. I find it easier to stare at my key board to write and only glance up for a few seconds to make sure I've made no writing errors.
I return to my computer from dry heaves. I remember a field trip in 5th grade. Matt and Brad are making fun of me again and have been mercilessly. Some time ago they were supposedly my friends. I retaliate back that one day I'll have some wonderful job and they'll be working in fast food flipping burgers. The sad irony is that quite the opposite is true. I am about to complete my 5th year in the food service industry. Matt has the best life I think I could ever wish for. I don't know what Brad is doing, but knowing his ability to socialize and influence people, I would guess he's doing pretty well himself.
I lie on the floor trying again to regain my composure. I grab a random Maxim magazine from a subscription from God knows when (I never read them.) I open it up to a random page and see a short article about Scott Pilgrim vs The World. I question realize as I look at the date of the Maxim. Feb 2009. Wierd huh.
I have now finished that big cigar and I am pretty dizzy and nauseous. My options were either pot or alcohol. Neither of which help with reading. I hope someday soon my reading and writing will not need drugs or stimulants. But for now that is the only way I know of to push through.
Stephen King is a great writer. I know. I've read two of his books now. The Shinning and On Writing. I don't know why I find reading so difficult. Looking at my computer monitor makes me more nauseous. I find it easier to stare at my key board to write and only glance up for a few seconds to make sure I've made no writing errors.
I return to my computer from dry heaves. I remember a field trip in 5th grade. Matt and Brad are making fun of me again and have been mercilessly. Some time ago they were supposedly my friends. I retaliate back that one day I'll have some wonderful job and they'll be working in fast food flipping burgers. The sad irony is that quite the opposite is true. I am about to complete my 5th year in the food service industry. Matt has the best life I think I could ever wish for. I don't know what Brad is doing, but knowing his ability to socialize and influence people, I would guess he's doing pretty well himself.
I lie on the floor trying again to regain my composure. I grab a random Maxim magazine from a subscription from God knows when (I never read them.) I open it up to a random page and see a short article about Scott Pilgrim vs The World. I question realize as I look at the date of the Maxim. Feb 2009. Wierd huh.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Saturday Short
Thought I'd get going early. Wake up. Get coffee. Read a little Art and Fear. Now for some writing.
------------
James is nervous. He rejects his impulses for safety. He needs to grow up. He's never done this before. He rings the door bell, looking around and hoping no one sees him. James is worried she'll open the door in wavy lace lingerie and he won't be able to keep his composure. He hears foot steps and the door unlocking.
She's wearing a white tee shirt and jeans. Here hair is thick and dark red. "You must be James."
"You must be Spencer." She nods with a smile. Spencer is both playful and professional simultaneously. As she welcomes him in she gently puts her hand on his bicep. James hates it when he gets an indicator of interest when he knows it can't possibly be true. It tears at some insecurity deep inside of him.
"This is a nice place." It is. "It looks like any other house."
"Well it is. What were you expecting?" Spencer is just being playfully sarcastic. James interprets her reaction as insulted and panics.
"I'm sorry. It's not that, it's just that, with the work and stuff, I wasn't expecting stripper poles or anything. I really am sorry."
"You can relax. I'm not going to bite your head off or anything. So you didn't expect me to be a normal person. I'll get over it."
"I just didn't want to be the guy, you know who, was a jerk or, treated you like...I imagine most guys do."
Spencer laughs. "Oh James. In this city guys tend to be on the nicer side."
"Well, that's good"
"I guess. Did you bring any lights?
"Lights?"
"Lighting equipment?"
"I didn't realize...I've not really done this before."
"That's okay. The lighting in this room is pretty good. There is a dimmer on the wall. It controls the lights here. If you want to move the floor lamps around you are welcome to. I'll close the blinds."
James is feeling out of his league. Both his man hood and his professional experience are being challenged.
------------------
OK it's 10am and I now need to get to writing the play. However, if either one of you guys want to give me a suggestion or request as to what happens next I'd love the challenge to take the scene in another direction. I work well off of other people's ideas.
------------
James is nervous. He rejects his impulses for safety. He needs to grow up. He's never done this before. He rings the door bell, looking around and hoping no one sees him. James is worried she'll open the door in wavy lace lingerie and he won't be able to keep his composure. He hears foot steps and the door unlocking.
She's wearing a white tee shirt and jeans. Here hair is thick and dark red. "You must be James."
"You must be Spencer." She nods with a smile. Spencer is both playful and professional simultaneously. As she welcomes him in she gently puts her hand on his bicep. James hates it when he gets an indicator of interest when he knows it can't possibly be true. It tears at some insecurity deep inside of him.
"This is a nice place." It is. "It looks like any other house."
"Well it is. What were you expecting?" Spencer is just being playfully sarcastic. James interprets her reaction as insulted and panics.
"I'm sorry. It's not that, it's just that, with the work and stuff, I wasn't expecting stripper poles or anything. I really am sorry."
"You can relax. I'm not going to bite your head off or anything. So you didn't expect me to be a normal person. I'll get over it."
"I just didn't want to be the guy, you know who, was a jerk or, treated you like...I imagine most guys do."
Spencer laughs. "Oh James. In this city guys tend to be on the nicer side."
"Well, that's good"
"I guess. Did you bring any lights?
"Lights?"
"Lighting equipment?"
"I didn't realize...I've not really done this before."
"That's okay. The lighting in this room is pretty good. There is a dimmer on the wall. It controls the lights here. If you want to move the floor lamps around you are welcome to. I'll close the blinds."
James is feeling out of his league. Both his man hood and his professional experience are being challenged.
------------------
OK it's 10am and I now need to get to writing the play. However, if either one of you guys want to give me a suggestion or request as to what happens next I'd love the challenge to take the scene in another direction. I work well off of other people's ideas.
Friday, August 20, 2010
Friday.
Ok....I've got the whole day off. I'm doing laundry now. I've eaten breakfast. It's 9:07 am. I could have gotten out of bed 30 minutes earlier but what ever. My friend Jaryl is coming over sometime. I kinda wish he wasn't. Not that I don't enjoy his company but because I really need to get a ton of writing done. I've got 3 scenes to write this week and I'm work a double on both Monday and Tuesday. (Wednesday being the day I see my writing coach.) But one should focus less on obstacles and more on how to get around obstacles. Also, I'm a big fan of "what ever starts your day sets your day." So to get up, get laundry going and already starting the writing warm up process, I'd say I'm in good shape so far.
I saw Scott Pilgrim Vs The World last night with Tyler. I have to say all around I was very impressed. Very rarely do movies live up to hype as well as this one did. The fight scenes were impressive for a romance comedy. They were almost perfect. My only gripe with them is at parts they seemed to be lacking a sort of surprise quality to them. Jacki Chan puts it best. He talks about how his fight scenes are; hit, hit, funny thing, (like hitting a guy in the face with a refrigerator door.) In Ong Bak, it's hit, hit, super brutal hit. (Elbow to the eye socket.) It's easy to get lulled in a well choreographed fight scene and little surprise helps us stay interested. But don't get me wrong, the fights really are fantastic.
The movies biggest let down in Michael Cera. He does nothing different than what he ever does. He brings nothing to the character of Scott Pilgrim. In fact, he detracts from him. I've not read the comic, but from the script I got the feeling that the character was stupid in the sort of Goury from Slayers sort of way. He doesn't get it, but we love him anyway. Michael Cera's aloof "whatever" performance leaves you almost hating Scott Pilgrim sometimes. And yea we are supposed to, but something just doesn't feel right.
But it doesn't matter. The script and Edgar Wrights's directing more than make up for it in droves. The movie is clever and hilarious. The jokes come a mile a minute and just when you think you've got it figured out, it throws you a curve ball. The supporting performance also really sell it. Ellen Wong, Kieran Culkin, Aubrie Plaza, Brandon Routh, Jason Schwartzman, Chris Evans, they all bring a unique quirkiness to their characters that fits the movie extraordinarily well. All in all it comes down to the incredible level of detail that has been put into this film. And it is a very satisfying experience.
I saw Scott Pilgrim Vs The World last night with Tyler. I have to say all around I was very impressed. Very rarely do movies live up to hype as well as this one did. The fight scenes were impressive for a romance comedy. They were almost perfect. My only gripe with them is at parts they seemed to be lacking a sort of surprise quality to them. Jacki Chan puts it best. He talks about how his fight scenes are; hit, hit, funny thing, (like hitting a guy in the face with a refrigerator door.) In Ong Bak, it's hit, hit, super brutal hit. (Elbow to the eye socket.) It's easy to get lulled in a well choreographed fight scene and little surprise helps us stay interested. But don't get me wrong, the fights really are fantastic.
The movies biggest let down in Michael Cera. He does nothing different than what he ever does. He brings nothing to the character of Scott Pilgrim. In fact, he detracts from him. I've not read the comic, but from the script I got the feeling that the character was stupid in the sort of Goury from Slayers sort of way. He doesn't get it, but we love him anyway. Michael Cera's aloof "whatever" performance leaves you almost hating Scott Pilgrim sometimes. And yea we are supposed to, but something just doesn't feel right.
But it doesn't matter. The script and Edgar Wrights's directing more than make up for it in droves. The movie is clever and hilarious. The jokes come a mile a minute and just when you think you've got it figured out, it throws you a curve ball. The supporting performance also really sell it. Ellen Wong, Kieran Culkin, Aubrie Plaza, Brandon Routh, Jason Schwartzman, Chris Evans, they all bring a unique quirkiness to their characters that fits the movie extraordinarily well. All in all it comes down to the incredible level of detail that has been put into this film. And it is a very satisfying experience.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Oh shit moment.
I just had an OH SHIT moment.
I'm completely going to rip off Twin Peaks and it will be glorious. I'm very excited about where my play is going.
I'm completely going to rip off Twin Peaks and it will be glorious. I'm very excited about where my play is going.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Warm up 8/15
Someone once told me of an adage among writers. "Once the pen touches paper, it's all fiction."
Short Thoughts.
Pursuing permanent change is a push and pull.
Some days I am a man with super powers.
Some days I am a foolish weakling.
Right now I am in the later.
********
I am going to die someday.
I'm still not 100% sure I believe it. Like really believe it.
I can see myself at 55.
I'm thick like Tony Soprano. I have a bushy white goatee and think white hair. Longer than maybe I should have it. But who the fuck cares right?
My fingers are like sausages.
I'm rich. I even have a decent amount of power. I've figured out how to live life. Mostly....
I still sit at bars with a shot glass of a brown liquid.
The sadness that has plagued me all my life still sits next to me.
*******
Monday, August 16, 2010
The Tiger's Torment
Having a lot of trouble writing the 3rd scene of my play. So I'm going to try writing scenes that I won't use in the play but are maybe back story or perhaps a way to explore the characters and locations. The goal is to write a one act (though maybe two act) play which explores an ethereal plane (or dimension) that the main character is trapped in. Examples of this would be The Dreaming from Sandman, The Bathhouse (the whole world actually ) from Spirited Away. Narnia, The Black Lodge, Neverland, Wonderland...I think you get the picture.
Problem? The few worlds I want to create are now vague and unspecific. My main character Gabriel, has a lot of trouble wandering around because I've not created details. Who knew creating an imaginative and elaborate spiritual dimension would actually be hard? I owe Salvador Dali an apology.
So without further ado, here are meditations of the Empty Streets though the eyes of Tiger. (I believe I've talked to both of you about the character Tiger. Well this is pretty much the same character lifted from the other story and put into this one.)
The Tiger's Torment.
I inhabit a world frozen and unmovable . I am a ghost here. I find myself paralyzed and restrained. I gave up something and then gave into something. Gave up something? What was it? Why do I always fall into sleep for so long? His name. What is it?
I have been here so long my shoes have withered through their souls. Now my toes and my heels touch the icy cement. When I was a boy I remember the cement burning my feet on a summer day when your sweat drenched what clothes you had. Back then I'd jump in the grass. Here the grass is like shards of shattered crystal.
I think this world is the structure for the other world. The world I used to live in. The world with sun and people. This world has no sun. In the sky is always the moon and always the floating island. That is where He dwells. Some say He is trapped there. But I feel His presence. Always. Like the way I used to feel God's presence.
Some where in the other world a mirror is being made. Someone is crafting one. A light goes out and window becomes dark enough to become one. Every body of water is one. Mirrors are the window into the other world. As far as a mirror reflects, it's reflections exist here. A reflection is unstoppable. I am lighter than a feather in the path of the smallest pebble. I must always watch out for mirrors and those looking in it. A busy cross street and a rainstorm are a dangerous combination.
The Kaonashi maintain this world. They keep changing it to more accurately match the other world. They ignore me. I am evidence of their failure. I chose not to become one of them. I kept my identity. But the empty pit in my stomach gets bigger everyday. An intense anxiety, like when you've done something very wrong. An authority maybe knows it. And they want to talk to you. You feel that ten times over. Then it concentrates into the size of a baseball and rests in the lowest part of your stomach. Everyday it grows just a little little bit. That was the price to not become them. And yet more I pay.
TigEr?
I can hear him.
Of coUrsE yoU Can.
I can't get him out--
nO, yOU cAN't. :)
He's always alwaYs here hEre.
Stop it. Please.
oF cOuRSe, TigEr. i'll sTop iT.
Why does he always lie?
I nEveR lie. I tEll YOu whAt maTteRS.
Nothing matters anymore.
TigEr, tHat's sImpLY not trUE. H e r e, let met make it p l e a s a n t.
The music starts to play. It is sweet. Like what m o t h e r used to sing to you.
I listen. A microsecond is an hour's worth of feelings. I cease to function for one minute.
Thank you.
yOU aRE WeLcoMe, TigEr.
Do I have to?
yES. yOu dO. it iS VeRy iMporTaNt.
I'm sorry.
iT's oKay.
What do you need?
i NEeD yOu to meET Gabriel.
Why is his name so...so... um...
UNcorRUptEd?
Tears come. I can't stop them.
bEcAUSe, yOU neED tO shOW hiM tHe wAy.
Have I done this before?
Hello?
He's gone for now. But He never leaves me. A circle of light appears. I step inside and it begins to move. This is how I will find Gabriel. He is not close. The trek will be long. But it is warm in the light. The Kaonashi don't ignore me now. They stare. I don't think they can hurt me. That's why He needs me. I think I know his name.
EriK.
Problem? The few worlds I want to create are now vague and unspecific. My main character Gabriel, has a lot of trouble wandering around because I've not created details. Who knew creating an imaginative and elaborate spiritual dimension would actually be hard? I owe Salvador Dali an apology.
So without further ado, here are meditations of the Empty Streets though the eyes of Tiger. (I believe I've talked to both of you about the character Tiger. Well this is pretty much the same character lifted from the other story and put into this one.)
The Tiger's Torment.
I inhabit a world frozen and unmovable . I am a ghost here. I find myself paralyzed and restrained. I gave up something and then gave into something. Gave up something? What was it? Why do I always fall into sleep for so long? His name. What is it?
I have been here so long my shoes have withered through their souls. Now my toes and my heels touch the icy cement. When I was a boy I remember the cement burning my feet on a summer day when your sweat drenched what clothes you had. Back then I'd jump in the grass. Here the grass is like shards of shattered crystal.
I think this world is the structure for the other world. The world I used to live in. The world with sun and people. This world has no sun. In the sky is always the moon and always the floating island. That is where He dwells. Some say He is trapped there. But I feel His presence. Always. Like the way I used to feel God's presence.
Some where in the other world a mirror is being made. Someone is crafting one. A light goes out and window becomes dark enough to become one. Every body of water is one. Mirrors are the window into the other world. As far as a mirror reflects, it's reflections exist here. A reflection is unstoppable. I am lighter than a feather in the path of the smallest pebble. I must always watch out for mirrors and those looking in it. A busy cross street and a rainstorm are a dangerous combination.
The Kaonashi maintain this world. They keep changing it to more accurately match the other world. They ignore me. I am evidence of their failure. I chose not to become one of them. I kept my identity. But the empty pit in my stomach gets bigger everyday. An intense anxiety, like when you've done something very wrong. An authority maybe knows it. And they want to talk to you. You feel that ten times over. Then it concentrates into the size of a baseball and rests in the lowest part of your stomach. Everyday it grows just a little little bit. That was the price to not become them. And yet more I pay.
TigEr?
I can hear him.
Of coUrsE yoU Can.
I can't get him out--
nO, yOU cAN't. :)
He's always alwaYs here hEre.
Stop it. Please.
oF cOuRSe, TigEr. i'll sTop iT.
Why does he always lie?
I nEveR lie. I tEll YOu whAt maTteRS.
Nothing matters anymore.
TigEr, tHat's sImpLY not trUE. H e r e, let met make it p l e a s a n t.
The music starts to play. It is sweet. Like what m o t h e r used to sing to you.
I listen. A microsecond is an hour's worth of feelings. I cease to function for one minute.
Thank you.
yOU aRE WeLcoMe, TigEr.
Do I have to?
yES. yOu dO. it iS VeRy iMporTaNt.
I'm sorry.
iT's oKay.
What do you need?
i NEeD yOu to meET Gabriel.
Why is his name so...so... um...
UNcorRUptEd?
Tears come. I can't stop them.
bEcAUSe, yOU neED tO shOW hiM tHe wAy.
Have I done this before?
Hello?
He's gone for now. But He never leaves me. A circle of light appears. I step inside and it begins to move. This is how I will find Gabriel. He is not close. The trek will be long. But it is warm in the light. The Kaonashi don't ignore me now. They stare. I don't think they can hurt me. That's why He needs me. I think I know his name.
EriK.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Red Light Chicken Sandwich
I slammed on the breaks and smothered the steering wheel's horn as the car sped through the intersection. The break pedal is not smooth when you stop that quickly. It bumps and grinds as if you were stepping on resistant gravel. Maybe I need to get new breaks. I looked up at the green light ahead of me and the thought occurs, later than one would think. That guy just ran a red light.
Life has trained me to never be too sure of myself. I have known to be wrong. So when I an event happens that would provoke a strong reaction, I tend to take a moment to either find out more detail or to double check whether I have not done something wrong myself. Thus, the double checking of the green light. Once that was verified, I looked around to notice pedestrians holding up their hands with palms up and mouthing "what the fuck?" or other such comments. The offending vehicle abruptly pulled into a parking lot.
After a moment, I took a breath and continued on my way. I won't lie, I certainly was shaken by the experience. Anything that gets your adrenaline pumping is going to leave your hand less than steady than it was before. But I wouldn't say I was angry. The traffic lights of downtown Seattle have a way of blending in. When I first started driving downtown there had been more than one occasion where I have almost missed a red light myself. I guess it happens.
Later however, I was not able to keep my cool so gracefully. After my wine tasting I went to a McDonald's and even though there were two registers, the lines of people had converged into one. In narrow spaces, i.e. a downtown establishment, it is just easier and more natural for people to form one line and then when the cashier opens up the next person steps up. I also find this approach more fair. You could be in one line with either a talkative person or perhaps a new employee and even though you've been in line longer the people in other lines blaze right passed you.
Abruptly, one of the employees, a scraggly, scruffy, thin, and almost old man, yells out "TWO REGISTERS TWO LINES! It's not that hard people." For some reason this condescension inflamed me. I look back and see how the seating area cuts into the area that the proposed multiple line theory would necessitate. Seconds later a third cashier opens a register. Now the newly formed two lines must attempt to shuffle into three lines and then ultimately back to the original one line.
I get to the front of the line. "A Southern chicken sandwich. Just the sandwich." (Because they always have to offer you the meal.) To which the woman replies, "Crispy or grilled?" Me: "I wasn't aware the Southern chicken sandwich came grilled." (The Southern chicken sandwich is a rip off of Chick Fil A's sandwich. It's really the only fast food I'll eat. And it doesn't come grilled.) Woman: "You wanted the number 8?" Me: "Yes." "You said number 7." "No I didn't I said the Southern chicken sandwich." "Do you want the meal or..." "Just the sandwich."
Car speeding through a red light potentially costing me much pain, permanent injury, and thousands of dollars in bills and repairs? Meh. Someone at a McDonald's talking down to me? I want to rip their fucking heads off.
Life has trained me to never be too sure of myself. I have known to be wrong. So when I an event happens that would provoke a strong reaction, I tend to take a moment to either find out more detail or to double check whether I have not done something wrong myself. Thus, the double checking of the green light. Once that was verified, I looked around to notice pedestrians holding up their hands with palms up and mouthing "what the fuck?" or other such comments. The offending vehicle abruptly pulled into a parking lot.
After a moment, I took a breath and continued on my way. I won't lie, I certainly was shaken by the experience. Anything that gets your adrenaline pumping is going to leave your hand less than steady than it was before. But I wouldn't say I was angry. The traffic lights of downtown Seattle have a way of blending in. When I first started driving downtown there had been more than one occasion where I have almost missed a red light myself. I guess it happens.
Later however, I was not able to keep my cool so gracefully. After my wine tasting I went to a McDonald's and even though there were two registers, the lines of people had converged into one. In narrow spaces, i.e. a downtown establishment, it is just easier and more natural for people to form one line and then when the cashier opens up the next person steps up. I also find this approach more fair. You could be in one line with either a talkative person or perhaps a new employee and even though you've been in line longer the people in other lines blaze right passed you.
Abruptly, one of the employees, a scraggly, scruffy, thin, and almost old man, yells out "TWO REGISTERS TWO LINES! It's not that hard people." For some reason this condescension inflamed me. I look back and see how the seating area cuts into the area that the proposed multiple line theory would necessitate. Seconds later a third cashier opens a register. Now the newly formed two lines must attempt to shuffle into three lines and then ultimately back to the original one line.
I get to the front of the line. "A Southern chicken sandwich. Just the sandwich." (Because they always have to offer you the meal.) To which the woman replies, "Crispy or grilled?" Me: "I wasn't aware the Southern chicken sandwich came grilled." (The Southern chicken sandwich is a rip off of Chick Fil A's sandwich. It's really the only fast food I'll eat. And it doesn't come grilled.) Woman: "You wanted the number 8?" Me: "Yes." "You said number 7." "No I didn't I said the Southern chicken sandwich." "Do you want the meal or..." "Just the sandwich."
Car speeding through a red light potentially costing me much pain, permanent injury, and thousands of dollars in bills and repairs? Meh. Someone at a McDonald's talking down to me? I want to rip their fucking heads off.
First of many.
My name is Benjamin and I a writer and former actor. Despite the fact that I am very invested in writing at the primary focus of my life, I have yet to complete hardly anything. I am in the process of writing a one act play but when I sit down to write I am obstructed by the inevitably writer's block. However one of the ways to combat this is to do some warm up writing. And thus, the purpose of this blog.
In addition to warm ups, I really want to put something to paper every day. Opposed to other days where I sit an conceptualize, which albeit are useful in the long run, I feel I need to have more individual pieces of work accomplished. So this blog is the first step in many to "step up my game." Enjoy.
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