16 November 2011
11 September 2011
after the fall.
(ed. note: the 10th anniversary of 9/11 has seen a slew of reflections and tributes in all manner of media, many of them wrenchingly powerful. So. How to make your 9/11 piece stand out? By posting it on 9/12, that’s how.)
Ten Junes ago I fell off my skateboard and woke up three weeks later. Wait—“woke up” isn’t quite right. I was in a drug-induced coma for a week, then my brain swelling (suddenly, miraculously) reversed course, the doctors at Harborview were able to ease up on the drugs and ditch plans to cut away a section of my skull—which is very much a cut-your-losses maneuver—and then (I’m told) I became cognizant, conversational. But my brain’s ability to make memories didn’t come back online for another couple weeks, and when it did, I found myself amidst circumstances I would’ve described as surreal, if I’d had the cognitive ability to parse the idea of multiple realities. Which I did not.
When your brain is compelled to rewire itself, relearn how to designate something for long-term memory, get it to stick, some weird shit happens. My brain had no shortage of rewiring to do—muscle memory was completely wiped, for example; I had to relearn much the non-breathing/heartbeating stuff your muscles do without having to think about it. The first memory that stuck that summer is the story of my 5-step journey from hospital bed to bathroom, and I can recall how it felt: as though I’d come awake for the first time, everything new but simultaneously familiar, comfortable. I felt completely fine, thought I was fine (and would continue to. My ongoing impression was that, man, a week ago I was messed up, but thank god I’m all good now. A week later, same deal). I shrugged off my buddy Brian’s attempt to help me to the loo, stood up, told my legs to start walking, and instead began melting into the floor. Brian caught me and we eventually resumed the trip. It all took much longer than anticipated, which sucked, because I had a bowel movement melting into my jammies. The rest of that memory is mainly—well, Brian is a very good friend. Other early memories also involve loved ones being good to me. My family was amazing, my girlfriend Erin was amazing, and tons of folks dropped by to visit—even my old friend Laura, who would become the love of my life and eventually agree to marry me. One afternoon I was sitting up in bed, talking with my beautiful, dark-haired girlfriend, when I looked over and saw my beautiful, red-haired girlfriend in the doorway. Had … had I somehow managed to have two girlfriends at once? Yes I had. Yes! I had. And they were both good with it, talking affectionately to me, to each other, enjoying each other’s company, as simultaneous girlfriends so rarely do. Of course, the red-head was my ex from college, who'd flown up to visit. But I had no sense of timeline on which to affix memories of my past; everything existed in the same wobbly present tense. On wakeful nights alone, the floor quiet and dark, I would pad slowly around the recovery floor of the hospital, trying to find the lounge area with the mini fridge with the juice boxes (it kept moving). Some nights felt wakeful even when they weren’t—I’d never had lucid dreams before, but now I did, and a few of my most vivid, tactile early memories were actually dreams, as when I commenced my nightly juice-box search, wandered down a hallway onto an (imaginary) sky bridge over a (ditto) atrium space, looked down, and saw rows and rows of fatally ill kids in wheelchairs lined up in front of a stage, where ‘N Sync was getting ready to perform a Make-a-Wish-type benefit concert. Wouldn’t you know it, there was an empty chair smack in the middle of this sea of sickly children, so I went and sat down. Recall, this is 2001; ‘N Sync ruled the land with Justin Bieber-like ubiquity. I was 26 and white and male, which meant my gathered opinion of ‘N Sync was as a pop cultural atrocity, and in my pre-brain injury life I’d spoken of them only ironically, like referring to them as New Sync on the Block or whatever. But tonight was different. Tonight was about the children. These poor kids, dying before they got a chance to live—except for tonight, because ‘N Sync was here to give them the night of their lives. A night to take with them to heaven. When the show started, I found that I knew all the words to all the songs—all of them, not just “Bye Bye Bye” and “It’s Gonna Be Me” but songs I’d heard perhaps once, by extra-accident—and so stood and began to sing along, full-throatedly, while miming the top-half choreography happening onstage. A few songs in, Justin Timberlake pointed to me and beckoned me to come up with the band. Now, whether Justin did this because my talent was overwhelmingly apparent or because the loud, jazz-handed 6’9” dude surrounded by kids with cancer was too painful to watch, perhaps we’ll never know. What we do know is he didn’t regret it. I took stage right, fell in with the choreography, and began harmonizing in all the right places. This earned a few I’m-impressed sidelong glances from Justin, and eventually an invitation to take a vocal solo, which I accepted, dancing my way to front-center stage. I went off, the tiny invalids went nuts, end of dream. I spent the next day with a) multiple ‘N Sync songs I’d virtually never paid attention to running in my head, and b) the conviction that the concert had really happened. It was exponentially more tactile, more real than any other recent memory, and I wouldn’t talk myself out of it for weeks. As I said, weird shit.
Ten Junes ago I fell off my skateboard and woke up three weeks later. Wait—“woke up” isn’t quite right. I was in a drug-induced coma for a week, then my brain swelling (suddenly, miraculously) reversed course, the doctors at Harborview were able to ease up on the drugs and ditch plans to cut away a section of my skull—which is very much a cut-your-losses maneuver—and then (I’m told) I became cognizant, conversational. But my brain’s ability to make memories didn’t come back online for another couple weeks, and when it did, I found myself amidst circumstances I would’ve described as surreal, if I’d had the cognitive ability to parse the idea of multiple realities. Which I did not.
When your brain is compelled to rewire itself, relearn how to designate something for long-term memory, get it to stick, some weird shit happens. My brain had no shortage of rewiring to do—muscle memory was completely wiped, for example; I had to relearn much the non-breathing/heartbeating stuff your muscles do without having to think about it. The first memory that stuck that summer is the story of my 5-step journey from hospital bed to bathroom, and I can recall how it felt: as though I’d come awake for the first time, everything new but simultaneously familiar, comfortable. I felt completely fine, thought I was fine (and would continue to. My ongoing impression was that, man, a week ago I was messed up, but thank god I’m all good now. A week later, same deal). I shrugged off my buddy Brian’s attempt to help me to the loo, stood up, told my legs to start walking, and instead began melting into the floor. Brian caught me and we eventually resumed the trip. It all took much longer than anticipated, which sucked, because I had a bowel movement melting into my jammies. The rest of that memory is mainly—well, Brian is a very good friend. Other early memories also involve loved ones being good to me. My family was amazing, my girlfriend Erin was amazing, and tons of folks dropped by to visit—even my old friend Laura, who would become the love of my life and eventually agree to marry me. One afternoon I was sitting up in bed, talking with my beautiful, dark-haired girlfriend, when I looked over and saw my beautiful, red-haired girlfriend in the doorway. Had … had I somehow managed to have two girlfriends at once? Yes I had. Yes! I had. And they were both good with it, talking affectionately to me, to each other, enjoying each other’s company, as simultaneous girlfriends so rarely do. Of course, the red-head was my ex from college, who'd flown up to visit. But I had no sense of timeline on which to affix memories of my past; everything existed in the same wobbly present tense. On wakeful nights alone, the floor quiet and dark, I would pad slowly around the recovery floor of the hospital, trying to find the lounge area with the mini fridge with the juice boxes (it kept moving). Some nights felt wakeful even when they weren’t—I’d never had lucid dreams before, but now I did, and a few of my most vivid, tactile early memories were actually dreams, as when I commenced my nightly juice-box search, wandered down a hallway onto an (imaginary) sky bridge over a (ditto) atrium space, looked down, and saw rows and rows of fatally ill kids in wheelchairs lined up in front of a stage, where ‘N Sync was getting ready to perform a Make-a-Wish-type benefit concert. Wouldn’t you know it, there was an empty chair smack in the middle of this sea of sickly children, so I went and sat down. Recall, this is 2001; ‘N Sync ruled the land with Justin Bieber-like ubiquity. I was 26 and white and male, which meant my gathered opinion of ‘N Sync was as a pop cultural atrocity, and in my pre-brain injury life I’d spoken of them only ironically, like referring to them as New Sync on the Block or whatever. But tonight was different. Tonight was about the children. These poor kids, dying before they got a chance to live—except for tonight, because ‘N Sync was here to give them the night of their lives. A night to take with them to heaven. When the show started, I found that I knew all the words to all the songs—all of them, not just “Bye Bye Bye” and “It’s Gonna Be Me” but songs I’d heard perhaps once, by extra-accident—and so stood and began to sing along, full-throatedly, while miming the top-half choreography happening onstage. A few songs in, Justin Timberlake pointed to me and beckoned me to come up with the band. Now, whether Justin did this because my talent was overwhelmingly apparent or because the loud, jazz-handed 6’9” dude surrounded by kids with cancer was too painful to watch, perhaps we’ll never know. What we do know is he didn’t regret it. I took stage right, fell in with the choreography, and began harmonizing in all the right places. This earned a few I’m-impressed sidelong glances from Justin, and eventually an invitation to take a vocal solo, which I accepted, dancing my way to front-center stage. I went off, the tiny invalids went nuts, end of dream. I spent the next day with a) multiple ‘N Sync songs I’d virtually never paid attention to running in my head, and b) the conviction that the concert had really happened. It was exponentially more tactile, more real than any other recent memory, and I wouldn’t talk myself out of it for weeks. As I said, weird shit.
12 May 2010
your life as an online student according to cheesy stock photos
i encourage you--nay! urge you--to check out a piece i wrote for the blog i run at work that's being pimped today for traffic-getting reasons. the series was fun to write, and this mashup version is spiffed out.
your life as an online student according to cheesy stock photos | greatest hits
27 January 2010
new fake band: the cream enthusiasts.
dude just left a comment on my last (and not very recent) blog post:
Hello! Just blogspotting. Great blog! I bookmarkd it.
Happy blogging!
and i was like, thanks, jez cortazo! that's nice. i think i'll take a look at your travel & adventure blog. and....it's hard for me to find words to describe his words. here's an eg:Surfers Paradise
Hello! Just blogspotting. Great blog! I bookmarkd it.
Happy blogging!
and i was like, thanks, jez cortazo! that's nice. i think i'll take a look at your travel & adventure blog. and....it's hard for me to find words to describe his words. here's an eg:
Surfers Paradise
With a name like Surfers Paradise, it alone stands to acumen that some of the best surfing in Australia can be begin here. In fact, some of the best surfing in the apple is amid on this aboriginal bank that not alone offers abundant cream but so abundant more. Surfers paradise is simple to get to if you are aerial into the Gold Bank area. You can biking to either The Gold Bank airport amid in Coolangatta or you can access in Brisbane and appoint a Gold Bank appoint car to drive down the bank till you ability Surfers Paradise.
Once you ability Surfers Paradise, you will apprehend that this abode is heaven on earth, not alone for the cream enthusiasts, but aswell for anyone who wishes to accept a acceptable time. This is an ideal abode for vacation, for all sorts of humans – couples on their honeymoon, families with accouchement or bodies gluttonous a weekend getaway. There are abundant break options to fit altered budgets and with a Gold Bank car rental, the breadth is castigation for the taking!
Surfing at Surfers Paradise is a continued lived attitude that allows both the adolescent and old to try out their new abilities or to brightness some of their best moves. If you are new to the action and are not absolutely acquainted of what needs to be done, you could either accept to insolate on the bank and watch the professionals do it or you could appoint an adviser to advise you the intricacies. Summer is aiguille division to cream in the area, but it's aswell the busiest. Often some of the best cream is begin in the off division amid the months of May to November if it may be a bit colder but the bank is beneath awash giving you added affairs to bolt that absolute wave.
tags:Abode, Acceptable Time, Accouchement, Acumen, Adolescent, Adviser, Affluence, Aggregation, Aswell, Breadth, Budgets, Castigation, Coolangatta, Enthusiasts, Gold Bank, Heaven On Earth, Surfboard, Surfers Paradise, Surfing In Australia, Weekend Getaway
23 December 2009
koolaid is nice to have, too, but not required.
having a cult is the same as having a picnic. pick a nice, out of the way spot. lay out some blankets. bring games--the best are ones with no boards or pieces. all the rules in your head. every item you spread out has a story. talk up your jam, your pickles. this is different, see, made with hands, with love, intimate, the way it was meant to be. ordained. poor people dying in their cafeterias, queued up with their empty plastic trays, the waiting dead. why waste your life. why creep along in your wagon with the engine idling, why have your skin bleached by pool water when there's a swimming hole just over there. these bisquits are my body--already buttered. this jam is my blood, preserved for you. take and eat. you can taste how right this is. most everybody can't, they're dulled to life. babylon is so boring that folks can't see they're in it. so they wait on hold to get their lashing, and soon enough scars cover all their senses...blind their tongues, amputate their eyes. not you, though. you're different, lucky--you're here with me now. we see the truth, feel the truth, eat the truth. we're having a picnic.
13 August 2009
the voices in my head.
so. mcsweeneys had a contest for new columnists, and i entered it with what can properly if unfortunately be called gusto. i didn't win. of the 812 entries they received, they had 33 finalists, whom they notified of their finalism. i was not one of these. am i bitter about being a not-winner? it would hardly make sense to be; i not-win every day. i find mild comfort in the fact that none of the 7 winners proposed a fiction column---titles range from conversations at a wartime cafe to bitchslap: a column about women and fighting. i heart mcsweeneys, and will continue to, even though reading the columns i lost to will, for a time, cause me to hatefully deconstruct their writing. just for a time, though; after all, my first definite memory of my bride-to-be laura was her beating me in a 7th-grade halloween costume contest, and i had pretty much stopped resenting her by the middle of 12th grade. and now we're getting married! so that's positive. another positive way to look at it is that mcsweeneys was just easing me in, so that when they reject my novel sometime next year, i'll be predejected and ready to go. here, then, is the first full installment of my aborted column. (in .doc form it's all formatted properly like a screenplay; here it's approximated and hopefully still readable.)
CU the wan face of POINTLESSLY PERSISTENT. The camera PULLS BACK to reveal his surroundings.
INT. MESSY LIVING ROOM – DAY
He presses end on his phone and walks into the kitchen, also messy. Only the kitchen table is clean.
In front of it squats ANAL-RETENTIVE IN JUST THIS ONE AREA, pulling bottles of liquor from boxes on the floor.
POINTLESSLY PERSISTENT
Man, I need a drink. If it doesn’t relax me, I’ll have 10 or 12 more.
From one of the boxes, he quietly removes a bottle.
ANAL-RETENTIVE IN JUST THIS ONE AREA (not looking up)
Don’t think of drinking ONE SINGLE FUCKING DROP from my special collection.
POINTLESSLY PERSISTENT
I kill myself all day trying to get our number changed so the creditors can’t find us. They had me on hold four hours. But I waited.
ANAL-RETENTIVE IN JUST THIS ONE AREA
I’ve been waiting to throw a party like this for YEARS.
POINTLESSLY PERSISTENT
Then call waiting keeps buzzing, saying private caller. But I pick up the pattern. The manager puts me on hold, 30 seconds pass, and boom! there’s private caller.
Pointlessly Persistent pours a tall glass of bourbon.
POINTLESSLY PERSISTENT (cont’d)
The manager wanted me to play his little game. But guess what, bucko? I don’t play by the rules. So I took that call.
ANAL-RETENTIVE IN JUST THIS ONE AREA
I will NOT let you fuck this up for me again.
POINTLESSLY PERSISTENT
But it wasn’t him, it was a woman. One of us is apparently the father of her baby.
PRINCIPLED IN THEORY has appeared in the kitchen behind Pointlessly Persistent.
PRINCIPLED IN THEORY
If we could all just think about this.
POINTLESSLY PERSISTENT
Mom’s being deployed. Can’t take her daughter with her. Says she’s out of options.
PRINCIPLED IN THEORY
Fatherhood: daily sacrifice for the sake of family.
UNACKNOWLEDGED GAY AFFINITY may or may not have been standing there all along.
UNACKNOWLEDGED GAY AFFINITY
Someone wants to give us a baby?
PRINCIPLED IN THEORY (cont’d)
I will work to identify every possible angle from which this can be evaluated.
POINTLESSLY PERSISTENT
After you’ve hypothesized a bunch of ways to approach the problem, I’ll fixate on the one that’s futile and insulting. First, someone tell me how we got a lady named Marsha impregnated.
ANAL-RETENTIVE IN JUST THIS ONE AREA
Marsha … Marsha?
POINTLESSLY PERSISTENT
Oh SHIT. Spill it, dude.
ANAL-RETENTIVE IN JUST THIS ONE AREA
Wow … we’re in California. That giant party with strobe lights hanging in the yard. Bathtub punch. Pumping music. Everyone sauced…
UNACKNOWLEDGED GAY AFFINITY
That was the best party since I pledged us to those frats back in college.
ANAL-RETENTIVE IN JUST THIS ONE AREA (cont’d)
I didn’t drink that nasty punch, so I was the last man standing. This chick Marsha was hanging on me, and…
PRINCIPLED IN THEORY
And?
ANAL-RETENTIVE IN JUST THIS ONE AREA
What, okay? We all do things.
UNACKNOWLEDGED GAY AFFINITY
What we all do is fail to put things over our penis, you dick.
PRINCIPLED IN THEORY
Well, it happened. And now this is happening. We have to get ready; we have to conceptualize.
POINTLESSLY PERSISTENT
There’s no money to get on a plane and fly there. But we have the gas card. If we left now and drove nonstop, in shifts, there’s an attractively tiny chance we could make it before mommy ships out.
PRINCIPLED IN THEORY
Whoa there, Turbo! Slow down.
Suddenly, GAME FACE looms in the back door.
GAME FACE
I smell crunch time.
PRINCIPLED IN THEORY
There’s an old fable called The Gerbil & the Fox’s Stocking. How about I read it aloud? Tonight we’ll meditate on it as we fall asleep, and in the morning we’ll see how the meaning of the story is relevant to…
GAME FACE
Nothing you say affects me. It’s Time To Do This.
INT. MIDSIZE SPORTS UTILITY VEHICLE HYBRID – DAY
Game Face drives, wearing large headphones. Principled In Theory rides shotgun. Unacknowledged Gay Affinity is in the middle back seat, folded in a kind of upright fetal position between the other two voices, both stretched out sleeping. In his hands is a CD.
He leans stiffly forward, like he wants to be heard over the music. But there is no music.
UNACKNOWLEDGED GAY AFFINITY
It’s kind of nice with everyone else out of it, just you and me. On the road. Here, throw on this Bright Eyes record I brought along.
PRINCIPLED IN THEORY
I’m suddenly tired.
Principled In Theory puts his head back and closes his eyes.
EXT. HIGH PLAINS HIGHWAY – NIGHT
The midsize SUV hybrid flies along the road, silent save for the hiss of the tires.
INT. MIDSIZE SUV HYBRID – DAY
Game Face drives, headphones on, hands at the 10-and-2 position on the wheel.
Sound asleep in the back, Anal-Retentive In Just This One Area FARTS a slow sleepy-time fart.
Principled In Theory fakes being asleep, left eye shut but right eye open.
GAME FACE
Ventura fairgrounds, next exit.
PRINCIPLED IN THEORY
Are we … is that the ocean? I can’t believe I slept the whole way!
VENTURA COUNTY FAIR – DAY
AERIAL SHOT of the fairgrounds. The camera ZOOMS in on the Ferris wheel, which is not moving. At the top of the wheel, four voices are squeezed into a car. They stare straight ahead, silent, bored.
ANAL-RETENTIVE IN JUST THIS ONE AREA
Well I’m red in the face. I CANNOT BELIEVE I claimed to prefer the beer garden over this shitstorm of action.
PRINCIPLED IN THEORY
We’re early. What do you want? We go to the beer garden, get all kinds of drunk in time to meet a baby? No. So rides it is.
Anal-Retentive In Just This One Area pulls a bottle of rye whisky from under his sweatshirt, takes a pull, and passes it across Principled In Theory to Pointlessly Persistent, who swigs and passes it to Game Face.
Game Face takes a pull, CRACKS his neck.
The car rocks and SHUDDERS as the Ferris wheel resumes motion.
GAME FACE
It’s game time.
The camera HOLDS as the car recedes from the frame.
The next car emerges into the frame. Unacknowledged Gay Affinity rides alone.
VENTURA COUNTY FAIR – NIGHT
OVERHEAD SHOT of a grid of glass bottles.
A rubber ring lands around the neck of one bottle. Another ring finds the neck of the bottle below it, and another below that.
A CARNIVAL WORKER sets an enormous purple squirrel on the counter.
Game Face SLAPS down tickets to play a fresh round.
CU Principled In Theory – the camera PULLS BACK to show him straddling the head of a polar bear, beer in hand, smoking.
Behind him stands Unacknowledged Gay Affinity. Cradled in his arm is a teddy bear wearing a bonnet and onesie.
Littered around them is a colony of stuffed prize animals, some posed in mating positions.
A YOUNG GIRL runs over and picks up a pink doggie. She hugs it. She approaches Principled in Theory, who bends down to hear what she has to say.
Principled in Theory nods and whispers to her with a smile. The Young Girl pulls a wad of bills from her pocket, counts off five dollars, hands it over. She runs off with the dog.
Principled in Theory pockets the cash and takes a drag off his cigarette.
Five phones RING at once.
ALL TOGETHER
Yeah.
ALAN ALDA
Is there a father in the house?
PRINCIPLED IN THEORY
Perhaps. Who are you?
ALAN ALDA
I’m the father. Of the mother.
PRINCIPLED IN THEORY
Where is the mother?
ALAN ALDA
I was sent as emissary. There’s too much heat at the ring-a-bottle. Head south to the sani-tent.
Principled In Theory strides confidently forward and then stops cold.
Unacknowledged Gay Affinity steps up behind him.
UNACKNOWLEDGED GAY AFFINITY
Keep moving.
He puts both hands in Principled In Theory’s back and leans him into forward motion.
ALAN ALDA stands next to a porta-potty painted like a circus tent.
ALAN ALDA
Those fellas at the ring-a-bottle, they’re with you?
PRINCIPLED IN THEORY
We live together.
ALAN ALDA
Unfortunate.
Alan Alda points over their shoulders.
REVERSE ANGLE SHOT of Anal-Retentive In Just This One Area, who pauses dry-humping the giant purple squirrel in order to swig more whisky.
ALAN ALDA (cont’d)
That right there is less future PTA, more future AA.
UNACKNOWLEDGED GAY AFFINITY
If you’re the grandfather … how come you don’t take her?
ALAN ALDA
I don't chew my cabbage twice.
Alan Alda could be smiling or maybe frowning.
UNACKNOWLEDGED GAY AFFINITY
We didn’t ask to have this baby, okay? But now that we’re here, it’s like I was born to have this baby.
ALAN ALDA
I’m not one to get my undies in a twist over a technicality, but there is no baby per se. Tanya’s five years old.
PRINCIPLED IN THEORY
Five!? That can’t be … no, no, can that be … it can.
ALAN ALDA
Can and is. Time flies when you’re charging your estranged daughter five dollars for a stuffed toy you don’t even want.
UNACKNOWLEDGED GAY AFFINITY
What the F! That was her!?
PRINCIPLED IN THEORY
That looked bad. But if you’ll lend me your ear for as long as I want, I’ll rationalize it for you.
ALAN ALDA
I’m too old for this. I’m supposed to be taking a cruise, not custody of a child.
Unacknowledged Gay Affinity hurls the teddy bear baby at Alan Alda, STRIKING him in the crotch.
ALAN ALDA
Ow!
UNACKNOWLEDGED GAY AFFINITY
You’re putting us through this so you can take a cruise?
ALAN ALDA
A whole year long! Clear around the globe.
UNACKNOWLEDGED GAY AFFINITY (yelling)
Hypocrite! None of these assholes want to be a dad! But I do! And now you’re going to reject me because of them when you’re no better – a freaking cruise!
The other voices materialize in the near background.
ALAN ALDA
My job is simple. I’m here to estimate –
Unacknowledged Gay Affinity runs and leaps onto Alan Alda like a stripper mounting the pole. They fall to the ground.
Unacknowledged Gay Affinity seizes the teddy bear baby and BEATS Alan Alda around the head and neck with it.
UNACKNOWLEDGED GAY AFFINITY (more yelling)
Selfish! Selfish!
The other voices CHEER him on.
But the beating continues. They come forward, each grab a limb, and pry him off Alan Alda. They POUND his back and LAUGH.
Arms around his shoulders, they escort him away.
Principled In Theory hesitates, then turns and trots back to Alan Alda.
He offers a hand and pulls Alan Alda to a sitting position.
ALAN ALDA
Where am I.
PRINCIPLED IN THEORY
At the fair about to go find your granddaughter and take her home. It’s the right thing to do. The negative environmental impact of cruise ships cannot be endorsed.
The camera PULLS BACK and BACK to an AERIAL SHOT of the fairgrounds, lights ablaze.
INT. MESSY LIVING ROOM – EVENING.
Four voices sit on the long couch, conversing.
POINTLESSLY PERSISTENT
…So maybe you’re not really gay?
SEMI-ACKNOWLEDGED GAY AFFINITY
Oh I’m gay. I’m also outnumbered. Every day is another day of four-on-one…
GAME FACE
You cannot stop the dribble penetration.
SEMI-ACKNOWLEDGED GAY AFFINITY
Sure! Let’s go with the sports analogy. I’m always on defense – I never get to touch the ball slash balls. But maybe now that you act like you accept me, I won’t have to spend so much time hiding out.
PRINCIPLED IN THEORY
Every voice shall be heard.
SEMI-ACKNOWLEDGED GAY AFFINITY
I can redecorate – I can cook! I’ve always dreamed of being a chef…
Anal-Retentive In Just This One Area enters from the kitchen bearing two serving trays.
ANAL-RETENTIVE IN JUST THIS ONE AREA
Gentlemen and lady-man, dinner be served.
SEMI-ACKNOWLEDGED GAY AFFINITY
Yay! What’re we having?
ANAL-RETENTIVE IN JUST THIS ONE AREA
Courvoisier and corndogs.
SEMI-ACKNOWLEDGED GAY AFFINITY
You’re joking.
Game Face picks up the TV remote and turns up the volume. He bites into his corndog.
GAME FACE
Game’s on.
THE VOICES IN MY HEAD LAND AN INDIE FILM
THAT'S SET TO BLOW UP AT SUNDANCE.
Little Miss Conception
THAT'S SET TO BLOW UP AT SUNDANCE.
Little Miss Conception
CU the wan face of POINTLESSLY PERSISTENT. The camera PULLS BACK to reveal his surroundings.
INT. MESSY LIVING ROOM – DAY
He presses end on his phone and walks into the kitchen, also messy. Only the kitchen table is clean.
In front of it squats ANAL-RETENTIVE IN JUST THIS ONE AREA, pulling bottles of liquor from boxes on the floor.
POINTLESSLY PERSISTENT
Man, I need a drink. If it doesn’t relax me, I’ll have 10 or 12 more.
From one of the boxes, he quietly removes a bottle.
ANAL-RETENTIVE IN JUST THIS ONE AREA (not looking up)
Don’t think of drinking ONE SINGLE FUCKING DROP from my special collection.
POINTLESSLY PERSISTENT
I kill myself all day trying to get our number changed so the creditors can’t find us. They had me on hold four hours. But I waited.
ANAL-RETENTIVE IN JUST THIS ONE AREA
I’ve been waiting to throw a party like this for YEARS.
POINTLESSLY PERSISTENT
Then call waiting keeps buzzing, saying private caller. But I pick up the pattern. The manager puts me on hold, 30 seconds pass, and boom! there’s private caller.
Pointlessly Persistent pours a tall glass of bourbon.
POINTLESSLY PERSISTENT (cont’d)
The manager wanted me to play his little game. But guess what, bucko? I don’t play by the rules. So I took that call.
ANAL-RETENTIVE IN JUST THIS ONE AREA
I will NOT let you fuck this up for me again.
POINTLESSLY PERSISTENT
But it wasn’t him, it was a woman. One of us is apparently the father of her baby.
PRINCIPLED IN THEORY has appeared in the kitchen behind Pointlessly Persistent.
PRINCIPLED IN THEORY
If we could all just think about this.
POINTLESSLY PERSISTENT
Mom’s being deployed. Can’t take her daughter with her. Says she’s out of options.
PRINCIPLED IN THEORY
Fatherhood: daily sacrifice for the sake of family.
UNACKNOWLEDGED GAY AFFINITY may or may not have been standing there all along.
UNACKNOWLEDGED GAY AFFINITY
Someone wants to give us a baby?
PRINCIPLED IN THEORY (cont’d)
I will work to identify every possible angle from which this can be evaluated.
POINTLESSLY PERSISTENT
After you’ve hypothesized a bunch of ways to approach the problem, I’ll fixate on the one that’s futile and insulting. First, someone tell me how we got a lady named Marsha impregnated.
ANAL-RETENTIVE IN JUST THIS ONE AREA
Marsha … Marsha?
POINTLESSLY PERSISTENT
Oh SHIT. Spill it, dude.
ANAL-RETENTIVE IN JUST THIS ONE AREA
Wow … we’re in California. That giant party with strobe lights hanging in the yard. Bathtub punch. Pumping music. Everyone sauced…
UNACKNOWLEDGED GAY AFFINITY
That was the best party since I pledged us to those frats back in college.
ANAL-RETENTIVE IN JUST THIS ONE AREA (cont’d)
I didn’t drink that nasty punch, so I was the last man standing. This chick Marsha was hanging on me, and…
PRINCIPLED IN THEORY
And?
ANAL-RETENTIVE IN JUST THIS ONE AREA
What, okay? We all do things.
UNACKNOWLEDGED GAY AFFINITY
What we all do is fail to put things over our penis, you dick.
PRINCIPLED IN THEORY
Well, it happened. And now this is happening. We have to get ready; we have to conceptualize.
POINTLESSLY PERSISTENT
There’s no money to get on a plane and fly there. But we have the gas card. If we left now and drove nonstop, in shifts, there’s an attractively tiny chance we could make it before mommy ships out.
PRINCIPLED IN THEORY
Whoa there, Turbo! Slow down.
Suddenly, GAME FACE looms in the back door.
GAME FACE
I smell crunch time.
PRINCIPLED IN THEORY
There’s an old fable called The Gerbil & the Fox’s Stocking. How about I read it aloud? Tonight we’ll meditate on it as we fall asleep, and in the morning we’ll see how the meaning of the story is relevant to…
GAME FACE
Nothing you say affects me. It’s Time To Do This.
INT. MIDSIZE SPORTS UTILITY VEHICLE HYBRID – DAY
Game Face drives, wearing large headphones. Principled In Theory rides shotgun. Unacknowledged Gay Affinity is in the middle back seat, folded in a kind of upright fetal position between the other two voices, both stretched out sleeping. In his hands is a CD.
He leans stiffly forward, like he wants to be heard over the music. But there is no music.
UNACKNOWLEDGED GAY AFFINITY
It’s kind of nice with everyone else out of it, just you and me. On the road. Here, throw on this Bright Eyes record I brought along.
PRINCIPLED IN THEORY
I’m suddenly tired.
Principled In Theory puts his head back and closes his eyes.
EXT. HIGH PLAINS HIGHWAY – NIGHT
The midsize SUV hybrid flies along the road, silent save for the hiss of the tires.
INT. MIDSIZE SUV HYBRID – DAY
Game Face drives, headphones on, hands at the 10-and-2 position on the wheel.
Sound asleep in the back, Anal-Retentive In Just This One Area FARTS a slow sleepy-time fart.
Principled In Theory fakes being asleep, left eye shut but right eye open.
GAME FACE
Ventura fairgrounds, next exit.
PRINCIPLED IN THEORY
Are we … is that the ocean? I can’t believe I slept the whole way!
VENTURA COUNTY FAIR – DAY
AERIAL SHOT of the fairgrounds. The camera ZOOMS in on the Ferris wheel, which is not moving. At the top of the wheel, four voices are squeezed into a car. They stare straight ahead, silent, bored.
ANAL-RETENTIVE IN JUST THIS ONE AREA
Well I’m red in the face. I CANNOT BELIEVE I claimed to prefer the beer garden over this shitstorm of action.
PRINCIPLED IN THEORY
We’re early. What do you want? We go to the beer garden, get all kinds of drunk in time to meet a baby? No. So rides it is.
Anal-Retentive In Just This One Area pulls a bottle of rye whisky from under his sweatshirt, takes a pull, and passes it across Principled In Theory to Pointlessly Persistent, who swigs and passes it to Game Face.
Game Face takes a pull, CRACKS his neck.
The car rocks and SHUDDERS as the Ferris wheel resumes motion.
GAME FACE
It’s game time.
The camera HOLDS as the car recedes from the frame.
The next car emerges into the frame. Unacknowledged Gay Affinity rides alone.
VENTURA COUNTY FAIR – NIGHT
OVERHEAD SHOT of a grid of glass bottles.
A rubber ring lands around the neck of one bottle. Another ring finds the neck of the bottle below it, and another below that.
A CARNIVAL WORKER sets an enormous purple squirrel on the counter.
Game Face SLAPS down tickets to play a fresh round.
CU Principled In Theory – the camera PULLS BACK to show him straddling the head of a polar bear, beer in hand, smoking.
Behind him stands Unacknowledged Gay Affinity. Cradled in his arm is a teddy bear wearing a bonnet and onesie.
Littered around them is a colony of stuffed prize animals, some posed in mating positions.
A YOUNG GIRL runs over and picks up a pink doggie. She hugs it. She approaches Principled in Theory, who bends down to hear what she has to say.
Principled in Theory nods and whispers to her with a smile. The Young Girl pulls a wad of bills from her pocket, counts off five dollars, hands it over. She runs off with the dog.
Principled in Theory pockets the cash and takes a drag off his cigarette.
Five phones RING at once.
ALL TOGETHER
Yeah.
ALAN ALDA
Is there a father in the house?
PRINCIPLED IN THEORY
Perhaps. Who are you?
ALAN ALDA
I’m the father. Of the mother.
PRINCIPLED IN THEORY
Where is the mother?
ALAN ALDA
I was sent as emissary. There’s too much heat at the ring-a-bottle. Head south to the sani-tent.
Principled In Theory strides confidently forward and then stops cold.
Unacknowledged Gay Affinity steps up behind him.
UNACKNOWLEDGED GAY AFFINITY
Keep moving.
He puts both hands in Principled In Theory’s back and leans him into forward motion.
ALAN ALDA stands next to a porta-potty painted like a circus tent.
ALAN ALDA
Those fellas at the ring-a-bottle, they’re with you?
PRINCIPLED IN THEORY
We live together.
ALAN ALDA
Unfortunate.
Alan Alda points over their shoulders.
REVERSE ANGLE SHOT of Anal-Retentive In Just This One Area, who pauses dry-humping the giant purple squirrel in order to swig more whisky.
ALAN ALDA (cont’d)
That right there is less future PTA, more future AA.
UNACKNOWLEDGED GAY AFFINITY
If you’re the grandfather … how come you don’t take her?
ALAN ALDA
I don't chew my cabbage twice.
Alan Alda could be smiling or maybe frowning.
UNACKNOWLEDGED GAY AFFINITY
We didn’t ask to have this baby, okay? But now that we’re here, it’s like I was born to have this baby.
ALAN ALDA
I’m not one to get my undies in a twist over a technicality, but there is no baby per se. Tanya’s five years old.
PRINCIPLED IN THEORY
Five!? That can’t be … no, no, can that be … it can.
ALAN ALDA
Can and is. Time flies when you’re charging your estranged daughter five dollars for a stuffed toy you don’t even want.
UNACKNOWLEDGED GAY AFFINITY
What the F! That was her!?
PRINCIPLED IN THEORY
That looked bad. But if you’ll lend me your ear for as long as I want, I’ll rationalize it for you.
ALAN ALDA
I’m too old for this. I’m supposed to be taking a cruise, not custody of a child.
Unacknowledged Gay Affinity hurls the teddy bear baby at Alan Alda, STRIKING him in the crotch.
ALAN ALDA
Ow!
UNACKNOWLEDGED GAY AFFINITY
You’re putting us through this so you can take a cruise?
ALAN ALDA
A whole year long! Clear around the globe.
UNACKNOWLEDGED GAY AFFINITY (yelling)
Hypocrite! None of these assholes want to be a dad! But I do! And now you’re going to reject me because of them when you’re no better – a freaking cruise!
The other voices materialize in the near background.
ALAN ALDA
My job is simple. I’m here to estimate –
Unacknowledged Gay Affinity runs and leaps onto Alan Alda like a stripper mounting the pole. They fall to the ground.
Unacknowledged Gay Affinity seizes the teddy bear baby and BEATS Alan Alda around the head and neck with it.
UNACKNOWLEDGED GAY AFFINITY (more yelling)
Selfish! Selfish!
The other voices CHEER him on.
But the beating continues. They come forward, each grab a limb, and pry him off Alan Alda. They POUND his back and LAUGH.
Arms around his shoulders, they escort him away.
Principled In Theory hesitates, then turns and trots back to Alan Alda.
He offers a hand and pulls Alan Alda to a sitting position.
ALAN ALDA
Where am I.
PRINCIPLED IN THEORY
At the fair about to go find your granddaughter and take her home. It’s the right thing to do. The negative environmental impact of cruise ships cannot be endorsed.
The camera PULLS BACK and BACK to an AERIAL SHOT of the fairgrounds, lights ablaze.
INT. MESSY LIVING ROOM – EVENING.
Four voices sit on the long couch, conversing.
POINTLESSLY PERSISTENT
…So maybe you’re not really gay?
SEMI-ACKNOWLEDGED GAY AFFINITY
Oh I’m gay. I’m also outnumbered. Every day is another day of four-on-one…
GAME FACE
You cannot stop the dribble penetration.
SEMI-ACKNOWLEDGED GAY AFFINITY
Sure! Let’s go with the sports analogy. I’m always on defense – I never get to touch the ball slash balls. But maybe now that you act like you accept me, I won’t have to spend so much time hiding out.
PRINCIPLED IN THEORY
Every voice shall be heard.
SEMI-ACKNOWLEDGED GAY AFFINITY
I can redecorate – I can cook! I’ve always dreamed of being a chef…
Anal-Retentive In Just This One Area enters from the kitchen bearing two serving trays.
ANAL-RETENTIVE IN JUST THIS ONE AREA
Gentlemen and lady-man, dinner be served.
SEMI-ACKNOWLEDGED GAY AFFINITY
Yay! What’re we having?
ANAL-RETENTIVE IN JUST THIS ONE AREA
Courvoisier and corndogs.
SEMI-ACKNOWLEDGED GAY AFFINITY
You’re joking.
Game Face picks up the TV remote and turns up the volume. He bites into his corndog.
GAME FACE
Game’s on.
11 June 2009
goddammit baby you know i ain't lyin' to you i'm only gonna tell you one tiiiiimeahhhyeah.
made the rounds a while back, but this isn't my first late-to-the-rodeo: the david lee roth soundboard.
it's so much fun i don't even know what to do with myself.
UPDATE: now i know what to do with myself! litter my workout mix with the mp3 versions.
it's so much fun i don't even know what to do with myself.
UPDATE: now i know what to do with myself! litter my workout mix with the mp3 versions.
09 June 2009
one of those things where it's like, fuck, i almost had this idea a while back.
but it's just splendidly done.
SHORT TAKES ON BOOKS THAT DON’T EXIST.
eg,
Workshop
by Nick Lowey
MFA students writing—and failing to write—form the subject of Lowey’s debut, a collection of linked stories that mines the liminal space between earnest frustration and the grinding tedium of endless failure. Other writers have trod this turf with less success, but Lowey displays an enviable judiciousness and a keen eye: a box of cheap wine is described as “a store-brand Lethe, a vermillion river of solace and forgetting.”
SHORT TAKES ON BOOKS THAT DON’T EXIST.
eg,
Workshop
by Nick Lowey
MFA students writing—and failing to write—form the subject of Lowey’s debut, a collection of linked stories that mines the liminal space between earnest frustration and the grinding tedium of endless failure. Other writers have trod this turf with less success, but Lowey displays an enviable judiciousness and a keen eye: a box of cheap wine is described as “a store-brand Lethe, a vermillion river of solace and forgetting.”
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