March 27th
On HOMER SIMPSON
Okay, now it is time for my Top 5favourite TV comedy serieses of all time! These lists, from what I understand, are quite popular. No real surprises, I’m not a goddam TV archeologist.
1) The Simpsons
Parents of the world warned it against it, but it turned out to be hilarious. Thus parents of the world lost credibility. Family Guy is not as good, because it is like the Simpsons but with no soul. Futurama is too Sci Fi for my taste. South Park is sharp, but sometimes gives me a little scatalogical headache. No, Simpsons is the best – I own the first seven seasons and have watched all the DVD commentaries – very enlightening!
2) Arrested Development
These are all obvious, but some people don’t like this show because it is too cute and clever. If AD has a weak point, it is that, especially when Ron Howard’s narration gets a bit twee. Overall, though, dynamite., clever writing, characters you fall in love with despite their idiocy and despicability. Also, bad title. I wrote by first spec script on Arrested Development, and my favourite is the George Michael – Maeby forbidden romance. Now I want to wach this show again.
3) Flight of the Conchords
Is over!!! I am very sad. It was perfect? So relatable, especially as a wannabe performer sticking it out in the city. This one is too close to analyze, the series finale was last week. Matt and I just finished a spec script for it. Matt and I like to imagine we are like Flight of the Conchords, except without musical talent, but with hats. We’re a real hip duo, you know? Favourite song: Hurt Feelings.
4) Monty Python’s Flying Circus
This is the classic one. I haven’t seen all the episodes, and sometimes they can be hard to watch. Still nothing more challenging or more memorable on TV, always trying to stick a stick in your brain, and reality is always barely held together, sometimes not at all. They are my idols.
5) Saturday Night Live
SNL is also formative – it was fun to stay up and watch it as a kid, and my philosophy was always if it was good, it was funny, and if it wasn’t, I learned something about comedy. It’s the only TV show where you can watch people making mistakes. I don’t watch it much these days, since I went to comedy school and became a jaded insider, I’m too cool for the juvenile cast, and Kristen Wiig’s characters irritate me, and there are too many talk show sketches. And the best parts are all on video now (the digital shorts), so, not live. But great memories of the Farley era, the Ferrell-Kattan era, and the Horatio Sanz era. And Tracy Morgan. It’s like watching a reality show about comedy careers too, because you always hear about what’s going on behind the scenes.
Runners up – Late night: The Daily Show, The Colbert Report, both great and very complementary. Conan O’Brien. That’s about it really. I don’t watch that much TV.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
On GLADIATOR
March 26th
On GLADIATOR
Five years later, Fred and Susan got married. Susan loved Gladiator, but she named him Gladiola, and pretended he was a girl. She also got a pug and named it Daisy, but Fred only had love for Glad.
Fred and Susan had four kids, which they named Iris, Orchid, Chrysanthemum, and L.A. Confidential.
Iris is a tall, willowy, pale, girl with a bob of brown hair, thick pink lips and an innocent look on her face.
Orchid is a teen that dresses like a punk vampire.
Chrys is way into sports, and always carries around with her a baseball glove and a basketball.
L.A.C. is a real nerd, with glasses and a portable laptop that he’s always carrying with him.
Together, they are the family Wallace, and they love taking their R.V. and their dogs and heading out to the great outdoors. They keep a big map of Ontario in their basement which Fred was given as a present at work, and whenever Fred and Susan get vacation time they get out the darts and start throwin’.
Once they get to the cottage they’ve rented in some part of Ontario, they let Glad out and he runs around the place, making it safe for fun. Iris yells out Glad’s name and laughs, Chrys throws him a ball, LAC tracks his progress with a computer program he invented, and Orchid draws a crazy artwork where day is night and Glad is a vampire hunter. Susan works in the garden and gets mad when Glad runs through her hard work, but she can’t stay mad at him for long. Fred smokes a pipe and takes in how great his life is ever since he got a dog. And Daisy rubs up against different family members, reminding them that it’s time to get the folds in his face cleaned out.
Eventually they have to leave the cottage they’ve rented so Fred and Susan can get back to work, and so that Iris, Orchid, Chrys and LAC can go back to school, and so Glad and Daisy can work on the internet startup they’ve started up. As they leave the cottage they all stare forlornly out of the back of their station wagon, except Fred, who has to keep his eyes on the road so they don’t get into an accident. Susan looks especially forlornly and the garden she planted. She always forgets they’re only renting. Fred sometimes wonders, are they only renting happiness, too? When Glad passes on, as will inevitably occur, will their teenage children rebel, and will Susan have an affair, and will Daisy get lost in the park, and will their family just get ripped apart?
Well, some dogs neve really die, and Fred had a feeling that Glad was one of them. Sure, he could collapse, physically, but Glad lived in all of the family members now, deep in their hearts, and that part of Glad would never die. Glad pushed his snout into the front seat and gave Fred’s face a big lick, and Fred laughed satisfactorily. Yup, it really was great to be Fred Wallace. He never got panic attacks at work anymore, and he was married to the hottest lady in the building! He had four beautiful kids with eccentric names, and a subscription to an informative newspaper. His life really had a happy ending.
On GLADIATOR
Five years later, Fred and Susan got married. Susan loved Gladiator, but she named him Gladiola, and pretended he was a girl. She also got a pug and named it Daisy, but Fred only had love for Glad.
Fred and Susan had four kids, which they named Iris, Orchid, Chrysanthemum, and L.A. Confidential.
Iris is a tall, willowy, pale, girl with a bob of brown hair, thick pink lips and an innocent look on her face.
Orchid is a teen that dresses like a punk vampire.
Chrys is way into sports, and always carries around with her a baseball glove and a basketball.
L.A.C. is a real nerd, with glasses and a portable laptop that he’s always carrying with him.
Together, they are the family Wallace, and they love taking their R.V. and their dogs and heading out to the great outdoors. They keep a big map of Ontario in their basement which Fred was given as a present at work, and whenever Fred and Susan get vacation time they get out the darts and start throwin’.
Once they get to the cottage they’ve rented in some part of Ontario, they let Glad out and he runs around the place, making it safe for fun. Iris yells out Glad’s name and laughs, Chrys throws him a ball, LAC tracks his progress with a computer program he invented, and Orchid draws a crazy artwork where day is night and Glad is a vampire hunter. Susan works in the garden and gets mad when Glad runs through her hard work, but she can’t stay mad at him for long. Fred smokes a pipe and takes in how great his life is ever since he got a dog. And Daisy rubs up against different family members, reminding them that it’s time to get the folds in his face cleaned out.
Eventually they have to leave the cottage they’ve rented so Fred and Susan can get back to work, and so that Iris, Orchid, Chrys and LAC can go back to school, and so Glad and Daisy can work on the internet startup they’ve started up. As they leave the cottage they all stare forlornly out of the back of their station wagon, except Fred, who has to keep his eyes on the road so they don’t get into an accident. Susan looks especially forlornly and the garden she planted. She always forgets they’re only renting. Fred sometimes wonders, are they only renting happiness, too? When Glad passes on, as will inevitably occur, will their teenage children rebel, and will Susan have an affair, and will Daisy get lost in the park, and will their family just get ripped apart?
Well, some dogs neve really die, and Fred had a feeling that Glad was one of them. Sure, he could collapse, physically, but Glad lived in all of the family members now, deep in their hearts, and that part of Glad would never die. Glad pushed his snout into the front seat and gave Fred’s face a big lick, and Fred laughed satisfactorily. Yup, it really was great to be Fred Wallace. He never got panic attacks at work anymore, and he was married to the hottest lady in the building! He had four beautiful kids with eccentric names, and a subscription to an informative newspaper. His life really had a happy ending.
On GERMAN SHEPHERD
March 25th
On GERMAN SHEPHERD
Fred Wallace had a headache. He accessed his email, and there were five emails, all with a list of things to do, which he added to his list of things to do, which he put on top of his physical inbox, which was stacked with papers. He knew that at the bottom of this inbox was a letter from a starving child overseas, named Alejandro, whom he had to write to to support his financial support, but he had never gotten that deep in the inbox in seven years. God knew what project was down there with Alejandro, hopefully no one had died because of a project he had neglected.
Fred was in a grey cubicle in an 18th floor office in a major city. He turned to look out the window, but it was blocked by a cannonade of filing cabinets. He turned back to his computer terminal, and three more emails popped up. For the first time in seven years, he was really starting to panic.
“Fred drop what you’re doing and take a look at this!” yelled Fred’s boss, Harv.
“Aaaah!” yelled Fred, and then a big dog jumped up on Fred’s lap and licked Fred’s face. It was a German Shepherd. Fred knew what German Shepherds were from cop shows, but he’d never seen one up close.
“He’s so friendly!” smiled Harv.
“I thought… you were… coming… to give me… work to do…” said Fred, between licks.
“Ah, you needed a break,” said Harv. Harv was a tall man with a mustache, good looking.
Fred couldn’t believe such a noble creature, that he thought would be so vicious, or at least reserved, was so willing to openly display his affection for Fred.
“He’s wonderful!” said Fred, choking back a sob.
“You know what?” said Harv, “You keep him. I’ll get another one.”
“Really?” said Fred, lifting up his saliva-covered face towards his employer.
“Yeah, I got lots of money,” said Harv casually, “And the kids don’t like this one, they want a dog with a smushed-in face. Fair enough, who doesn’t, those things are cute.”
“Apparently you have to wash out all the folds in their face,” said Susan, while rushing past, not pausing for a response.
“That’s true,” conceded Harv, “we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. His name’s Gladiator,” he said, pointing to the German Shepherd, “after that movie with Russell Crowe.”
“Thanks, Harv,” said Fred, “I won’t forget this.”
“Take a lunch, and take Gladiator here out to the qudrangle,” said Harv, “I’ll get Susan here to tak over your desk for a bit.”
It was the greatest day of Fred’s life. He went outside into the quadrangle with Gladiator, who he nicknamed Glad, and they played fetch with a ball for three hours. When he came back into the office, his face was red and blotchy from dog tongue.
“What happened to your face,” asked Susan, who was wearing a pantsuit and had a deep voice for a woman.
“Nothing,” said Fred.
“I finished all your work for you,” said Susan, “Remember this later.”
“All right,” said Fred. He couldn’t believe his luck.
“You better get that guy tested for worms,” said Susan, walking back to her desk.
“That’s good advice,” said Fred softly, rubbing Glad under the chin, “I don’t want anything to happen to you!”
On GERMAN SHEPHERD
Fred Wallace had a headache. He accessed his email, and there were five emails, all with a list of things to do, which he added to his list of things to do, which he put on top of his physical inbox, which was stacked with papers. He knew that at the bottom of this inbox was a letter from a starving child overseas, named Alejandro, whom he had to write to to support his financial support, but he had never gotten that deep in the inbox in seven years. God knew what project was down there with Alejandro, hopefully no one had died because of a project he had neglected.
Fred was in a grey cubicle in an 18th floor office in a major city. He turned to look out the window, but it was blocked by a cannonade of filing cabinets. He turned back to his computer terminal, and three more emails popped up. For the first time in seven years, he was really starting to panic.
“Fred drop what you’re doing and take a look at this!” yelled Fred’s boss, Harv.
“Aaaah!” yelled Fred, and then a big dog jumped up on Fred’s lap and licked Fred’s face. It was a German Shepherd. Fred knew what German Shepherds were from cop shows, but he’d never seen one up close.
“He’s so friendly!” smiled Harv.
“I thought… you were… coming… to give me… work to do…” said Fred, between licks.
“Ah, you needed a break,” said Harv. Harv was a tall man with a mustache, good looking.
Fred couldn’t believe such a noble creature, that he thought would be so vicious, or at least reserved, was so willing to openly display his affection for Fred.
“He’s wonderful!” said Fred, choking back a sob.
“You know what?” said Harv, “You keep him. I’ll get another one.”
“Really?” said Fred, lifting up his saliva-covered face towards his employer.
“Yeah, I got lots of money,” said Harv casually, “And the kids don’t like this one, they want a dog with a smushed-in face. Fair enough, who doesn’t, those things are cute.”
“Apparently you have to wash out all the folds in their face,” said Susan, while rushing past, not pausing for a response.
“That’s true,” conceded Harv, “we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. His name’s Gladiator,” he said, pointing to the German Shepherd, “after that movie with Russell Crowe.”
“Thanks, Harv,” said Fred, “I won’t forget this.”
“Take a lunch, and take Gladiator here out to the qudrangle,” said Harv, “I’ll get Susan here to tak over your desk for a bit.”
It was the greatest day of Fred’s life. He went outside into the quadrangle with Gladiator, who he nicknamed Glad, and they played fetch with a ball for three hours. When he came back into the office, his face was red and blotchy from dog tongue.
“What happened to your face,” asked Susan, who was wearing a pantsuit and had a deep voice for a woman.
“Nothing,” said Fred.
“I finished all your work for you,” said Susan, “Remember this later.”
“All right,” said Fred. He couldn’t believe his luck.
“You better get that guy tested for worms,” said Susan, walking back to her desk.
“That’s good advice,” said Fred softly, rubbing Glad under the chin, “I don’t want anything to happen to you!”
Saturday, April 11, 2009
On CHESS TOURNAMENT
March 24th
On CHESS TOURNAMENT
1: “So the Chess Tournament is ready to go, okay, and all these nerds are sitting around with their chess pieces, and then this big-titted broad comes in, right, and they all turn around and are poppin these huge nerd boners, right, and the coach says, ‘Are you here for the Chess Tournament?’ And she says, Oops, I thought you said, ‘Chest Tournament!’”
“Thank you, we’ve heard enough. Thanks for coming in.”
2: “A Chess player moves his piece and says, ‘King me!’ The other guy says ‘King you! I just met you!’”
“That’s checkers. And also, no,”
3: “So the chess tournament ends, and all the nerds are congratulating each other, guys are like, ‘You are the best of all of us!’ and then the poor schmuck who wins, looks around, and says, ‘Yeah, king of the nerds! I still don’t have a girlfriend!’”
“This is a commercial to promote Chess among teens.”
“Oh yeah. Funny, though, right?”
“No.”
4: “WE ARE THE KNIGHTS, WE ARE THE QUEENS, WE ARE THE KINGS OF ROCK AND ROLL! GO CHESS!”
“Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm No.”
5: “A board. An opponent. A bunch of pieces. Chess. Is it in you?”
“That is an old Gatorade slogan.”
“That everyone’s forgotten!”
“I remembered it, though.”
“Well, it’s one of those phrases that is just, it belongs to the common weal.”
“Good day.”
6: “Jim Carrey comes in. He does his thing, arms all over the place, yelling things, and then at the end, over the screen, it says, ‘you don’t have to be a nerd to like chess.’”
“Implying that Jim Carrey likes Chess?”
“Yes.”
“He’s a little nerdy though.”
“What?”
“He’s not the coolest guy I can think of.”
“Who’s the coolest guy you can think of?”
“Uh… Fifty Cent?”
“Please.”
“Looks like neither of us knows anything.”
7: “A basketball player makes this monster dunk, and it turns out that instead of a basketball, it’s a Chess piece. Then a deep voice says, ‘Chess. Is it in you?”:
“Weren’t you here before?”
8: “This nerd is teaching chess to this big-titted babe, and he’s like, ‘the bishop moves like this in chess’ and she says ‘did you say chess or chest?’”
“You were definitely here earlier.”
9: “We show all these wacked-out old soviet footage, right, with all these portraits of Stalin, people waiting in line for bread, and statues, hammers and sickles everywhere”
“And then?”
“That’s it.”
“No chess?”
“The connection between soviet chic and chess is implied.”
“Sort of cool. But we’d prefer that chess be mentioned.”
“THEN YOU WILL NEVER HAVE MY IDEA!!!”
“Alright, we’ll find another one.”
“Have a good one.”
10: “There’s all these fat kids, and we see them signing up for a chess tournament, and then they’re working out in the gym, eating right, they get skinny, they get girlfriends, and then the screen goes black, and the words come up: ‘Chess. Is it in you?’”
“We’re going to go for a chest-chess pun.”
“Ooooh, that is good.”
On CHESS TOURNAMENT
1: “So the Chess Tournament is ready to go, okay, and all these nerds are sitting around with their chess pieces, and then this big-titted broad comes in, right, and they all turn around and are poppin these huge nerd boners, right, and the coach says, ‘Are you here for the Chess Tournament?’ And she says, Oops, I thought you said, ‘Chest Tournament!’”
“Thank you, we’ve heard enough. Thanks for coming in.”
2: “A Chess player moves his piece and says, ‘King me!’ The other guy says ‘King you! I just met you!’”
“That’s checkers. And also, no,”
3: “So the chess tournament ends, and all the nerds are congratulating each other, guys are like, ‘You are the best of all of us!’ and then the poor schmuck who wins, looks around, and says, ‘Yeah, king of the nerds! I still don’t have a girlfriend!’”
“This is a commercial to promote Chess among teens.”
“Oh yeah. Funny, though, right?”
“No.”
4: “WE ARE THE KNIGHTS, WE ARE THE QUEENS, WE ARE THE KINGS OF ROCK AND ROLL! GO CHESS!”
“Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm No.”
5: “A board. An opponent. A bunch of pieces. Chess. Is it in you?”
“That is an old Gatorade slogan.”
“That everyone’s forgotten!”
“I remembered it, though.”
“Well, it’s one of those phrases that is just, it belongs to the common weal.”
“Good day.”
6: “Jim Carrey comes in. He does his thing, arms all over the place, yelling things, and then at the end, over the screen, it says, ‘you don’t have to be a nerd to like chess.’”
“Implying that Jim Carrey likes Chess?”
“Yes.”
“He’s a little nerdy though.”
“What?”
“He’s not the coolest guy I can think of.”
“Who’s the coolest guy you can think of?”
“Uh… Fifty Cent?”
“Please.”
“Looks like neither of us knows anything.”
7: “A basketball player makes this monster dunk, and it turns out that instead of a basketball, it’s a Chess piece. Then a deep voice says, ‘Chess. Is it in you?”:
“Weren’t you here before?”
8: “This nerd is teaching chess to this big-titted babe, and he’s like, ‘the bishop moves like this in chess’ and she says ‘did you say chess or chest?’”
“You were definitely here earlier.”
9: “We show all these wacked-out old soviet footage, right, with all these portraits of Stalin, people waiting in line for bread, and statues, hammers and sickles everywhere”
“And then?”
“That’s it.”
“No chess?”
“The connection between soviet chic and chess is implied.”
“Sort of cool. But we’d prefer that chess be mentioned.”
“THEN YOU WILL NEVER HAVE MY IDEA!!!”
“Alright, we’ll find another one.”
“Have a good one.”
10: “There’s all these fat kids, and we see them signing up for a chess tournament, and then they’re working out in the gym, eating right, they get skinny, they get girlfriends, and then the screen goes black, and the words come up: ‘Chess. Is it in you?’”
“We’re going to go for a chest-chess pun.”
“Ooooh, that is good.”
On SAN DIEGO ZOO
March 23rd
On SAN DIEGO ZOO
The San Diego Zoo
Balboa Park,
San Diego, CA
Dear The San Diego Zoo,
I recently went online and saw your awesome video about wirking at the zoo. Although the film’s slow pace and soothing music made me feel a little sleepy, I still think I am the right fit for this zoo as an employee.
Anyway, how are you? My name is Dave, and this is my cover letter!! Hooray! I thought I’d lighten things up with a little humour.
My job goal is to eventually be the zookeeper for the whole park. But I understand that, to get there, I will probably have to work at one of the other jobs first, like Food Service Clerk or Merchandise Sales Clerk. That’s cool by me.
Here’s a list of animals I do like: Hippopotomus, Elephant, Tiger, Gorilla, Koala Bears, and Giraffes. Here’s a list of animal’s I don’t like: spiders. Please keep me away from the spiders. Thanks!
My previous job experience includes working at my dad’s bank. It’s called Scotiabank, and it’s here in Canada. PS, if I get this job you have to buy me a green card. Don’t worry, I’m worth it!
Another job experience I had was to start my own business, called Laughtrackers: people would send their writing or TV shows to me, and I would tell them if it was funny! Unfortunately it didn’t do that well, but at least it made me take the time to make a real nice home office in my basement.
The reason I want to work at the San Diego Zoo is that (as if you couldn’t tell) I love animals! It’s my understanding that the San Diego Zoo is the best zoo in the world, and that’s why I want to work there.
In terms of experience caring for animals, I have had one dog (run over by car) five cats (cat cancer, cat diabetes, cat osteoporosis, run over by truck, cat stomach cancer), two rabbits (neglect x 2), a mouse (still alive) and a hermit crab (accidentally buried alive). As you can see, I’ve learned a lot about taking care of animals! I sure know the way NOT to take care of them! Ha ha!
Thanks to my mom’s hard work, a sparkling resume is attached. She is great at helping me edit things, especially when dealing with the business world. She is a high school guidance counsellor, so I have a built in advantage when it comes to applying for jobs, colleges, and choosing courses, and also not taking drugs.
I don’t know a lot about San Diego, but I am a big fan of their football team, the San Diego Chargers. If hired, I think that my love of all things Charger could prove to be a key icebreaker in the zoo locker room.
In conclusion, I am happy to have had the opportunity of having the chance to write you with my request. Please consider it with the utmost seriousness.
Love,
David Barclay
On SAN DIEGO ZOO
The San Diego Zoo
Balboa Park,
San Diego, CA
Dear The San Diego Zoo,
I recently went online and saw your awesome video about wirking at the zoo. Although the film’s slow pace and soothing music made me feel a little sleepy, I still think I am the right fit for this zoo as an employee.
Anyway, how are you? My name is Dave, and this is my cover letter!! Hooray! I thought I’d lighten things up with a little humour.
My job goal is to eventually be the zookeeper for the whole park. But I understand that, to get there, I will probably have to work at one of the other jobs first, like Food Service Clerk or Merchandise Sales Clerk. That’s cool by me.
Here’s a list of animals I do like: Hippopotomus, Elephant, Tiger, Gorilla, Koala Bears, and Giraffes. Here’s a list of animal’s I don’t like: spiders. Please keep me away from the spiders. Thanks!
My previous job experience includes working at my dad’s bank. It’s called Scotiabank, and it’s here in Canada. PS, if I get this job you have to buy me a green card. Don’t worry, I’m worth it!
Another job experience I had was to start my own business, called Laughtrackers: people would send their writing or TV shows to me, and I would tell them if it was funny! Unfortunately it didn’t do that well, but at least it made me take the time to make a real nice home office in my basement.
The reason I want to work at the San Diego Zoo is that (as if you couldn’t tell) I love animals! It’s my understanding that the San Diego Zoo is the best zoo in the world, and that’s why I want to work there.
In terms of experience caring for animals, I have had one dog (run over by car) five cats (cat cancer, cat diabetes, cat osteoporosis, run over by truck, cat stomach cancer), two rabbits (neglect x 2), a mouse (still alive) and a hermit crab (accidentally buried alive). As you can see, I’ve learned a lot about taking care of animals! I sure know the way NOT to take care of them! Ha ha!
Thanks to my mom’s hard work, a sparkling resume is attached. She is great at helping me edit things, especially when dealing with the business world. She is a high school guidance counsellor, so I have a built in advantage when it comes to applying for jobs, colleges, and choosing courses, and also not taking drugs.
I don’t know a lot about San Diego, but I am a big fan of their football team, the San Diego Chargers. If hired, I think that my love of all things Charger could prove to be a key icebreaker in the zoo locker room.
In conclusion, I am happy to have had the opportunity of having the chance to write you with my request. Please consider it with the utmost seriousness.
Love,
David Barclay
Friday, April 3, 2009
On CUTE AS A BUTTON
March 21
On CUTE AS A BUTTON
Chet stared at the tiny button on Marianne’s top and figeted with his club sandwich. She was much more mature than he remembered, and had really gotten it together, fashion wise.
“So you don’t want to get back together?” he asked Marianne.
“Aw, Chet, you’re so cute!” she said in an annoying voice, and made a few noises like she was playing the trumpet to try and lighten the mood. They were at their local Kelsey’s on Labour Day, catching up on the summer happenings. Chet hadn’t told her about Sherry, the girl he had kissed once while working at Disney World during the summer. She had ended up leaving him for a guy from the Italian Pavillion anyway, so that was all ancient history. Chet’s plan was to come home, go on this lunch date with Marianne, get back together so they would be boyfriend and girlfriend, and then proceed with their final academic year of high school. This plan was not working. In fact, it looked like Marianne was intentionally making Chet feel bad about himself.
“I’ve moved on,” she said pretentiously, “while you were at Disney World I couldn’t just wait here for you to come back, twiddling my thumbs, working at the pool and watching the View.” In fact, for June, July and half of August, that was precisely what she had done. Then, with Sally’s help, she had asked out the guy with spiky hair and a cool neck chain in the produce section at Bruno’s. Sally asked out his best friend, a video store clerk, and it turned out they were both big into theatre. The next thing they knew they were driving to Toronto and hanging out in all these cool theatre bars and seeing experimental pieces in black box venues.
“Chet, the world of the theatre is a different place. It has comedy, yes, but also heartache,” she explained to him. It felt odd to have Chet, a figure from her past life, take her to Kelsey’s like this. She was used to places like The Green Room now.
Chet thought to himself, ‘I think I know a little something about heartache,’ but didn’t say it out loud, because he didn’t want to act as annoyingly dramatic as Marianne was acting.
“So Sally and I are probably going to join the drama club, and focus on that as our primary extracurricular,” Marianne explained.
“No band?” choked Chet. Marianne played the clarinet and Chet palyed the tuba, and they had often passed notes between songs in previous years. The drama club was a dangerous place, where free expression reigned, and everyone was artistic and had inside jokes. It was a place Chet could not follow Marianne, except maybe as a techie, and even then, he would be invisible.
Marianne lifted Chet’s chin, and looked him straight in the eye. “I will always love you,” she said.
“I don’t think that’s true,” he said.
“Well it is,” she said, annoyed. She finished her salmon, and said, “this was a really good salmon,” pretending that she was totally cool with this whole conversation. Overall, it was a lot harder than she thought it was going to be, but at least she had said what she had come to say. The bill came, and she made sure to pay her half. She didn’t want Chet telling this story to President Michael French later, and finish it by saying, “and the worst part is I had to pay for her stupid salmon!”
On CUTE AS A BUTTON
Chet stared at the tiny button on Marianne’s top and figeted with his club sandwich. She was much more mature than he remembered, and had really gotten it together, fashion wise.
“So you don’t want to get back together?” he asked Marianne.
“Aw, Chet, you’re so cute!” she said in an annoying voice, and made a few noises like she was playing the trumpet to try and lighten the mood. They were at their local Kelsey’s on Labour Day, catching up on the summer happenings. Chet hadn’t told her about Sherry, the girl he had kissed once while working at Disney World during the summer. She had ended up leaving him for a guy from the Italian Pavillion anyway, so that was all ancient history. Chet’s plan was to come home, go on this lunch date with Marianne, get back together so they would be boyfriend and girlfriend, and then proceed with their final academic year of high school. This plan was not working. In fact, it looked like Marianne was intentionally making Chet feel bad about himself.
“I’ve moved on,” she said pretentiously, “while you were at Disney World I couldn’t just wait here for you to come back, twiddling my thumbs, working at the pool and watching the View.” In fact, for June, July and half of August, that was precisely what she had done. Then, with Sally’s help, she had asked out the guy with spiky hair and a cool neck chain in the produce section at Bruno’s. Sally asked out his best friend, a video store clerk, and it turned out they were both big into theatre. The next thing they knew they were driving to Toronto and hanging out in all these cool theatre bars and seeing experimental pieces in black box venues.
“Chet, the world of the theatre is a different place. It has comedy, yes, but also heartache,” she explained to him. It felt odd to have Chet, a figure from her past life, take her to Kelsey’s like this. She was used to places like The Green Room now.
Chet thought to himself, ‘I think I know a little something about heartache,’ but didn’t say it out loud, because he didn’t want to act as annoyingly dramatic as Marianne was acting.
“So Sally and I are probably going to join the drama club, and focus on that as our primary extracurricular,” Marianne explained.
“No band?” choked Chet. Marianne played the clarinet and Chet palyed the tuba, and they had often passed notes between songs in previous years. The drama club was a dangerous place, where free expression reigned, and everyone was artistic and had inside jokes. It was a place Chet could not follow Marianne, except maybe as a techie, and even then, he would be invisible.
Marianne lifted Chet’s chin, and looked him straight in the eye. “I will always love you,” she said.
“I don’t think that’s true,” he said.
“Well it is,” she said, annoyed. She finished her salmon, and said, “this was a really good salmon,” pretending that she was totally cool with this whole conversation. Overall, it was a lot harder than she thought it was going to be, but at least she had said what she had come to say. The bill came, and she made sure to pay her half. She didn’t want Chet telling this story to President Michael French later, and finish it by saying, “and the worst part is I had to pay for her stupid salmon!”
Thursday, April 2, 2009
On YOGURT
March 20th
On YOGURT
Here are some reviews of my Favourite and Least Favourite foods
Yogurt: Awesome. I prefer eating fruit at the botttom, and eating all the yogurt and then all the fruit. As a wise person once said, it’s like having two snacks in one. Also, if you are in
Raisin Bread: The best. Sometimes I just eat a few slices of raisin bread, and it hits the spot. When I moved from
Swiss Chalet Quarter Chicken Dinner: Also the best. Every time we celebrated something growing up, our family would go to Swiss Chalet. The reason? It tastes great. A+
Mustard Ugh! The worst F
Green Peppers Bleeeech F
Red Peppers Ugggggh F
Any Peppers Deeesgusting F
Things I didn’t like as a kid but I like now: Mushrooms, broccoli, Salsa, Indian food, Chinese Food, Thai food., the skin of a baked potato (I was so wrong about that!)
Things that I officially do not like but I eat things with them in it and like it all the time: Mayonaisse, Cream Cheese, Sour Cream
Dill Pickles Krista loves dill pickles and eats them out of the jar. That is super gross. I like sweet pickles, but dill pickles are all blecchy and briny. FFF
Poutine I love poutine, especailly in theory, and then when I eat it I usually feel bad inside. We are going to a poutinerie for my birthday this year. B+
McDonalds Chicken Nuggets A Big Mac D- (no meat, all lettuce and bun) Angus Burger C
Zucchini The king of the green vegetables B+
Spaghetti Delicious, I like how my mom makes it with nice meat sauce. A+
Pizza Cowabunga! A
Anything my mother-in-law Barb makes So good. Table-groaning feasts every time. Then sleepiness. A+
Apples My mom used to give me apple skins as a kid when she was peeling apples. So good! I like to eat all the skin of an apple first, and then move on the the fleshy insides. A
My favourite fake flavours: 1. banana 2. cherry 3. Apple cinnamon 4. Strawberry. Last: Blueberry I don’t know, it doesn’t work for me.
Stouffers Lasagna The only frozen meal that deserves to be called Gourmet A-
A couple of fresh buns, a bag of baby carrots and a thing of hummus is sometimes what I have for dinner. A-
Hamburger Helper You know what I’m talking about!!!! It’s a special day when I make Hamurger Helper. A
Slushies Once I was in a Slushie Club as co-president Sir Slush-a-lot. My co-president was George W. Slush. I think that joke has some mileage. B+ (but on a really hot day, A)
Preferred Beers: Rickards Red or white, sleemans, creemores, Waterloo Dark.
On MATTHEW MCCONAUGHEY
March 19, 2009
On MATTHEW MCCONAUGHEY
Chatting with the Stars
Starring John T. Nohands
And
Matthew McConaughey
JTN: Hello and welcome to Chatting with the Stars with John T. Nohands. I am John T. Nohands.
MM: And I’m Matthew McConaughey.
JTN: Matthew McConaughey, out of all the stars I have met, you are the most like people’s impressions of you. Does that make sense?
MM: All right all right.
JTN: It’s kind of you to say so.
MM: What’s going on with you Nohands?
JTN: Well, ever since my breakthrough interview with Uma Thurman where I almost got her to show me her breast, I’ve been given my own TV show called Chatting with the Stars with John T. Nohands.
MM: Way to go, buddy.
JTN: Thanks. So, it’s been about ten years since you were in a good movie.
MM: Cool, buddy.
JTN: Unless you count Tropic Thunder.
MM: I always do. Failure to Launch, Fool’s Gold, Tropic Thunder. Three movies.
JTN: We are really getting along well. Do you think it’s because I’m so cool and laid back?
MM: No man, I’m cool and laid back. You’re the one saying the last ten years of my life have been a waste of time.
JTN: I’m just trying to get a rise out of yah.
MM: Awww, yeah.
JTN: Matthew McConaughey, we’re best friends, right?
MM: Sure man, wanna play some fuckin’ naked bongos or something?
JTN: Whatever!!!!
JTN and MM take of their clothes, play some fuckin bongos and give each other non-gay hand jobs. Then they have some cheesecake.
JTN: This cheesecake is the fucking best.
MM: I know, man.
JTN: Hey, look, I’m sorry about what I said earlier about your movies sucking. Two for the Money was with Al Pacino, so I can understand why you did that.
MM: That’s cool, man. I only do these movies to support my addiction to sports gambling. Then I wrote that movie about it.
JTN: Two for the Money?
MM: No, We Are Marshall. Man, Hollywood can sure change a script around, am I right?
JTN: You are, man!
They laugh together.
JTN: Man, you’re like, Bob Dylan, man, but, like, without the negativity, you know?
MM: Man, that’s crazy! That’s not true at all!
They laugh together again.
JTN: Oh, man, sometimes I just wish all this stuff would just melt away and it would just be, like, what’s real, you know?
MM: I know, man.
JTN: Did you ever host Saturday Night Live?
MM: Yeah, with the Dixie Chicks five years ago.
JTN: Coooool.
MM: All right all right.
JTN: I hope this never ends. I feel like I’m heading for a big emotional crash right now, this is too good to be true. Any closing thoughts.
MM: Man, I just love being so laid back. I think I’m gonna keep going with that. It’s like I said in the movie Sahara, just keep living, you know?
JTN: You could have said anything just now and I would have believed you, because neither I or anyone I know has seen that movie, and I don’t know what it’s about.
MM: Cool.
JTN: If I knew someone who owned a DVD of that movie, I would wait till they left the room, steal their DVD, and throw it out.
MM: All right.
JTN: Sorry, I went way negative there.
MM: That’s all right. This was a good interview. Let’s do it again. Awesome show buddy.
JTN: Thanks!!!! (blushing)
On MATTHEW MCCONAUGHEY
Chatting with the Stars
Starring John T. Nohands
And
Matthew McConaughey
JTN: Hello and welcome to Chatting with the Stars with John T. Nohands. I am John T. Nohands.
MM: And I’m Matthew McConaughey.
JTN: Matthew McConaughey, out of all the stars I have met, you are the most like people’s impressions of you. Does that make sense?
MM: All right all right.
JTN: It’s kind of you to say so.
MM: What’s going on with you Nohands?
JTN: Well, ever since my breakthrough interview with Uma Thurman where I almost got her to show me her breast, I’ve been given my own TV show called Chatting with the Stars with John T. Nohands.
MM: Way to go, buddy.
JTN: Thanks. So, it’s been about ten years since you were in a good movie.
MM: Cool, buddy.
JTN: Unless you count Tropic Thunder.
MM: I always do. Failure to Launch, Fool’s Gold, Tropic Thunder. Three movies.
JTN: We are really getting along well. Do you think it’s because I’m so cool and laid back?
MM: No man, I’m cool and laid back. You’re the one saying the last ten years of my life have been a waste of time.
JTN: I’m just trying to get a rise out of yah.
MM: Awww, yeah.
JTN: Matthew McConaughey, we’re best friends, right?
MM: Sure man, wanna play some fuckin’ naked bongos or something?
JTN: Whatever!!!!
JTN and MM take of their clothes, play some fuckin bongos and give each other non-gay hand jobs. Then they have some cheesecake.
JTN: This cheesecake is the fucking best.
MM: I know, man.
JTN: Hey, look, I’m sorry about what I said earlier about your movies sucking. Two for the Money was with Al Pacino, so I can understand why you did that.
MM: That’s cool, man. I only do these movies to support my addiction to sports gambling. Then I wrote that movie about it.
JTN: Two for the Money?
MM: No, We Are Marshall. Man, Hollywood can sure change a script around, am I right?
JTN: You are, man!
They laugh together.
JTN: Man, you’re like, Bob Dylan, man, but, like, without the negativity, you know?
MM: Man, that’s crazy! That’s not true at all!
They laugh together again.
JTN: Oh, man, sometimes I just wish all this stuff would just melt away and it would just be, like, what’s real, you know?
MM: I know, man.
JTN: Did you ever host Saturday Night Live?
MM: Yeah, with the Dixie Chicks five years ago.
JTN: Coooool.
MM: All right all right.
JTN: I hope this never ends. I feel like I’m heading for a big emotional crash right now, this is too good to be true. Any closing thoughts.
MM: Man, I just love being so laid back. I think I’m gonna keep going with that. It’s like I said in the movie Sahara, just keep living, you know?
JTN: You could have said anything just now and I would have believed you, because neither I or anyone I know has seen that movie, and I don’t know what it’s about.
MM: Cool.
JTN: If I knew someone who owned a DVD of that movie, I would wait till they left the room, steal their DVD, and throw it out.
MM: All right.
JTN: Sorry, I went way negative there.
MM: That’s all right. This was a good interview. Let’s do it again. Awesome show buddy.
JTN: Thanks!!!! (blushing)
On BACKYARD
March 18th
On BACKYARD
In 1989, when I was nine years old, my family moved from the house where I had lived since I was one to another house a kilometer away. My old house, 1013 Vanier Drive, was closer to the highway, and had a great backyard. There was a big hill with a tree at the top, and the tree was divided between us and our backdoor neighbours. My sisters and I used to roll down this hill a lot – I remember drawing a picture of rolling down the hill in Grade One. I drew myself rolling down the hill from a side perspective, as three concentric circles: a small blond one representing my head, a larger red one representing a red shirt, and then the largest blue circle representing my pants. It almost makes sense if you see it, and I think really captures the whirlwind feeling of tumbling down a hillside.
The best part about the backyard, though, was the sandbox. I really loved my sandbox. Sometimes I would break through the plastic on the bottom of the sandbox to the soil below, and eventually worms would come up through the bottom and interact with our sandscapes. One time we had a whole nest of worms in our sandbox. It was super gross, but it lent an element of danger to the sandbox experience.
We moved to 1423 Tecumseh Park Drive. I wasn’t happy about the move because the new backyard did not have a sandbox. My mom likes to tell the story of how upset I was about the lack of sandbox at the new house. It had a big stepped garden, two levels of soil held up by railway ties. No hill to roll down, no sandbox. But, there were lots of places to get lost, and our dog, Crackers, used to have a good time running around the different levels. I used to spend hours in the winter trying to get my mittens back from Crackers as he would race back and forth on the different levels of our backyard. In the first summer in the new house, I spent hours in the yard recreating the 1989 American League Championship Series with a baseball bat and a tennis ball.
Krista and I are thinking of buying a house in the next year or so. I really haven’t concerned myslf with the backyards of all the places I’ve rented in the last nine years, but if I own a house, I’m gonna have to mow the lawn, and maybe someday have kids that will play in that yard, a yard which will be sort of an arbitrary decision on our part, but if we have a kid, it’s gonna be that kid’s whole world. Maybe I will make a sandbox, and look for a backyard with a hill. It makes me wonder what my parents thought when they had me and my sisters, and if they knew what it was going to be like, and whether they felt like they were prepared.
On BACKYARD
In 1989, when I was nine years old, my family moved from the house where I had lived since I was one to another house a kilometer away. My old house, 1013 Vanier Drive, was closer to the highway, and had a great backyard. There was a big hill with a tree at the top, and the tree was divided between us and our backdoor neighbours. My sisters and I used to roll down this hill a lot – I remember drawing a picture of rolling down the hill in Grade One. I drew myself rolling down the hill from a side perspective, as three concentric circles: a small blond one representing my head, a larger red one representing a red shirt, and then the largest blue circle representing my pants. It almost makes sense if you see it, and I think really captures the whirlwind feeling of tumbling down a hillside.
The best part about the backyard, though, was the sandbox. I really loved my sandbox. Sometimes I would break through the plastic on the bottom of the sandbox to the soil below, and eventually worms would come up through the bottom and interact with our sandscapes. One time we had a whole nest of worms in our sandbox. It was super gross, but it lent an element of danger to the sandbox experience.
We moved to 1423 Tecumseh Park Drive. I wasn’t happy about the move because the new backyard did not have a sandbox. My mom likes to tell the story of how upset I was about the lack of sandbox at the new house. It had a big stepped garden, two levels of soil held up by railway ties. No hill to roll down, no sandbox. But, there were lots of places to get lost, and our dog, Crackers, used to have a good time running around the different levels. I used to spend hours in the winter trying to get my mittens back from Crackers as he would race back and forth on the different levels of our backyard. In the first summer in the new house, I spent hours in the yard recreating the 1989 American League Championship Series with a baseball bat and a tennis ball.
Krista and I are thinking of buying a house in the next year or so. I really haven’t concerned myslf with the backyards of all the places I’ve rented in the last nine years, but if I own a house, I’m gonna have to mow the lawn, and maybe someday have kids that will play in that yard, a yard which will be sort of an arbitrary decision on our part, but if we have a kid, it’s gonna be that kid’s whole world. Maybe I will make a sandbox, and look for a backyard with a hill. It makes me wonder what my parents thought when they had me and my sisters, and if they knew what it was going to be like, and whether they felt like they were prepared.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
On POT OF GOLD
March 17th
On POT OF GOLD
The Publicist – Chapter 3
The publicist, lugging a surprisingly light pot of gold on his back, strode easily down the dusty road heading out of Rock Pile, WY. Accompanying him was a small black child.
“What do you got in that pot, Mr. Getz,” asked the black child.
“Gold, my son,” answered the publicist, “Lots of wonderful gold.”
“Did you find it at the end of a rainbow?” asked the black child, “Are you a leprechaun?”
“Nope,” answered the publicist, “I found it by investing in constuction and remodeling companies, and reaping the profits when a publicity boom hit this fair town. But I am a leprchaun.”
“You’re pretty tall for a leprechaun,” commented the black child.
“That’s true,” remarked the leprechan publicist, “I’m the tallest in my leprechaun family. But because everyone expects Leprechauns to be short and angry, I get away with it.” Then he said, with an Irish accent, “That and I don’t speak in an Irish accent anymore.”
“So you scammed our town pretty good, huh?” scowled the black child.
“Not really,” smiled the publicist, “I invested, and then I worked to make my investments improve.”
“Isn’t that, like, insider trading?” asked the black child.
“No,” replied the leprechaun, “It’s more like investing in your own company.”
“But everyone in the town is dead, or broke,” countered the black child.
“Well I can’t help that,” evaded the publicist.
“Little Bob shot himself with a shotgun when his bar went a million dollars in debt by installing fountains that sprayed liquid gold,” said the boy.
“Well, I don’t know who would have told him to do that,” said the publicis huffily.
“And Big Bob’s Haggis emporium literally collapsed in on Big Bob when he took out the walls because they weren’t upscale,” the black child reminded the man.
“That was fairly preposterous,” admitted the leprechaun, “Still, nothing that can be directly tied to me.”
“What about the fact that because those bars were so popular, everyone in town spent up all their money buying drink?” asked the black child, “all that money was invested in renovations, which you got as dividends on your stock, which you changed at the bank for gold, and now it’s in your pot!”
“Well, you seem to have a handle on it,” said the publicist, “now why don’t you run along.”
“One last question:” posed the child, “What are you gonna buy with all that gold?”
“Cigarettes, of course,” answered the leprechaun.
“You don’t smoke a pipe?” asked the child.
“Nope,” answered the leprechaun.
“You are the least leprechaun-like leprechaun I’ve ever seen,” said the child.
“What about these sideburns?” asked the leprechaun.
“They could be bushier,” evaluated the child.
Five minutes later, the black child killed that leprechaun. No one knows why – it wasn’t for the gold, that pot is still there, full of gold, beside that dusty trail. Maybe it was revenge for destroying the boy’s hometown, although everyone in the town was awfully racist towards that boy. Maybe it was because the boy was disillusioned when he finally met a leprechaun, his favourite of all the faeries, and the leprechaun turned out to be a nasty, tall, Amercian-accented crook. Or maybe his teachers had emphasized the evils of tobacco a little too much, and the boy took the lesson too much to heart. Maybe it was none of those things. After all, kids these days are sociopaths more often than not, killing people and things for kicks, just as they’re told to in their video games. I guess we’ll never know.
On POT OF GOLD
The Publicist – Chapter 3
The publicist, lugging a surprisingly light pot of gold on his back, strode easily down the dusty road heading out of Rock Pile, WY. Accompanying him was a small black child.
“What do you got in that pot, Mr. Getz,” asked the black child.
“Gold, my son,” answered the publicist, “Lots of wonderful gold.”
“Did you find it at the end of a rainbow?” asked the black child, “Are you a leprechaun?”
“Nope,” answered the publicist, “I found it by investing in constuction and remodeling companies, and reaping the profits when a publicity boom hit this fair town. But I am a leprchaun.”
“You’re pretty tall for a leprechaun,” commented the black child.
“That’s true,” remarked the leprechan publicist, “I’m the tallest in my leprechaun family. But because everyone expects Leprechauns to be short and angry, I get away with it.” Then he said, with an Irish accent, “That and I don’t speak in an Irish accent anymore.”
“So you scammed our town pretty good, huh?” scowled the black child.
“Not really,” smiled the publicist, “I invested, and then I worked to make my investments improve.”
“Isn’t that, like, insider trading?” asked the black child.
“No,” replied the leprechaun, “It’s more like investing in your own company.”
“But everyone in the town is dead, or broke,” countered the black child.
“Well I can’t help that,” evaded the publicist.
“Little Bob shot himself with a shotgun when his bar went a million dollars in debt by installing fountains that sprayed liquid gold,” said the boy.
“Well, I don’t know who would have told him to do that,” said the publicis huffily.
“And Big Bob’s Haggis emporium literally collapsed in on Big Bob when he took out the walls because they weren’t upscale,” the black child reminded the man.
“That was fairly preposterous,” admitted the leprechaun, “Still, nothing that can be directly tied to me.”
“What about the fact that because those bars were so popular, everyone in town spent up all their money buying drink?” asked the black child, “all that money was invested in renovations, which you got as dividends on your stock, which you changed at the bank for gold, and now it’s in your pot!”
“Well, you seem to have a handle on it,” said the publicist, “now why don’t you run along.”
“One last question:” posed the child, “What are you gonna buy with all that gold?”
“Cigarettes, of course,” answered the leprechaun.
“You don’t smoke a pipe?” asked the child.
“Nope,” answered the leprechaun.
“You are the least leprechaun-like leprechaun I’ve ever seen,” said the child.
“What about these sideburns?” asked the leprechaun.
“They could be bushier,” evaluated the child.
Five minutes later, the black child killed that leprechaun. No one knows why – it wasn’t for the gold, that pot is still there, full of gold, beside that dusty trail. Maybe it was revenge for destroying the boy’s hometown, although everyone in the town was awfully racist towards that boy. Maybe it was because the boy was disillusioned when he finally met a leprechaun, his favourite of all the faeries, and the leprechaun turned out to be a nasty, tall, Amercian-accented crook. Or maybe his teachers had emphasized the evils of tobacco a little too much, and the boy took the lesson too much to heart. Maybe it was none of those things. After all, kids these days are sociopaths more often than not, killing people and things for kicks, just as they’re told to in their video games. I guess we’ll never know.
On LEPRECHAUN
March 16th
On LEPRECHAUN
The Publicist, Chapter 2
“Ye can go and fuck yerself!” said Big Bob. Big Bob was a tiny man with bushy red sideburns and a garish green suit and hat. He was thematically matched to his bar, Big Bob’s Irish Pub. It had taken a while, but the ironically named Big Bob had convinced most of the townspeople of Rock Pile, WY to do their drinking at his bar.
“You’re not really Irish are you?” asked the publicist, who was sitting on a green stool, cross legged, with a fruity green drink in his hand and a smirk on his face.
“Whu? Ah course Ah’m fuckin’ Irish!” Big Bob yelled from behind the bar. He hopped up on the stepladder he had behind the bar and thrust his index finger into the top of the bar. “Ah’m straight from the olde country!”
He wasn’t, but the publicist didn’t press the point. Big Bob’s Irish pub was completely empty, and it was all because of Tyrone Getz.
“Doesn’t seem like your establishment is very popular. Maybe you could use some marketing help?” asked Getz innocently.
“Ah donna need no help!” exclaimed Big Bob emphatically, “Ah got a great marketing scheme right here. Or it was bafore everyone got up and went to your Gangland Gas House.”
“An Irish theme?” remarked Getz, “In Wyoming? What are you thinking?”
“It’s exotic!” retorted Bob.
“Looks more like tacky,” said the publicist, gesturing towards the shamrock festooned jukebox and nuclear green carpeting.
“Not more tacky than the Little Bob’s Gangland Gas House Grill, with its Tommy Gun fries and its Al Capone Ale!” said Big Bob.
“True enough, true enough,” said the publicist, taking a sip from his drink, his pinky pointed towards the cracked ceiling, “Little Bob’s place is tacky. But that’s the thing with gimmicky marketing: people will come to whatever the next big new gewgaw is. What you need to do is go up to the next level: class.”
“I’ve got lots of class!” said Big Bob.
“I won’t respond to that,” said Getz, “But I will tell you this: don’t charge me for this delightful drink – what is it?”
“A Tom Collins,” said the tiny man.
“Don’t charge me for this delectable Tom Collins,” said the publicist, “and I’ll tell you how to get your customers back from that dastardly Little Bob.”
“Ach! I hate that Little Bob and his ironical nickname!”
“So, get even,” said Getz.
“Ah don’t want to give you nothing! You’re the cause of all my problems!” shouted Big Bob.
“Don’t be an idiot,” said Tyrone Getz dryly.
For a few moments, the large, black pupils of Big Bob quivered as he looked at the publicist. He had a tremendous amount of pride. Big Bob had travelled all the way across the Atlantic to find the most anonymous American town he could and make his fortune.
“All right, the drink is yours,” said Bob.
“Great. I’ll see you tomorrow,” said Getz, finishing his drink and hopping off the stool.
“What? Y’eraint gonn tell me now?” said Bob, outraged.
“You’re too emotional right now. You aura is too intense,” said Getz, “I’ll see you tomorrow, bright and early. And be ready to work.”
Big Bob scowled at the back of the publicist’s bowlered head. The publicist turned around.
“And your accent is Scottish,” he said, and left, the Western-style saloon doors swinging closed behind him.
On LEPRECHAUN
The Publicist, Chapter 2
“Ye can go and fuck yerself!” said Big Bob. Big Bob was a tiny man with bushy red sideburns and a garish green suit and hat. He was thematically matched to his bar, Big Bob’s Irish Pub. It had taken a while, but the ironically named Big Bob had convinced most of the townspeople of Rock Pile, WY to do their drinking at his bar.
“You’re not really Irish are you?” asked the publicist, who was sitting on a green stool, cross legged, with a fruity green drink in his hand and a smirk on his face.
“Whu? Ah course Ah’m fuckin’ Irish!” Big Bob yelled from behind the bar. He hopped up on the stepladder he had behind the bar and thrust his index finger into the top of the bar. “Ah’m straight from the olde country!”
He wasn’t, but the publicist didn’t press the point. Big Bob’s Irish pub was completely empty, and it was all because of Tyrone Getz.
“Doesn’t seem like your establishment is very popular. Maybe you could use some marketing help?” asked Getz innocently.
“Ah donna need no help!” exclaimed Big Bob emphatically, “Ah got a great marketing scheme right here. Or it was bafore everyone got up and went to your Gangland Gas House.”
“An Irish theme?” remarked Getz, “In Wyoming? What are you thinking?”
“It’s exotic!” retorted Bob.
“Looks more like tacky,” said the publicist, gesturing towards the shamrock festooned jukebox and nuclear green carpeting.
“Not more tacky than the Little Bob’s Gangland Gas House Grill, with its Tommy Gun fries and its Al Capone Ale!” said Big Bob.
“True enough, true enough,” said the publicist, taking a sip from his drink, his pinky pointed towards the cracked ceiling, “Little Bob’s place is tacky. But that’s the thing with gimmicky marketing: people will come to whatever the next big new gewgaw is. What you need to do is go up to the next level: class.”
“I’ve got lots of class!” said Big Bob.
“I won’t respond to that,” said Getz, “But I will tell you this: don’t charge me for this delightful drink – what is it?”
“A Tom Collins,” said the tiny man.
“Don’t charge me for this delectable Tom Collins,” said the publicist, “and I’ll tell you how to get your customers back from that dastardly Little Bob.”
“Ach! I hate that Little Bob and his ironical nickname!”
“So, get even,” said Getz.
“Ah don’t want to give you nothing! You’re the cause of all my problems!” shouted Big Bob.
“Don’t be an idiot,” said Tyrone Getz dryly.
For a few moments, the large, black pupils of Big Bob quivered as he looked at the publicist. He had a tremendous amount of pride. Big Bob had travelled all the way across the Atlantic to find the most anonymous American town he could and make his fortune.
“All right, the drink is yours,” said Bob.
“Great. I’ll see you tomorrow,” said Getz, finishing his drink and hopping off the stool.
“What? Y’eraint gonn tell me now?” said Bob, outraged.
“You’re too emotional right now. You aura is too intense,” said Getz, “I’ll see you tomorrow, bright and early. And be ready to work.”
Big Bob scowled at the back of the publicist’s bowlered head. The publicist turned around.
“And your accent is Scottish,” he said, and left, the Western-style saloon doors swinging closed behind him.
On PUBLICIST
March 14th
On PUBLICIST
The Publicist, Chapter 1
It was a quiet day in Rock Pile, WY, when the publicist came to town. He wore a pinstiped three piece suit with violet suspenders, and a blue shirt with a white striped collar. He had a long face, an easy smile with long teeth and long sideburns. He wore on his head a bowler hat, which fitted his head perfectly.
He strolled into Little Bob’s Bar and Grill, pushing the glass and metal door clouded with fingermarks. It was 4pm and the atmosphere was dusty, cloudy and squinty. The man behind the bar, Little Bob, was six feet tall and five feet wide, with a walrus mustache that curled over his lower lip and a red, shiny face.
“You must be Little Bob,” the publicist said, putting his elbow on the counter and crossing his right leg behind his left.
“That I am,” said Bob, “Who are you?”
“My name is Tyrone Getz. I couldn’t help but notice that your bar,” he said, drawing out the ‘a’ in bar, “needs some publicity.”
“It’s not that good a bar,” admitted Bob, “are you some kind of publicist?”
“That I am!” exclaimed the publicist, “Now we’re all on the same page. I’ll tell you what, Little Bob, I am awful thirsty. Terrible thirsty. Why don’t you sling me one drink, just one drink, and I’ll work my magic.”
Little Bob moved his head backwards and squinted skeptically. “Magic? What kind of magic can you do?”
“Why publicity of course! And here I thought we were all on the same page,” said Getz, shaking his head mournfully.
“Well, I guess one drink won’t hurt,” said Bob, pouring the publicist a beer. “I’m not much of a businessman, but one beer seems pretty cheap for a publicity deal. Is this going to turn out to be a big scam, like in ‘The Music Man’?”
“Nope!” said Getz, smiling widely, “No scam! Just leave it to me,” he said, taking a drink. “Ahhhh! What a refreshing drink. Why I think all of Rock Pile, if they only knew about this fine ale, would flock to this location.”
“Ah, they’re all over at Big Bob’s Irish Pub,” lamented Little Bob.
“Well, what’s Big Bob got that you don’t?” asked Getz.
“Customers,” said Little Bob.
“Not for long – trust me, I’m from the big city, and I know how people think. Back where I come from, they got whole big buildings of people figuring out what people are thinking when they want to go out drinking. And I’ve got everything they know up here in my head,” he said, pointing to his hat. “Now you just recommend me a decent hotel with no bed bugs, and first thing tomorrow, I’ll come over here and start working.”
“All right. You don’t want to stay for another drink?” asked Little Bob.
“Early to bed, early to rise.” Getz dismissed, “I’m not a drinker, I’m a thinker, and I’ve got a lot of thinking to do to make this bar the number one bar in this here Rock Pile of a town.”
“Well, there’s the Dude Rancher. Never heard anyone complain about that place,” admitted Little Bob.
“Good enough for me,” announced the publicist, hopping up out of his lean and waltzing towards the door. “You won’t forget, or regret, giving me a drink today, my friend. I tip my cap to you,” and he did, “and bid you good day.”
On PUBLICIST
The Publicist, Chapter 1
It was a quiet day in Rock Pile, WY, when the publicist came to town. He wore a pinstiped three piece suit with violet suspenders, and a blue shirt with a white striped collar. He had a long face, an easy smile with long teeth and long sideburns. He wore on his head a bowler hat, which fitted his head perfectly.
He strolled into Little Bob’s Bar and Grill, pushing the glass and metal door clouded with fingermarks. It was 4pm and the atmosphere was dusty, cloudy and squinty. The man behind the bar, Little Bob, was six feet tall and five feet wide, with a walrus mustache that curled over his lower lip and a red, shiny face.
“You must be Little Bob,” the publicist said, putting his elbow on the counter and crossing his right leg behind his left.
“That I am,” said Bob, “Who are you?”
“My name is Tyrone Getz. I couldn’t help but notice that your bar,” he said, drawing out the ‘a’ in bar, “needs some publicity.”
“It’s not that good a bar,” admitted Bob, “are you some kind of publicist?”
“That I am!” exclaimed the publicist, “Now we’re all on the same page. I’ll tell you what, Little Bob, I am awful thirsty. Terrible thirsty. Why don’t you sling me one drink, just one drink, and I’ll work my magic.”
Little Bob moved his head backwards and squinted skeptically. “Magic? What kind of magic can you do?”
“Why publicity of course! And here I thought we were all on the same page,” said Getz, shaking his head mournfully.
“Well, I guess one drink won’t hurt,” said Bob, pouring the publicist a beer. “I’m not much of a businessman, but one beer seems pretty cheap for a publicity deal. Is this going to turn out to be a big scam, like in ‘The Music Man’?”
“Nope!” said Getz, smiling widely, “No scam! Just leave it to me,” he said, taking a drink. “Ahhhh! What a refreshing drink. Why I think all of Rock Pile, if they only knew about this fine ale, would flock to this location.”
“Ah, they’re all over at Big Bob’s Irish Pub,” lamented Little Bob.
“Well, what’s Big Bob got that you don’t?” asked Getz.
“Customers,” said Little Bob.
“Not for long – trust me, I’m from the big city, and I know how people think. Back where I come from, they got whole big buildings of people figuring out what people are thinking when they want to go out drinking. And I’ve got everything they know up here in my head,” he said, pointing to his hat. “Now you just recommend me a decent hotel with no bed bugs, and first thing tomorrow, I’ll come over here and start working.”
“All right. You don’t want to stay for another drink?” asked Little Bob.
“Early to bed, early to rise.” Getz dismissed, “I’m not a drinker, I’m a thinker, and I’ve got a lot of thinking to do to make this bar the number one bar in this here Rock Pile of a town.”
“Well, there’s the Dude Rancher. Never heard anyone complain about that place,” admitted Little Bob.
“Good enough for me,” announced the publicist, hopping up out of his lean and waltzing towards the door. “You won’t forget, or regret, giving me a drink today, my friend. I tip my cap to you,” and he did, “and bid you good day.”
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
On SHAMROCK
March 13th, 2009
On SHAMROCK
Dear Marianne,
My summer of working at
Today I was working in the Epcot Centre in the World Showcase. I was in the Ireland Pavillion, which is a gift shop that’s stuffed I between the United Kingdom Pavillion and the Canada Pavillion. The Celtic Rock Band, Off Kilter, often plays in front. My favourite thing to sell in the Ireland Pavillion are fake rocks shaped like shamrocks. “Sham rocks”, get it? I sell twenty of these a day, and I don’t know why. I have enclosed one in this letter.
I hope you are having fun with swimming instruction at the pool. If the kids in your class are anything like the kids that come through my gift shop, oh, man! Those are some pretty bratty kids. I hope I never have any kids, but if I do, I want twins, because then they won’t be an only child, but I’ll get everything over with in one go, you know?
We are called ‘cast members’ and are told we have to smile all day, every day, but really it’s not as bad as working at Blockbuster. At least here, we have nice weather. My friend Sherry works at Spaceship Earth, though, and they have long lines and really angry customers. She tells me a lot of stories about jerky customers.
Speaking of Sherry, she and I are really hitting it off. I hope you aren’t jealous, because before I left for
So what’s new with you? I hope things aren’t too boring back in Forest Glen. I can’t believe we’re going into senior year together. I can’t believe Michael French is going to be class president! I wonder if he’ll still have time for us nobodies.
I am learning how to play tennis from a Moroccan guy who works in the
Love
Your friend,
Chet
PS I will be coming home on Flight AC 2343 on September 3rd if you want to come and meet me at the airport. You don’t have to, but I thought I’d give you the info just in case.
On PENGUIN
March 12th
On PENGUIN
Some Penguin facts
1) Penguin is the second largest English-language publisher in the world, after Random House. Can you imagine a Penguin living in a house that changes randomly every day? That's so Random! Call Nickelodeon!
2) "We just said we were going to publish a few books on the side at random," is what the creator of Random house said in 1927. Now the side has become the main dish.
3) Penguin started publishing books in 1935. Its specialty was paperbacks, and not having cover art.
4) Penguin is famous for publishing Lady Chatterley's Lover by D.H. Lawrence, a book which I did not enjoy.
5) One of the first books published by Penguin was A Farewell to Arms by Ernest Hemingway
-
6) The Penguin (the batman villain) first appeared in 1941.
7) The Penguin owns a night club called the Iceberg Lounge. That sounds like a fun place to hang out.
8) Apparently the Penguin has business connectons with Lex Luthor!!
9) The Penguin doesn't really have any powers. This wikipedia article isn't doing a good job at making the Penguin sound interesting.
10) Burgess Meredith as the Penguin appeared in the TV show The Monkees
11) In Batman Returns, the design for the Penguin is based on the German expressionist film The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, which I saw in film class once and did enjoy, unlike the book Lady Chatterley's Lover.
12) Politicians compared to the Penguin in comedy: Dick Cheney, FDR, John McCain, and Al Gore.
-
13) The largest penguin is the Emperor Penguin, and the smallest is the Little Blue Penguin.
14) SOME PREHISTORIC PENGUINS WERE AS TALL AS HUMANS!!!!!
Now that we know some facts about Penguins, we can start incorporating them into our everyday lives.
Need a butler? Hire a penguin! No one buttles like a penguin. Starts at $60/hr.
Penguins can officiate weddings for only $500 extra! 20% discount for having your wedding in our Antarctic Resort in Bracebridge by Santa's Village.
If you hire 3 or more penguins, 30% discount.
Penguin-sized tuxedo cost an extra $50 per.
Get your child to teach a Penguin to sing for only $700 for 10 sessions at our exclusive Antarctic resort, in Bracebridge, the premier town in Ontario for polar-themed resorts.
"If a penguin could fly,
would it die, would it die,
if a penguin could fly,
it would die...."
That's one verse from the song "Penguins" the hit album Moping About Penguins by Y.A. Yittle.
Other song titles:
"Penguins or Penguns?"
"I loved a penguin once, it died"
What if we all had guns that were pens? International Espionage experts, take note. No, not that pen! BOOM!
The penguins always win in the end. The penguins always win.
Penguin ninjas are more common than you might think.
Could you imagine eating penguins? Ugh, gross.
I wish those giant penguins from prehistory were still around, working in general stores and driving horses and buggies. That would teach the youth of today to respect their elders and keep their dicks in their pants.
On PENGUIN
Some Penguin facts
1) Penguin is the second largest English-language publisher in the world, after Random House. Can you imagine a Penguin living in a house that changes randomly every day? That's so Random! Call Nickelodeon!
2) "We just said we were going to publish a few books on the side at random," is what the creator of Random house said in 1927. Now the side has become the main dish.
3) Penguin started publishing books in 1935. Its specialty was paperbacks, and not having cover art.
4) Penguin is famous for publishing Lady Chatterley's Lover by D.H. Lawrence, a book which I did not enjoy.
5) One of the first books published by Penguin was A Farewell to Arms by Ernest Hemingway
-
6) The Penguin (the batman villain) first appeared in 1941.
7) The Penguin owns a night club called the Iceberg Lounge. That sounds like a fun place to hang out.
8) Apparently the Penguin has business connectons with Lex Luthor!!
9) The Penguin doesn't really have any powers. This wikipedia article isn't doing a good job at making the Penguin sound interesting.
10) Burgess Meredith as the Penguin appeared in the TV show The Monkees
11) In Batman Returns, the design for the Penguin is based on the German expressionist film The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, which I saw in film class once and did enjoy, unlike the book Lady Chatterley's Lover.
12) Politicians compared to the Penguin in comedy: Dick Cheney, FDR, John McCain, and Al Gore.
-
13) The largest penguin is the Emperor Penguin, and the smallest is the Little Blue Penguin.
14) SOME PREHISTORIC PENGUINS WERE AS TALL AS HUMANS!!!!!
Now that we know some facts about Penguins, we can start incorporating them into our everyday lives.
Need a butler? Hire a penguin! No one buttles like a penguin. Starts at $60/hr.
Penguins can officiate weddings for only $500 extra! 20% discount for having your wedding in our Antarctic Resort in Bracebridge by Santa's Village.
If you hire 3 or more penguins, 30% discount.
Penguin-sized tuxedo cost an extra $50 per.
Get your child to teach a Penguin to sing for only $700 for 10 sessions at our exclusive Antarctic resort, in Bracebridge, the premier town in Ontario for polar-themed resorts.
"If a penguin could fly,
would it die, would it die,
if a penguin could fly,
it would die...."
That's one verse from the song "Penguins" the hit album Moping About Penguins by Y.A. Yittle.
Other song titles:
"Penguins or Penguns?"
"I loved a penguin once, it died"
What if we all had guns that were pens? International Espionage experts, take note. No, not that pen! BOOM!
The penguins always win in the end. The penguins always win.
Penguin ninjas are more common than you might think.
Could you imagine eating penguins? Ugh, gross.
I wish those giant penguins from prehistory were still around, working in general stores and driving horses and buggies. That would teach the youth of today to respect their elders and keep their dicks in their pants.
On MONGOLIA
March 11, 2009
On MONGOLIA
Mr. Garrow jumped off his horse and wiped the sweat off his brow. He felt exhilarated. He had just ridden for thirty minutes over the steppes of Mongolia. He looked out over the hills and felt they were too beautiful for his brain to really comprehend. The green, lush, valley, with a lazily winding river, that led up to the far off peaks that looked like folds in a giant rug. This is where he felt at home, he thought. No, that’s stupid. I don’t live here. This is where Mongolians feel at home.
He looked over at his beautiful, brilliant, wife, whose idea it was to honeymoon in Mongolia. She was tall and thin with long dark, hair an impish, lopsided grin. She was Vietnamese, and they had met as undergraduates at Queen’s University.
“I love you!” he yelled through the wind.
“I love you too!” she yelled back. He couldn’t hear her voice, but he could see what she was saying.
The only thing that Mr. Garrow wished was different right now was that he wished the whole thing had been his idea. Everything they had done since he and Vivian met had been her idea. And the fact was, that was the right course of action, because Vivian was always right when it came to what life-changing experience they would do next. She had shown Mr. Garrow that there was more to life than his limited imagination could conceive. He just wished that he could bring something to the table.
The couple led their horses down the hill towards the yurts where they were staying.
“I got some news I want to share with you,” said Vivian after the wind started to die down.
“Sure, what?” he said.
“I found out just before we left that I’ve been offered a job at McMaster University,” she revealed.
Mr. Garrow immediately smiled. “That’s great!” he said.
“Yeah?” she said, “Do you think I should take it?”
“Of course,” he replied.
“We’d have to move to Hamilton,” she said, “Is that okay with you?”
They were speaking in raised voices because of the wind.
“I can find a job,” he said, and he smiled again reassuringly. Inside, his heart sank a little. He wasn’t that attached to Kingston, where he was now. It was true, he would be able to find a job, he thought. He had finished teacher’s college and already got a couple of years’ experience at a school near Peterborough. He had no plan for the future, but he felt like he was passing up an opportunity he had never considered. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do, but it wasn’t teaching high school in Hamilton, Ontario.
They tied their horses up and went into the yurt and made love for the second time that day.
“Sounds like you’re in the wrong line of work, Garrow” said Mr. Koslowski. Mr. Koslowski, Ms. Rattigan and Mr. Hendrickson were staring at him as he gripped his mug and held his hand on his hip. He had forgotten what he was talking about. Oh yeah, he had said that the students were filling time before getting on with their lives, and said no one likes French.
“Why don’t you quit you job before you ruin your students’ lives with your attitude?” suggested Ms. Rattigan.
“You know what?” said Mr. Garrow, “You’re right. Maybe I will quit. Because ever since I became a teacher, all I’ve learned is that teachers, who I thought were so smart when I was a kid, have turned out to be dumb, lazy assholes, just like everyobody else. I’ve lost all respect for teachers ever since I learned how easy it is to be one.”
Mr. Garrow put his cup down, and left the room. He thought he would feel better, but he didn’t.
On MONGOLIA
Mr. Garrow jumped off his horse and wiped the sweat off his brow. He felt exhilarated. He had just ridden for thirty minutes over the steppes of Mongolia. He looked out over the hills and felt they were too beautiful for his brain to really comprehend. The green, lush, valley, with a lazily winding river, that led up to the far off peaks that looked like folds in a giant rug. This is where he felt at home, he thought. No, that’s stupid. I don’t live here. This is where Mongolians feel at home.
He looked over at his beautiful, brilliant, wife, whose idea it was to honeymoon in Mongolia. She was tall and thin with long dark, hair an impish, lopsided grin. She was Vietnamese, and they had met as undergraduates at Queen’s University.
“I love you!” he yelled through the wind.
“I love you too!” she yelled back. He couldn’t hear her voice, but he could see what she was saying.
The only thing that Mr. Garrow wished was different right now was that he wished the whole thing had been his idea. Everything they had done since he and Vivian met had been her idea. And the fact was, that was the right course of action, because Vivian was always right when it came to what life-changing experience they would do next. She had shown Mr. Garrow that there was more to life than his limited imagination could conceive. He just wished that he could bring something to the table.
The couple led their horses down the hill towards the yurts where they were staying.
“I got some news I want to share with you,” said Vivian after the wind started to die down.
“Sure, what?” he said.
“I found out just before we left that I’ve been offered a job at McMaster University,” she revealed.
Mr. Garrow immediately smiled. “That’s great!” he said.
“Yeah?” she said, “Do you think I should take it?”
“Of course,” he replied.
“We’d have to move to Hamilton,” she said, “Is that okay with you?”
They were speaking in raised voices because of the wind.
“I can find a job,” he said, and he smiled again reassuringly. Inside, his heart sank a little. He wasn’t that attached to Kingston, where he was now. It was true, he would be able to find a job, he thought. He had finished teacher’s college and already got a couple of years’ experience at a school near Peterborough. He had no plan for the future, but he felt like he was passing up an opportunity he had never considered. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do, but it wasn’t teaching high school in Hamilton, Ontario.
They tied their horses up and went into the yurt and made love for the second time that day.
“Sounds like you’re in the wrong line of work, Garrow” said Mr. Koslowski. Mr. Koslowski, Ms. Rattigan and Mr. Hendrickson were staring at him as he gripped his mug and held his hand on his hip. He had forgotten what he was talking about. Oh yeah, he had said that the students were filling time before getting on with their lives, and said no one likes French.
“Why don’t you quit you job before you ruin your students’ lives with your attitude?” suggested Ms. Rattigan.
“You know what?” said Mr. Garrow, “You’re right. Maybe I will quit. Because ever since I became a teacher, all I’ve learned is that teachers, who I thought were so smart when I was a kid, have turned out to be dumb, lazy assholes, just like everyobody else. I’ve lost all respect for teachers ever since I learned how easy it is to be one.”
Mr. Garrow put his cup down, and left the room. He thought he would feel better, but he didn’t.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
On MASQUERADE
March 10, 2009
On MASQUERADE
A History of Masquerades
By R. F. W. Achemedron
Masquerades have long been a way of having parties with the added excitement of hidden identities. If you would like to buy a mask, please call this number: 1-800-MASQRAD. We will sell you a green mask or a red mask.
Egypt
The first masquerade party happened when Pharoah Ptolemy IV was on his way to a sun-worshipping ritual and tripped and fell into a puddle of mud, which obscured his face. He refused to let any of his retainers touch him, and as a consequence arrived at the ritual and no one knew who he was because of his mask (“masque”). Everyone was relieved the pharoah wasn’t there, and started to party. The masqued pharoah joined in, drinks were served, and the pharoah was poisoned and died later that week.
Medieval France
Medieval France was dominated by the feudal system, which meant that the king had first access to any new masks to wear at masques. His old masks would then be handed down to nobles, and their masks would be given to knights, who would bequeath their masks to villeins (or “sans-culottes”), who would give theirs to peasants, who would wear them at “peasant masques”, which were another name for tilling the fields. The advantage of tilling the fields anonymously was that a farmer could till his fields over lunch to get an extra advantage over lazier farmers, without those farmers making catcalls at him. Those lazier farmers would, inevitably, sleep with the hardworking farmer’s wives over lunch.
18th century Vienna
From the years 1754-1760 in Austria, Emperor Joseph II ordered everyone in Vienna to wear a full-body mask. His intention was to eliminate social stratification, but this backfired as the rich were able to buy much more elaborate and jewel-encrusted masks than the poor. These were very cumbersome, being ten times the size of a standard mask, and provided much needed economic support to the city’s mask industry and the back pain industry. The rule was rescinded in 1760 when it was discovered that Joseph II had been murdered in his bath early in 1755 and been replaced by a man in a mask.
20th Century West End London
There is a song in the musical “Phantom of the Opera” called masquerade, and its right at the top of the second half. It has a bunch of people in masks at a masque on a staircase, and they all sang “Masqueraaaaaade! Lalalalalalalalalalalala!” It was one of the best parts, along with when the chandelier falls.
Present Day
Presently, masquerades lack the danger and social inversion of historical masquerades. They are primarily used as Charity Balls organized by the Social Committee in wealthy high schools and universities.
The Future of Masquerades
In the future, experts anticipate that entire planets will be host to “megamasquerades” parties that last for centuries or more, featuring bacchalias in which even nerdy historians will have sexual relations with beautiful ladies, because everyone will be wearing masks.
On MASQUERADE
A History of Masquerades
By R. F. W. Achemedron
Masquerades have long been a way of having parties with the added excitement of hidden identities. If you would like to buy a mask, please call this number: 1-800-MASQRAD. We will sell you a green mask or a red mask.
Egypt
The first masquerade party happened when Pharoah Ptolemy IV was on his way to a sun-worshipping ritual and tripped and fell into a puddle of mud, which obscured his face. He refused to let any of his retainers touch him, and as a consequence arrived at the ritual and no one knew who he was because of his mask (“masque”). Everyone was relieved the pharoah wasn’t there, and started to party. The masqued pharoah joined in, drinks were served, and the pharoah was poisoned and died later that week.
Medieval France
Medieval France was dominated by the feudal system, which meant that the king had first access to any new masks to wear at masques. His old masks would then be handed down to nobles, and their masks would be given to knights, who would bequeath their masks to villeins (or “sans-culottes”), who would give theirs to peasants, who would wear them at “peasant masques”, which were another name for tilling the fields. The advantage of tilling the fields anonymously was that a farmer could till his fields over lunch to get an extra advantage over lazier farmers, without those farmers making catcalls at him. Those lazier farmers would, inevitably, sleep with the hardworking farmer’s wives over lunch.
18th century Vienna
From the years 1754-1760 in Austria, Emperor Joseph II ordered everyone in Vienna to wear a full-body mask. His intention was to eliminate social stratification, but this backfired as the rich were able to buy much more elaborate and jewel-encrusted masks than the poor. These were very cumbersome, being ten times the size of a standard mask, and provided much needed economic support to the city’s mask industry and the back pain industry. The rule was rescinded in 1760 when it was discovered that Joseph II had been murdered in his bath early in 1755 and been replaced by a man in a mask.
20th Century West End London
There is a song in the musical “Phantom of the Opera” called masquerade, and its right at the top of the second half. It has a bunch of people in masks at a masque on a staircase, and they all sang “Masqueraaaaaade! Lalalalalalalalalalalala!” It was one of the best parts, along with when the chandelier falls.
Present Day
Presently, masquerades lack the danger and social inversion of historical masquerades. They are primarily used as Charity Balls organized by the Social Committee in wealthy high schools and universities.
The Future of Masquerades
In the future, experts anticipate that entire planets will be host to “megamasquerades” parties that last for centuries or more, featuring bacchalias in which even nerdy historians will have sexual relations with beautiful ladies, because everyone will be wearing masks.
On ANGKOR WAT
March 9th, 2009
Today’s game ended in failure, and I drew a sad face on my hangman.
On ANGKOR WAT
“David Davis,” said David Davis to his Busy Bee Time Travel machine.
“NAME REGISTERED” flashed on the display. The lucky thing for David Davis was, this time machine was about as easy to use as an average photocopier. This meant that things easily and frequently went horribly wrong, but at the same time, he could figure things out eventually. As long as it never shut down entirely, which hadn’t happened yet. Come to think of it, it was a lot easier to use than a photocopier, because it didn’t break. It was about the size and shape of a photocopier though. That was what had inspired the comparison in his mind. He shouted “1150” into what he had discovered was the microphone part, and there was a swirling flash, and they travelled in time.
Reggie looked at him in awe. “You did it again, you crazy bastard!” he said, drawing the attention of the Cambodians around him, who were finishing construction on Angkor Wat. Reggie laughed loudly and slapped David on the back.
“Well, I am very qualified,” David lied. He was not at all qualified, and was pretending to be another David Davis of the same name, who had either invented or knew a lot about time travel. Whoever had pioneered time travel, (secretly, because David was pretty sure he would have remembered if someone had invented time travel. It would have been front page news! Of course, David didn’t read the paper, so maybe it had passed him by), he had made it very easy to use this time travel machine, so easy that the fake David Davis had been able to scam his way through what would otherwise be a very embarrassing situation.
After a brief and confusing interview in a sushi restaurant, David had boarded a plane to China, travelled back in time, and with the help of Reggie (annoying), Gus (gruff), Angela (very pretty) and two scholars of ancient China from Bei Jing, they had travelled back in time, after some false starts, to when the Great Wall of China was being built and gathered some information about how the whole thing came about. They interviewed dozens of people, with the aid of their Ancient Chinese translators, from labourers to the emperor of China in 1456.
As far as David could tell, Busy Bee Enterprises was in the business of historical inquiry. But he suspected, based purely on his poor regard of human nature, that there was something else afoot. No movie or TV show that David had ever seen depicted time travel being used for strictly academic purposes, and although TV and movies were not always right about everything, David felt confident that TV and movies was right about time travel and the nefarious purposes it would inevitably be put towards. So David was on his guard for things to go horribly wrong. Especially with that shifty Gus. Gus wore a lot of camouflage, and that sort of wardrobe always made David suspicious. Gus also always had a 5 o’clock shadow, which David could not grow. David hadn’t figured out what Gus’s job was yet.
David was also suspicious of Angela, because she complimented him way more than he deserved. Angela was stunningly beautiful, short with short curly brown hair and huge eyes and big pouty pink lips. Angela was the prime historian on the expedition, and seemed to be in charge on that side of things. Reggie was in charge of the business side of things, keeping everyone on schedule, etc. David trusted Reggie, even though he didn’t like him, because Reggie said every thought he had ever had out loud.
They had two new Cambodian scholars from Phnom Penh, who were very professional, and David felt bad that he hadn’t really got to know them yet. Mostly David tried to stay out of the way while everyone else did their jobs, and when he was called upon, he yelled a year into the machine and there they went. And that’s how they had got to Angkor Wat in 1150, right before the death of King Survayarman II.
Today’s game ended in failure, and I drew a sad face on my hangman.
On ANGKOR WAT
“David Davis,” said David Davis to his Busy Bee Time Travel machine.
“NAME REGISTERED” flashed on the display. The lucky thing for David Davis was, this time machine was about as easy to use as an average photocopier. This meant that things easily and frequently went horribly wrong, but at the same time, he could figure things out eventually. As long as it never shut down entirely, which hadn’t happened yet. Come to think of it, it was a lot easier to use than a photocopier, because it didn’t break. It was about the size and shape of a photocopier though. That was what had inspired the comparison in his mind. He shouted “1150” into what he had discovered was the microphone part, and there was a swirling flash, and they travelled in time.
Reggie looked at him in awe. “You did it again, you crazy bastard!” he said, drawing the attention of the Cambodians around him, who were finishing construction on Angkor Wat. Reggie laughed loudly and slapped David on the back.
“Well, I am very qualified,” David lied. He was not at all qualified, and was pretending to be another David Davis of the same name, who had either invented or knew a lot about time travel. Whoever had pioneered time travel, (secretly, because David was pretty sure he would have remembered if someone had invented time travel. It would have been front page news! Of course, David didn’t read the paper, so maybe it had passed him by), he had made it very easy to use this time travel machine, so easy that the fake David Davis had been able to scam his way through what would otherwise be a very embarrassing situation.
After a brief and confusing interview in a sushi restaurant, David had boarded a plane to China, travelled back in time, and with the help of Reggie (annoying), Gus (gruff), Angela (very pretty) and two scholars of ancient China from Bei Jing, they had travelled back in time, after some false starts, to when the Great Wall of China was being built and gathered some information about how the whole thing came about. They interviewed dozens of people, with the aid of their Ancient Chinese translators, from labourers to the emperor of China in 1456.
As far as David could tell, Busy Bee Enterprises was in the business of historical inquiry. But he suspected, based purely on his poor regard of human nature, that there was something else afoot. No movie or TV show that David had ever seen depicted time travel being used for strictly academic purposes, and although TV and movies were not always right about everything, David felt confident that TV and movies was right about time travel and the nefarious purposes it would inevitably be put towards. So David was on his guard for things to go horribly wrong. Especially with that shifty Gus. Gus wore a lot of camouflage, and that sort of wardrobe always made David suspicious. Gus also always had a 5 o’clock shadow, which David could not grow. David hadn’t figured out what Gus’s job was yet.
David was also suspicious of Angela, because she complimented him way more than he deserved. Angela was stunningly beautiful, short with short curly brown hair and huge eyes and big pouty pink lips. Angela was the prime historian on the expedition, and seemed to be in charge on that side of things. Reggie was in charge of the business side of things, keeping everyone on schedule, etc. David trusted Reggie, even though he didn’t like him, because Reggie said every thought he had ever had out loud.
They had two new Cambodian scholars from Phnom Penh, who were very professional, and David felt bad that he hadn’t really got to know them yet. Mostly David tried to stay out of the way while everyone else did their jobs, and when he was called upon, he yelled a year into the machine and there they went. And that’s how they had got to Angkor Wat in 1150, right before the death of King Survayarman II.
On BEND IT LIKE BECKHAM
March 7th
On BEND IT LIKE BECKHAM
My most persistent memory of the film Bend it Like Beckham is of the main character sitting in her bedroom staring at posters of her idol, David Beckham. David Beckham I mostly remember for kicking that Argentinian in World Cup 1998 or 2002.
It did make me think of childhood heroes. I asked Krista what her childhood heroes were, and she said Lucy Maud Montgomery and Gordon Korman, who was a published author as a teenage boy. I never knew that Krista wanted to be a writer when she was a kid.
My posters as a child were of Kelly Gruber and Felix Potvin, my sports heroes. Now I have a mini hall of fame on the top of my desk with figurines of Joe Carter, Alex Rios and Jose Reyes (which I got free with a video game) also on this shelf is a baseball I got at batting practice before a Jays-Rays tilt last year. A Rays pitcher, whom I am pretty sure was “Big Game” James Shields, threw the ball up to me. The first time I bobbled it back down onto the field, and Shields dutifully tossed it back up to me. My sister-in-law, Tracey, stopped me from bobbling it again. Tracey and her boyfriend Lorne signed the ball, crossed out the stamp that said “practice” and wrote “game-winning ball” overtop. I also have my 2008 Toronto Star Jays Season Pass, my tickets from the Yankees game we went to in Yankee stadium last year, and baseball cards Krista made of Krista and I.
Also on my wall I have old show posters:
- Waiting for Godot, my first big show as an actor in high school, the start of my Beckettesque playwrighting style, and watershed in my high school life. On the poster is a murky black tree, and crumple lines because the copy of the poster my mom plaqued was in my locker for several weeks. It only ran for three performances, which seems crazy compared to the amount of work we put into it. If only I would put that much work into something now.
- Zastrozzi, my first big show in University that I auditioned for and starred in in my first few months at McMaster. Also a big deal. Central to the poster is a stylized Z. I played Verezzi, a mad artist.
- DOGS! The Musical!!, the first time we had a hit show at the Toronto Fringe Festival. The poster stars Zack, the MacIsaac’s family dog, with tie and briefcase in an elevator. In this one I played Mr. Tinklesberry, a Golden Retriever.
- A 3-D picture of the last supper, pilfered from the MacIsaac’s basement for use in the short film Finding Ferdinand. Given to the MacIsaacs by Grandma Fraser, who is on the religious side.
- a pinnie-sticker from the time I auditioned for Second City’s Next Comedy Legend, when I got to the second round. My numbert was 7084.
- Various photos taken by Tracey.
- a metal Queen of Spades card we won for coming second in the London Fringe Festival Poetry Slam while doing the show Science Fair!
- a painting of a Geisha my sister Sandra painted a long time ago.
- degrees! 2 from McMaster, 1 from Humber
- a photo of Winston Churchill, framed.
- 2 postcards of paintings by Whistler
- 2 postcards of paintings by Audrey Jolly. I forget who that is.
- a poster of e-dentity, a big show Krista assisstant directed.
- a flyer from Babies in Danger, the last Players Players show to date (Players Players being the group behind DOGS! The Musical!! And Science Fair!)
- a map of Krista’s Journey Across America
- postcards of an Ancient Swdish Map of the World, depicting trolls, dragons, sea monsters, the devil, etc.
- a poster of coquettes twirling umbrellas. Not mine.
On BEND IT LIKE BECKHAM
My most persistent memory of the film Bend it Like Beckham is of the main character sitting in her bedroom staring at posters of her idol, David Beckham. David Beckham I mostly remember for kicking that Argentinian in World Cup 1998 or 2002.
It did make me think of childhood heroes. I asked Krista what her childhood heroes were, and she said Lucy Maud Montgomery and Gordon Korman, who was a published author as a teenage boy. I never knew that Krista wanted to be a writer when she was a kid.
My posters as a child were of Kelly Gruber and Felix Potvin, my sports heroes. Now I have a mini hall of fame on the top of my desk with figurines of Joe Carter, Alex Rios and Jose Reyes (which I got free with a video game) also on this shelf is a baseball I got at batting practice before a Jays-Rays tilt last year. A Rays pitcher, whom I am pretty sure was “Big Game” James Shields, threw the ball up to me. The first time I bobbled it back down onto the field, and Shields dutifully tossed it back up to me. My sister-in-law, Tracey, stopped me from bobbling it again. Tracey and her boyfriend Lorne signed the ball, crossed out the stamp that said “practice” and wrote “game-winning ball” overtop. I also have my 2008 Toronto Star Jays Season Pass, my tickets from the Yankees game we went to in Yankee stadium last year, and baseball cards Krista made of Krista and I.
Also on my wall I have old show posters:
- Waiting for Godot, my first big show as an actor in high school, the start of my Beckettesque playwrighting style, and watershed in my high school life. On the poster is a murky black tree, and crumple lines because the copy of the poster my mom plaqued was in my locker for several weeks. It only ran for three performances, which seems crazy compared to the amount of work we put into it. If only I would put that much work into something now.
- Zastrozzi, my first big show in University that I auditioned for and starred in in my first few months at McMaster. Also a big deal. Central to the poster is a stylized Z. I played Verezzi, a mad artist.
- DOGS! The Musical!!, the first time we had a hit show at the Toronto Fringe Festival. The poster stars Zack, the MacIsaac’s family dog, with tie and briefcase in an elevator. In this one I played Mr. Tinklesberry, a Golden Retriever.
- A 3-D picture of the last supper, pilfered from the MacIsaac’s basement for use in the short film Finding Ferdinand. Given to the MacIsaacs by Grandma Fraser, who is on the religious side.
- a pinnie-sticker from the time I auditioned for Second City’s Next Comedy Legend, when I got to the second round. My numbert was 7084.
- Various photos taken by Tracey.
- a metal Queen of Spades card we won for coming second in the London Fringe Festival Poetry Slam while doing the show Science Fair!
- a painting of a Geisha my sister Sandra painted a long time ago.
- degrees! 2 from McMaster, 1 from Humber
- a photo of Winston Churchill, framed.
- 2 postcards of paintings by Whistler
- 2 postcards of paintings by Audrey Jolly. I forget who that is.
- a poster of e-dentity, a big show Krista assisstant directed.
- a flyer from Babies in Danger, the last Players Players show to date (Players Players being the group behind DOGS! The Musical!! And Science Fair!)
- a map of Krista’s Journey Across America
- postcards of an Ancient Swdish Map of the World, depicting trolls, dragons, sea monsters, the devil, etc.
- a poster of coquettes twirling umbrellas. Not mine.
Friday, March 27, 2009
On MECHANICAL BULL
March 6th
On MECHANICAL BULL
Once upon a time there was a tiny village in Bavaria. In this village there lived the largest woman in the world and the smallest man in the world, who were due to be wed in a hilltop wedding on a summer’s day. Everyone in the village, whose population was 300, was invited to the wedding, and they had all made fine suits and dresses for the occasion in traditional Bavarian style.
When the day of the wedding came, the largest woman in the world, whose nam was Petunia, started walking down the aisle, with all the men and women and children of the village looking back at her from their out-of-doors chairs that had been arranged on the hilltop. The world’s smallest man, whose name was Gerald, was smoking a cigarette happily and remarking to the priest on how beautiful his bride was as she strode thundrously down the makeshift aisle.
All of a sudden, a mechanical roar was heard and people started to flee in terror. A 20-foot-tall mechanical bull, made of chrome steel with copper eyes, golden horns and bronze haunches, hurled itself into the wedding area, tossing people this way and that. It finally hoisted Petunia up; delivering her neatly into a compartment that opened up in its back, and ran off into the dark woods.
Gerald immediately ran after her and the bull, still wearing his best suit. And smoking a cigarette, so short that it threatened to set aflame his neatly trimmed moustache. The woods were very frightening to such a tiny man, but he was able to evade any passing dinosaurs by hiding under a bushel. Soon he came upon a gluten-free gingerbread house, where a witch lived.
The witch walked out of the front door of the house.
“Ahhh, Gerard, my sweet!” she cackled, “Come to fetch your fetching wife, I see?”
“You are the one who stole my wife with your mechanical bull?” said Gerard in a German accent.
“Yes,” wailed the witch, “I got a blacksmith/mechanic to make it for me when I kidnapped his wife!”
“Did you give him his wife back when he made it for you?” asked Gerard.
“Yes of course. I always keep my word,” replied the witch, “And have I got a deal for you. All you have to do to get your wife back is these three tasks: fetch for me the oldest bottle of wine in the world, the tastiest pizza in the world, but make sure it is gluten free, and also kill the world’s smartest dog!”
Gerard narrowed his eyes thoughfully. “I will do as you request,” he said.
“Good!” said the witch wartily, “I’ll wait here in my front yard until you return.
Gerard walked down the path through the woods, and then cut through the woods in a circular pattern so that he approached the gluten-free gingerbread house from the other side. He didn’t mind fetching the wine and pizza, but killing dogs was beyond the pale as far as he was concerned. Furthermore, if it was the smartest dog in the world, it might be on the brink of curing cancer or something, and he didn’t want that on his conscience.
So he snuck in through a gumdrop window on the back side of the house. True to her word, the witch was patiently waiting in her front yard. The mechanical bull was fast asleep in the centre of the cottage, and Gerard could hear his wife weeping inside of it. Gerard looked around the cottage, and found a rope, an oil can, several boxes of unopened Mentos, a gun, a wrench, a photo album, a jar of ooze, a hieroglyphics-to-German dictionary, a half-eaten gluten-free sandwich, eighteen jars of tomato paste, a old VHS copy of Eraser with Arnold Schwartzenegger, and a swastika armband. He took the wrench and loosened all of the nuts on the mechanical bull. Some of them he had to climb pretty high on the bull to loosen, but he was a good climber.
When he was done that, he pulled a bullhorn out of his pocket that he had brought to the wedding just in case, and sounded a mighty noise. The mechanical bull awoke with a start.
“I have three questions-“ the mechanical bull started to say before completely falling apart, allowing Petunia to escape. Gerard clambered up on Petunia’s back and Petunia walked right through the back wall of the gluten-free gingerbread house. They ran all the way back home to the village, and were married for good the very next day. They were married for 70 years, and to this day that witch is still in her front yard waiting for the return of Gerard, as good as her word.
On MECHANICAL BULL
Once upon a time there was a tiny village in Bavaria. In this village there lived the largest woman in the world and the smallest man in the world, who were due to be wed in a hilltop wedding on a summer’s day. Everyone in the village, whose population was 300, was invited to the wedding, and they had all made fine suits and dresses for the occasion in traditional Bavarian style.
When the day of the wedding came, the largest woman in the world, whose nam was Petunia, started walking down the aisle, with all the men and women and children of the village looking back at her from their out-of-doors chairs that had been arranged on the hilltop. The world’s smallest man, whose name was Gerald, was smoking a cigarette happily and remarking to the priest on how beautiful his bride was as she strode thundrously down the makeshift aisle.
All of a sudden, a mechanical roar was heard and people started to flee in terror. A 20-foot-tall mechanical bull, made of chrome steel with copper eyes, golden horns and bronze haunches, hurled itself into the wedding area, tossing people this way and that. It finally hoisted Petunia up; delivering her neatly into a compartment that opened up in its back, and ran off into the dark woods.
Gerald immediately ran after her and the bull, still wearing his best suit. And smoking a cigarette, so short that it threatened to set aflame his neatly trimmed moustache. The woods were very frightening to such a tiny man, but he was able to evade any passing dinosaurs by hiding under a bushel. Soon he came upon a gluten-free gingerbread house, where a witch lived.
The witch walked out of the front door of the house.
“Ahhh, Gerard, my sweet!” she cackled, “Come to fetch your fetching wife, I see?”
“You are the one who stole my wife with your mechanical bull?” said Gerard in a German accent.
“Yes,” wailed the witch, “I got a blacksmith/mechanic to make it for me when I kidnapped his wife!”
“Did you give him his wife back when he made it for you?” asked Gerard.
“Yes of course. I always keep my word,” replied the witch, “And have I got a deal for you. All you have to do to get your wife back is these three tasks: fetch for me the oldest bottle of wine in the world, the tastiest pizza in the world, but make sure it is gluten free, and also kill the world’s smartest dog!”
Gerard narrowed his eyes thoughfully. “I will do as you request,” he said.
“Good!” said the witch wartily, “I’ll wait here in my front yard until you return.
Gerard walked down the path through the woods, and then cut through the woods in a circular pattern so that he approached the gluten-free gingerbread house from the other side. He didn’t mind fetching the wine and pizza, but killing dogs was beyond the pale as far as he was concerned. Furthermore, if it was the smartest dog in the world, it might be on the brink of curing cancer or something, and he didn’t want that on his conscience.
So he snuck in through a gumdrop window on the back side of the house. True to her word, the witch was patiently waiting in her front yard. The mechanical bull was fast asleep in the centre of the cottage, and Gerard could hear his wife weeping inside of it. Gerard looked around the cottage, and found a rope, an oil can, several boxes of unopened Mentos, a gun, a wrench, a photo album, a jar of ooze, a hieroglyphics-to-German dictionary, a half-eaten gluten-free sandwich, eighteen jars of tomato paste, a old VHS copy of Eraser with Arnold Schwartzenegger, and a swastika armband. He took the wrench and loosened all of the nuts on the mechanical bull. Some of them he had to climb pretty high on the bull to loosen, but he was a good climber.
When he was done that, he pulled a bullhorn out of his pocket that he had brought to the wedding just in case, and sounded a mighty noise. The mechanical bull awoke with a start.
“I have three questions-“ the mechanical bull started to say before completely falling apart, allowing Petunia to escape. Gerard clambered up on Petunia’s back and Petunia walked right through the back wall of the gluten-free gingerbread house. They ran all the way back home to the village, and were married for good the very next day. They were married for 70 years, and to this day that witch is still in her front yard waiting for the return of Gerard, as good as her word.
On ROCKET SCIENTIST
March 5th
On ROCKET SCIENTIST
“What are you, some kind of fucking rocket scientist?”
Peter jerked his head up suddenly. “What?”
“What are you trying to do here?” asked John Fromme, the employee who had been assigned to teach him his job.
Peter looked up at the computer screen, bright white and blue. He had forgotten where he was for a moment. The memory of what he was trying to do squeezed past the headache that was lodged in his brain. He was…. helping… John… email. Even though John was teaching him how to do the job, Peter was helping him figure out his email.
“Oh I get it,” said John, eyes lighting up in recognition. Peter had fixed his problem without even thinking about it. Peter had just started to use John’s email naturally, like he would have his own email, and whatever John was too dumb to figure out had become apparent.
“No problem,” said Peter, before John could say thank you. Peter had been doing this job for three days, and he still had no idea what the purpose of this department was. It was called “lending”, and he knew how to make the numbers all work so that the people he called upstairs when he was done were happy, but he didn’t understand what it meant. Peter wondered how weird it would look if he went to the bathroom again. He had gone twenty minutes ago, and been chugging on his water bottle ever since.
“Thanks!” said John, “You’re a real tech wiz!”
Peter wasn’t a tech wiz. He was just surrounded by morons.
Just then Steve, their boss, stopped by. Steve was having a hard time figuring out what to do with Peter. Steve didn’t need anyone extra, but this boss’s kid or whoever he was had to go somewhere. He had rotated him, shadowing him with all the employees that weren’t sociopaths. After today, he was going to have to repeat shadow a job, or sit with Tim, who did his job well, but didn’t relate well with others.
“So, how are you two getting along?” asked Steve.
“Good,” said Peter.
“Good,” said John Fromme.
Suddenly Steve saw the entire next year, maybe two, of having this bright but uninspired kid lugging himself around the office, excusing himself to go to the bathroom every twenty minutes, fixing everyone’s email, playing video games and taking naps at his cubicle. Steve wondered why he was doing the job that he was, an acceptable job. Poor choice.
John Fromme was excited, because now he could use his email to email that girl he met last night at that meeting for timeshares! Who knows, a few dates, maybe they could get their own timeshare together!
“YOU’RE DOING A FANTASTIC JOB!” yelled John. Half the people in the office turned around and looked at John for a minute, and then turned back. Whoops, too loud. Another slipup like that and everyone would figure out that John was a total weirdo, who only liked girls with red hair! He felt so guilty! So many hours logged on red head websites! He didn’t want anyone to know!
“Whoa! Sounds like you’re fitting in well here, Pete,” said Steve.
“Sorry, I’m just really glad to have email back,” said John.
On ROCKET SCIENTIST
“What are you, some kind of fucking rocket scientist?”
Peter jerked his head up suddenly. “What?”
“What are you trying to do here?” asked John Fromme, the employee who had been assigned to teach him his job.
Peter looked up at the computer screen, bright white and blue. He had forgotten where he was for a moment. The memory of what he was trying to do squeezed past the headache that was lodged in his brain. He was…. helping… John… email. Even though John was teaching him how to do the job, Peter was helping him figure out his email.
“Oh I get it,” said John, eyes lighting up in recognition. Peter had fixed his problem without even thinking about it. Peter had just started to use John’s email naturally, like he would have his own email, and whatever John was too dumb to figure out had become apparent.
“No problem,” said Peter, before John could say thank you. Peter had been doing this job for three days, and he still had no idea what the purpose of this department was. It was called “lending”, and he knew how to make the numbers all work so that the people he called upstairs when he was done were happy, but he didn’t understand what it meant. Peter wondered how weird it would look if he went to the bathroom again. He had gone twenty minutes ago, and been chugging on his water bottle ever since.
“Thanks!” said John, “You’re a real tech wiz!”
Peter wasn’t a tech wiz. He was just surrounded by morons.
Just then Steve, their boss, stopped by. Steve was having a hard time figuring out what to do with Peter. Steve didn’t need anyone extra, but this boss’s kid or whoever he was had to go somewhere. He had rotated him, shadowing him with all the employees that weren’t sociopaths. After today, he was going to have to repeat shadow a job, or sit with Tim, who did his job well, but didn’t relate well with others.
“So, how are you two getting along?” asked Steve.
“Good,” said Peter.
“Good,” said John Fromme.
Suddenly Steve saw the entire next year, maybe two, of having this bright but uninspired kid lugging himself around the office, excusing himself to go to the bathroom every twenty minutes, fixing everyone’s email, playing video games and taking naps at his cubicle. Steve wondered why he was doing the job that he was, an acceptable job. Poor choice.
John Fromme was excited, because now he could use his email to email that girl he met last night at that meeting for timeshares! Who knows, a few dates, maybe they could get their own timeshare together!
“YOU’RE DOING A FANTASTIC JOB!” yelled John. Half the people in the office turned around and looked at John for a minute, and then turned back. Whoops, too loud. Another slipup like that and everyone would figure out that John was a total weirdo, who only liked girls with red hair! He felt so guilty! So many hours logged on red head websites! He didn’t want anyone to know!
“Whoa! Sounds like you’re fitting in well here, Pete,” said Steve.
“Sorry, I’m just really glad to have email back,” said John.
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