Rushed.

Random Thoughts

1. I may have to see this movie:

If only to blind myself with rage.

(They are already behind the Eight Ball as they use that awesome Mika song as underscore. Why must everything fun and cool be commandeered?)

2. Look what I got off the back of my box of Honey Nut Cheerios!

How does it look?

I can't see very well through the eye holes.

I think it was meant for a head a good deal smaller than mine.

Whatever. I'm wearing it for the rest of the day.

3. Favorite word this week:

bleb

  [bleb] Show IPA

–noun

1.	Medicine/Medical. a blister or vesicle.

2.

a bubble.

Origin:
1600–10; akin to blob, blubber

Related forms:

blebby, adjective

4. Least favorite word.

Corporate.

The Love List

Over the weekend, I saw Public Enemies.

For the most part, it's a pretty dreadful film. It's dark, unimaginative, loud. I'm pretty good with knowing what characters are doing and when, but in this instance one 1930's suited thug was just as indistinguishable as another (It was obvious, though, that they relished the opportunity to wear a suit. Modern society, in its insistence on liberating attire, robs us of well dressed men. I get it. I know that a "Monkey Suit" is a holdover from a bygone era of oppressed working stiffs. But a guy who can wear a tie and jacket, quite frankly, looks dashing. You could tell Depp and Bale had caught glimpses of themselves, perhaps in a mirror or window reflection, and thought, Damn, I look good. This is probably one of the reasons I tend to costume men in suits on a regular basis...or why I wear them myself. But my not so latent transvestism is not what we're talking about here...move along, move along.).

By the end of the night, I was pretty exhausted and a little aggravated. Not even Bale's veiny eye socket or Depp's disarming charm could save this mess.

The script was terrible. On-the-nose dialogue. Pithy death bed pronouncements. Allusions to emotion were made, but none was actually experienced.

And worst of all, there was a Love List.

We've all seen this tired cinema trope. Whenever a writer feels the need to slash to the chase, he or she will force a character to give us an oral personal ad, a list, outlining just who they are to the target of their affections. Once this list is complete, the Intended will fall under his or her spell and follow them to the ends of the Earth.

The one in Public Enemies went something like this (below is a total paraphrase):

(After Dillinger smashes the face of a patron bugging Billie for his jacket - she was a coat check girl - he holds out her coat, beckoning her to leave with him.)

BILLIE: Why should I go with you? I don't know anything about you.

DILLINGER: I was born in Indiana, my mother died when I was a baby and my father beat me because he didn't know no better way to raise me, I like fast cars, thrills, good food and I want it all now. And you I want you.

(After a second's hesitation, she leaves with him.)

Great. Here -j-j- comes to crush romance.

No. No, I don't. I'm an emmer effing SUCKER for romance.

But hearing a list that, in some way, is meant to express the full breadth and scope of a person with the expectation that, once the list is heard, True Love will rain down from the heavens, is balderdash. I feel like I'm being directed to check out their Facebook page.

On top of all that, this is stuff we can divine from watching Dillinger's behavior anyway (with the exception of the abuse.) Isn't it obvious from his action that he likes fast cars, and good food, and thrills? Can't we SEE that he wants her?

It's lazy writing.

Watch out for this kind of thing. It usually starts with any of the following lines:

Who am I? Well, I'll tell you...

What do I know? I'll tell you what I know...

Why am I here? I'll tell you why I'm here...

or:

I love the movie Bull Durham. I hate this speech.

To be clear, people do indeed talk about what they believe. We list stuff to one another (What are your favorite bands? What are your favorite movies? What do you think about this thing or that thing?), we try in big and small ways to outline who we are, our habits, what turns us on, off, around.

However, in movies the list becomes a tool to calcify a character. To reduce it to a formula that can be balanced. A caricature. Once we get this list, we KNOW how it's going to end - the list will either be subverted or corroborated. Why watch the rest of the movie after this?

OR

Why not take a friggin' chance and tantalize us:

BILLIE: Why should I go with you? I don't know anything about you.

DILLINGER: Well, you certainly won't learn anything staying here.

(He smiles, even as behind him the patron limps off, bleeding. BILLIE stares at him. She reaches over to pull her coat away, but he steps back, out of reach.)

DILLINGER: This coat's mine now. You want it, you have to come with me. Otherwise, you gonna get cold.

(Another beat. She smiles, and lets him drape her in her own coat.)

A little arrogant of me, right? To try to "improve" upon it?

Probably.

But why not have a little fun instead of being TOLD things we can already see?

Song for a Crappy Tuesday

She broke the last remaining glass in set of four that were your favorites.

She ate the last of the expensive ice cream you were saving...even after you hid it behind the Lean Cuisines.

She repeats every funny line during your favorite show, and when you don't laugh she asks "Did you hear that?" and then she repeats it again. Wrong.

She does not squeeze from the bottom on the toothpaste.

She will not let you go to bed early, but she won't let you sleep in either.

And she'll stare at you to get you to wake up.

But for some reason, when Tuesday after July Fourth sings in the stupid shower or kisses you on your dumb ass cheek, you would probably forgive her for just about anything.

But, whatever you do, don't tell HER that.

I had another set of songs in mind for today, but I saw today's song and will have to hold off until next week.

I have no words to accompany this except: Holy Fucking Shit.

Behold: Chris Dane Owens

If any of you know what's going on here, please let me know.

Meditations at Lagunitas

By Robert Hass

All the new thinking is about loss.
In this it resembles all the old thinking.
The idea, for example, that each particular erases
the luminous clarity of a general idea. That the clown- faced woodpecker
probing the dead sculpted trunk of that black birch is,
by his presence, some tragic falling off from a first world of undivided light.
Or the other notion that, because there is in this world
no one thing to which the bramble of blackberry corresponds,
a word is elegy to what it signifies.

We talked about it late last night
and in the voice of my friend, there was a thin wire of grief,
a tone almost querulous.
After a while I understood that, talking this way, everything dissolves:
justice, pine, hair, woman, you and I.

There was a woman I made love to
and I remembered how,
holding her small shoulders in my hands sometimes,
I felt a violent wonder at her presence
like a thirst for salt, for my childhood river with its island willows,
silly music from the pleasure boat,
muddy places where we caught the little orange-silver fish called pumpkinseed.

It hardly had to do with her.
Longing, we say, because desire is full of endless distances.
I must have been the same to her.
But I remember so much,
the way her hands dismantled bread, the thing her father said that hurt her,
what she dreamed.

There are moments when the body is as numinous as words,
days that are the good flesh continuing.
Such tenderness, those afternoons and evenings,
saying blackberry, blackberry, blackberry.

Random Thoughts

heh, yeah, i accidentally posted the title random thoughts today without any random thoughts to go with it and i've ben sitting here for a while wondering if I should post anything at all and then joe g decides to post a comment on my title and i'm all like, fine I'll post something, but my thoughts are maybe even too random for random thoughts or perhaps i should create a segment called chaotic thoughts where I can post all that lizard brain bullshit about feelings and how i get really tired of shit i think i'm done with cropping up in the worst places but honestly even that, EVEN THAT is aggravating on a day like today when I have to look myself in the mirror and ask are you really an artist at all i mean look at yourself you purchased if you seek amy off of itunes and you weren't even drunk or anything and now when you look at your itunes recommendations you will be reminded of how you forsook your better angels for what winds up being a grammatical train wreck of a ditty about ms. spears getting laid by any and every but whatever why can't we leave britney alone for chrissake who are we to judge anybody for their choices and why they do things in the same situation would we not fall into the abyss of self love to the point of complete and utter self annihilation and die of cardiac arrest after years and years of mental illness and unceasing public scrutiny Mj why did you have to die for the sins of britney spears will you roll away the stone and save the pop idols from their ineluctable misery also i can't believe i spelled annihilation correctly on the first try

Slayed - The Continuation

The assignment for my writing group this month was to continue the scene begun last month. Here is the continuation. If you'd like to read it from the beginning, click here.

WARNNG: There is aggressive language used throughout. If this bothers you click here.

(Note: Amelia is 15, Gordie is 16 and Bess is 9.)

BESS

(To GORDIE, smashing the ice pack to the

floor, standing)

Shut up you fucking' retard before I come over there

and beat the shit out of you and your little hot dog

again.

GORDIE

(Rising, rushing BESS)

You little mongoloid!

BESS gang rushes GORDIE. He grabs her by the arms

and picks her up. She kicks him in the thighs

over and over again, screaming "YOU FUCKING

RETARD." GORDIE rears back a hand to punch her in

the face when PRINCIPAL BRUCE swings the door to

his office open and lurches for the feuding

twosome.

PRINCIPAL BRUCE is a balding man in his

mid-forties, and terrified. He swats at them to

break it up - holding his face away to guard it

from impact.

PRINCIPAL BRUCE

Enough! E-NOUGH!

He shoves GORDIE to the floor and picks BESS up as

if she is made of razor blades. He tosses her in

the chair, swipes up the ice pack and hands it to

BESS without looking at her.

After a moment to compose himself:

PRINCIPAL BRUCE

I am very disappointed in you. Very disappointed. You

told me - no, promised - no more of this, this -

right. You made a promise. I can see now that your

promises mean nothing.

AMELIA snorts.

PRINCIPAL BRUCE

(Turning on her)

Now you lookahere, Miss Priss. You're not in here for nothing.

So, why don't you wipe that face off your face and -

A door opens and closes in the distance. There

are some official sounding mumblings from off.

Principle Bruce perks up and watches with

interest.

PRINCIPAL BRUCE

(Distant, looking off)

Now lets all settle down.

A moment as the offstage office equipment keens

softly.

After a beat, JAKE SPADE enters, late 30's,

attractive and no nonsense. Principal Bruce backs

up as he enters and takes charge of the room.

Amelia stands and runs into Jake's arms. Gordie

grabs the rip in his pants on instinct.

JAKE

Hi there, Peanut. Not now -

(To Principal Bruce)

Do you mind telling me what the hell is going on out here?

Are you out of your mind to drag me all the way out of

work? Can't this wait? Can't you send a note? You

think I'm made out of time, here?

(To Gordie)

What the fuck happened to your pants? Think I'm made out

of money, here? That's the third pair of pants in a

month, Gordie, Jesus.

GORDIE

It wasn't-

JAKE

Your fault. Uh-huh. I know. Never is.

GORDIE

But-

JAKE

Why don't you shut up and let the grown ups talk.

(To Principal Bruce)

So what is it? What is so of-the-essence that I have

to get my hands dirty?

Principal Bruce glances back at Bess. They all

turn to look at her. Bess is sitting and rocking

the force of her breath causing her to sway. Her

feral eyes glare at Jake.

A beat.

JAKE

The fuck is that?

PRINCIPAL BRUCE

Bess Hart, Mr. Spade. We had an...inci- incident

today. In the parking lot.

JAKE

And..?

PRINCIPAL BRUCE

As you can see, she's-

AMELIA

Gordie beat the shit out of her.

Jake turns to look at Amelia.

GORDIE

WHUT? Oh, come ON!

JAKE

What's that, Peanut?

AMELIA

Gordie did it. He beat her up.

GORDIE

You told me to.

AMELIA

I don't know what you're talking about.

GORDIE

Yeah, you DO, Amelia! You told me to. Wouldn't leave

me alone.

AMELIA

Well, if you weren't being such a pussy-

GORDIE

Watcher mouth, Amelia!

JAKE

ENOUGH.

(All fall silent)

Gordie, I don't want to hear another WORD OUT OF YOUR MOUTH.

(To Principal Bruce, who is about to fall apart himself)

What can we do here? What is this - what? What can we do

here?

From off there is more official mumbling. After a moment,

KAY and PATRICK HART enter. They are in their

late 30's both are worn completely out. They stop

short when they enter. Kay surveys the scene.

Patrick looks at Jake.

PATRICK

Jake.

JAKE

Pat. Kay.

KAY

Jake. Principal Bruce.

Patrick breezes past everyone and into the

Principal's office. Kay makes a b-line for Bess and

sits next to her. They look at each other for a

moment, Kay pushes Bess' matted hair from her

eyes. Kay's presence calms Bess and she smiles up

at her mother.

KAY

(with reserve)

Who did this?

Everyone looks at Gordie.

GORDIE

WHUT?! Oh, Come ON.

JAKE

(Placing Amelia back in her chair)

Wait out here, Peanut.

(grasping Gordie's arm)

You get in here, now.

Principal Bruce scurries into his office and Kay

stands to follow. Bess waits. Everyone but

Amelia and Bess move off to the office.

AMELIA

(Standing)

I'm not staying out here with her!

JAKE

(from off)

You stay put, Peanut.

AMELIA

Are you crazy?

JAKE

I mean it! Or no credit card for a week. Sit tight.

The door closes and Amelia and Bess are left out

in the office lobby. Silence.

Muffled conversation can occasionally be heard

through the office door. The volume might raise

and lower as the scene progresses.

A long beat.

Bess stands, black eye covered in the ice pack

and points her gaze at Amelia. Amelia stairs at

the end of her shoe.

Bess takes a slow step towards Amelia.

Amelia hums tunelessly.

Bess takes a second step.

Amelia sniffs.

Bess takes a third step.

AMELIA

One more inch towards me and I'll do worse to you than

my retard brother ever could.

A beat.

Bess takes a fourth step.

Amelia jerks her head up to look at Bess.

AMELIA

You better not.

BESS

Already did. You're a cuntless wonder.