INT. SUSAN'S APARTMENT - NIGHT
Three women in their late-twenties are gathered in a small apartment. They are eating various snacks and interacting with one another while the television plays its advertisements in the background. SALLY is sitting on the couch, but turned away from the television. SANDRA sits at the table, facing Sally to engage her in conversation. SUSAN is in the kitchen, open to the main room, preparing more snacks for consumption. All are in jovial spirits.
TV: You think I'm talking, but I'm not.
SALLY: That's the third time this break! I can't believe the trouble they're going to to advertise such a stupid product.
SANDRA: I know. As if anyone would actually pay money for a ventriloquist act.
Susan sits quietly.
SALLY: Yeah, aren't ventriloquists pretty much despised and hated by pretty much everyone?
SANDRA: Except maybe for mimes.
SALLY (laughing): Those two would make quite a pair, wouldn't they?
SANDRA (mimicking the voice from the TV ad while acting like a mime): You think I'm being annoying, but ... I actually am!
Susan clears her throat.
SALLY: Is there something wrong, Susan?
SUSAN: No, nothing at all.
INT. SUSAN'S APARTMENT - NIGHT
Susan is cleaning up after the party. Sally and Sandra have gone home. Susan is rinsing off the dishes.
SUSAN: Some friends. Sally thinks she's so smart. Sandra with her witticisms.
Susan opens the dishwasher next to the sink and goes to place the plate she has been rinsing into the dishwasher, only to find that it is already full of clean dishes. She turns off the faucet and begins to unload the dishwasher instead of rinsing.
SUSAN: I don't think they realize for one moment the difficulty involved in ventriloquism. Nor do they even fathom the great good it can serve the world. It's rendering a service, God Damn it!
Susan angrily throws a plate against the wall. It shatters to small pieces on the floor.
VOICE: Ow!
SUSAN: What was that? Was that you, Mr. Plate?
Susan walks up to the pieces of plate on the ground, looking at them closely with her face about an inch away from the remnants of the plate.
SUSAN: Did you say something?
Susan clearly ventriloquates the response from the plate, as her lips move ever so slightly.
PLATE (SUSAN): Don't hurt me.
Susan gets a look of pity on her face.
SUSAN: Oh, you poor thing! I'm so sorry. I was mad at my friends Sally and Sandra. I would never be mad at you. Here, let me fix you up.
Susan pushes the broken pieces next to one another, aligning them in a plate-like fashion. What results only somewhat resembles the previous plate.
SUSAN: There, do you feel better now?
PLATE (SUSAN): Not really. I'm still broken.
Susan gets a shocked look on her face.
SUSAN: Oh, you ungrateful little plate! You're just as bad as Sandra!
Susan turns her back to the plate, calming down slightly. She looks over her shoulder and sees the plate in its same position. Susan again gets a look of pity on her face. The plate sits still.
Susan runs over to the plate again.
SUSAN: I'm sorry. You are still broken. You'll always be broken. It's all the fault of Sally and Sandra, and people like them who don't understand.
Susan falls onto the plate, exhausted, sobbing.
INT. TELEVISION STUDIO - DAY
A commercial is being filmed. People are standing behind large cameras filming ACTOR 1 at a podium on a prop stage, made to appear as though it is in a large conference center. He is presenting a PowerPoint presentation with lots of charts and graphs. Other ACTORS take part in the commercial, filling various roles.
ACTOR 1 (confidently): So, you see, the fiscal year ending 2009 resulted in a profit margin of just over 8.2%, while last year's fiscal budget only factored in a 5% net increase in sales. I now turn to the floor for questions.
Actor 1 is performing in front of an audience of cardboard cutouts that only somewhat resemble a live audience of business professionals. ACTOR 2 stands up in the midst of these cutouts to deliver his lines.
ACTOR 2: I do have a question for the distinguished speaker. How do you talk with such eloquence and style? Don't you get frightened on stage in front of a large audience?
Actor 1 looks into the camera with surety.
ACTOR 1: You may think I'm talking, but I'm not.
The DIRECTOR, standing behind one of the camera operators, waves his hand to indicate 'CUT', and points to the monitor beside him, which begins to play the advertisement previously seen in Susan's apartment on the television. The advertisement logo "Ventriloquist Professionals" appears, with information about the product in smaller type below, along with contact information. A VOICEOVER pronounces the benefits of the product to the viewer. The director watches this monitor for review of the full ad.
VOICEOVER: Let Ventriloquist Professionals help you give your next speech, presentation, lecture, or seminar. Contact toll-free: 1-800-555-ventriloquist, or email ventriloquisthelp@ventriloquistprofessionals.com. Join thousands of others who have improved their speaking style with the help of ventriloquism!
The director again waves his hand and points to ACTRESS 1 sitting in a chair behind a secretary desk on the set. The cameras turn on and focus on her as she repeats her lines.
ACTRESS 1: I used to have such trouble getting up in front of my colleagues to speak. But look at me now!
The camera pans to ACTRESS 2, who is crouched below the desk. Actress 2 turns to the camera to deliver her line.
ACTRESS 2: You may think she's talking, but she's not!
DIRECTOR (waving his hand): Cut! That's a wrap. (pause) For now.
ACTORS AND CREW: You mean there may be more of these stupid commercials?
DIRECTOR: If the company keeps making them, I'll keep producing them.
Susan suddenly appears with a clipboard in hand, walking up to the director.
SUSAN: Hello, are you Artful Dodger, the director we hired?
DIRECTOR: Oh, you must be Susan, the representative from Ventriloquist Professionals. Pleased to have you on board here.
SUSAN: Oh, no, the pleasure is all mine. We're very pleased with the work you've been doing on these commercials.
DIRECTOR: Well, that's great. I'm glad to hear it. So, what can I do for you?
SUSAN: Well, that's the thing. These commercials don't seem to be getting the right message out. Focus groups, and personal experience, have shown that even after watching these commercials 20 or 30 times, the majority of respondents still feel that ventriloquism is a mock service with little or no value in the daily lives of people.
The director gets a look of misunderstanding on his face.
DIRECTOR: You mean, you actually take these commercials seriously?
SUSAN: Well, of course. It's what we do.
DIRECTOR: You ventriloquate?
SUSAN: Yes! That's my profession.
DIRECTOR: You're a professional ventriloquator?
SUSAN: Ventriloquist.
DIRECTOR: Oh my God, this is too much.
The director turns to the crew.
DIRECTOR (loudly): Did you hear that, fellows? These commercials we've been making are being taken seriously. Susan here is a professional ventriloquist!
The crew laughs heartily while pointing at Susan. Susan gets a look of indignation on her face and turns away.
VOICE: You're fired.
The director turns his head towards the voice, but sees only a large video camera looking him in the eye. He looks at it unbelievingly for a moment, then turns and sees Susan walking away purposefully.
INT. VENTRILOQUIST PROFESSIONALS BUILDING - DAY
Susan walks down the large hallway of the ventriloquist offices. She knocks on a door that says "PRESIDENT - ARTHUR MCNALLY" on it, and enters halfway into the office.
SUSAN: Excuse me, Art.
Arthur, sitting in a large chair behind the desk, rotates around to face Susan. A small ventriloquist dummy sits on his large lap. His lips move only very slightly while the dummy speaks.
DUMMY: Yes, Susan. Come right in.
Susan looks at the dummy for a moment and gets a look of realization on her face.
SUSAN: Oh, yes. Thank you, Art. I came to have a word with Arthur, actually, if that's alright with you.
DUMMY: I guess you can speak to him if you want, the big dummy!
ARTHUR: Hey now, Art. That's not very polite.
DUMMY: It's not very polite to be so fat either!
ARTHUR (laughing): Well, you have a point there! Isn't Art wonderful today?
Susan only smiles slightly.
SUSAN: I'm afraid I'm not much in the joking mood today, Arthur. I had to fire the director of our commercials.
ARTHUR: The "You think I'm talking, but I'm not!" commercials?
SUSAN: Yes. They were being treated in an incorrect and irreverent manner unbecoming of the ventriloquist profession.
ARTHUR: That's a shame. I was really hoping to turn the image of ventriloquism around. So many people think only of silly has-beens with dummies on their laps telling stupid jokes to themselves.
DUMMY: Who are you calling a dummy, you has-been?
ARTHUR: Not now, Arty.
SUSAN (not paying attention to Art's aside): I know. It's so difficult to explain the professional ramifications that our organization can have for people. When ventriloquism is put to its proper use, it becomes much more than a mere jovial past-time. It is elevated to a way of life. One that I marvel in the beauty of.
ARTHUR: You've done good work here, Susan. I think it's time to call it quits.
Susan gets a look of surprise on her face.
SUSAN: You're firing me?
ARTHUR: No, I'm firing myself. The world isn't ready for us yet. Our kind must continue to practice our craft unseen, offering our help only to those in great need. Being of service to our fellow being, for that's the only way we can survive.
SUSAN: I see what you mean.
Susan looks seriously into the eyes of the dummy.
SUSAN: It has to be this way, doesn't it, Art?
The dummy nods its head in response.
INT. SUSAN'S APARTMENT - NIGHT
Sally and Sandra are again sitting around at Susan's house, as before. They are eating various snacks, and the television is on in the background.
SALLY: I am so glad that those stupid commercials are off the air now.
SANDRA: Yeah. Guess the dumb ventriloquists finally realized they're useless.
Susan sits back silently. There is a KNOCK on the door.
SALLY: Oh, I bet that's Billy!
SANDRA: Billy's coming?
SALLY: Yeah, I thought he might like to join us.
Sally opens the door to Susan's apartment. In the hall way she sees a TELEGRAM DELIVERY MAN in uniform.
TELEGRAM DELIVERY MAN: Telegram for Sally S. Trumet.
Sally takes the telegram and closes the door. She unfolds the old-style piece of paper and reads the note: "Can't come to party. Busy with friends. Billy." Sally walks back into the main room.
SANDRA: Who was it?
SALLY: A telegram delivery. From Billy.
SANDRA: A telegram? They still have those?
SALLY: No. No, they don't.
Sally sits in silence for a moment, then suddenly crumples up the telegram in anger.
SALLY: Oh, he makes me so mad! I wish I could tell him off, just once, without falling apart into tears.
Susan clears her throat.
SALLY: Is there something wrong, Susan?
SUSAN: Nothing at all. I think I can help you.
SALLY: You can? How?
SUSAN: Ever heard of ventriloquism?
A look passes from Susan's eyes to Sally's. She instantly understands.
SALLY: He'll think I'm talking, but I'm not.
Sally and Susan continue to look at one another in silence.
SANDRA: God, I hate those commercials.
THE END
This post is an installment in a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Enoch Allred of Chiltingham, John Allred of clol Town, Jon Fairbanks of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Eli Z. McCormick and Miriam Allred of Modern Revelation!, John D. Moore of Whatnot Studios, William C. Stewart of Chide, Chode, Chidden, and Sven Patrick Svensson of Sadness? Euphoria?. This week's theme: 'Ventriloquism'.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Eifen Deifeiffen
What Bobby didn't know was that Eifen Deifeiffen was about to occur for the third time in his life. He had never taken notice of Eifen Deifeiffen before, nor did he know what it was, but it was about to change his life in ways you will hardly be able to imagine.
This tragic case of Eifen Deifeiffen took place on the 6th of March, 1992, when Bobby was eight years old. He had been told by doctors that the scar on his left leg, and the lack of one of his kidneys, were both due to past traumatic events. They did not mention to Bobby, nor to his parents, that these were in fact symptoms of early childhood complications due to Eifen Deifeiffen. This is because no medical examination or screening could have conclusively proven Eifen Deifeiffen to be at the root of Bobby's issues. Eifen Deifeiffen was still largely undiscovered at that time, as it remains today. Instead, the doctors had to come up with elaborate scenarios in which Bobby's leg had been badly injured during his fall into a window well on his third birthday. The kidney loss was explained by complications at birth.
Although Eifen Deifeiffen is rarely noticed, it happens at least once to everyone. My Eifen Deifeiffen incident came when I was 32 years old, just starting my new job at a downtown law firm. I was excited and anxious to begin this new phase in my career; but imagine my dismay when I saw that Eifen Deifeiffen had set in. I tried to shake free of it, to battle it back, to cast it from me at all costs, but to no avail. I enlisted the help of friends, relatives, neighbors, and I even wrote a letter to the President of the United States, but no one could release me from the clutches of this unseen condition. In fact, no one seemed to care or to notice. I was forced to give in, to allow Eifen Deifeiffen to do its deed, and I awoke the next morning to find that my left eye had deteriorated, leaving only an empty socket with remnants of pus.
This personal assault on my character caused me to begin my quest to remove the villainous Eifen Deifeiffen from this planet once and for all. I began to follow Eifen, learning from past sufferers the motivation for the rapid and seemingly unpredictable onset of the disease. I traced Eifen from Stockholm, to Paris, to Rome, and even to Senegal, just missing him each time. I continued to learn about him, to become one with his thoughts and actions. I began to see the signs and marks of his imminent coming at every corner and in every face. I knew that I would have to find him and remove him as soon as possible, or else I risked losing my mind, or worse, another eye.
Just as I began to become dismayed, thinking I would never find the answer to this madness, I caught Bobby out of the corner of my eye. Little Bobby. He was only three years old at the time. His parents were on their way out of the emergency room, where they had taken him after discovering the odd scar on his leg that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. I knew immediately that I had just missed Eifen's most recent attack. I could sense him in the proximity, I could feel his influence, and his joy. I also knew that he would seek Bobby out again, for he had not completed his job with this one. He had attacked too soon, and Bobby had managed to escape his grasp, at least partially.
I only learned later, after studying Bobby closely for the next five years, that he had had an earlier run in with Eifen. The kidney incident was not spoken of often in the home, nor did Bobby have any knowledge of it, but Eifen let me know about it in his own way. Eifen was beginning to make more sense to me, and he was often giving me clues that allowed me to form a full picture of his work amongst humanity. I continued to wait, knowing that Bobby was soon to experience his third Eifen Deifeiffen incident in his lifetime, and one he would not forget any time soon.
I began to become rather excited, anticipating one of Eifen's greatest accomplishments in all of history. I was looking forward to this. Wanting this. Needing this.
March had begun just five days before, and I was beginning to get anxious. I knew from the signs and marks that Eifen was leaving around Bobby's house that the event was just a few days away. However, the marks began to fade. The signs disappeared as if they never existed, and I was left to wonder if I had been mistaken. Perhaps Eifen had decided not to subject this boy to a third wave of assault. Perhaps I was doomed to forever live in a world where Eifen remained a mystery, an inexplicable phenomenon that went unnoticed and unseen by the rest of the world. I made a pact with myself, with Eifen Deifeiffen and all that he stood for, that on this day, the 6th of March, 1992, I would see to it that Eifen's plans were carried out. That Bobby would receive his third and final visitation from Eifen, one that would end his life for the good of all mankind. One that would simultaneously fulfill both my goals and Eifen's.
I leapt out from hiding, and showed myself for the first time to Bobby. He couldn't fathom what I had in store for him, as I covered his head with a dark cloth and led him into his empty household. There, I waited. I waited for Eifen, knowing that he would come, that today was the day, that he would finish what he had started with this boy and I would be able to remove him from the Earth. I got what I wanted.
Eifen's arrival was a sight that I will never forget. The horrible anguish that was caused to Bobby, the glory that this gave to Eifen, and the excitement that coursed through my veins, all combined to create an atmosphere of euphoria and death. I knew that time was short, that I'd have to act quickly. As Eifen was doing his deed, wretching poor Bobby's heart from left to right, pounding and releasing, forcing and tugging, I made a precise calculation, one that I had practiced many times in anticipation for this event, and thrust a sharp dagger into Bobby's chest, drawing blood and stabbing Eifen in the process. Through the metal end of the blade I felt Eifen squirm up into my flesh. He had left Bobby behind, writhing on the floor in a semi-unconscious stupor, while I continued the battle with Eifen below my skin. His power, even after being wounded, was without comparison to any worldly force, and I quickly found myself brought down to the lowest brink of agony and despair. I fought, and struggled, and pulled, keeping Eifen out of my bloodstream, away from my vital organs. He continued to produce pain and misery in every portion of my body that he could touch. I realized that I was going to lose this fight.
These incomparable hours of battle lasted long enough to allow Bobby to regain complete consciousness. He looked up into my eye, and I returned his gaze. I realized that he could see, that he understood. Eifen was his battle now. I had failed.
I used the last of my remaining strength in one final push of power, thrusting Eifen from my body. Eifen left the room, injured, hurt, but not overcome. His effects remained in me, and I knew I would never recover. I saw the blood pouring from Bobby's wound. It was clean. He would get better. His parents would be home any minute now, and he'd be able to get the help required. The doctors would chalk this one up to bad luck again, an attack by a one-eyed villain, but they would not suspect the real cause, the true suspect of this attempted murder: Eifen Deifeiffen.
My time comes to an end now. I have been able to record what I know about Eifen. I may have been mistaken on some, I may have underestimated his power, but I've observed his destructive force and I know it must be reckoned with. I trust Bobby to do this for me, to continue the work I've begun. Judging by the signs, he's due to receive a fourth visitation, and I'm confident that he'll overcome in a way that I could not. By the time the doctors find out about Eifen Deifeiffen, the cause of so much pain and anguish, the bringer of misery and misfortune, the most powerful destructive force to humankind, its threat will have already been extinguished. I am as sure about this as I am in my imminent death. I mark Eifen's passing with an equal amount of awe and sadness. He was a part of life that is not easily noticed, but definitely not soon forgotten.
This post is an installment in a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Enoch Allred of Chiltingham, John Allred of clol Town, Jon Fairbanks of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Eli Z. McCormick of Modern Revelation!, John D. Moore of Whatnot Studios, and William C. Stewart of Chide, Chode, Chidden. This week's theme: 'Eifen Deifeiffen'.
This tragic case of Eifen Deifeiffen took place on the 6th of March, 1992, when Bobby was eight years old. He had been told by doctors that the scar on his left leg, and the lack of one of his kidneys, were both due to past traumatic events. They did not mention to Bobby, nor to his parents, that these were in fact symptoms of early childhood complications due to Eifen Deifeiffen. This is because no medical examination or screening could have conclusively proven Eifen Deifeiffen to be at the root of Bobby's issues. Eifen Deifeiffen was still largely undiscovered at that time, as it remains today. Instead, the doctors had to come up with elaborate scenarios in which Bobby's leg had been badly injured during his fall into a window well on his third birthday. The kidney loss was explained by complications at birth.
Although Eifen Deifeiffen is rarely noticed, it happens at least once to everyone. My Eifen Deifeiffen incident came when I was 32 years old, just starting my new job at a downtown law firm. I was excited and anxious to begin this new phase in my career; but imagine my dismay when I saw that Eifen Deifeiffen had set in. I tried to shake free of it, to battle it back, to cast it from me at all costs, but to no avail. I enlisted the help of friends, relatives, neighbors, and I even wrote a letter to the President of the United States, but no one could release me from the clutches of this unseen condition. In fact, no one seemed to care or to notice. I was forced to give in, to allow Eifen Deifeiffen to do its deed, and I awoke the next morning to find that my left eye had deteriorated, leaving only an empty socket with remnants of pus.
This personal assault on my character caused me to begin my quest to remove the villainous Eifen Deifeiffen from this planet once and for all. I began to follow Eifen, learning from past sufferers the motivation for the rapid and seemingly unpredictable onset of the disease. I traced Eifen from Stockholm, to Paris, to Rome, and even to Senegal, just missing him each time. I continued to learn about him, to become one with his thoughts and actions. I began to see the signs and marks of his imminent coming at every corner and in every face. I knew that I would have to find him and remove him as soon as possible, or else I risked losing my mind, or worse, another eye.
Just as I began to become dismayed, thinking I would never find the answer to this madness, I caught Bobby out of the corner of my eye. Little Bobby. He was only three years old at the time. His parents were on their way out of the emergency room, where they had taken him after discovering the odd scar on his leg that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. I knew immediately that I had just missed Eifen's most recent attack. I could sense him in the proximity, I could feel his influence, and his joy. I also knew that he would seek Bobby out again, for he had not completed his job with this one. He had attacked too soon, and Bobby had managed to escape his grasp, at least partially.
I only learned later, after studying Bobby closely for the next five years, that he had had an earlier run in with Eifen. The kidney incident was not spoken of often in the home, nor did Bobby have any knowledge of it, but Eifen let me know about it in his own way. Eifen was beginning to make more sense to me, and he was often giving me clues that allowed me to form a full picture of his work amongst humanity. I continued to wait, knowing that Bobby was soon to experience his third Eifen Deifeiffen incident in his lifetime, and one he would not forget any time soon.
I began to become rather excited, anticipating one of Eifen's greatest accomplishments in all of history. I was looking forward to this. Wanting this. Needing this.
March had begun just five days before, and I was beginning to get anxious. I knew from the signs and marks that Eifen was leaving around Bobby's house that the event was just a few days away. However, the marks began to fade. The signs disappeared as if they never existed, and I was left to wonder if I had been mistaken. Perhaps Eifen had decided not to subject this boy to a third wave of assault. Perhaps I was doomed to forever live in a world where Eifen remained a mystery, an inexplicable phenomenon that went unnoticed and unseen by the rest of the world. I made a pact with myself, with Eifen Deifeiffen and all that he stood for, that on this day, the 6th of March, 1992, I would see to it that Eifen's plans were carried out. That Bobby would receive his third and final visitation from Eifen, one that would end his life for the good of all mankind. One that would simultaneously fulfill both my goals and Eifen's.
I leapt out from hiding, and showed myself for the first time to Bobby. He couldn't fathom what I had in store for him, as I covered his head with a dark cloth and led him into his empty household. There, I waited. I waited for Eifen, knowing that he would come, that today was the day, that he would finish what he had started with this boy and I would be able to remove him from the Earth. I got what I wanted.
Eifen's arrival was a sight that I will never forget. The horrible anguish that was caused to Bobby, the glory that this gave to Eifen, and the excitement that coursed through my veins, all combined to create an atmosphere of euphoria and death. I knew that time was short, that I'd have to act quickly. As Eifen was doing his deed, wretching poor Bobby's heart from left to right, pounding and releasing, forcing and tugging, I made a precise calculation, one that I had practiced many times in anticipation for this event, and thrust a sharp dagger into Bobby's chest, drawing blood and stabbing Eifen in the process. Through the metal end of the blade I felt Eifen squirm up into my flesh. He had left Bobby behind, writhing on the floor in a semi-unconscious stupor, while I continued the battle with Eifen below my skin. His power, even after being wounded, was without comparison to any worldly force, and I quickly found myself brought down to the lowest brink of agony and despair. I fought, and struggled, and pulled, keeping Eifen out of my bloodstream, away from my vital organs. He continued to produce pain and misery in every portion of my body that he could touch. I realized that I was going to lose this fight.
These incomparable hours of battle lasted long enough to allow Bobby to regain complete consciousness. He looked up into my eye, and I returned his gaze. I realized that he could see, that he understood. Eifen was his battle now. I had failed.
I used the last of my remaining strength in one final push of power, thrusting Eifen from my body. Eifen left the room, injured, hurt, but not overcome. His effects remained in me, and I knew I would never recover. I saw the blood pouring from Bobby's wound. It was clean. He would get better. His parents would be home any minute now, and he'd be able to get the help required. The doctors would chalk this one up to bad luck again, an attack by a one-eyed villain, but they would not suspect the real cause, the true suspect of this attempted murder: Eifen Deifeiffen.
My time comes to an end now. I have been able to record what I know about Eifen. I may have been mistaken on some, I may have underestimated his power, but I've observed his destructive force and I know it must be reckoned with. I trust Bobby to do this for me, to continue the work I've begun. Judging by the signs, he's due to receive a fourth visitation, and I'm confident that he'll overcome in a way that I could not. By the time the doctors find out about Eifen Deifeiffen, the cause of so much pain and anguish, the bringer of misery and misfortune, the most powerful destructive force to humankind, its threat will have already been extinguished. I am as sure about this as I am in my imminent death. I mark Eifen's passing with an equal amount of awe and sadness. He was a part of life that is not easily noticed, but definitely not soon forgotten.
This post is an installment in a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Enoch Allred of Chiltingham, John Allred of clol Town, Jon Fairbanks of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Eli Z. McCormick of Modern Revelation!, John D. Moore of Whatnot Studios, and William C. Stewart of Chide, Chode, Chidden. This week's theme: 'Eifen Deifeiffen'.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Sour Mayonnaisse
Huh, all this time, I never noticed the fact that a typo had reared its ugly head in the title of my blog. It's sort of like when you have something stuck in your teeth and no one tells you. Well, it's been fixed. Enjoy the sour mayonnaise.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Vice
"Hey Jim, what's going on?"
"Oh, nothing much, just the usual shit, you know. That sort of thing."
Sam had gotten used to Jim's lack of response to personal questions. In fact, he had come to expect it, and never deviated from his response, even if he didn't have a hell of an idea what Sam was trying to explain. "Yeah, I follow you. Same ol' shit, as the proverb goes."
"Well, there is something else that I've been meaning to talk to you about," Jim said, with hesitation in his voice. He could tell by the look in Sam's eyes that he had passed the point where he could easily step back from his announcement, shake his head and say, "naw, nevermind, it's nothing." Sam, on the other hand, expected Jim to say something along the lines of "naw, nevermind, it's nothing," and therefore prepared his response, "no problem, don't worry about it," well in advance. Due to Jim's faulty appraisal of the situation, Sam would not get to use these words in this situation, but would instead need to carry on through prompt improvisation.
"You know the Disney film 'Dumbo'?" Jim blurted out, suddenly. Sam actually did know the film very well, as he had watched it as a child numerous times a week as he would fall asleep. However, he hadn't seen it in well over ten years now, and responded, "That's the one with the elephant and circus, right?"
Jim expressed his excitement, "Yes, exactly, and a little mouse too. Dumbo has big ears and learns how to fly." It all came back to Sam vividly, not just the big top from the film, with the circus director and the animals, but also the entirety of his childhood memories, fond recollections of his younger sister, his various toys in a large yellow chest in the corner of his room, his adoration for his teacher, Mrs. Penchmond.
"That's a good flick," Sam responded. "I used to watch it a lot. My sister never got into it. She always preferred the newer animated films still coming out nowadays." Sam surprised himself with how open he had become as a result of these childhood memories. He hadn't spoken of his sister with any of his acquaintances, not even his closest friends, and certainly not with Jim. Just mentioning her existence seemed to lift a great burden from Sam's soul.
"Well, then you'll know where I'm coming from, perhaps," Jim continued. "I have a sort of a problem. A vice, really. Something I just can't shake."
"What, like a big problem? Something you need help with?" Sam offered, seeing that this was difficult for Jim. "I'm not sure how much help I can be, but I'm glad to try my best." Even though Sam would never have expected Jim to come to him for advice on anything, this was a position he had been in often enough. Things seemed to come natural to him, and his life, from the outside, evoked a sense of perfection. He had never struggled to get a good job, he had all the merits to allow for complete satisfaction with his position, and, furthermore, he seemed to be able to get any woman he wanted without any effort at all on his part. In this position, dispensing advice to others was a usual task, and one that Sam was well-familiar with.
Jim hesitated again, thinking over how his other confidantes often mocked and derided him for many of his lesser problems. Will Sam be able to understand? Will he be able to help me overcome this? he thought to himself. As he pondered this internally, Sam made a move to look at his watch; clearly there would be little time to sort things out. Perhaps I should wait for another day, another time he thought. But something within him urged him to get this vice off his chest, once and for all. If Sam couldn't help, no one could. "I like to dress up in a pink elephant costume and dance around my apartment to the soundtrack of Dumbo," Jim suddenly blurted out.
This unexpectedly brought back another rush of memories to Sam's mind. He could see his sister, vividly now, as if she were standing right in front of him, dressed in pink and dancing around the room. Marks on her skin that he had forgotten existed were brightly illuminated in his imagination, and an overall sense of helplessness and loss filled his entire body.
"I don't know what to do," Sam finally responded. "But Jim, you called your actions a vice. That's no vice. I've seen vices in this life, vices I myself used to be subject to, and your actions don't constitute any such thing. Keep on dancing, Jim. No one will give a shit."
Jim was comforted by this. He had never heard such utter sincerity spoken by his friend. He was glad for having taken the risk to open himself up, to probe his own depths and release it into the atmosphere for all to absorb. "Thanks Sam, I needed that."
"I did too, Jim. I did too."
About a month later, Jim asked Sam in passing how his sister was doing. Sam responded his usual "not bad" that was expected in such situations. He managed to stifle his snobs until later that evening, when he cried for the first time in over a decade.
This post is an installment in a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Enoch Allred of Chiltingham, John Allred of clol Town, Jon Fairbanks of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Eli Z. McCormick of Modern Revelation!, John D. Moore of Whatnot Studios, and William C. Stewart of Chide, Chode, Chidden. This week's theme: 'Vice'.
"Oh, nothing much, just the usual shit, you know. That sort of thing."
Sam had gotten used to Jim's lack of response to personal questions. In fact, he had come to expect it, and never deviated from his response, even if he didn't have a hell of an idea what Sam was trying to explain. "Yeah, I follow you. Same ol' shit, as the proverb goes."
"Well, there is something else that I've been meaning to talk to you about," Jim said, with hesitation in his voice. He could tell by the look in Sam's eyes that he had passed the point where he could easily step back from his announcement, shake his head and say, "naw, nevermind, it's nothing." Sam, on the other hand, expected Jim to say something along the lines of "naw, nevermind, it's nothing," and therefore prepared his response, "no problem, don't worry about it," well in advance. Due to Jim's faulty appraisal of the situation, Sam would not get to use these words in this situation, but would instead need to carry on through prompt improvisation.
"You know the Disney film 'Dumbo'?" Jim blurted out, suddenly. Sam actually did know the film very well, as he had watched it as a child numerous times a week as he would fall asleep. However, he hadn't seen it in well over ten years now, and responded, "That's the one with the elephant and circus, right?"
Jim expressed his excitement, "Yes, exactly, and a little mouse too. Dumbo has big ears and learns how to fly." It all came back to Sam vividly, not just the big top from the film, with the circus director and the animals, but also the entirety of his childhood memories, fond recollections of his younger sister, his various toys in a large yellow chest in the corner of his room, his adoration for his teacher, Mrs. Penchmond.
"That's a good flick," Sam responded. "I used to watch it a lot. My sister never got into it. She always preferred the newer animated films still coming out nowadays." Sam surprised himself with how open he had become as a result of these childhood memories. He hadn't spoken of his sister with any of his acquaintances, not even his closest friends, and certainly not with Jim. Just mentioning her existence seemed to lift a great burden from Sam's soul.
"Well, then you'll know where I'm coming from, perhaps," Jim continued. "I have a sort of a problem. A vice, really. Something I just can't shake."
"What, like a big problem? Something you need help with?" Sam offered, seeing that this was difficult for Jim. "I'm not sure how much help I can be, but I'm glad to try my best." Even though Sam would never have expected Jim to come to him for advice on anything, this was a position he had been in often enough. Things seemed to come natural to him, and his life, from the outside, evoked a sense of perfection. He had never struggled to get a good job, he had all the merits to allow for complete satisfaction with his position, and, furthermore, he seemed to be able to get any woman he wanted without any effort at all on his part. In this position, dispensing advice to others was a usual task, and one that Sam was well-familiar with.
Jim hesitated again, thinking over how his other confidantes often mocked and derided him for many of his lesser problems. Will Sam be able to understand? Will he be able to help me overcome this? he thought to himself. As he pondered this internally, Sam made a move to look at his watch; clearly there would be little time to sort things out. Perhaps I should wait for another day, another time he thought. But something within him urged him to get this vice off his chest, once and for all. If Sam couldn't help, no one could. "I like to dress up in a pink elephant costume and dance around my apartment to the soundtrack of Dumbo," Jim suddenly blurted out.
This unexpectedly brought back another rush of memories to Sam's mind. He could see his sister, vividly now, as if she were standing right in front of him, dressed in pink and dancing around the room. Marks on her skin that he had forgotten existed were brightly illuminated in his imagination, and an overall sense of helplessness and loss filled his entire body.
"I don't know what to do," Sam finally responded. "But Jim, you called your actions a vice. That's no vice. I've seen vices in this life, vices I myself used to be subject to, and your actions don't constitute any such thing. Keep on dancing, Jim. No one will give a shit."
Jim was comforted by this. He had never heard such utter sincerity spoken by his friend. He was glad for having taken the risk to open himself up, to probe his own depths and release it into the atmosphere for all to absorb. "Thanks Sam, I needed that."
"I did too, Jim. I did too."
About a month later, Jim asked Sam in passing how his sister was doing. Sam responded his usual "not bad" that was expected in such situations. He managed to stifle his snobs until later that evening, when he cried for the first time in over a decade.
This post is an installment in a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Enoch Allred of Chiltingham, John Allred of clol Town, Jon Fairbanks of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Eli Z. McCormick of Modern Revelation!, John D. Moore of Whatnot Studios, and William C. Stewart of Chide, Chode, Chidden. This week's theme: 'Vice'.
Thursday, January 08, 2009
Exodus
Young Exodus was always striving to become the sort of person that his parents and peers expected him to be. However, this was very difficult to achieve, because of the high standard that they held him up to.
"Exodus," his father once said to him, "I want you to be as big and strong as your Uncle Patty and as small and gentle as your Great Aunt Clara." This apparent contradiction in no way confused young Exodus, but it did make him wonder how he could ever achieve such a conundrum. For Exodus, such tasks were often his focus.
When young Exodus was even younger, he asked his father why he was given a name that seemed so strange to other people. His father replied that they had named him after a multitude of people that had escaped oppression thanks to the help of God. Younger than young Exodus didn't understand this explanation, nor did he like the look of righteous indignation in his father's eyes when he said it; Exodus would never ask this question again for the rest of his short life.
But, Exodus's life didn't end all that soon. He made his way slowly from the cradle, to the stroller, and even up until his first car at the age of 16. "You've finally arrived at manhood," his father stated plainly, "Now you can go out on your own, and escape any tyranny that oppresses you." Exodus drove down to the grocery store and bought some milk and eggs. His father thanked him for his thoughtfulness, but Exodus could tell that he had disappointed him.
Exodus's life ended abruptly when he fell into a small stream not far from his house. He was trying to cross it on his way to his friend Steve's home, which was located a small distance away on the other side. Exodus always felt very calm and peaceful at Steve's house. His parents were the only ones who didn't give a weird look when he introduced himself. Steve always prepared great meals of ham and eggs (but never eggs and ham). The food was exquisite, the friendship strong, and the home comfortable. Steve burnt the toast and set off the fire alarm a moment before Exodus took his last breath in the water of the small stream; the sound of the alarm drowned out his final cry for help. His body wasn't noticed until the next day.
Upon finding the body, his father looked on with approval. "You found your escape, son. Now let's hope I can find mine."
This post is an installment in a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Enoch Allred of Chiltingham, John Allred of clol Town, Jon Fairbanks of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Eli Z. McCormick of Modern Revelation!, John D. Moore of Whatnot Studios, and William C. Stewart of Chide, Chode, Chidden. This week's theme: 'Exodus'.
"Exodus," his father once said to him, "I want you to be as big and strong as your Uncle Patty and as small and gentle as your Great Aunt Clara." This apparent contradiction in no way confused young Exodus, but it did make him wonder how he could ever achieve such a conundrum. For Exodus, such tasks were often his focus.
When young Exodus was even younger, he asked his father why he was given a name that seemed so strange to other people. His father replied that they had named him after a multitude of people that had escaped oppression thanks to the help of God. Younger than young Exodus didn't understand this explanation, nor did he like the look of righteous indignation in his father's eyes when he said it; Exodus would never ask this question again for the rest of his short life.
But, Exodus's life didn't end all that soon. He made his way slowly from the cradle, to the stroller, and even up until his first car at the age of 16. "You've finally arrived at manhood," his father stated plainly, "Now you can go out on your own, and escape any tyranny that oppresses you." Exodus drove down to the grocery store and bought some milk and eggs. His father thanked him for his thoughtfulness, but Exodus could tell that he had disappointed him.
Exodus's life ended abruptly when he fell into a small stream not far from his house. He was trying to cross it on his way to his friend Steve's home, which was located a small distance away on the other side. Exodus always felt very calm and peaceful at Steve's house. His parents were the only ones who didn't give a weird look when he introduced himself. Steve always prepared great meals of ham and eggs (but never eggs and ham). The food was exquisite, the friendship strong, and the home comfortable. Steve burnt the toast and set off the fire alarm a moment before Exodus took his last breath in the water of the small stream; the sound of the alarm drowned out his final cry for help. His body wasn't noticed until the next day.
Upon finding the body, his father looked on with approval. "You found your escape, son. Now let's hope I can find mine."
This post is an installment in a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Enoch Allred of Chiltingham, John Allred of clol Town, Jon Fairbanks of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Eli Z. McCormick of Modern Revelation!, John D. Moore of Whatnot Studios, and William C. Stewart of Chide, Chode, Chidden. This week's theme: 'Exodus'.
Friday, December 05, 2008
In the beginning...
1: "In the beginning was the Worm, and the Worm was with Gom, and the Worm was Gom."
2: "What the Hell? You've got your letters all off."
1: "Gommadn it! I fuckem it up again!"
2: "Yeah, you're a real mudbass."
2: "What the Hell? You've got your letters all off."
1: "Gommadn it! I fuckem it up again!"
2: "Yeah, you're a real mudbass."
Monday, December 01, 2008
One year ago today ...
It's been exactly one year since I last posted anything on this blog. In a desire to move the advertisement for "The Golden Compass" down the page a little bit, I am posting this message.
Am I ready to start blogging daily content like some of my friends (cf. Chide Chode Chidden, Whatnot 8.0)? Probably not. I'm coming up to an especially busy week, and generally I tend to stay quite busy. My creative energy hasn't had a desire to express itself in blog form for a whole year now, so it's unlikely it will suddenly explode with output now. If you see a post tomorrow, however, then there may be reason to expect more. I'm not dead, and that's what matters most.
Am I ready to start blogging daily content like some of my friends (cf. Chide Chode Chidden, Whatnot 8.0)? Probably not. I'm coming up to an especially busy week, and generally I tend to stay quite busy. My creative energy hasn't had a desire to express itself in blog form for a whole year now, so it's unlikely it will suddenly explode with output now. If you see a post tomorrow, however, then there may be reason to expect more. I'm not dead, and that's what matters most.
Saturday, December 01, 2007
Daemons
The website for The Golden Compass, soon to be released nationwide, has a section where it devises a daemon that reflects your inner soul based on a questionnaire of 20 personality questions. You answer the questions and it configures one of many daemons based on your answers. Mine is Euthalias the Ocelot--at least for now. You get to visit my page, if you wish, and answer a few questions about my personality and subsequently change the appearance of my daemon for the next few days. It will then harden into whatever you make it, hopefully giving a true picture of my soul for eternity...
Euthalias means I'm solitary, flexible, modest, humble, and spontaneous ... so there! My ocelot's awesome.
Euthalias means I'm solitary, flexible, modest, humble, and spontaneous ... so there! My ocelot's awesome.
Saturday, November 24, 2007
A Match Made in Heaven
For those of you who don't know, it is now quite official that I am getting married, and very soon. Therefore, a formal blog post relating to my personal life is in order, I believe.
I will be marrying Claire Larson on December 14, 2007. For more information about how we met, see our wedding site, which contains as well directions to the Springville Art Museum, where our open house will be held this Saturday (tomorrow!), November 24, 2007. Any reader of my blog who gets this message in time is more than welcome to come and crash the party. We will be serving moderate refreshments and you can meet my lovely bride to be, as well as our close families and friends. The event starts at 7pm and goes until 9pm.
Claire and I have begun a together blog where we will post more details that pertain to the both of us together, as a new sort of entity. This will keep me from turning this blog into a personal sort of "Oh my gosh I love Claire so much" sort of blog, which the together blog is sure to become (unless of course, Claire finds a way to manage me).
Thanks for your good wishes and kind words. I hope to see you all at the event.
I will be marrying Claire Larson on December 14, 2007. For more information about how we met, see our wedding site, which contains as well directions to the Springville Art Museum, where our open house will be held this Saturday (tomorrow!), November 24, 2007. Any reader of my blog who gets this message in time is more than welcome to come and crash the party. We will be serving moderate refreshments and you can meet my lovely bride to be, as well as our close families and friends. The event starts at 7pm and goes until 9pm.
Claire and I have begun a together blog where we will post more details that pertain to the both of us together, as a new sort of entity. This will keep me from turning this blog into a personal sort of "Oh my gosh I love Claire so much" sort of blog, which the together blog is sure to become (unless of course, Claire finds a way to manage me).
Thanks for your good wishes and kind words. I hope to see you all at the event.
The Interconnection of Mr. Daily
For all you fans of movies out there, a new one has just popped up on the internet called The Interconnection of Mr. Daily. The remarkable feature in this film, however, is not its potential to become a blockbuster smash despite its never having been released in the theater or on DVD, but the fact that I, yes, your most humble and dashing blog-post-writer, I wrote the screenplay for the film, and I, yes, I the magnificent and benevolent one, I helped produce and make this film.
If you want to know more about it, you can follow the link above by clicking on the name of the film. Another option is to go to the main website of Bombdotcom Productions and read the blog post I wrote there explaining the details of the film, and urging our readership to view the film for a multitude of reasons. Since this blog is all about me, the film is now part of the required viewing catalog for anyone who wishes to continue reading this blog. It is also available on YouTube, so, get at it.
For anyone interested in reading the actual screenplay, it is no longer available on the internet, but I'd be glad to email you a copy. Alternatively, you can wait until I make it available on Celtx, which should be soon. In the meantime, you can read some of my other scripts on there.
If you want to know more about it, you can follow the link above by clicking on the name of the film. Another option is to go to the main website of Bombdotcom Productions and read the blog post I wrote there explaining the details of the film, and urging our readership to view the film for a multitude of reasons. Since this blog is all about me, the film is now part of the required viewing catalog for anyone who wishes to continue reading this blog. It is also available on YouTube, so, get at it.
For anyone interested in reading the actual screenplay, it is no longer available on the internet, but I'd be glad to email you a copy. Alternatively, you can wait until I make it available on Celtx, which should be soon. In the meantime, you can read some of my other scripts on there.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
For Sale Only
So, I began to watch the film 1408 today, and found the following image looking back at me:
I was confused. "Am I allowed to watch this film?" I thought to myself. "Or must I go out and attempt to sell it?" The message seemed quite clear: in order to get any use out of this film, I would have to sell it. Unfortunately, I had rented this film from Hollywood Video, and would have had to answer to them if I sold it. I thought that perhaps I should take the matter up with them, since they clearly rented the film to me, and did not sell it as they should have. Ultimately, however, I decided to watch it. Who ever took the advice of a screen that appears for only two seconds before the film even begins?
I was confused. "Am I allowed to watch this film?" I thought to myself. "Or must I go out and attempt to sell it?" The message seemed quite clear: in order to get any use out of this film, I would have to sell it. Unfortunately, I had rented this film from Hollywood Video, and would have had to answer to them if I sold it. I thought that perhaps I should take the matter up with them, since they clearly rented the film to me, and did not sell it as they should have. Ultimately, however, I decided to watch it. Who ever took the advice of a screen that appears for only two seconds before the film even begins?
Sunday, November 04, 2007
Bill Clinton in Utah
The big event today was taking place up in Salt Lake City, with the visit of former President of the United States Bill Clinton to the University of Utah. He came to support his wife Hillary in her political campaign for president.
I accompanied my brother and mother to this event, which cost us each $50 dollars to attend. In exchange for our money we received red wristbands which gained us entrance to the seats on the floor. We sat about 12 rows back, on the right hand side, looking at the podium. The ballroom sat around 1,500 people, with some in standing room only for $30 dollars. Arriving early (about 2:00 PM, the event started at 3:00 PM, and Clinton didn't begin speaking till well after that), we were able to get good seats, and even shake hands with him afterwards.
His speech felt more like a political discussion with a good friend whom you respect, rather than a pro-Hillary rally. Bill assured us that Hillary would have his vote even if she was not his wife. He had a great understanding of world politics and the important issues that America faces in the future. He argued that Hillary would be the best-suited for dealing with these problems. His points were convincing, and I am now much more a Hillary supporter than I was previously. It will certainly be interesting to see how the race for president turns out this year. I find it very interesting that Bill Clinton said that he liked all of the Democratic nominees, and even a few of the Republican ones.
On the local news channels, my family got plenty of screen time. My brother, Jacob, was interviewed by both KSL channel 5, and Fox News channel 13. He's quoted in the KSL news article as saying that he is Clinton's greatest supporter in Provo (I can be seen in the background in the video feed during his interview clip). In addition, my mother and brother were both interviewed and quoted in the evening news. We taped it, of course, so if you wish to see it, just come on over sometime!
Hooray for Bill. He is a wonderful speaker with great ideas and an amicable personality. It may be worth it to vote for Hillary just to keep him in some official capacity for our country as the first First Man. I'm sure our nation's status would be improved around the world if this were the case. I for one am not at all disappointed in spending $50 dollars on Hillary's campaign for the honor of meeting and listening to this great man.
Friday, November 02, 2007
Pandora -- New Music
I know I was introduced to this a long time ago, but I haven't begun actually using this very cool internet radio until recently. It allows you to name a band (or bands) that you enjoy, and it proceeds to play similar sounding music from various artists, including the one you named. The system they use to determine the validity of a song based on your song choices is quite incredible. I rarely get a song I don't like, and when I do, I simply click on the 'thumbs-down' icon and I never get that song again, nor any songs similar.
I have been introduced to many new artists through this device, and it's also the best free internet radio I have found available. It never cuts out on me and keeps me with the type of music I like. I've set up a few different channels based on what sort of music I may be in the mood for, and I'm able to keep good songs of certain types on their respective channels. I highly recommend this for anyone that's allowed to listen to music at work, or that likes to listen to music while browsing the internet.
I have been introduced to many new artists through this device, and it's also the best free internet radio I have found available. It never cuts out on me and keeps me with the type of music I like. I've set up a few different channels based on what sort of music I may be in the mood for, and I'm able to keep good songs of certain types on their respective channels. I highly recommend this for anyone that's allowed to listen to music at work, or that likes to listen to music while browsing the internet.
P.S.
P.S. - Thanks for reading this whole letter, even though it was really long-winded and not very understandable. I know I have the tendency to divert off-topic sometimes, and in a letter it is more difficult for me to remain laconic. I hope it's not too annoying for you and you get at least a little bit out of it. You are a great person to have read all of the pages without merely skimming through them or skipping them entirely. I'm sure you can assist me in these matters without too much trouble. I really do appreciate your help in these matters, and I eagerly await your response.
P.P.S. - I just realized I forgot to write a letter to go along with this P.S. I hope it makes sense anyways and you're still able to help, because I'm totally done writing.
P.P.P.S. - That letter doesn't make any sense at all. I just read it. There's no way I'm sending this out to you, so don't bother reading it. Thank you.
P.P.P.P.S. - I changed my mind. I've written the body of the letter. It follows:
Dear Sir (or Madam),
Please read the following P.S. remarks and tell me if they would be fit to publish in your magazine P.S.: Snippets from the Ends of Letters. I have worked hard to create P.S.'s that stand alone in their brilliance while also supplementing the letter they go to. Here are a few ideas I've had that I feel would truly help your magazine's readership in their enjoyment of their bimonthly perusal:
[editor's note: 281 paragraphs excised for length]
I have many more P.S. remarks on their way, but I thought I would send a small sample first. You're welcome. I await your reply.
Sincerely,
JS
P.S. - XOXOXO.
P.P.S. - I just realized I forgot to write a letter to go along with this P.S. I hope it makes sense anyways and you're still able to help, because I'm totally done writing.
P.P.P.S. - That letter doesn't make any sense at all. I just read it. There's no way I'm sending this out to you, so don't bother reading it. Thank you.
P.P.P.P.S. - I changed my mind. I've written the body of the letter. It follows:
Dear Sir (or Madam),
Please read the following P.S. remarks and tell me if they would be fit to publish in your magazine P.S.: Snippets from the Ends of Letters. I have worked hard to create P.S.'s that stand alone in their brilliance while also supplementing the letter they go to. Here are a few ideas I've had that I feel would truly help your magazine's readership in their enjoyment of their bimonthly perusal:
[editor's note: 281 paragraphs excised for length]
I have many more P.S. remarks on their way, but I thought I would send a small sample first. You're welcome. I await your reply.
Sincerely,
JS
P.S. - XOXOXO.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
A Crude Sexual Remark
I usually get a kick out of the explanations for some of the MPAA ratings for films. There are the incredibly specific ("pervasive strong bloody violence"), oddly classified ("sci-fi destruction," as if the fact that it's sci-fi as opposed to any other destruction changes things), or extremely ambiguous (the catch-all "thematic elements" comes to mind). It just shows the faultiness of the system, and the subjective nature of the rulings. However, when I popped in my rented copy of "Off the Black" today, I found what I believe to be the most absurd rating of all time. I was greeted with the following image:
Now, whether or not the film actually deserves the R rating, the MPAA makes a bold move here in singling out one specific instance of crude sexuality ... not even a whole scene or anything building up to that scene, but rather, a single remark is the sole reason for the R rating. This implies that everything else in the film is hunkydory. It provides little assistance to the potential parent trying to decide if this film is alright for his/her child to view. "Thematic elements" would even have been better here. I can actually see how this film could receive an R rating -- I'm not opposed to that. It's the implication that the R rating comes from a single phrase spoken as an aside that really had little to do with the plot of the film.
Now, whether or not the film actually deserves the R rating, the MPAA makes a bold move here in singling out one specific instance of crude sexuality ... not even a whole scene or anything building up to that scene, but rather, a single remark is the sole reason for the R rating. This implies that everything else in the film is hunkydory. It provides little assistance to the potential parent trying to decide if this film is alright for his/her child to view. "Thematic elements" would even have been better here. I can actually see how this film could receive an R rating -- I'm not opposed to that. It's the implication that the R rating comes from a single phrase spoken as an aside that really had little to do with the plot of the film.
I don't get too upset when I see these explanations, because it's mainly just funny. However, if I were one to determine my movie watching based on the rating of the film, this sort of explanation would not satisfy my requirements. If I were going to miss out on a film, it would have to be for a better reason than "a crude sexual remark." How the MPAA ratings still hold any sway over people's viewing habits, I just don't understand.
Friday, October 12, 2007
Abortion
An article in the New York Times today, entitled "Legal or Not, Abortion Rates Compare," reported the interesting findings of a survey of various nations of the world with regard to abortion rates and legality of the procedure in those nations. Briefly summarized, it found that abortion rates were higher in those areas where the procedure is illegal. Furthermore, the chance of death from such procedures was much higher in those same areas. This has compelled me to list some of my thoughts on the issue of abortion, which deviate markedly from those of other members of my religion.
I think that women should have full rights over their bodies. When a woman becomes pregnant, she becomes the caretaker for the human embryo housed within her womb. Of course, not all caretakers are as good as others, and some cause considerable, at times unrepairable, damage to the fetus through the imbibing of alcohol and use of other harmful substances. In many states, there are laws against such actions in order to protect the future life of the fetus. Therefore, I think a woman should have the option of cancelling her enrollment in such a course that would require her to give up her rights to certain legal activities. While it is true that abstinence would be the ultimate preventative measure, women can not always maintain that high standard. Should a minor slip-up result in a minimum nine month sentence of pain and misery for a woman who has no wish to be a mother? Should a child be born into a world where he is neither wanted nor cared for properly?
Many equate abortion with murder, saying that death of a human life is the same, regardless of when it takes place. However, it is necessary to examine the differences between life in the womb and life after birth. In the womb, the fetus is dependent on the mother's life-force to stay alive. It is a part of the woman's body, attached and connected, unable to move about freely. It is not an autonomous being at this point, because if it were removed from the woman's body, it would die. Even if science reaches the point where an embryo can be cultivated and nurtured outside of the natural womb, I don't think these would be seen as equal alternatives to a normal pregnancy. If a woman sees another being utilizing her resources as an unwanted partnership, then she should be able to terminate the relationship. The child is not truly born until he is removed from the womb, and until then, he should not have the equal rights of a child. If a child is considered the same life both inside and outside of the womb, then why do we celebrate a child's birthday on the day of their delivery? Shouldn't this be traced to the point of conception, if life has officially begun at that moment?
Of course, there are limits to my overall permission for abortion. I think that a woman should have to make her decision early in the pregnancy. Once she has begun, then she must accept her choice and see it through to the end (except, of course, in cases of medical emergency where her life is in danger, or other extenuating circumstances that I may not be aware of). In other words, I don't think a woman should be able to end the life of a fetus the day prior to her delivery date just because she wants to; at that point there'd need to be a better reason. I think all abortions should be done only after discussion with a competent physician, and only after proper counseling has been completed.
I realize that this puts me in the minority in my religion. I personally feel that this is a matter of free agency; limiting a woman's right to choose in this aspect is not at all in keeping with our Church's doctrine. While I would never want to miss out on the opportunity to raise a child that God has granted to be conceived, it is not up to me to force that upon anyone. Prohibiting abortion causes many more problems than it fixes, and I feel that it is the wrong course to take in making society a better place.
I'd love to hear comments telling me I'm wrong ... I'm always open to altering my perception of important issues. This issue in particular just gets me upset, because it seems like everyone in Utah sees it as a cut-and-dry topic: abortion=murder=bad, and I disagree.
I think that women should have full rights over their bodies. When a woman becomes pregnant, she becomes the caretaker for the human embryo housed within her womb. Of course, not all caretakers are as good as others, and some cause considerable, at times unrepairable, damage to the fetus through the imbibing of alcohol and use of other harmful substances. In many states, there are laws against such actions in order to protect the future life of the fetus. Therefore, I think a woman should have the option of cancelling her enrollment in such a course that would require her to give up her rights to certain legal activities. While it is true that abstinence would be the ultimate preventative measure, women can not always maintain that high standard. Should a minor slip-up result in a minimum nine month sentence of pain and misery for a woman who has no wish to be a mother? Should a child be born into a world where he is neither wanted nor cared for properly?
Many equate abortion with murder, saying that death of a human life is the same, regardless of when it takes place. However, it is necessary to examine the differences between life in the womb and life after birth. In the womb, the fetus is dependent on the mother's life-force to stay alive. It is a part of the woman's body, attached and connected, unable to move about freely. It is not an autonomous being at this point, because if it were removed from the woman's body, it would die. Even if science reaches the point where an embryo can be cultivated and nurtured outside of the natural womb, I don't think these would be seen as equal alternatives to a normal pregnancy. If a woman sees another being utilizing her resources as an unwanted partnership, then she should be able to terminate the relationship. The child is not truly born until he is removed from the womb, and until then, he should not have the equal rights of a child. If a child is considered the same life both inside and outside of the womb, then why do we celebrate a child's birthday on the day of their delivery? Shouldn't this be traced to the point of conception, if life has officially begun at that moment?
Of course, there are limits to my overall permission for abortion. I think that a woman should have to make her decision early in the pregnancy. Once she has begun, then she must accept her choice and see it through to the end (except, of course, in cases of medical emergency where her life is in danger, or other extenuating circumstances that I may not be aware of). In other words, I don't think a woman should be able to end the life of a fetus the day prior to her delivery date just because she wants to; at that point there'd need to be a better reason. I think all abortions should be done only after discussion with a competent physician, and only after proper counseling has been completed.
I realize that this puts me in the minority in my religion. I personally feel that this is a matter of free agency; limiting a woman's right to choose in this aspect is not at all in keeping with our Church's doctrine. While I would never want to miss out on the opportunity to raise a child that God has granted to be conceived, it is not up to me to force that upon anyone. Prohibiting abortion causes many more problems than it fixes, and I feel that it is the wrong course to take in making society a better place.
I'd love to hear comments telling me I'm wrong ... I'm always open to altering my perception of important issues. This issue in particular just gets me upset, because it seems like everyone in Utah sees it as a cut-and-dry topic: abortion=murder=bad, and I disagree.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Why I read fiction . . .
I've had a hard time understanding how some people can claim that there is little value in focusing on the reading of literature that is not steeped in reality. These are the people that think that if you're not reading a biography, historical account, informational books, or anything else regarded as non-fiction, then you're essentially wasting your time because you could be doing something better. I can't see how they can maintain this viewpoint when there is so much to be had from the reading of a well-constructed, well-written fictional story. I suppose this is because I've never had a chance to get much out of non-fiction, as I'm usually too bored by page two to understand much of what is being talked about.
Here are a few things that I find most interesting about fiction. This isn't to say that these can not be found as well in non-fiction, but simply, that they do exist in fiction, and, in my opinion, to a greater and more accessible extent.
1.) Symbolism and Deep Meaning. Aside from the Bible and Book of Mormon, which could be classed by some as fiction, there exist no non-fiction books that I know of where deeper, unspoken meaning is attained through multiple readings. Reading an account of world war II, such as the Diary of Anne Frank (one of the few non-fiction works I've actually managed to read through without falling asleep at some point), is very informational, and can teach you a lot about an event you knew little about beforehand. However, by keeping completely faithful to the facts, there usually is little in the way of symbolic meaning to enhance the story.
With fiction, the story can be constructed in the way the author intends in order to increase the beauty of the general themes and ideas portrayed therein. Take for example Anna Karenina: on first reading, it seems to be a fairly straight-forward story about family relations and consequences of adultery. However, when read through more closely, you begin to see how the nuances of the characters relate to an overall world theme. A small scene like the steeplechase, wherein a basic (albeit exciting) account of a horse race is described, becomes an allegory for the rest of the novel. It is able to solidify the ideas and moral lessons of the story. These then relate to the rest of life in a way that is not soon forgotten.
Stephen King speaks of this in his book On Writing. He states that the story writes itself, as he sees it in his mind. But then, when rewriting, he has the opportunity to develop some of the themes that are naturally there. A good writer is able to add to the existing theme by including symbols and unwritten feeling to the work. This can not be done by a writer of non-fiction, because by adding details that did not occur in real life, the writer is by definition, then, writing fiction.
2.) Memorable Moments. True, there are many memorable moments in non-fiction accounts. One can not read about the Battle of Hastings without remembering the courage of the soldiers. One can not read an account of the Civil War without keeping in memory the horrible tragic consequences of our nation's past mistakes. However, these don't last very long. They rush past the brain like another story seen on the news. You recall periodically the story and the effects of it; you remember it when you go to a museum or other national historic site; but, all to soon, you forget about it and go about your day.
Not with good works of fiction. A good book remains in my head forever. I may not remember all of the details, and those symbols I mentioned earlier don't ever come to mind again, but the effect of the writing is etched in my mind for the rest of my life. This is because the reader becomes involved in the story, knowing that the story exists solely for him. Whether or not anyone reads about World War II, it happened. However, if no one reads about Don Quixote's adventures, then they are simply not there. No one would know, and no one would care, and that person is relinquished into the arms of nonexistence.
By being invested in the work, the reader is able to get to know the characters better than the characters know themselves. The author has created this person, and therefore knows everything about them--things that the person has no idea about himself. A good author lets the reader in on these secrets, while at times keeping the characters unaware. This allows the reader to follow the story closely, and have a say in the interpretation of the events as they happen. In doing so, the reader becomes the judge of events, not a viewer of historical facts.
3.) References to life. While the reality of the novel is not historical fact, it can at times be more real than life itself. Oftentimes, what appears to be the case is not always what it seems. More often than not, a matter of common simplicity is a rack of torment in the mind of a person. A good novel or short story can better describe these sorts of details, and tell that behind-the-scenes story in a way that historical biographies can not. A biography about Hitler will tell you facts about his life, how he came to power, who his closest advisors were, and how it is presumed he died. A fictional account of a merciless dictator who attempts to purge his country of all unworthy races, however, would be able to give a full view of the dictator's thoughts, feelings, and emotions, without being worried about stumbling over incorrect historical facts. In doing so, it can cause the reader to feel very differently about Hitler and the atrocities of his reign, than would a biography detailing, however correctly and in-depth, the account of his dealings.
By being more true, in this way, the characters and events in a fictional story come to life. They are able to be used daily in references, at times when you don't have the words to describe feelings or events. Rather than trying to describe the appearance of a large, scary looking figure, you can just say that he looked like Frankenstein. Rather than try and explain how your roommate seems to have two completely different personalities, you can just reference Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. It makes life much more interesting, especially when two people understand the reference and are able to bring their own thoughts and feelings to the discussion.
There are many more things I love about fiction. Let the three numbered above suffice, however, as I am too interested in getting back to reading Demons by Dostoevsky to continue writing a blog that no one will read, and that is, unfortunately, classified under the broad term 'non-fiction'. I hope to be able to, someday, write a great work of fiction, because it will have so much more value to a reader than a worthless blog such as this. I urge anyone reading this who has ever thought that fiction is of little value to reexamine some of the great classic works by true literary geniuses. Your life will be greatly enhanced as a result.
Here are a few things that I find most interesting about fiction. This isn't to say that these can not be found as well in non-fiction, but simply, that they do exist in fiction, and, in my opinion, to a greater and more accessible extent.
1.) Symbolism and Deep Meaning. Aside from the Bible and Book of Mormon, which could be classed by some as fiction, there exist no non-fiction books that I know of where deeper, unspoken meaning is attained through multiple readings. Reading an account of world war II, such as the Diary of Anne Frank (one of the few non-fiction works I've actually managed to read through without falling asleep at some point), is very informational, and can teach you a lot about an event you knew little about beforehand. However, by keeping completely faithful to the facts, there usually is little in the way of symbolic meaning to enhance the story.
With fiction, the story can be constructed in the way the author intends in order to increase the beauty of the general themes and ideas portrayed therein. Take for example Anna Karenina: on first reading, it seems to be a fairly straight-forward story about family relations and consequences of adultery. However, when read through more closely, you begin to see how the nuances of the characters relate to an overall world theme. A small scene like the steeplechase, wherein a basic (albeit exciting) account of a horse race is described, becomes an allegory for the rest of the novel. It is able to solidify the ideas and moral lessons of the story. These then relate to the rest of life in a way that is not soon forgotten.
Stephen King speaks of this in his book On Writing. He states that the story writes itself, as he sees it in his mind. But then, when rewriting, he has the opportunity to develop some of the themes that are naturally there. A good writer is able to add to the existing theme by including symbols and unwritten feeling to the work. This can not be done by a writer of non-fiction, because by adding details that did not occur in real life, the writer is by definition, then, writing fiction.
2.) Memorable Moments. True, there are many memorable moments in non-fiction accounts. One can not read about the Battle of Hastings without remembering the courage of the soldiers. One can not read an account of the Civil War without keeping in memory the horrible tragic consequences of our nation's past mistakes. However, these don't last very long. They rush past the brain like another story seen on the news. You recall periodically the story and the effects of it; you remember it when you go to a museum or other national historic site; but, all to soon, you forget about it and go about your day.
Not with good works of fiction. A good book remains in my head forever. I may not remember all of the details, and those symbols I mentioned earlier don't ever come to mind again, but the effect of the writing is etched in my mind for the rest of my life. This is because the reader becomes involved in the story, knowing that the story exists solely for him. Whether or not anyone reads about World War II, it happened. However, if no one reads about Don Quixote's adventures, then they are simply not there. No one would know, and no one would care, and that person is relinquished into the arms of nonexistence.
By being invested in the work, the reader is able to get to know the characters better than the characters know themselves. The author has created this person, and therefore knows everything about them--things that the person has no idea about himself. A good author lets the reader in on these secrets, while at times keeping the characters unaware. This allows the reader to follow the story closely, and have a say in the interpretation of the events as they happen. In doing so, the reader becomes the judge of events, not a viewer of historical facts.
3.) References to life. While the reality of the novel is not historical fact, it can at times be more real than life itself. Oftentimes, what appears to be the case is not always what it seems. More often than not, a matter of common simplicity is a rack of torment in the mind of a person. A good novel or short story can better describe these sorts of details, and tell that behind-the-scenes story in a way that historical biographies can not. A biography about Hitler will tell you facts about his life, how he came to power, who his closest advisors were, and how it is presumed he died. A fictional account of a merciless dictator who attempts to purge his country of all unworthy races, however, would be able to give a full view of the dictator's thoughts, feelings, and emotions, without being worried about stumbling over incorrect historical facts. In doing so, it can cause the reader to feel very differently about Hitler and the atrocities of his reign, than would a biography detailing, however correctly and in-depth, the account of his dealings.
By being more true, in this way, the characters and events in a fictional story come to life. They are able to be used daily in references, at times when you don't have the words to describe feelings or events. Rather than trying to describe the appearance of a large, scary looking figure, you can just say that he looked like Frankenstein. Rather than try and explain how your roommate seems to have two completely different personalities, you can just reference Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. It makes life much more interesting, especially when two people understand the reference and are able to bring their own thoughts and feelings to the discussion.
There are many more things I love about fiction. Let the three numbered above suffice, however, as I am too interested in getting back to reading Demons by Dostoevsky to continue writing a blog that no one will read, and that is, unfortunately, classified under the broad term 'non-fiction'. I hope to be able to, someday, write a great work of fiction, because it will have so much more value to a reader than a worthless blog such as this. I urge anyone reading this who has ever thought that fiction is of little value to reexamine some of the great classic works by true literary geniuses. Your life will be greatly enhanced as a result.
Monday, July 23, 2007
Christopher Guest Intel Music Videos
Two new music videos debuted today on intel's website. They are entitled "Everything has Changed" and "Set I.T. Managers Free" and are directed by the great Christopher Guest.
They are definitely aimed at the computer nerd demographic, and many of the inside lyrics don't have much impact on me. I'm not sure how effective these videos will be in selling intel's products, but they are fun to watch knowing that Guest was in charge. "Set I.T. Managers Free" is a really fun song, and a much better video than "Everything has Changed." They should both be watched if you consider yourself a fan of Christopher Guest or Intel.
They are definitely aimed at the computer nerd demographic, and many of the inside lyrics don't have much impact on me. I'm not sure how effective these videos will be in selling intel's products, but they are fun to watch knowing that Guest was in charge. "Set I.T. Managers Free" is a really fun song, and a much better video than "Everything has Changed." They should both be watched if you consider yourself a fan of Christopher Guest or Intel.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Chicago, here I come!
It's been a long time with no blog from me. Just a quick update from me here. I'll be going to Chicago at the end of this month for the annual IFT convention. I'll be staying with a friend for the three or four days that this goes on. Not only will this convention give me the chance to meet big name food industry professionals, but hopefully I'll be able to find some promising job opportunities in the Chicago area, since I'll be moving out there come December.
I have visited Chicago before. I was younger, perhaps 16? I can't recall ... I'm bad with that sort of thing. All I remember is that I had to fly out alone a day after my parents and family did, because I had to perform in a marching band competition. We flew to St. Louis, saw the arch, and then went to Chicago. At some point on the trip we saw all the church sites in the area (Nauvoo, Carthage, etc.). It was a very good trip, and I loved Chicago itself most of all. The tall buildings provided much shade and it was actually quite a beautiful city. Hopefully my memory isn't deceiving me, and the city is still amazing. I'll know for sure when I travel out there this month.
I have visited Chicago before. I was younger, perhaps 16? I can't recall ... I'm bad with that sort of thing. All I remember is that I had to fly out alone a day after my parents and family did, because I had to perform in a marching band competition. We flew to St. Louis, saw the arch, and then went to Chicago. At some point on the trip we saw all the church sites in the area (Nauvoo, Carthage, etc.). It was a very good trip, and I loved Chicago itself most of all. The tall buildings provided much shade and it was actually quite a beautiful city. Hopefully my memory isn't deceiving me, and the city is still amazing. I'll know for sure when I travel out there this month.
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
San Francisco, Scangi(sp?), and School
San Francisco is a city of change - a city on the edge. This is seen quite literally in the steep slopes of the streets and the scenic views from the bay bridges, but also a figurative expression of this idea is apparent in the very fabric of the city's culture. During my weekend trip to the gorod of Bunin's gentleman, I managed to view a number of interesting spectacles, the most interesting of which was the one that occured Friday evening. This was the monthly bicycle ride down Market Street, meant to deter drivers from utilizing their automobiles by blocking the flow of traffic and taking over the street by sheer mass. The sight was incredible. People of all different types and with a broad range of bicycles rode down both lanes of traffic. What started as a small gathering, I am told, has now reached the point of tradition, with police blocking off the road to allow for a safer display by the riders. This sums up the nature of San Francisco perfectly. The city's denizens are pleased to perform their deeds without hesitation, ready to back up their beliefs with action. They live together, making change, embracing differences, and progressing to the future.
In San Francisco, I had the opportunity to eat scangi as part of our Italian fish dinner, although I can't seem to find this dish on any online database. They told us they were sea snails. They tasted like oysters, only with a rougher texture and less appealing mouthfeel. They were served in giant shells mixed in with the pasta sauce. They were sufficiently disgusting to prevent my eating any more than a single bite. I did swallow, unlike my fearful counterparts at my table.
School is back in full swing. I am taking three courses this spring, with the plan of not taking any courses in the summer. Of course, with a full scholarship, I might just take a couple of classes for fun. I am currently enrolled in an advanced writing class, a family history class (for that last required religion credit), and a time-consuming calculus class (required for my major), taught by a very cool Chinese Ph.D. student. His accent causes difficulty at times, but at least he's always smiling, and he doesn't make any mistakes in his explanations. I'm trying to devote most of my time to calculus, so I will actually understand it. So far it's been pretty easy, but since I haven't had math since 11th grade, I'm pretty sure it will be much more difficult for me than for some of the other students. Oh, and I hate math and always will.
In San Francisco, I had the opportunity to eat scangi as part of our Italian fish dinner, although I can't seem to find this dish on any online database. They told us they were sea snails. They tasted like oysters, only with a rougher texture and less appealing mouthfeel. They were served in giant shells mixed in with the pasta sauce. They were sufficiently disgusting to prevent my eating any more than a single bite. I did swallow, unlike my fearful counterparts at my table.
School is back in full swing. I am taking three courses this spring, with the plan of not taking any courses in the summer. Of course, with a full scholarship, I might just take a couple of classes for fun. I am currently enrolled in an advanced writing class, a family history class (for that last required religion credit), and a time-consuming calculus class (required for my major), taught by a very cool Chinese Ph.D. student. His accent causes difficulty at times, but at least he's always smiling, and he doesn't make any mistakes in his explanations. I'm trying to devote most of my time to calculus, so I will actually understand it. So far it's been pretty easy, but since I haven't had math since 11th grade, I'm pretty sure it will be much more difficult for me than for some of the other students. Oh, and I hate math and always will.
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