(listening to: "Fight Test" by The Flaming Lips)
That was not what I imagined.
END TRANSMISSION...
Monday, January 28, 2008
Friday, January 18, 2008
The Coffee Shop
A short story. (listening to: "The Next Ten Minutes" from The Last 5 Years Soundtrack)
He stood outside the door staring at his reflection in the glass. He willed his hand to the handle, but it remained stubbornly at his side. A clutch gathered at his throat, and he swallowed it down. He could feel his heart beating slow and hard at every extremity in his body. He inhaled sharply and held it, gathering every fiber of his being to chill the fuck out. As he began to slowly exhale, a woman came up from behind him, opened the door and held it open for Him to enter. He stared at her, hating her more than anything else in his world at that moment. He forced a small smile and walked inside, legs numb to any feeling of motion.
Cruelly, the small shop was nearly empty. No place to hide, no crowd to get lost in. He spotted Her right away, of course. She sat near a far window, hair lit up by the cold sunlight pouring in, God's follow spot focused tightly on His star performer. He immediately thought to turn and run, to claim car trouble, or some other emergency. His mind was willing, but His body was weak and didn't heed the call. It was too late anyway, She had looked up and seen Him.
A weak smile came forcibly to Her face and He nodded slightly to Her. She wasn't more than a few dozen feet away, but every step felt like a mile. Like opposing magnets, the closer He got, the harder it was to continue. Her gaze never faltered from Him, and it seemed to freeze on Her face as though a great effort of will was being made to maintain the upward turn of Her lips. Finally, mercifully, His journey was over and He pulled a chair out to sit down on. Gingerly He placed himself down, and set an envelope on the table between them. A moment of silence that was just a breath too long passed between them.
"Hi." She said.
"Hi." Again, a too-long pause.
"How are you?"
"Fine."
"Good."
"You?"
"Fine."
"Good."
His eyes screamed at her. Don't do this. Say something important. Tell me to stay. Tell me you're sad. Angry. Feel Something. Please. Please. Please. But nothing. He sighed heavily and pushed the envelope across the table. The flap fell open revealing papers folded back upon themselves, and a few bursts of color- pictures of better times.
"I figured you would want these." He had to concentrate very hard to pull His hand away.
"Oh. Thank you." She took it off the table and placed it without even so much as a glance to its contents into her bag. As the envelope gained distance from Him, He felt a tearing sensation. Hundreds of tiny threads were being pulled and broken, their tails whipping Him in the face, arms, chest, belly, groin, legs, feet...
"Did you want something?" Her question slammed Him in the center of His trunk. Yes, God, I want something. I want you. I want to go back to when-- He looked up at her and she was gazing towards the counter. Oh.
"No. I'm... I'm fine."
"Ok."
Another too-long pause. She made a motion. No...
"Well, I have to go."
"Already? I just-"
"I know, but I can't.. I have to be somewhere."
"Oh. Alright. Well, when will I see you again."
A look. An opportunity. Too late. Gone.
"I don't know. I'll call you."
"Ok."
Another look. Another opportunity. Too late. Gone. She stepped past Him, hesitated and turned around. She stepped close to Him and looked up in His eyes.
[goodbye]
[pleasedontgo]
[ihaveto]
[youdonthaveto]
[ineedto]
[iloveyou]
[pleasedontsaythat]
[imeanitiloveyou]
[youdontyoucantyoudontknowwhatthatmeans]
[ifeelithereandnow]
[youonlythinkyoudo]
[no]
[goodbye]
The look fell away and she turned and left. Her steps quick and unsure, like a run, but lost in the motion. He didn't know how, but He was sitting again. Within a moment, His world clouded up like He was looking through thick glass. Shapes became only vague colors around Him, and He felt the drops on His hands.
"Goodbye."
END TRANSMISSION...
He stood outside the door staring at his reflection in the glass. He willed his hand to the handle, but it remained stubbornly at his side. A clutch gathered at his throat, and he swallowed it down. He could feel his heart beating slow and hard at every extremity in his body. He inhaled sharply and held it, gathering every fiber of his being to chill the fuck out. As he began to slowly exhale, a woman came up from behind him, opened the door and held it open for Him to enter. He stared at her, hating her more than anything else in his world at that moment. He forced a small smile and walked inside, legs numb to any feeling of motion.
Cruelly, the small shop was nearly empty. No place to hide, no crowd to get lost in. He spotted Her right away, of course. She sat near a far window, hair lit up by the cold sunlight pouring in, God's follow spot focused tightly on His star performer. He immediately thought to turn and run, to claim car trouble, or some other emergency. His mind was willing, but His body was weak and didn't heed the call. It was too late anyway, She had looked up and seen Him.
A weak smile came forcibly to Her face and He nodded slightly to Her. She wasn't more than a few dozen feet away, but every step felt like a mile. Like opposing magnets, the closer He got, the harder it was to continue. Her gaze never faltered from Him, and it seemed to freeze on Her face as though a great effort of will was being made to maintain the upward turn of Her lips. Finally, mercifully, His journey was over and He pulled a chair out to sit down on. Gingerly He placed himself down, and set an envelope on the table between them. A moment of silence that was just a breath too long passed between them.
"Hi." She said.
"Hi." Again, a too-long pause.
"How are you?"
"Fine."
"Good."
"You?"
"Fine."
"Good."
His eyes screamed at her. Don't do this. Say something important. Tell me to stay. Tell me you're sad. Angry. Feel Something. Please. Please. Please. But nothing. He sighed heavily and pushed the envelope across the table. The flap fell open revealing papers folded back upon themselves, and a few bursts of color- pictures of better times.
"I figured you would want these." He had to concentrate very hard to pull His hand away.
"Oh. Thank you." She took it off the table and placed it without even so much as a glance to its contents into her bag. As the envelope gained distance from Him, He felt a tearing sensation. Hundreds of tiny threads were being pulled and broken, their tails whipping Him in the face, arms, chest, belly, groin, legs, feet...
"Did you want something?" Her question slammed Him in the center of His trunk. Yes, God, I want something. I want you. I want to go back to when-- He looked up at her and she was gazing towards the counter. Oh.
"No. I'm... I'm fine."
"Ok."
Another too-long pause. She made a motion. No...
"Well, I have to go."
"Already? I just-"
"I know, but I can't.. I have to be somewhere."
"Oh. Alright. Well, when will I see you again."
A look. An opportunity. Too late. Gone.
"I don't know. I'll call you."
"Ok."
Another look. Another opportunity. Too late. Gone. She stepped past Him, hesitated and turned around. She stepped close to Him and looked up in His eyes.
[goodbye]
[pleasedontgo]
[ihaveto]
[youdonthaveto]
[ineedto]
[iloveyou]
[pleasedontsaythat]
[imeanitiloveyou]
[youdontyoucantyoudontknowwhatthatmeans]
[ifeelithereandnow]
[youonlythinkyoudo]
[no]
[goodbye]
The look fell away and she turned and left. Her steps quick and unsure, like a run, but lost in the motion. He didn't know how, but He was sitting again. Within a moment, His world clouded up like He was looking through thick glass. Shapes became only vague colors around Him, and He felt the drops on His hands.
"Goodbye."
END TRANSMISSION...
Monday, January 14, 2008
A New Year, A New Team
Go Swarm! (listening to: "Thunderstruck" by AC/DC)
Saturday saw my favorite professional sports team extend their season to a dominant 2-0. I'm talking, of course, about the Minnesota Swarm, part of the National Lacrosse League. Joined by my fellow Season Ticket holders, we took the Xcel by storm as we finished off the Toronto Rock 11-4. Nick Patterson had an unbelievable 40 saves, fully half of which were what I would humbly denote as "Completely Awesome." If you live anywhere in the Twin Cities Metro Area, you owe it to yourself to catch a Swarm game this season. There's only 7 left, so... do it. Even if you don't like sports, there's not much to not like about this game. That is all.
After Ashley rehearsals are in full swing now, and I'm not far off when I say that this is likely the most talented cast I've worked with in... well, probably ever. Rehearsals go very well, and we're constantly pushing the bounds of the script and finding new things to play with. It's a real joy to share the stage with these folks, and I urge you to come see this show. It promises to be quite the evening. You can find showtimes and dates on my website.
Sabrina Fair rehearsals have not yet begun, but I'm looking forward to that show with nearly as much fervor. 2008 is starting well artistically for me, and I can only hope that continues through the spring and all the way through.
In other news, it's somewhat overwhelming to me how so much and so little can happen all at once. And how draining it can be to wait.
END TRANSMISSION...
Saturday saw my favorite professional sports team extend their season to a dominant 2-0. I'm talking, of course, about the Minnesota Swarm, part of the National Lacrosse League. Joined by my fellow Season Ticket holders, we took the Xcel by storm as we finished off the Toronto Rock 11-4. Nick Patterson had an unbelievable 40 saves, fully half of which were what I would humbly denote as "Completely Awesome." If you live anywhere in the Twin Cities Metro Area, you owe it to yourself to catch a Swarm game this season. There's only 7 left, so... do it. Even if you don't like sports, there's not much to not like about this game. That is all.
After Ashley rehearsals are in full swing now, and I'm not far off when I say that this is likely the most talented cast I've worked with in... well, probably ever. Rehearsals go very well, and we're constantly pushing the bounds of the script and finding new things to play with. It's a real joy to share the stage with these folks, and I urge you to come see this show. It promises to be quite the evening. You can find showtimes and dates on my website.
Sabrina Fair rehearsals have not yet begun, but I'm looking forward to that show with nearly as much fervor. 2008 is starting well artistically for me, and I can only hope that continues through the spring and all the way through.
In other news, it's somewhat overwhelming to me how so much and so little can happen all at once. And how draining it can be to wait.
END TRANSMISSION...
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
To Everything, There is a Season
Turn, turn, turn. (listening to: Really? You can't guess?)
Listen, let me preface this by saying that I'm fully aware that it's people's job to try and cheer their friends up when they go through tough times. It's part of the job description, and I get that. But dammit, sometimes it's just time to feel shitty.
I don't want to sound ungrateful, or.. mean, but saying "You'll get over it," or "It'll all work out for the best" is surprisingly not helpful at this exact moment in time. In fact, it only serves to show me just how ludicrous I'm being. What some people need is just a validation that the pain they're going through is OK, and that to return to (or, perhaps just start being) the happy, shiny people that they once were is not doing the circumstance that caused the pain in the first place any justice at all.
We're marked by the pain we endure. We display scars, we show injuries, we take pride in the righteous battles we've fought. These are not things we are ashamed of, or take lightly. Allow me to draw an analogy.
Would you, given the opportunity, go to a solider fighting on the front lines and say, "Why are you so sad? Things will get better!" Would you find a terminally ill patient with 6 months left to live and console them with, "It could have been three!" I hope you are shaking your head.
There's no "socially acceptable mourning time." If you start to get sick of someone being sad about something, go find something else to do. Make a pie, shovel snow, do some long division. But don't try and make the person feel better by showing them a future colored with rosy hues and lollipops. Odds are, all they see is a future without the thing they've lost.
END TRANSMISSION...
Listen, let me preface this by saying that I'm fully aware that it's people's job to try and cheer their friends up when they go through tough times. It's part of the job description, and I get that. But dammit, sometimes it's just time to feel shitty.
I don't want to sound ungrateful, or.. mean, but saying "You'll get over it," or "It'll all work out for the best" is surprisingly not helpful at this exact moment in time. In fact, it only serves to show me just how ludicrous I'm being. What some people need is just a validation that the pain they're going through is OK, and that to return to (or, perhaps just start being) the happy, shiny people that they once were is not doing the circumstance that caused the pain in the first place any justice at all.
We're marked by the pain we endure. We display scars, we show injuries, we take pride in the righteous battles we've fought. These are not things we are ashamed of, or take lightly. Allow me to draw an analogy.
Would you, given the opportunity, go to a solider fighting on the front lines and say, "Why are you so sad? Things will get better!" Would you find a terminally ill patient with 6 months left to live and console them with, "It could have been three!" I hope you are shaking your head.
There's no "socially acceptable mourning time." If you start to get sick of someone being sad about something, go find something else to do. Make a pie, shovel snow, do some long division. But don't try and make the person feel better by showing them a future colored with rosy hues and lollipops. Odds are, all they see is a future without the thing they've lost.
END TRANSMISSION...
Monday, January 07, 2008
Eli's Coming
Hide your heart, girl. (listening to: Nothing)
She walked, but she never got away.
END TRANSMISSION...
DAN
Eli's coming.
CASEY
Eli?
DAN
From the Three Dog Night song.
CASEY
Yes.
DAN
Eli's something bad. A darkness.
CASEY
"Eli's coming, hide your heart girl."
Eli's an inveterate womanizer. I think
you're getting the song wrong.
DAN
I know I'm getting the song wrong, but
when I first heard it, that's what I
always thought it meant, and things
stick with you that way.
They say it's always calmest before
the storm. That's not true. I'm a
serious sailor. It isn't calm before
the storm. Stuff happens.
Eli's coming.
She walked, but she never got away.
END TRANSMISSION...
Friday, January 04, 2008
Syncopated Hextrameter
Or, you know, not. (listening to: "As Is" by Ani DiFranco)
In much the way
That an old man
Both loves and fears
A small child
So too a painful
Heart feeds and shrinks
On both the thought
Of its former bounty
And the reality
Of its loss
I heard tell of a man long ago
Who wandered from place to place.
Through heat of winter and cutting snow,
For a town to hide his face.
Many years he walked and rode,
Never finding what he lost.
For you cannot find on any road
Reprieve from such high cost.
He died alone and no one came
To lay lilies 'round his urn.
If only he'd known he'd die the same:
A stranger 'round every turn.
- Sean Williams
END TRANSMISSION...
In much the way
That an old man
Both loves and fears
A small child
So too a painful
Heart feeds and shrinks
On both the thought
Of its former bounty
And the reality
Of its loss
I heard tell of a man long ago
Who wandered from place to place.
Through heat of winter and cutting snow,
For a town to hide his face.
Many years he walked and rode,
Never finding what he lost.
For you cannot find on any road
Reprieve from such high cost.
He died alone and no one came
To lay lilies 'round his urn.
If only he'd known he'd die the same:
A stranger 'round every turn.
- Sean Williams
END TRANSMISSION...
Thursday, January 03, 2008
I Hate My Job
I may have mentioned this before, but it's true. (listening to: my own breathing)
Seriously. I work with some of the most incompetent, lazy, mindless bunch of pass-the-buck douchesacks I've ever had the dubious honor of coming across. I'm filling out my employee self-evaluation, and It's really hard not to put down "Because no one else does their job" for every category.
I've decided that I'm asking for a 10% raise and a title change along with a change of responsibilities here by my review in March. If that doesn't happen, I'm out the door.
Amen, Rob.
I wish she'd call.
END TRANSMISSION...
Seriously. I work with some of the most incompetent, lazy, mindless bunch of pass-the-buck douchesacks I've ever had the dubious honor of coming across. I'm filling out my employee self-evaluation, and It's really hard not to put down "Because no one else does their job" for every category.
I've decided that I'm asking for a 10% raise and a title change along with a change of responsibilities here by my review in March. If that doesn't happen, I'm out the door.
I'm sick of the sight of this place, to be honest. Some days I'm afraid I'll go berserk, throw the Country A-through-K rack out in the street and go work in a Virgin Megastore.
Amen, Rob.
I wish she'd call.
END TRANSMISSION...
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
Oh, Epimethius, I Get It Now
You're just like us. Your brother is the odd one. (listening to: "A Part of That" from the Original Cast Recording of The Last 5 Years)
Some of you may not know this story. Allow me to entertain you.
Long ago, Zeus entrusted the creation of all living things to a pair of brothers. Epimethius and Prometheus. When Epimethius finally got around to creating mankind, he found that he had used up all the good stuff and didn't have anything left from the box of "Good" to give. Prometheus climbed up Mount Olympus in the cover of darkness and stole fire from the Gods and gave it to Man.
The next morning when Zeus saw what had happened, he ordered that Prometheus be bound to a rock and a crow would come and eat out his liver every day until eternity, forcing him to be under eternal pain. To Epimethius, he gave a beautiful woman. Some of you may have heard of her. Pandora.
You see, the interesting thing about this story is that Epimethius ran out of good qualities to give to man, so Hesiod has us inheriting intelligence (fire). The meaning is clear. Humans, on the whole, are not good creatures. We're just intelligent. Aware.
Sometimes I wonder if maybe we weren't better off without that gift. And maybe that Prometheus got what he deserved.
END TRANSMISSION...
Some of you may not know this story. Allow me to entertain you.
Long ago, Zeus entrusted the creation of all living things to a pair of brothers. Epimethius and Prometheus. When Epimethius finally got around to creating mankind, he found that he had used up all the good stuff and didn't have anything left from the box of "Good" to give. Prometheus climbed up Mount Olympus in the cover of darkness and stole fire from the Gods and gave it to Man.
The next morning when Zeus saw what had happened, he ordered that Prometheus be bound to a rock and a crow would come and eat out his liver every day until eternity, forcing him to be under eternal pain. To Epimethius, he gave a beautiful woman. Some of you may have heard of her. Pandora.
You see, the interesting thing about this story is that Epimethius ran out of good qualities to give to man, so Hesiod has us inheriting intelligence (fire). The meaning is clear. Humans, on the whole, are not good creatures. We're just intelligent. Aware.
Sometimes I wonder if maybe we weren't better off without that gift. And maybe that Prometheus got what he deserved.
END TRANSMISSION...
Tuesday, January 01, 2008
The Transient, Impermanent Nature of Things
10 CLEAR
20 PRINT "HELLO WORLD!"
30 PRINT ""
40 PRINT ""
50 PRINT "... OR WHOEVER."
60 END
(listening to: "Natalie Portman" by Ozma)
A new year, and new beginnings. I suppose that I, like most people around this time of year, begin to get all nostalgic and contemplative on the nature of the world around us when confronted with the reality of another year of existence. Why such importance placed on a single day? Why do people from hundreds and thousands of miles around gather in Gotham to watch a giant crystal ball slowly descend on a rail to a lit sign with a number on it that means no more or less than the number that was there 365 days ago?
Is it hope? Do people associate a new year with a clean slate? 'Cause there isn't one. You don't get to start over, you don't get reprieve from the things you've done or the people you've hurt. It's just another day. Like yesterday. And tomorrow. Today is New Year's Day, and while I'm sitting here at work waiting for the nobody to call in, the post office that has my package that I've been awaiting for over a week now is closed. No mail today. Before the internet, before the modem and the FAX machine, this was a day of NO communication from the outside world. Why? What's the point? Why is today so special? Tomorrow, everything starts again, and the people in jail stay there, the bills you need to pay will show up, and the rent is due. Life. Moves. On. Go with it.
What's interesting about that, though? Is that nothing stays. The people you counted on the most will one day become "that person you once knew." You'll look back on pictures and stories and think about those times, and everything will always be rosy. Life's always better in the past. (And in the future, if you ask those huddled, freezing masses in front of the giant neon Cola sign.) But time catches up to us all. Your pain, your frustration and anger are as real to you as the love and peace you feel. But in a week? a year? 10 years? You'll only remember how great things used to be, and not your pain. Because you'll have new pain.
So what do we do? Are we doomed to live this doublethink for the rest of our lives? Stomping out our Orwellian existence until we shed gin-soaked tears and love Big Brother? How do you reconcile the overwhelming hope and trust in the future with the fact that according to you as an observer, things are always getting worse?
What do we do? At the moment, no one wants to know more than I do.
END TRANSMISSION...
20 PRINT "HELLO WORLD!"
30 PRINT ""
40 PRINT ""
50 PRINT "... OR WHOEVER."
60 END
(listening to: "Natalie Portman" by Ozma)
A new year, and new beginnings. I suppose that I, like most people around this time of year, begin to get all nostalgic and contemplative on the nature of the world around us when confronted with the reality of another year of existence. Why such importance placed on a single day? Why do people from hundreds and thousands of miles around gather in Gotham to watch a giant crystal ball slowly descend on a rail to a lit sign with a number on it that means no more or less than the number that was there 365 days ago?
Is it hope? Do people associate a new year with a clean slate? 'Cause there isn't one. You don't get to start over, you don't get reprieve from the things you've done or the people you've hurt. It's just another day. Like yesterday. And tomorrow. Today is New Year's Day, and while I'm sitting here at work waiting for the nobody to call in, the post office that has my package that I've been awaiting for over a week now is closed. No mail today. Before the internet, before the modem and the FAX machine, this was a day of NO communication from the outside world. Why? What's the point? Why is today so special? Tomorrow, everything starts again, and the people in jail stay there, the bills you need to pay will show up, and the rent is due. Life. Moves. On. Go with it.
What's interesting about that, though? Is that nothing stays. The people you counted on the most will one day become "that person you once knew." You'll look back on pictures and stories and think about those times, and everything will always be rosy. Life's always better in the past. (And in the future, if you ask those huddled, freezing masses in front of the giant neon Cola sign.) But time catches up to us all. Your pain, your frustration and anger are as real to you as the love and peace you feel. But in a week? a year? 10 years? You'll only remember how great things used to be, and not your pain. Because you'll have new pain.
So what do we do? Are we doomed to live this doublethink for the rest of our lives? Stomping out our Orwellian existence until we shed gin-soaked tears and love Big Brother? How do you reconcile the overwhelming hope and trust in the future with the fact that according to you as an observer, things are always getting worse?
What do we do? At the moment, no one wants to know more than I do.
END TRANSMISSION...
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