Other Worlds

Today, the Scribble prompts us with “Out Of This World”. Though the clear encouragement is to discuss space and the like, I’ve decided on a slightly different tack. I hope you don’t mind.

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Other worlds exist. I know this to be true. I’ve visited a few myself. The thing about these visits though, is that it’s technically untrue to say that I’ve visited. For you see, when I enter these worlds different from our own, I’m not really myself anymore.

Some of these worlds are vastly different from the one you and I spend most of our time. Some are eerily similar, with one or two things different. Some seem to exist in this world, but in a different time. Often times, I kid you not, they pay me to visit.

The first time I was paid for visiting, I found myself propositioning a seventeenth century whore in France. As she and I walked across the dirt road to my shabby home, four vampires in human form walked by. One of those vampires would become pregnant, and then sacrifice herself for the sake of her child. Another of those vampires would be the father of that child, and would evntually find his soul again and become a champion. That was a fun world to visit.

Less fun was the world in which I was one of a group of Mexican travellers, filthy and sweaty, journeying through the sweltering canyons in search of the Virgin Mary’s image upon the stones. Hundreds of us, some family, most strangers, walked for miles and miles to glimpse the side of the rocky wall. I can’t honestly say whether or not I saw what I sought, but I did see a shimmering light, a reflection, maybe, and I knew intuitively that everyone else saw it, too. We all looked on, hopefully, eagerly.

Then there was the time that I was mostly myself. I was at the Food Court in one of the malls of this world. We were in Los Angeles. I was enjoying my day, almost ready to resume shopping, when suddenly there was an announcement: “Attention, attention! Please evacuate the mall immediately! Repeat: please evacuate the mall immediately!” We later learned that foreign terrorists had released a deadly gas through the ventillation system of the mall. As we ran toward the exits, I spotted many who were not as fortunate as I was. Frothing at the mouth, bleeding at the eyes, dying. The horror of the situation remains with me to this day. Were it not for a hero named Jack, and the rest of his unit, who knows how many more would have suffered the same fate?

On a lighter note, there was the time I was in what appeared to be our world, but in the 1970’s. I was at a dance club, when two men — one short and with curly hair, the other tall and blonde with a long-ago-broken nose — entered. The short one was clearly hopped up on some kind of drug, so he barely noticed when he bumped into another man. Oh, but he noticed when the other man challenged him to a Dance Off. And oh, what fun it was to watch and cheer for the two competitors.

There exists a world where I am a high school student in a town called Arcadia, where Joan, a fellow student, believes she can see and have conversations with God. There’s a world in which I’m at a club that Big Momma barrels through to catch the bad guy. There’s a world where I’m a student at a fictional college where everyone is Accepted.

I’ve been spared by the evil vampire Angelus, saved by Jack Baur, and I’ve seen both Starsky and Hutch. Because between “Action!” and “Cut!”, these worlds truly do exists. They aren’t actors playing parts, they are realities unfolding.

People ask me sometimes why I want to be an actor. I say, why wouldn’t you want to live a life where everyday the impossible becomes not only possible, but probable? I wouldn’t want anything else.

– ldi

Dear 7-11 Cashier

Dear 7-11 Cashier -

Hey, man. What’s up? Not much with me. Cool.

So, I don’t wanna seem like a dick, but I have a quick request: when I’m buying a thing of ice cream from your store, and the little placard thingie says that it will be $4.99, and then you ring it up, and you and I can both clearly see that the total is $4.99 because the LED states it on your and my side of the register in nice, bold, big green numbers, please don’t tell me that my total is in fact $5.oo. Then, when I mention this discrepency, please don’t argue with me like I’m not right, and claim that there’s a single cent in tax, when we both know that’s a complete fabrication on your part.

Furthermore, once we’ve sorted all that out, please don’t proceed to get all pissy with me when I ask for my receipt. I think in general, and I’m not trying to tell you how to do your job, you should maybe just assume that all customers want their receipt. Just, you know, go ahead and offer it to them all, and if they don’t want it, they’ll probably ask you to throw it away, or they’ll throw it away themselves. I’ll bet you’re concerned because you think that if it gets thrown away, the company’s losing money, and your boss will fire you, right? Is that it? Well, let me assure you, 7-11 Cashier, that the company expects customers to want their receipt. They actually count on it. I promise.

Thanks a lot for your time.

– ldi

The King Has Entered The Small Building

I just finished watching the movie The Mist, based on the Stephen King novella of the same name. For what it’s worth, I enjoyed it. I remember hearing some complaints about the ending, and now that I’ve seen in, I sorta get it, but really, how would you have ended it? The world is saved, everyone lives prosperous lives, the dead are revived, the disgruntled are settled, and the two arguing groups find common ground? I say there’s a place for a swell, happy ending, but it just wouldn’t have fit here. I’m not sure the ending they decided on fit here either, but like Frank Darabont or Stephen King mention, “There was like, two hours of movie before the ending.” Well put, Frank Darabont or Stephen King.

But this is not a movie review.

No, today we talk about something that’s been bothering me of late. The subject of violence in movies. Note, please, that it’s not the violence itself that bothers me. Recently, a work friend of mine invited me to a table read of a script written by a kinda-friend of his. Afterwards, this work friend of mine and I talked about the script. Without giving too much of the story away, I’ll just tell you that most of the script is a relatively dark comedy. However, about halfway into the script, a couple of guys discuss some killings which included some pretty gruesome torture. Later still, a main character himself is tortured to within an inch of his life.

I don’t mind violence in movies. I don’t even mind torture in movies. I’ve seen all the SAW movies, and as long as they keep having interesting twists that I don’t expect at the end, I’ll probably continue seeing them. No, I don’t mind violence in movies; I do mind violence in movies where the violence just doesn’t fit. If you include a graphically violent scene in a movie, you better either be making a movie where the violence is the reason for the movie, or a movie that has earned that violent scene.

This kinda-friend of a work friend of mine’s movie neither had non-stop violence, nor earned the violence it did have. When I mentioned this to that work friend, he disagreed, which is cool. However, his main point seemed to be that these days, you need to have the violence in order to sell the movie.

So I guess what I’d like to do is to clarify what I mean by earning your violence. Because I refuse to believe that mindless violence is really what people want these days, and if you haven’t earned your violence, then your violence is, indeed, mindless. So, how do you earn it? I say two ways: character and story.

Yeah, I know. You’ve heard all this before. But that’s because it’s true. Why do I care that somebody just got decapitated? Or impaled? Or eaten? I don’t. Unless, that is, you’ve made me care. Let me know who these people are. I don’t need their whole life history, but I’d like to know a bit more than, “This guy is scared because someone is chasing them. And the someone chasing them is angry because the script told them to be.”

I used to be a fan of horror movies. But recently, I saw a billboard for some movie. Maybe it was The Ruins, I’m not sure. That was so weird to me. Even as I was looking at the billboard, I wasn’t sure what it was. As far as I’m concerned, so many of these recent “horror” movies are interchangeable. P2, The Ruins, Captivity… I don’t know what these are anymore. I really have no interest in seeing them, and that leads me to believe that that’s because they aren’t being advertised well, and that leads me to believe that that’s because the studios just don’t care anymore. As long as people are flocking, why change? Of course, it’s really just a cyclical practice, right? At first, when SAW came out, people flocked because it was something kind of new. Then the studios started making more and more, and eventually that’s all there was, so people had no real choice but to see the movies. Remember when The Real Cancun came out, and everyone was freaked because if this was popular enough, it might have meant the end of scripted movies? So, when it bombed, everyone breathed a sigh of relief? Remember that? Well, the truth is that if the studios had kept at it, kept making “reality movies,” eventually they would have become successful. People won’t stop going to the movies, so if they give us fewer options, we’ll just have to take it.

So I had all but lost my faith in horror movies.

I just finished watching The Mist. Thank you. Thank you for making a movie about, get this, people. There’s the dad who wants to keep his son safe (and thankfully, it never gets into cheesy Tom-Cruise-War-Of-The-Worlds territory, where danger makes him realize that he should be a better father), the woman convinced this danger is the wrath of a vengeful god, the man who rather be smart and dead than foolish and alive, the soldier in love. So, what did all this character building and backstory and history accomplish? It made the deaths matter. When one person died, or killed another, it impacted us. It wasn’t just another death to get the killer closer to another death to get the killer closer to the eventual showdown with the hero.

And these character building moments, combined with keeping the monsters shrouded in mystery for a while, made the violent images stronger, because we a) cared about the people, and b) knew that the movie had accomplished so much with so little, so that when they finally did show us stuff, it stood out.

So thank you, The Mist, for letting me enjoy a horror movie again. And really, thank you Stephen King. You’ve given us worldwide horrors, nightmares personified, and literal battles between Good and Evil. But I’d say some of your best stuff comes from throwing a small group of people into a cramped building or room, tossing in a threat, and seeing how they react.

– ldi

Stating A Mission

Hmmmm… I’ve been thinking a bit about this blog recently. Haven’t been writing a whole helluva lot in it, but I’ve been thinking. The way it all started was that my fiancee started a blog a good while ago, and she eventually got something of a fan base, and she then encouraged me to start one of my own.

So I decided, what the heck? I had been maintaining a blog over at myspace for a couple of years, but I was always very aware of who was reading the thing. Granted, there weren’t many reading it, but all who were were people I actually know. Which was the problem. Because, you see, when you know the people who read what you write, and they are also the people who, chances are, you’re going to be writing about, it makes it difficult to be completely honest. Not that I’m a lying bastard who has many faces or anything, but let’s face it, sometimes we shroud the truth a little. Like, I love all my friends dearly, and I can tell them anything, but I might sometimes choose not to. Or I might fear that if I write something, void as writing is of inflection and tone, it might be interpreted as serious when I meant it as sarcastic. Or, and this was really my main concern, my little cousin was a reader of the blog, and sometimes I’m angry or upset at my family, or something’s going on that I don’t want them to know about just yet, and so I would have to choose not to blog about something for fear that it would get back to them. Didn’t I deserve a place where I could be completely who I am, without fear of hurting someone’s feelings just by expressing my own?

I thought I did.

And so I came to wordpress. And I was full of positive energy, thinking here finally was that place. And what did I do? Did I write honestly? Express myself truthfully? Well, yes. And also not yes. Everything I’ve blogged so far in this blog has been honest. I’ve not lied, but the thing is, going back through the small amount I’ve contributed, I realize that it doesn’t really sound like me. Everything is how I feel, but it’s not necessarily how I’d say it if I was talking to someone.

Thing is, I’m a funny guy. I wonder if that’s shown through here so far. Another thing about me is that I don’t always know what I’m saying, even as I’m saying it. And yet, with every post here, save for the dialogue with the two guys talking about finding a wallet, I’ve gone to great lengths to make sure that I was impressed with what I’d written. What I mean is that I’ve tried very hard to make you, the hypothetical reader, think, “Wow. Here’s a guy who is smart and sweet, and other things that I deem positive.” And the thing is, as much as I really do want you to like me, I want you to like me, and I’m not sure you know me yet.

Which begs the question, “How is blogging to impress you different than blogging to spare friends’ feelings?” I say it’s not different.

People so often feel the need to impress, no? Like, talk to a guy fancies himself a film-fan. Ask that guy for his top five favorites. You’ll hear things like, Welcome to the Dollhouse or The Seventh Seal or Casablanca. You won’t hear, for example, Freddy’s Dead: The Final Nightmare or Road Trip or the remake of Assault on Precinct 13. Which is not to say that that first group isn’t genuinely on that movie fan’s list, nor that that second group isn’t particularly bad. It is to say, however, that that second group would never even be considered as an answer because the guy answering is trying desperately to impress the guy asking. I’ll go obscure or classic or foriegn, they think. That’ll do the trick.

So, how to get over that and make this blog a genuine insight into my psyche? Well, I think I’ve figured out a way. See, one of the reasons I blog so rarely is that I always want to have something important-seeming to say. And then, on top of that, I want to say it in a way that sounds deep or wise. So what I’ve decided is that I will make a goal for myself to blog at least three times every week. What this will do is force me to sit down and say something. Chances are I won’t have three well-worked-out things to say every week, but that’s kind of the point. I’m trying to get over being “perfect,” and trying instead for genuine.

In real life, I stumble over words, I think I know things that I don’t and therefore make a fool of myself, I tell stories that don’t have endings or points. I’m flawed. I’d like to start reflecting that.

If you do know me, and I write about something in here one day and you’re convinced I’m talking about you, and you feel a certain way about it, let me know. Let’s start a dialogue. I’m a pretty open guy, so chances are you won’t read something here that comes as a complete shock, but like I said, I’m going to try not to censor myself because it might upset you.

Who knows if this whole thing will work out. For all I know, couple weeks from now, there’s another post, “I’ve decided to write a post a month, but it will be the most perfect, enlightening, eye-opening post ever… until the following month.” Who knows? Let’s find out together.

– ldi

Explain This To Me

Another Sunday Scribble, this time about what confuses me, what I just don’t get.

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You know, when you think about all the ways it shouldn’t have happened, wouldn’t have happened, couldn’t possibly have happened, it’s a wonder. When you think about all the things that had to line up in exactly the right way, had to fall into place just so, it’s pretty amazing.

And yet it did happen. You were at that camp, I was forced to go to that camp. I, the shy kid who never made any friends, felt a connection with you, the beautiful girl who has trouble being around large groups of people. That connection was so strong that we both got over our independent fears of being sociable, and we began to talk. There were others, sure, friends we made, phone numbers we exchanged. But I think, even if we didn’t know it at the time, when each of those other connections was severed, it made sense. Those other connections were never meant to be for the long haul. Those other connections were best friends, which eventually turned into camp friends, and again eventually into, “What was her name?”s. And it made sense. But, even as that was happening, and we were sad about the loss, I think we knew. We knew that we weren’t destined for that. Our connection was meant for the long haul.

And even once that was established, and we didn’t have to worry about losing touch, the world kept lining things up just so. Neither of us kissed the other first. Instead, we both just fell into the kiss, like it had always been there, waiting for us to find it. And who said, “I love you” first? In the darkness, I whispered it. Then you said it, slightly louder. I almost didn’t respond, assuming you were responding to me. In the silence, I said it again, only later learning that you had never heard me that first time. We are the only two people who have ever both said, “I love you” first. That makes us magical.

And even when nobody else understood us, when nobody else accepted us, the world still was on our side. When one of us would move to another city, making the distance between us even further, the other of us would just happen to be moving as well, keeping that distance the same. That is, of course, until the fateful move that shortened that distance to no further than the next room over. Yes, and even that was fated. Your job made the move to Los Angeles mandatory, while my career necessitated the same move.

Then came the real test: would living together, seeing each other every day, become a nightmare that neither of us expected? No. Instead, it led to neither one of us proposing marriage, but both of us knowing that day that now was the time to buy a ring. People ask us, “What’s the story? Did you get down on your knee? Did you propose to him?” But we don’t have a story. We don’t need that. We don’t need everybody else to “get” us. We just need to get each other. And we have.

So, what is it that I don’t understand? What boggles my mind these days? I was going to talk about how I don’t understand why you love me. But the truth is, I do understand. It’s the same reason I love you: we fit, plain and simple. So then I was going to question how two people who are so right for each other could, despite the odds, actually find each other. But I understand that, too: the world said, “Yes.”

So I guess what I don’t understand is that, though I’m aware of all the bad things in the world, the hardships, the sadness, how can it be that there are people in this world who can look out into this crazy place, and genuinely not believe in love?

– ldi

You Know, They Do Comedy While Standing Up

All right, readers, today I try something out for the first time. I’m trying a “3 Word Wednesday”. Just like the recent Sunday Scribble, 3WW was recommended to me by the lovely This Girl Remembers, who can be linked to right over there. No, to the right. Down. No, too far, back up a bit. Okay… stop! Yeah, there’s her link.

Anyway, 3 Word Wednesday is, as far as I understand, exactly what it sounds like. Three words are given out every Wednesday, and those three words are then incorporated into each participating blogger’s blog. I have a feeling I’m supposed to tell you what those three words are each week, but here’s what I’m thinking. Chances are you’ve linked here from the 3WW site, which means you already know the words. If you happened by this blog some other way, then maybe not knowing the prompt will encourage you to check out 3WW for yourself, which would totally ripple. Also, if I tell you the words, you may be taken out of the post a bit, since you know that there are these specific three words I had to include, and so you might be questioning whether or not they actually fit in, or if I had to twist some stuff to make it fit. So yeah, I think I’m not telling.

Anyway, here’s my post. I hope you enjoy.

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LIGHTS UP.

A man, FRANK, is on stage, clearly searching very hard for something. There is also a table with a WALLET on it, center stage. After a few seconds of searching, Frank’s buddy, JOE, enters.

JOE: Hey, buddy. You ready?

FRANK: Do I look like a man who’s ready, Joe?

JOE: I’d say you don’t. (beat) You lookin’ for something, Frank?

FRANK: Wow. You should really be a detective, Joe, what with your keen observational skills and all.

JOE: Yeah? And you should be a… jackass-head, with all the… stupid. (Joe considers his insult, settles on feeling good about it.) Anyway, the implied question was, “What are you looking for?”

FRANK: My wallet.

With Frank’s back turned, Joe spots the wallet quickly, since it’s clearly in the middle of the room in plain sight.

JOE: Say Frank, this wallet you’re looking for, it wouldn’t happen to be brown, would it?

FRANK: (back still turned) It would.

JOE: With a chain attached to it, perchance?

FRANK: That’s right.

JOE: Any money in it?

Without looking, Frank reaches out, grabs the wallet, and tosses it to Joe.

FRANK: I don’t know, see for yourself.

Frank goes back to searching, leaving Joe confused.

JOE: So, you knew where it was?

FRANK: (still searching) Of course, it was right there in the middle of the room, in plain sight.

JOE: Well, I know that. It’s just, you seem to still be looking for it.

FRANK: Right.

JOE: Hey, quick question: Why?

FRANK: Oh. Because I hate stand-up comedians.

JOE: Oh, okay. Hmmm… you know, usually Frank, I dig being your friend, I really do. But sometimes, it’s like our friendship is a tangled ball of Christmas lights, and I’m just looking for the plug. You know, the one thing that’ll make sense of it all. (Frank looks up, confused, so Joe is blunt) I have no idea what you’re talking about.

FRANK: Stand-up comedians. You know, they do comedy… while standing up.

JOE: (boiling) I know what a stand-up comedian is! I just don’t know what the hell your hatred of these beloved clowns has to do with us being late to the movie because you can’t find your wallet that you already found!

FRANK: Okay, okay. Good grief, calm down. Stand-up comedians, they’re always like, (mimicking a stand-up comedian) ”I was talking to my friend the other day, and he said he was looking for his wallet everywhere and finally he finds it in the last place he looks.” And the the comedian pauses for the supposedly humorous punchline, “Well, I sure hope it was in the last place you looked, because once you found it, you stopped looking.” Frickin’ hate those smug bastards.

Joe takes all this in. Quietly seething. Then, through gritted teeth:

JOE: So, you’re telling me that we’re late to a movie that I really wanted to see because you, what? Want to prove a stand-up comedian wrong?

FRANK: (simply) Well, I refuse to live in a world where a joke – that I never even understood, by the way – goes unchallenged and is just assumed to be correct.

JOE: Get your coat on, we’re leaving! I’ve had enough of this, for crying out loud!

 Joes yelling spooks Frank into submission.

FRANK: Okay, geez. Keep your pants on, I’ll get my coat.

As Frank EXITS to retrieve his coat, the tension subsides, the room calms down.

JOE: You know, I always heard that joke with your keys, not your wallet.

Frank ENTERS, coat on.

FRANK: Really? (he considers the difference, starts laughing) That’s actually really funny. (he picks up his wallet, while decidedly not looking at it; now he’s cracking up with laughter) Keys! Because of course you would stop looking after you find them. It’d be the last place you looked because you already found them. And you probably have to be somewhere important, right? I mean, of course you’d stop… that’s hilarious, how do they come up with that stuff?

Joe shakes his head at his good friend, as the two men walk toward the door, and EXIT. As the door closes behind them:

JOE (O.S.): You got your keys?

The door slams shut.

FRANK (O.S.): Crap!

As the men shake the door voilently from outside,

LIGHTS OUT.

– ldi

The Past, Present, And Future

Sometimes it’s tough being me. I try to be very aware of certain things, like when an opportunity for growth or change presents itself, but I don’t always act on it. Lately, I’ve been trying to be better about that. It’s almost like I’ve been working on the outline of the story that will eventually be my life. Right now, I’m trying to add character development, maybe even get an arc in there.

A couple of days ago, one of my managers at the Bookstore asked me if I would join him and some people for a table read of a script that one of those people had written. I wouldn’t be reading any of the parts, I’d be reading the stage directions. Well, normally, I would have thanked him kindly, declined, and been on my way. Thing is, I found myself saying something like, “Well, let me check my schedule,” and actually meaning it.

Why this change? Well, part of it was due to the fact that a friend of mine recently told me about this thing called iscript, which basically is a thing where a writer or writers will send in his, her, or their script, and then iscript will choose readers to read the script aloud, record it on a thing, and then send that recording to the writer or writers. Cool idea, except they don’t have actors read it, and no direction is given, and it seems that a lot of it doesn’t even involve the readers responding to the other readers’ performances; it all feels kinda stiff and bland. To me! I don’t know, maybe it makes sense for some aspiring writers. Anyway, because of that, I’d been thinking of doing a similar thing, but with a small group of actors, and recording a performance, instead of just a bland recitation. So, part of why I said I’d think about the invite was to get a sense of how a table read works, and also to be a part of one, albeit in a stage directions capacity.

But really, the bigger reason that I said I’d think about it, and eventually agreed to do it, was because I’m at a point where I really do want to try new things. I want to do things that are outside of my comfort zone, things that I normally would just say no to without ever really considering them. I mean, how am I going to fulfil those actor-y dreams if I can’t even say yes to anything I’ve never tried before?

Another thing I did, just yesterday in fact, was to go to my old high school. I grew up in a city called Covina, and I don’t know if any of you have ever seen the movie IT, but if you have, then you’ll understand that Covina is a lot like Derry. For those who don’t get that, Derry is basically a town that you can’t ever really leave. Not in a weird, force-field kind of way, more like, you either never really move out, or if you do, you find yourself back there at some point, probably permanently. It’s that kind of place that just kind of feels like home, you know? It seems simple, easy. When you’re growing up there, you believe you can do anything, go anywhere.

So, I went back to Covina, because we’re having a picnic in the park reception after the wedding, and we wanted to scope out the Covina Park, the park I grew up going to. Afterwards, I wanted to visit my old high school, and visit “that special teacher”. You know the one. Everybody had one, or if you didn’t, you knew somebody who had one.

Anyway, I’m sitting in the parking lot, and I start freaking out. It was a mixture of a freakout. There was the sweaty palms kind of I-was-a-total-geek-in-highschool-and-I-still-am-and-yet-I’m-willingly-going-back-in freaking. But there was also this one, which I didn’t expect: what if that teacher didn’t recognize me? Or, worse yet, what if he did, but I hadn’t grown into a person that lived up to his expectations. So, I almost turned around and left.

I’m glad I didn’t.

I walked through the school, probably looking like a kind of creepy guy who shouldn’t be allowed to roam a high school hallway. My hair was messed up, I didn’t have a back pack, I was wearing sandals, I recently sprained my ankle, so I’m walking with a limp. To a casual observer, I might seem like I fit in, since I still look really young, but if you looked closely and paid attention, I clearly didn’t belong. And that’s almost creepier than like, a guy dressed in black, wielding a knife. Because that guy, you just get outta the way, but the subtle guy might be upon you before you ever notice. Sorry about this tangent. Those were just the things floating through my head as I was walking to the teacher’s classroom. Like I said, I was freaking out.

So, I finally see him, only his head is now shaved, and he has two kids, so I had to look really hard at his face to make sure. “Mr. Kearns?” And do you know what happened? His face lit up, all smiles. “Hey! I was just thinking about you the other day. Somebody had your year’s yearbook out, and we saw your picture! How’ve you been?” And we talked. Only for about five minutes, but still. I’m engaged, oh! to who?, you don’t know her, I’m an actor in L.A., that makes sense, I also write, I always thought you would, you always broke down movies really well, well, it was great seeing you, yeah, come back soon.

Immediate recognition, no disappointment. Thank you.

So, in the past couple of days, I’ve looked ahead to my future, when I’ll be a person who regularly considers new things. Hopefully. I’ve also looked back at my past, and seen how far I really have come.

I may not know what’s next, have all the beats worked out, but for the first time in a long time, I’m really excited to find out where this story is going. And that’s something.

– ldi

I’m Not Old…

It’s true. I’m not old. Older than some, sure, but relatively young, all things considered. And yet, every now and then, I realize that I’m not a kid anymore. No, that’s not quite right. It’s more that, every now and then, I remember when I was unquestionably a kid, and I realize that I’ve changed, I’ve grown.

A couple of years ago, I had just finished seeing a movie and was walking through the outdoor mall to the parking garage to leave. Approaching the escalators, I made the decision to run down the up. I got about four or five steps down, when I heard, “Hey!” It was the mall security guard. “Turn around,” he said. I did, sheepishly, rode it back up, took the right one down. At the time, I really didn’t see the harm in what I was doing. No one else was coming up, so I wasn’t obstructing their ascent. I wasn’t planning on falling, and if I did, chances are I wouldn’t have sued the place, and if I did, would I have really won? I don’t think I would have.

Anyway, two days ago, I was at work, up on the third floor of the Bookstore, and I noticed a kid, maybe twelve or so, going up the up escalator. Nothin’ special, except he was looking behind him, at the down escalator, huge smile plastered to his face. Then I heard the ruckus. Getting louder. Soon, I saw another kid, maybe twelve or so, running up the down.

And I was angry.

You know better than that! What if you fell? You’re way too old to try something like that! There are people trying to go down, and you’re in their way! What are you, just trying to look cool in front of your friend?

So, when the two boys left, I kind of made eye contact with the kid, and kind of halfway glared at him. I made him feel just as sheepish as that security guard had made me feel. I started right then and there thinking about who I was, who I was turning into. I thought, Surely this was an isolated incident, me judging this kid so harshly. I must have just been tired, and I didn’t think about how he wasn’t really harming anyone.

But then, an hour or so later, two more kids came into the store, maybe thirteen or so. One of them started running down the up. And do you know what I did? “Hey! Turn around.” And, sheepishly, he took the up escalator up, and went down the down.

I had become the security guard.

What I realized was that I’m not a bad person; I’m just a person with a job. Part of my job is to make sure kids don’t go down the up or up the down. I don’t necessarily have to agree with it, and maybe it’s a kind of silly rule, only really intended to keep up appearances, but that has to be enough. It comes with growing up. You have to do things you would have hated other people doing to you when you were a kid. In that instant, I wondered if that security guard went home that night and thought, Man, I remember when I would have loved to have done something like go down the up. I guess I’ve turned into kind of a douche now. For what it’s worth, security guard, no hard feelings. And I hope, some day, those two kids will think back and feel the same.

And so I propose something to whoever might be reading this. One day every week, do something that would make the kid you used to be happy. Maybe you weren’t a very kid-like kid, so do something that would make the kid you always wanted to be happy. Maybe you are a kid, so do something that makes you happy. One day every week. Buy a coloring book and color a picture, play a video game, rent a movie, go to the park, play jumprope, stay in your pajamas all day, eat ice cream for breakfast, finger paint…

I’m not old, but I’m old enough to know that one day, maybe it’s already happened, maybe it will yet, every single one of us will realize we’ve become a grown-up. I’m also old enough to know that the number of years we’ve been alive is ALWAYS going to be a smaller number than the number of years that exist, and because of that, we’ll always be relatively young. Never forget that.

I’ve gotta go now. I’ve got a rousing game of Wii Tanks to play.

 – ldi

Remembering Sleep

So, there’s this thing exists called Sunday Scribblings. Have you heard of it? Actually, I assume if you’re here reading this, you’ve probably either informed me of Sunday Scribblings, or you’ve linked from there. Just in case you happened to just stumble upon this blog though, I’ll explain just a bit. Basically, from what I understand, Sunday Scribblings gives bloggers a prompt every Thursday. Participating bloggers then have until the following Sunday to make a post about the prompt. Cool, no?

My question to regular Scribblers: when you link to the appropriate post, do you tend to stay a while and look at previous posts? Do you always leave a comment? Do you usually become a regular reader of the blog? I know everyone does something different, but I’m trying to get a sense of the norm, so I don’t step on any toes, this being my first Scribble and all.

And what a first Scribble! This week, the prompt is “smorgasbord”. Kinda. See, the prompt is indeed “smorgasbord,” but the details are actually themselves a smorgasbord of a sort. What’s happened this week is that we are allowed to choose from all the other prompts over the history of Sunday Scribblings, as long as we don’t just copy and paste an old post. Since this is my first time, there’s no temptation for me to do so, and so the prompt that I’m choosing is “Sleep (and/or Teeth)”. I’m choosing the “sleep” part of the equation.

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So, they say when you get older, you need less sleep. When does that kick in? Because really, I remember a time when it was no problem to wake up at six in the morning. Sure I would grumble and moan, maybe hit the snooze once or twice, but I was never even once late for school. Never once. And I was a good student! So, this means I not only got up before the sun, but was awake enough to be attentive enough to listen and comprehend well enough to be “the smart kid”!

And on the weekends, or on days off, I literally could not sleep past the ten o’ clock hour. Some days I might wake up at nine, some days 10:55, but never into eleven o’ clock. It was impossible.

My sister and I had bunk beds, and I remember vividly waking up and lying in bed. I wondered if she was doing the same in the lower bunk. So, I would shift, not yet announcing officially that I was awake. Maybe she would shift then, too. And that’s when I would realize the error of my subtle plan. If my shifting left my state ambiguous, then her’s did the same. So, I would get a little more blunt: I’d shift and clear my throat in a grunt-y kind of way. Those, in case you don’t know, are totally sleep-affiliated noises. My sister, for her part, might reciprocate in kind, or she might just shift again with no noise connected. Ooooh, sneaky and crafty, that sister of mine. Finally, one or the other of us would pull out the big guns: we’d crack the knuckles of our toes. Yeah, it’s gross, whatever. Judge us if you will, but we knew what it meant. It was a code. A carrier pigeon from one bunk to the other: “You awake?” If the other one of us heard that, and cracked back, it stated clearly, “I am, thanks for asking.” Upon hearing the verification, the original craker would break the verbal silence of the day: “Good morning.” And the day had begun. Maybe she and I would argue, fight, hate each other by the end of the day, but in those moments between asleep and awake, it didn’t matter.

All that before eleven a.m. Invariably.

So, what happened? Maybe it was bed times. Those arbitrary limits set by parents who clearly just wanted to make our lives hell. I mean, what other reason could there have been? What do you mean, I have to be in bed by eight o’ clock? Don’t you know 90210 is about to start? This is so unfair! Then the next year, What do you mean, I have to go to bed at nine o’ clock? Don’t you know that 90210 just got over? I’m jazzed and excited! I mean, who will Dylan choose: Brenda or Kelly? How can I sleep at a time like this?! Then the next year, What do you mean I have to go to bed at ten o’ clock? Don’t you know there’s an hour of news followed by some late night talk shows that I don’t really care about? This is so unfair!

But those bed times were fair, you know? I mean, I actually used to take pride in not being able to sleep until eleven. I was proud that for the most part, I didn’t even need an alarm clock. On school days, the morning that I wasn’t awake moments before the alarm was rare. Those bed times helped make me a good student. In a sense, those bed times helped make me who I am today.

And who am I today? Well, today I’m a guy who is amazed when, just this morning, I dragged myself out of bed at 11:20. Amazed, because that’s about an hour earlier than usual. When I don’t need to be somewhere, or don’t need to do something, I tend not to. The alarm clock might go off at yesterday’s time because nobody re-set it, and I’ll just shut it off, roll over, and go back to sleep.

When I finally do get up, I’ll go to work if I have to, and don’t get me wrong, I’ll do a good job, but I won’t do much else. On days I don’t have to go to work, I’ll promise myself that I’ll work on the outline for that script I want to write, but usually I’ll just get lost on line, and then watch old Yes, Dear and Just Shoot Me! re-runs. I’ll lose entire days just like I seem to have lost my internal clock that would wake me up moments before the six o’ clock alarm.

So, when does it happen? This “adults needing less sleep” thing? I’m not saying I want to go back. I truly do love my life. I’m about to be married to an unbelievable woman. I know I’ll soon finish that script. One day, I’m sure I’ll be the successful working actor I’m destined to be, if for no other reason than pure stubbornness. I have aspirations, dreams yet to come true. I’m in a pretty good place, and I never forget that.

It’s just that, some days, when ten o’ clock a.m rolls around, I listen for shifting, throat-clearing, and knuckle-cracking.

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So, that’s my first Sunday Scribble. Was it okay that it wasn’t necessarily all about sleep, but rather inspired by the idea of sleep? Is that how this works? Please do leave a comment, feel free to look around and leave some more comments.

– ldi

The Wizard Has Jokes And Shiny Money

I like words. Yeah, I’m coming out in favor of words. In general. In specific, I like playing with words. It’s fun. It’s like you’re goofing off, but the smart-people way. Best of both worlds, I’d call it.

Turns out, other people like playing with words, too. People like Vince Vaughn and Jon Favreau. Did you ever see the movie Swingers? I did. A long time ago. I don’t really remember too much, except that two friends went to Vegas and Vince Vaughn was thin. And, oh yeah, they used the word “money” to mean “cool”. I think that was the first time I really realized that you could do that. I mean, I was already a pro at sarcasm, so I knew you could use words to mean the opposite of what they were, but I never really thought about words actually substituting for different words. “You’re so fuckin’ money, you don’t even know how money you are,” I believe was a line from Swingers. And it meant, simply, “You’re cool. You’re hot! You’re on fire, baby!” And the great thing was, it was never explained. There was never a scene, “Are you calling me currency?” “No, man. I’m calling you badass!” “But you said ‘money’.” “‘Money’ means cool.” “Always?” “No. Just sometimes.” “I see.” It just was. And it told you something about these two guys, that they used “money” to mean not money. “Money,” it turns out, is pretty damn money.

Joss Whedon likes to play with words. If you’ve never seen Firefly or the spinoff movie Serenity, do yourself a favor and go buy them both. I recommend the Collector’s Edition of the latter. Now, watch the entire fifteen odd hours of pure joyous entertainment that you’ve just purchased, and don’t come back until you’re done.

Glad to have you back. Now, one of the — didn’t you just love that? I mean, seriously? Don’t you just kinda hate FOX for cancelling the show prematurely, but then kinda love Joss for bringing it back as a movie? Ahhh… wait, where was I? Oh, right. Okay, so one of the things you may have noticed was the language of the thing. Obviously, there was a good amount of Chinese tossed in the mix, but I’d like to focus on one particular word: shiny. I loved it! I actually use “shiny” in normal conversation. Often. Basically, it means, “I accept that.” It kinda means “cool,” but not nearly as much as “money” does. Like, say you’re haggling down a price. “I’ll give you fifty.” “A hundred.” “Sixty.” “Seventy-five, and that’s as low as I’ll go.” “Shiny.” You just accepted seventy-five. Can you dig it? You can? Shiny.

Diablo Cody is a fan of wordplay. How many of you have seen Juno? Well, even if you haven’t, you probably have heard that the script is filled to the brim with fun words. A character is called “home skillet,” instead of saying, “Shaking that pregnancy test won’t change the result. You can’t become un-pregnant”, the shop clerk says, “That ain’t no Etch-A-Sketch. That’s one doodle that can’t be un-did.” Awesome. Except, what might another word for “awesome” be. Well, this movie answers that for us: “Wizard”. It’s said only two times, I think, in the movie, but it’s probably my favorite little gem. “You see that hot cheerleader over there?” “Yeah.” “I just asked her out, and she totally said yes.” “Wizard.”

And yes, even nerds plays with words (Heh. Nerds Play With Words is totally the name of my band.). I recently commented on my friend’s vlog and I mentioned another commenter whom I’ve never met. He responded, “You’d like her. She’s pretty jokes.” I replied that I have a feeling he made a typo, and did he mean she’s pretty jokey? That she has pretty jokes? He responded right back to inform me that apparently Nerd Fighters (I’m still not sure exactly what Nerd Fighters are. Please forgive my extreme un-hipness.) use the word “jokes” to mean “cool”. I take it that it’s only the plural that is used. Someone can’t be “joke,” for example. But I think it goes beyond just “cool”. I think it’s like, “exactly how I want it right now”. So, “This satin sheet feels perfect against my skin,” becomes, “This satin sheet is totally jokes.”

So, this brings me to my point. I want to make a cool new meaning for something!! So, I’ve been racking my brain, trying to figure out the common bonds. Firstly, they are all things that people already like. I mean, who doesn’t think wizards are cool? Who couldn’t use more money? Who doesn’t have a favorite joke? Who doesn’t get distracted by shiny things? So, I thought of “cookie,” or “pizza”.

Secondly, it can’t be something that has a specific, single meaning already. So, even though there are many different kinds of cookies and pizza, what they are is always the same. There’s no ambiguity. A cookie is round and has toppings, while a pizza is… round… and has toppings. A wizard though, can do magical things. Oooooh, mysterious. A joke can make you laugh for infinite reasons. Money can get you unlimited things. And lots of different things are shiny. The point is, when you hear one of those words, there’s enough leeway that you can accept them instantly as being stand-ins for other ideas.

So, I’ve been thinking and thinking, and I think I’ve got it. “Ripples”. It means like, “rocks”. As in, “That totally rocks!” “Dude, that totally ripples!” It’s great, you see, because ripples are beautiful, natural, and mysterious. Where do they go when they’re gone? Plus also, there are different kinds of ripples. Water ripples, sonic boom ripples, etc. You can also refer to something as Ripple-y, and it feels good and still hard core because of Ripley from the Alien movies, and also from the Believe it Or Not folks.

So, you tell me: do you like it? Does it ripple? If it does, spread it around. Let’s see if we can get it to catch on.

Shiny.

– ldi