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

The Old Man

Hey, so I just finished watching a movie called My Summer Story. Have you ever heard of this? It’s actually a sequel to the holiday classic A Christmas Story. You know, the one with little Ralphie who wants the Red Ryder BB Gun, but everyone’s concerned he’ll “shoot [his] eye out!” Yeah, I never knew it had a sequel, either. And Ralphie is played by a Culkin, no less! Sure it’s Kieran, but still.

This post will not be a review of My Summer Story, except perhaps to say there’s a reason the original is a classic, and this other I hadn’t heard of. No, this post will be about me, because it’s my blog, so suck it.

So, I’m watching the movie, and it is what it is. It’s not awful, it’s just not particularly inspired, but then it gets to a scene toward the end. Ralphie finally catches a fish on the regular fishing trip with “The Old Man,” played here by Charles Grodin. He then catches another fish. And another, and another. And as he’s reeling all these fish in, and piling them higher and higher in the boat, the Adult Ralphie voice-over comes in and says something to the effect of, “And even though the Old Man never actually said, ‘I’m proud of you, son,’ he always had a way of saying, ‘I’m proud of you, son.’” Then the Old Man shouts to all the other fishermen on the lake, “Clear the way! We got a fisherman here! Get outta here! My son here’s a real fisherman!” Then the boys go home, and that night Ralphie is invited to stay up with his dad and his dad’s friends, listening to crude stories, and just being one of the boys. As the movie fades to end credits, Adult Ralphie chimes in with, “And that was the best summer of my life.”

Ahhhh, sweet, right? Like, sickly sweet. Like, vomit-y sweet. Except, the thing is, I was all throat-lumpy, and, while I didn’t cry, I probably could have. I won’t get into all the sordids with you, but I will say that my dad and I have maybe not the best relationship. He and my mom divorced when I was young, and things were fine for a few years. My parents had a better relationship than they’d had while they were married, my sister and I got to see my dad every other weekend, and because it was such a small amount of time, he made a real effort to make it quality.

But then the real world set in. He started being tired some of those weekends. He got a girlfriend, and eventually a new family. He and my mom stopped being friends when he had a hard time with the child support payments. Eventually, we fell completely out of touch, leaving me to not even know if he was still alive. The worst part was that my sister has always been incredibly emotional, so when it came to having a hard time with our dad, she got to be the focus. It wasn’t her fault, and I don’t hold it against her, but it made it tough for me to express my feelings, because if they weren’t as “strong” as hers, then they were overshadowed, and if they were as strong, then I was just jumping on her coattails. Does that make sense?

We eventually reconnected with my dad at my grandmother’s funeral. We all did our best to get to know his new wife and our new half-brother and to stay in touch, but it just wasn’t the same. It never was.

My last couple of birthdays have gone by without a call from him. But that phone works both ways, and his last couple of birthdays have gone by call-less as well. I don’t even know when Father’s Day is anymore. I just don’t keep track. After the movie was over, David’s Bridal called to let my fiancee know that her wedding dress is ready to be picked up. The first thing I thought was that my dad doesn’t even know I’m engaged.

I apologize for this post. The upside is that I don’t really have any readers yet. I guess I just wanted to get all this out. Every once in awhile it hits me, you know? I mean, the pain is always there, the emptiness, but sometimes I’ll see something and it’ll make me think of it specifically. Like My Summer Story. Or that episode of Fresh Prince of Bel Air, when Will’s dad comes into town, and he believes that this time it’s for good. But then his dad leaves again, and Will breaks down in his uncle’s arms: “I learned to ride a bike without him! I learned to shave without him! I’ll get married without him, raise a family without him! Because there’s not a damn thing he could ever teach me about being a father!!” Then, through his sobs, “How come he doesn’t want me?”

I guess I just can’t remember my dad, even subtextually, saying he was proud of me. I know he loved me, but was he proud? When was my “best summer ever’?

Like I said, I apologize. It just gets to me sometimes.

– ldi

STOP HOUNDING ME!!!!!

I know, I know. I haven’t blogged in a while. And while I appreciate all the thousands upon thousands of you caring so deeply about reading whatever random thoughts happen to pop into my head, I must humbly request that you stop berating me about it. Look, I’m a busy guy. My days are full of busy… ness? Sometimes I can’t accomodate all the piles and piles of requests to continue writing. I have my limits, you know? I mean, I’ll try to do better, but your constant bellyaching and threats of violence are ridiculous.

Moving on.

It has been suggested that I talk a bit about work. Specifically, my work. I kind of thought that I would only really talk about The Bookstore That Shall Not Be Named whenever I had a really good story to tell, but I realized recently that along the way to finding those really good stories, there are nice little stories. So, what I’ve decided to do is to list out some of those nice little stories and if I feel so inclined, I may one day expand one or more of them into really good stories. So, here goes.

- A woman recently came in, and was pretty personable, and since I was on the 3rd floor (also known as “Where the Books Go to Retire”), we started talking a bit. She started chastising our pitifully small music section. I politely chuckled (“Heh, heh. Yeah, wow. We really do have a small music section. Huh. I never really noticed that before you just right now mentioned it. You’re super observant. Are you like, a detective?”). Then she points to a copy of His Dark Materials by Philip Pullman. For those who don’t know, this is a trilogy of books, the first of which was recently turned into the movie The Golden Compass, starring Nicole Kidman. This woman says, “What is that, His Dark Materials? Is that written by a man?” I pointed to the prominently displayed name, Philip Pullman, on the cover. “I think so, yeah.” “Mmmm-hmmmm,” she replies. Then she adds, “You know, most fantasy books with little girls and bears, like that one has on the cover, are written by women. That’s a fact. My book club was talking about it last week.” Which, okay? How do you respond to that? So, I said, “Oh? Neat. Um, which books did you talk about? Which other books involve girls and bears that are written by women,” to which she replied, like a wise old sage, “Oh, you don’t even wanna know.” And that was that.

Shortly after, another woman came in, asking if the new Eckhart Tolle book right there was the one recommended by Oprah. Pointing casually to the prominently displayed “Oprah’s Book Club Recommends” sticker, I said, “Yeah, I think so.” The woman hungrily bought the book and left. Then the first woman, the girls and bears woman, came back up to me. “You think she’s even gonna read it, or you think she just bought it because Oprah said to?” “Uh, well…” “Why do you think Oprah is so popular now?,” she interrupted. We then engaged each other in about a ten or fifteen minute conversation about Oprah, covering topics ranging from The Secret to how Oprah started out as nothing more or less than Ricki Lake, Jerry Springer, or Phil Donahue, to, I kid you not, whether or not I feel that Oprah’s fame and standing was divinely handed to her by God. Yeah. So, that was that woman.

- Another time, sometime last week, I think, a girl came up to my register and said, “Can I ask you? Do people actually watch porn?” I sincerely thought that I had mis-heard her. But she was absolutely serious. Now, in fairness, I truly believe that she overheard a conversation or something that she assumed I had also overheard and she was referencing something from that overheard conversation, and when she realized I had no idea what she was referencing, she got kind of embarrassed, and so decided to go with it instead of supplying context, but even so. So, I reply, “Uh… yeah. Yes, it is my understanding that people watch porn.” “Oh, okay. Like, a lot of people?” “Um, well, yes. Again, it’s just my understanding, but I do believe that the pronography industry is one of the most financially lucrative. So it would stand to reason that yes, many people watch porn.” And then she says, “Okay. That’s just weird. So, I guess what you’re saying is that people really will just have sex for money.” Now, I can’t remember exactly what I said next, but I believe it was something like, “Well, you know, there is a difference between watching porn and being in porn.” Her expression indicated that in fact she did not know this. It was around this time that I asked her why she was asking what she was asking. he said that she was just curious. I said that people don’t usually ask this just out of curiosity, so I reckon there must be a context. She said it would take too long to explain, to which I replied that if she didn’t tell me the context, I’d probably end up blogging about this and I’d create a context. She seemed to understand. And so…

PORN GIRL: Hey, Russian Mafia. Why have you kidnapped me?

RUSSIAN MAFIA LEADER: No kidnap. Ask you to come, politely.

PORN GIRL: My bad. I thought I was being kidnapped. That’s why I came with you so easily.

RUSSIAN MAFIA LEADER: Da. Happens often. Bad reputation, you know? We say, “Please come,” you hear, “I kill you if you no come.” Is our curse: always misunderstood.

PORN GIRL: Okay. Well, if it’s all the same to y’all, I think I’ll just go back home now.

RUSSIAN MAFIA LEADER: Wait! Wait!

PORN GIRL: “Wait! Wait” like you’re kidnapping me, or “Wait! Wait!” like, “Please wait”?

RUSSIAN MAFIA LEADER: We no kidnap! How many time I say!? I just — we have question.

PORN GIRL: Shoot.

RUSSIAN MAFIA LEADER: People, do they watch the porno?

PORN GIRL: What? Yeah, it’s like, one of the most lucrative industries in the world.

RUSSIAN MAFIA LEADER: Oh… okay.

PORN GIRL: What?

RUSSIAN MAFIA LEADER: What?

PORN GIRL: No, it’s just. You seem disappointed is all.

RUSSIAN MAFIA LEADER: No, is not that.

PORN GIRL: Well then, what?

RUSSIAN MAFIA LEADER: Is just… I think I fall in love with you, and love confuses what I think. I want believe you that people watch the porno, but maybe I just believe because of love. I think maybe you ask someone I no love. But someone smart. Works in smart place. That boy in that bookstore there. You ask him. I listen. Then I believe. Because I no love him.

PORN GIRL: You… you love me?

RUSSIAN MAFIA LEADER: I… you ask him?

PORN GIRL: Sure. Sure, I’ll ask him. And then maybe, afterwards, we could…

RUSSIAN MAFIA LEADER: Go on…

PORN GIRL: A…

BOTH TOGETHER: Date?

Both smiling, PORN GIRL enters the store, and walks up to the register.

I figure I pretty much got that verbatim.

– ldi

The Serious One, The Funny One, and The Other One

It was about a year or so ago that I realized that Craig Bierko looked an awful lot like the comedy version of Clive Owen. See, I was watching Dickie Roberts, Former Child Star (accidentally! — I mean, it just happened to be on! — my sister likes David Spade! — it was for reasearch purposes only! — I only watched it for the articles, I swear!), and it just hit me like a ton of bricks. A pointlessly reveletory ton of bricks.

I didn’t think much of this until recently. I don’t know if this is the case where you are, but here in L.A., they’ve been hyping the crap out of this new show from the Farrelly Brothers called Unhitched. There’ve been billboards, TV commercial,… okay, that’s about it, but there have been a lot of them. Now, I haven’t seen the show and I probably won’t, but as far as I can tell, the whole thing hinges on how funny it is to lick Ranch dressing off a baby’s head. Based on the lack of any sort of actual viewer feedback I’ve heard, apparently the answer is not funny. Not funny at all. (Side note: How exactly can a show that won’t even premiere for another three weeks already be dubbed “The new hit show from the guys who brought you ‘There’s Something About Mary’”?)

So, I’m seeing these billboards, and I’m watching these commercials, and I’m saying to my fiancee, “Hey, look! That guy from Grey’s Anatomy is in a new show!” And she says, “Which guy?” And I say, “You know, the one who married and died on Izzy — Denny, I think.” You can see we’re huge Grey’s anatomy fans. So she sees the ads and agrees, “Oh, yeah.”

Also recently, I’m watching old Sex and the City episodes on TBS, and I say, “Hey look! Denny from Grey’s Anatomy!” “Oh, yeah.”

Come to find out, both these Denny’s? Totally Craig Bierko! I know! So, I don’t know what it all means, but I say to you, Hollywood: hop to it! Get these three guys in a movie together. Make ‘em play brothers. Or trap ‘em and take DNA samples, something. It has to mean something, I just don’t know what.

So I submit my evidence to you, dear reader. What do you make of it? Is it just coincidence? A crazy and inevitably wacky scheme of sorts? Would you like to invent a story that involves these three seperated at birth, or in some other crazy pickle? Let me know.

Okay, so in my search through the internet, I couldn’t find perfect pictures to exemplify their similarities, but trust me, they’re there.

Incidentally, as I was searching Jeffrey Dean Morgan (Denny) pictures, I came across this startling twist:

 

Yes, one of those last two guys is Jeffrey Dean Morgan. The other is recent Best Supporting Actor Oscar winner Javier Bardem. But I defy any of you to say for certain which is which.

Okay, time to end this post. I’m freaking myself out!!

– ldi

So Very Kind of You

YOU: Welcome to WordPress, lifedoesntimitate!

ME: Why, thank you, WordPress community, et al. How very kind of you.

(uncomfortable silence)

YOU: Soooooo… you gonna tell us who you are and what you’re doing here, or…?

ME: Oh! Is that… okay. Uh… well, where do I start?

YOU: How ’bout with who you are and what you’re doing here.

ME: Right! Okay. Well, my name is –

YOU: Stop right there! We don’t need your name.

ME: You don’t.

YOU: Well, not your real name, anyway. We assume you want to maintain some level of anonymity, or else you would’ve just used your real name as your display name, right?

ME: Uh, ye — right, yeah.

YOU: Okay, so that’s cool. You’ll be known as lifedoesntimitate, and we’ll never ask who you really are. (beat) Are you famous? Don’t answer that! Sorry, it’s just –  sometimes curiosity gets the better of us, but we’ll try not to let that happen again.

ME: That’s okay. Okay, so who am I, but not my name, huh? Well, I’m pretty much just a guy –

YOU: (mockingly) “pretty much just a guy…”

ME: Is that — are you… mocking me?

YOU: Look, I’ll be honest. Yes. Yes, we are mocking you.

ME: Well, why?

YOU: It’s just… (sigh) Okay, it’s just that tons of people start up new blogs here every day. And you know what most of them are? “Just a guy.” So, why should we care, you know? We just — we thought you were different. We thought you’d be the guy who was more than just a guy. The guy who would come in here and shake things up… in a relatively controlled, mild kind of way. But I guess we were wrong.

WordPress turns to leave.

ME: Wait!

WordPress turns back, hesitantly.

ME: (cont’d) Okay. You want different? You want more than just a guy? Fine. I’m an actor living in Los Angeles, but nobody here knows me yet. If you’ll stick with me, I’ll take you on my journey to success. Things will be hard, there will be ups and there will be downs, but I’ll be your ever-truthful tour guide. I work at a Bookstore That Shall Not Be Named. Famous people come in often, as well as mind-numbingly stupid customers, and everything in between. If you’ll have me, I will frequently tell you some of those stories. I’m about to be married. If you’ll take me back, I’ll fill you in on every sordid detail of our life together (edit: make that, “every sordid detail of our life together that she approves of me telling you”). On top of that, I tend to be random and vaguely amusing (That’s actually on my business card: “lifedoesntimitate: He’s Random And Vaguely Amusing!” — see what I mean?), so if you’ll give me one more chance, WordPress, I’ll do my damndest to make you love me. What I want is simple. I want to have THE WORLD’S MOST FAMOUS BLOG!!! MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!Or at least to have enough readership to quit my survival job, whatever. Is that too much to ask? I think not. And I can do it, too. With your help. So, whaddaya say, WordPress? You with me?

YOU: Huh? Wha — sorry, I kinda zoned. What were you saying? Something about cookies, or…?

ME: Yeah. Yeah, something about cookies.

YOU: Groovy. Well, anyway. Welcome. See you around.

WordPress vanishes in a flash of flashiness, leaving lifedoesntimitate alone, cold, confused.

– ldi