Every now and then I'll start writing something in here that, for whatever reason, displeases me. More often than not, I'll save it as a "draft" just in case I later think of a way to fix it.
Or just in case I am feeling crappy some day and not in the mood to write something new.
In this case it's the latter.
-------------
For a couple of summers during university, I fished lobster. Looking back on it now, I see it as a fun and interesting experience. At the time, I didn't exactly view it that way.
Have you seen "Deadliest Catch" on the Discovery Channel? It's about Alaskan crab fisherman. It was named the deadliest job in the world. Well, my experiences were...
Not really anything like that.
Don't get me wrong, you could totally get hurt. Or worse. A rope gets wrapped around your foot and you could easily get pulled overboard. Adding to the possibility of that happening was the fact that the dude I was fishing with was resisting the urge to make the switch over to the (much lighter) wire traps. He mostly used the old-school wooden jobbies.
He even had a few of these massive wooden traps. They must have been five feet long and weighed a ton. And he frequently changed his mind about where they were going to be set. So, this led to me carrying and stacking these puppies around constantly. It was good exercise though. And it made you feel burly. In fact, the entire job made you feel lousy with burl.
Something else that didn't help with the keeping me safe business was the fact that I had to get up at 3 AM. That's right. Now, I'm pretty much a romantic. And you know how people talk about how special and magical it is to watch the sunrise?
Yeah, that gets old.
The problem with being 19 or 20 years old and having your alarm set for 3 AM is that you are not nearly bright enough to not stay out until midnight at a party with your friends. You are not even bright enough not to do this almost every night.
This resulted in me frequently being half-asleep. Even at the aforementioned parties. Hmmm. I wonder if that was what lead to my habit of taking FOREVER to make a move on a woman I was interested in. Best not to delve too deeply into that...
Being half-asleep at parties is one thing. Being half-asleep while fishing is very much another.
I'd barely remember the ten minute drive to work in the mornings. Apparently my truck had auto-pilot. I don't think that came standard on a Ford Ranger. All I do remember from the drive is that the local radio station seemed to play Marc Cohen's "Walking in Memphis" every... damn... morning....
I still hate that song.
Somehow I made it to the wharf every day. But, that doesn't mean that the boat was waiting for me every time. You see, the dude I was fishing with, in addition to resisting wire traps, also eschewed wearing a watch. I've never been completely sure as to why.
But, this led to him thinking that it was a certain time and then leaving without me. Typically, he was halfway out of the harbour when he'd see my headlights come flying down onto the wharf. He turned around and when he'd get back to the wharf, he'd barely slow down before yelling "Jump!" That was always a treat.
The conversation that occurred when I managed to land on the deck was always the same...
Him: You are late!
Me: I am not.
Him: Yes.
Me: Look at my watch.
Him: I don't need a fucking watch. I go by the sky.
I am not making this up. I always resisted the urge to make two points that I felt were quite salient to the proceedings:
1) This is Cape Breton, it is ALWAYS foggy and/or overcast.
2) As the season progresses, it begins to get brighter earlier.
I'd even ask him if he wanted me there at an earlier time. He'd always say no and tell me to just "Be on time!"
I should mentioned at this point that the fisherman dude was (and is still) a close family friend. Good guy. I appreciated the job. But, he is a character. I actually thought about writing a book about my experiences. I really wish I had written things down. At the very least, this entry would have been much more entertaining.
I'd probably want to devote an entire chapter to the year when two nearby fisherman began shooting at each other because each thought the other was pulling his traps. I bet THAT doesn't happen in Alaska. When they'd come near us at the same time, we'd decide to go pull traps as far away from them as humanly possible.
So, I'm on the boat and I'm half asleep.
When running between tiers/strings of traps, I'd duck under the... overhangy thing (that is a complicated technical boat term) to get out of the wind/rain/sleet/snow/spray etc. Sounds simple enough. One problem is that I am 9 feet tall and the overhangy thing... well, it isn't. So, I'd have to duck. And I'd have to stay ducked to allow for waves knocking us around. TiredPeter would sometimes forget to stay completely ducked. TiredPeter perpetually had lumps on the top of his noggin.
I'd also duck under there to eat -- something you also did on the fly, as you ran between tiers. Before my first fishing season, I had found out that I was allergic to almost everything and nearly died and junk. I got put on a restrictive diet. Therefore my lunch was not that of a typical fisherman. While others would eat huge sandwhiches and wash it down with a beer, I was eating rice crackers with almond butter and drinking bottled water. Those judging looks alone will knock the burly right out of you.
My half-asleepness would continue until I got home. As soon as I'd arrive home, I'd fall asleep sitting up in a living room chair for a half hour. Every day. Afterwards I'd grab a shower and head out. But, I needed that half-hour.
If I woke up before that half-hour mark, I'd be very confused. Actually, let me backtrack for a moment...
When you are on the boat, things occasionally fly into your mouth. Saltwater spray. Rain. Rotten bait. This happens even more often when you are talking - or arguing about the time. In these instances, you simply spit overboard. It's not very classy, but it's got to be done.
So, one day I am in the middlle of my half-hour power snooze when I taste something in my mouth. Something unpleasant. I barely open my eyes as I lean to my left and spit over the side of the chair.
And into the middle of our livingroom.
My sister was there and she CRACKED up completely. She still laughs about it. If she wasn't The ACN's Mommy she would be so disowned.
Before I could leave for home, however, the fisherman would get me to take the lobster into the pound with him. Sounds reasonable, right? These crates were heavy and I would help him load and unload. The one flaw with the plan is that he'd make me drive in his truck with him, despite the fact that my house was between the wharf and the pound. So, every day I'd have to drive back and forth to the pound - passing my house twice - in his truck. And every day when we returned to the wharf, he'd say, "Okay, you can take off now."
I didn't even bother arguing this one.
But, that is not even nearly the thing that bugged me the most. Which is, essentially, the reason I wrote this entire thing. What bugged me the most is that every single day when the boat reached the wharf, I had to clean all the windows with Windex.
Windex!
This was a fishing boat, and not the glass in the doors of an china cabinet.
People that know about fishing still laugh when I mention this.
And to this very day the smell of Windex enrages me.
And that, dear readers, is why I don't like doing windows.
As for why I don't like cleaning bathrooms...
Well, for a couple years during university, I worked cleaning up after elephants in a zoo.
Kidding.
About the zoo part.
The fishing stuff is all true. And sadly I've forgotten soooo much of it.
Forgotten or blocked out.
- March 2006
- April 2006
- May 2006
- June 2006
- July 2006
- August 2006
- September 2006
- October 2006
- November 2006
- December 2006
- January 2007
- February 2007
- March 2007
- April 2007
- May 2007
- June 2007
- July 2007
- August 2007
- September 2007
- October 2007
- November 2007
- December 2007
- January 2008
- February 2008
- March 2008
- April 2008
posted by Peter at 9:38 AM
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Erik and Stephen are enjoying some Bazooka Joe bubble gum and milking the last few minutes out of recess.Erik: What exactly ARE cooties?
Stephen: You know, I'm not sure.
Erik: I don't think anyone is. I've been asking around.
Stephen: So, why are we so afraid of them?
Erik: Good question. Maybe we shouldn't be.
Stephen: Maybe not. From now on, cooties won't stop us!
Erik: Excellent. Soooo you think that guy from The Wiggles is gay?
Stephen: Absolutely.
Erik: I didn't say which one.
Stephen just stares at Erik.
Erik: Good point.
Stephen: Want to go play dodgeball?
Erik: Can't. I totally tweaked my hammy. We were playing "duck duck goose" and I wasn't ready for the goose.
Stephen: Been there, my friend. It's important to always stretch.
Erik: This never happened when I was four.
Stephen: We are getting older. Don't sweat it. I'm a little tired anyway.
Erik: Didn't sleep well?
Stephen: Nope. Monsters again.
Erik: I hate them! Under the bed or in the closet?
Stephen: The bed.
Erik: They are the worst! Very sneaky. Last week I had some tapping on my window and then turning into tree branches.
Stephen: Diabolical!
Erik: We can go pull Siobhan's pigtails.
Stephen: I could go for that.
Erik: Cool -- Oh wait. I heard through the grapevine that she has cooties.
A few moments of silence.
Stephen: Sucks to that. I can't take the chance.
Erik: Good point. Want a pudding cup?
Stephen: Don't mind if I do.
Labels: cooties, short fiction, writing with the flu
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
The wait is finally over!
You remember everything that went down in "Chapter 1?"
Well, here is "Chapter 2."
Be brave.
You remember everything that went down in "Chapter 1?"
Well, here is "Chapter 2."
Be brave.
Labels: Ruffles, spricket24, YouTube
Saturday, November 25, 2006
Jack & Jill took a break from re-writing mission statements to have a power lunch and to discuss their relationship.
Jack: I think we should recontextualize our situation.
Jill: Agreed.
Jack: Excellent.
Jill: I tried to incentivize.
Jack: I appreciate the initiatives, if not the methodologies.
Jill: Did you not refer back to the schemas?
Jack: I did. I think the problem is that we differed on our views as to whether or not they were mission-critical.
Jill: I expected a convergence of solutions.
Jack: I expected more proactivity.
Jill: How is the new Blackberry treating you?
Jack: Excellent.
Jill: I think that I expected more of a frictionless transition, vis-a-vis our romantic paradigm.
Jack: I concur.
Jill: Are you satisfied with your ROI?
Jack: No. You?
Jill: No.
Jack: I am surprised by my own lack of functionality.
Jill: My hopes were for a robust, yet transparent, system.
Jack: Yes! With a synergistic partnership.
Jill: I've always seen myself as a bit of an envisioneer.
Jack: We've tried to optimize and revolutionize --
Jill: And we've tried to strategize and reinvent --
Jack: Exactly.
Jill: So, that is it?
Jack: That is it.
Beat.
Jack: At the end of the day, do you think it was our lack of a holistic approach that did us in.
Jill: Well, that and the fact that it was like pulling teeth to get you to go down on me.
Jack: I think we should recontextualize our situation.
Jill: Agreed.
Jack: Excellent.
Jill: I tried to incentivize.
Jack: I appreciate the initiatives, if not the methodologies.
Jill: Did you not refer back to the schemas?
Jack: I did. I think the problem is that we differed on our views as to whether or not they were mission-critical.
Jill: I expected a convergence of solutions.
Jack: I expected more proactivity.
Jill: How is the new Blackberry treating you?
Jack: Excellent.
Jill: I think that I expected more of a frictionless transition, vis-a-vis our romantic paradigm.
Jack: I concur.
Jill: Are you satisfied with your ROI?
Jack: No. You?
Jill: No.
Jack: I am surprised by my own lack of functionality.
Jill: My hopes were for a robust, yet transparent, system.
Jack: Yes! With a synergistic partnership.
Jill: I've always seen myself as a bit of an envisioneer.
Jack: We've tried to optimize and revolutionize --
Jill: And we've tried to strategize and reinvent --
Jack: Exactly.
Jill: So, that is it?
Jack: That is it.
Beat.
Jack: At the end of the day, do you think it was our lack of a holistic approach that did us in.
Jill: Well, that and the fact that it was like pulling teeth to get you to go down on me.
Labels: short fiction
Thursday, November 23, 2006
File this one under "seemed funny in my head" as well as "this is post #181, they can't all be gold, people."
INT. YOUR TYPICAL GLORIOUS MANSION
Bitzy and Muffy share laughs over some tea and scones. Muffy's husband Prescott enters...
Prescott: Ladies.
Muffy: Welcome back, ducky. Wherever have you been?
Prescott: I'm just returning from the stables. I have been riding Penelope for hours.
Bitzy: Didn't you sell all of your horses last week?
Prescott: Yes, why do you ask?
Beat. Then much guffawing.
Prescott: Well, if you two will excuse me, my secretary is in my den with some papers for me to sign.
Prescott exits.
Bitzy: Now you must tell me about your romp with your tennis pro.
Muffy: Well, for starters, he is very well-mannered, but with a soupçon of scamp in him.
Bitzy: Oh ho ho. Muffy! You are terrible.
Muffy: He does this thing... with his tongue. My word!
Bitzy: Show me!
Muffy: You know I haven't done that since boarding school! Oh get over here and let me lift up that Dolce & Gabanna Prince of Wales pleated skirt with Bordeaux satin lace slip.
Bitzy starts over when a man servant enters.
Man Servant: Ahem. Excuse me, madam. I have your 1982 Chateau Lafite.
Muffy: Wentworth, come in. I think we both need a good rogering.
Man Servant: Madam, I don't know...
Muffy and Bitzy pull him down on the Piedmonte Recamier.
Man Servant: Ah... Indeed. Ohhhhhhhh good show!
Prescott enters and is aghast.
Prescott: You started without me?
Bitzy pulls him down on the floor.
Prescott: That's a capital idea. Yes! More of -- Bitzy Featherbottom! That is NOT where my monocle goes!
INT. YOUR TYPICAL GLORIOUS MANSION
Bitzy and Muffy share laughs over some tea and scones. Muffy's husband Prescott enters...
Prescott: Ladies.
Muffy: Welcome back, ducky. Wherever have you been?
Prescott: I'm just returning from the stables. I have been riding Penelope for hours.
Bitzy: Didn't you sell all of your horses last week?
Prescott: Yes, why do you ask?
Beat. Then much guffawing.
Prescott: Well, if you two will excuse me, my secretary is in my den with some papers for me to sign.
Prescott exits.
Bitzy: Now you must tell me about your romp with your tennis pro.
Muffy: Well, for starters, he is very well-mannered, but with a soupçon of scamp in him.
Bitzy: Oh ho ho. Muffy! You are terrible.
Muffy: He does this thing... with his tongue. My word!
Bitzy: Show me!
Muffy: You know I haven't done that since boarding school! Oh get over here and let me lift up that Dolce & Gabanna Prince of Wales pleated skirt with Bordeaux satin lace slip.
Bitzy starts over when a man servant enters.
Man Servant: Ahem. Excuse me, madam. I have your 1982 Chateau Lafite.
Muffy: Wentworth, come in. I think we both need a good rogering.
Man Servant: Madam, I don't know...
Muffy and Bitzy pull him down on the Piedmonte Recamier.
Man Servant: Ah... Indeed. Ohhhhhhhh good show!
Prescott enters and is aghast.
Prescott: You started without me?
Bitzy pulls him down on the floor.
Prescott: That's a capital idea. Yes! More of -- Bitzy Featherbottom! That is NOT where my monocle goes!
Labels: seemed funnier in my head, short fiction
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
He saw her extending her arm. Slowly.
He grabbed her by the wrist, and held it right there.
She moaned. A little angrily.
Then he smelled it.
It must have been her shampoo.
He recognized it. From a long time ago?
It was college. Definitely college.
A girl named Tanya Fader used the same shampoo.
He hadn't thought about her in forever.
He could remember seeing her on his first day of classes. She wore cute girl glasses. She looked like a blonder, prettier Lisa Loeb.
But, Tanya was serious. She paid attention and took notes in class, while he alternated between eating cold pizza and napping in the back of the room. She dressed as if she was going to a board meeting. He dressed like a cross between Magnum P.I. and Mark Harmon's character in SUMMER SCHOOL.
When they eventually hooked up, everyone was shocked. Themselves most of all.
When they came within five feet of each other, there was a passion that could not be denied. And when they touched...
When they touched, concepts like common sense, consequences and contraception went out the window.
He had been with girls before, but she was a woman.
She was the one who taught him how to satisfy a woman. Every woman he'd been with since really owed her a debt of gratitude.
He was the one who taught her how to just let go. Every man she'd be with since had been compared to him.
Probably.
He was with her when he discovered his "tongue trick."
He was with her when he discovered his addiction to the sound of a woman moaning.
Moaning.
Suddenly he snapped back to the present reality.
He saw his hand holding her wrist.
He wanted it so badly.
He was a good guy. He worked hard. He deserved this.
Didn't he?
She suddenly turned around, defiance flashing in her eyes. He got another whiff of her shampoo.
"Do you want it?" His voice was barely above a whisper.
"Yes!" She looked surprised at how loudly and how quickly that had come out of her month. "Do you?"
"I really, really do."
She leaned in closer. She had the bluest eyes he had ever seen.
"Well, what are we going to do about this then?" She asked with a devilish grin.
Before he could open his mouth to reply, his cellphone rang.
He released her wrist and fished his phone out of his pocket.
"Shit, it's my wife."
When he looked back up, she was gone...
She had grabbed that last Rockstar Supernova CD off the shelf and ran to the cashier.
"Crap!" He said into his phone. "What? Sorry, sweetie. I'm going to be a bit late for dinner. I have to try another record store."
He grabbed her by the wrist, and held it right there.
She moaned. A little angrily.
Then he smelled it.
It must have been her shampoo.
He recognized it. From a long time ago?
It was college. Definitely college.
A girl named Tanya Fader used the same shampoo.
He hadn't thought about her in forever.
He could remember seeing her on his first day of classes. She wore cute girl glasses. She looked like a blonder, prettier Lisa Loeb.
But, Tanya was serious. She paid attention and took notes in class, while he alternated between eating cold pizza and napping in the back of the room. She dressed as if she was going to a board meeting. He dressed like a cross between Magnum P.I. and Mark Harmon's character in SUMMER SCHOOL.
When they eventually hooked up, everyone was shocked. Themselves most of all.
When they came within five feet of each other, there was a passion that could not be denied. And when they touched...
When they touched, concepts like common sense, consequences and contraception went out the window.
He had been with girls before, but she was a woman.
She was the one who taught him how to satisfy a woman. Every woman he'd been with since really owed her a debt of gratitude.
He was the one who taught her how to just let go. Every man she'd be with since had been compared to him.
Probably.
He was with her when he discovered his "tongue trick."
He was with her when he discovered his addiction to the sound of a woman moaning.
Moaning.
Suddenly he snapped back to the present reality.
He saw his hand holding her wrist.
He wanted it so badly.
He was a good guy. He worked hard. He deserved this.
Didn't he?
She suddenly turned around, defiance flashing in her eyes. He got another whiff of her shampoo.
"Do you want it?" His voice was barely above a whisper.
"Yes!" She looked surprised at how loudly and how quickly that had come out of her month. "Do you?"
"I really, really do."
She leaned in closer. She had the bluest eyes he had ever seen.
"Well, what are we going to do about this then?" She asked with a devilish grin.
Before he could open his mouth to reply, his cellphone rang.
He released her wrist and fished his phone out of his pocket.
"Shit, it's my wife."
When he looked back up, she was gone...
She had grabbed that last Rockstar Supernova CD off the shelf and ran to the cashier.
"Crap!" He said into his phone. "What? Sorry, sweetie. I'm going to be a bit late for dinner. I have to try another record store."
Labels: lisa loeb, rockstar supernova, short fiction
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
I was feeling a bit experimental this morning. But, I just wasn't quite in the mood for drugs and/or group sex.
Sooooooo...
Instead I tried to start something silly on YouTube. Essentially it is a story to be told by multiple YouTubers. I made my video and then tagged spricket24. She is free to do what she wants with the "story" and to tag anyone of her choice to go next.
Mine is chock-full of horrible acting. Enjoy!
Sooooooo...
Instead I tried to start something silly on YouTube. Essentially it is a story to be told by multiple YouTubers. I made my video and then tagged spricket24. She is free to do what she wants with the "story" and to tag anyone of her choice to go next.
Mine is chock-full of horrible acting. Enjoy!
Labels: spricket24, YouTube
Monday, November 20, 2006
Not sure if I've mentioned it in here before, but I've been thinking about making a (very) short film this winter. Up until this morning, I only had the vaguest of ideas of what it would be. However, while showering, I was inspired... and when I was finished with that, I thought of ideas for a script.
I kid. I kid.
I really did start thinking of some ideas this morning in the shower - as I sang Bruce Springsteen's "Born to Run" - so, as soon as I got out, I sat down to try to bang out a first draft.
And I did!
The dialogue isn't nearly as funny as I wanted. Blah blah blah. But, I have the story pretty much the way I want it. Though I might want to make it a bit longer. I'm not sure. I'd appreciate your feedback.
----------------------------
INT. SIMPLE APARTMENT
A KNOCK is heard at the door. And apparently ignored.
More KNOCKING.
A pair of bunny slippers slowly shuffle towards the sound.
A hand reaches up and opens the door.
STEPHANIE JONES, blonde/early 20s, is standing there. Her smile quickly turns to a look of despair.
Stephanie: You look terrible.
Female voice: Thanks.
We see the bunny slippers and pan up to a ratty old robe. Then up to a face that belongs to NAOMI CLARK, brunette/early 20s. She's been crying. A lot.
Stephanie: I'm sorry. I meant to say... No, you just look like crap.
Naomi: Do you want me to curl up in a ball on the floor, so that you can literally kick me when I'm down?
Stephanie: Nah. Maybe later. I brought some supplies over to fix you.
Naomi: Tequila?
Stephanie: Yes! But, there's more. (She starts removing things from a paper shopping bag.) Also, in the “fix you”package are... A Coldplay CD.
Naomi: The one with “Fix You” on it?
Stephanie: Oddly no. We have ice cream (Puts container on counter.) Kleenex with the lotion in it. (Passes box directly to Naomi.) Potato chips. “Sex in the City” DVDs. The tequila. Another bottle of tequila.
Naomi peeks in the bag.
Naomi: Is that a bottle of massage oil?
Stephanie: Where? Oh...
Naomi: I'm flattered... But, what kind of party are you planning?
Stephanie: Shut up. I just put it in the wrong bag.
Naomi: It belonged with the riding crop and butt-less chaps?
Stephanie: Who said they were butt-less?
Naomi blows her nose in one of the new Kleenex.
Naomi: Wow. Gentle.
Stephanie: See?
Naomi: Nice.
Stephanie grabs a bottle of tequila and the container of ice cream.
Stephanie: Ever try a tequila float?
INT. LIVING ROOM
The two women are sitting on the couch. They hold large glasses containing “tequila floats” and large straws.
Stephanie: I never really liked him much.
Naomi: I know. You didn't really try to hide it.
Stephanie: I thought I disguised it pretty well.
Naomi: You tried to set me up on four blind dates in the last month alone.
Stephanie: Sure, there's that --
Naomi: And you referred to him as a “vane, too much hair product-using, puppy-kicking mama's boy who is worse than Hitler.”
Stephanie: Now that was taken completely out of context. (Beat.) So, how did you find out he was cheating?
Naomi: He accidentally sent me an e-mail from her. He was trying to forward it to one of his frat boy work buddies. It was that girl Rachel that you and I met at that party.
Stephanie: Ouch. What did you do?
Naomi: Nothing... until he got home.
Stephanie: And then?
Naomi: And then I kneed him.
Stephanie: You need him?
Naomi: I KNEED him. (Pointing to her knee.)
Stephanie: Ohhhhh. Gotcha. Good girl! Where?
Naomi: You know... in the...
Stephanie: Right in the Siegfried and Roys?
Naomi: Yeah.
Stephanie: Awesome. (She sucks down the last bit of the float and makes a load slurping noise.) Okay, we gotta get you cleaned up now.
INT. BATHROOM
Stephanie looks at herself in the mirror as Naomi showers. MUSIC plays someplace in the other room. Something indy rockish. Stephanie's hair displeases her and she tries to fix it. Finally she gives up and starts dancing around. She pokes her head inside the shower.
Naomi: Hey!
Stephanie: Is that a new shower massager?
Naomi: Can I get a little privacy?
Stephanie: Man, you are uptight. Have you been working out? Your butt looks fantastic.
Naomi: Thanks! Now get out.
Stephanie: Fine. He's a jerk, you know.
Naomi: I know. And thanks.
Stephanie goes back to looking in the mirror. Then she picks up a bottle of mouthwash from the sink. She thinks for a few moments. Then she pours some mouthwash in the cap. She sits the bottle down and picks up a half-empty bottle of tequila. She pours some tequila in the cap with the mouth wash. She swishes it around a bit.
She raises the cap to the mirror in a toast to herself. Then she downs it.
There is a brief delay before her face contorts. She lets out a cough. She sticks out her tongue and starts wiping it with her hands, as if trying to remove all traces of it.
Stephanie: It tastes like evil!!
Stephanie turns the faucet on, bends over, and starts letting cold water run over her tongue.
INT. BATHROOM - MINUTES LATER
Naomi is wearing a towel and looking in the mirror. Stephanie is standing beside her, fishing around in a make-up case.
Naomi: Are you sure this is a good idea?
Stephanie: Not only that, but I think this is a good idea.
Stephanie might be a tad liquored.
Naomi: Just be careful.
Stephanie: I know guys that own more make-up than you.
Naomi: I don't really feel like going out.
Stephanie: Shhhhh.
Naomi: I don't.
Stephanie (Putting her finger over Naomi's mouth): Shhhhhhh.
Naomi (Muffled): Ah'm sewious. (Translated: “I'm serious.” Duh.)
Stephanie: I think that Rachel chick is not very good-looking. And kinda chubby, if you ask me.
Naomi just nods.
A few moments pass.
Naomi: That's not true at all.
Stephanie: No. She's spectacularly hot.
Naomi: She really is.
Stephanie (mumbling): I'd sleep with her.
Naomi: What?
Stephanie: What?
INT. NAOMI'S BEDROOM:
Naomi is sitting on the bed, sipping a glass of tequila. Stephanie is in the closet, occasionally chucking out items of clothing that land on the bed, the floor or on Naomi. Naomi brushes them aside, barely noticing.
Stephanie (from inside the closet): On the upside, that Rachel girl seemed like a bit of a floozy. Maybe she gave him some disease!
Naomi: That he could have given to me?
Stephanie: I said the UPside. Not the WAY upside. (She exits the closet.) Here, put this on.
Naomi takes a look at the outfit as she takes it from Stephanie. She shrugs. Stephanie grabs the glass of tequila from Naomi and downs it.
INT. KITCHEN
Stephanie is wearing the outfit that she originally handed to Naomi, and Naomi is wearing something completely different. They both look hot, if more than a little tipsy.
Stephanie: You know what you need? You need... you need those high black leather boots.
Naomi: I don't know... they are a bit slutty.
Stephanie: So? Hey! I bought those for you.
Naomi giggles a little.
Stephanie: They'll complete the ensemble.
Naomi: They are in the closet in the guest room.
Stephanie: Good. Are you feeling better?
Naomi: I am.
Stephanie: Yay! (Beat.) But, would you ever take him back?
Naomi: Oh, he's NEVER coming back.
Stephanie tries to initiate a high five. Naomi tries to not leave her hanging, but they both miss. By a lot.
INT. GUEST ROOM
The door opens. The light is already on. Stephanie staggers in. She steps over...
A man's legs.
They are sticking out from under the bed. They are wearing Adidas Gazelles. Next to them is a potted plant on it's side. There is dirt all over the floor. The legs and/or feet aren't moving.
Stephanie ignores it all and beelines right for the closet. She grabs the boots and smiles to herself. She turns and steps over the legs and heads for the door.
INT. KITCHEN
Stephanie returns triumphantly with the boots.
Stephanie: Put 'em on, put 'em on.
Naomi: I haven't put these on for ages.
Stephanie is very excited as Naomi slips her feet in the boots.
Stephanie: Oooooh. You are going to look hot.
Suddenly FOOTSTEPS can be heard coming down the hallway.
INT. HALLWAY
We see the familiar pair of Adidas Gazelles slowly walking towards the kitchen.
INT. KITCHEN
The girls stop giggling when they sense that they are no longer alone.
They turn towards the doorway to the hallway.
We see the gazelles and then slowly pan up to --
A man standing there in work clothes, wiping his hands.
Naomi: Hi Charlie. I almost forgot you were here. How did it go?
Charlie: I got the glue traps set. I plugged up all the holes that I could find. But, I knocked over your plant. I spilled some dirt. If you have a vacuum, I'll --
Naomi: It's fine. Roomba will get it later.
INSERT shot of Roomba (the little round, robot vacuum dealie) cleaning up the dirt.
Charlie: Okay, great. Give me a call if you have any more problems.
Naomi: Will do. And thanks!
Stephanie: Hey, Charlie, doesn't Naomi look hot?
Charlie: You both look gorgeous.
With that he smiles and leaves.
Stephanie: That is one charming rat-guy.
Naomi: Indeed.
Stephanie: Let's roll!
Naomi just laughs and follows Stephanie out the door.
We see the closed door and hear their GIGGLES getting further away.
A few seconds later, we hear FOOTSTEPS running back towards they door.
Naomi lets herself in and runs over to the closet. We can't see inside, but she quickly comes out with a coat in her hand. She closes the closet door and runs back outside, shutting the apartment door behind her.
We see the now-quiet kitchen.
Suddenly the closet door opens and a male body falls out and crashes hard to the floor. It has a knife sticking out of it's back.
He hold on it for a few moments.
Then Roomba comes into frame and starts running into the head over and over.
- Fin -
Labels: Roomba, script, short film
Saturday, November 18, 2006
Friday, November 17, 2006
"If a broken clock is right twice a day,Why does it always feel like the wrong time?"
She wondered in her new song.
It was about him.
He'll know it's about him the minute he hears it.
If he hears it.
If she finishes it.
The end of the relationship was civil enough. But, things have gone downhill since.
"You slept with my good friend.
Now no friend, but I hope she's good and worthy.
She's always had a dirty mind.
Now she's out of her mind, but I know she's still dirty."
He hates this belt.
At the end he said that he just didn't care enough. That was the worst thing she had ever heard.
Jarring.
Why does he keep coming to her shows? Standing in back. Watching.
"The phone rings.
I hope it's you, even though I've been burned.
I hate myself.
For following what I'm told, not what I've learned."
Shit. The phone is ringing again.
Labels: "Flip-off Friday"
Thursday, November 16, 2006
This will be the intro video on my slightly tweaked site. You know, whenever I get around to doing it.
Labels: vlog lisa loeb spricket24
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
As I began my dalliance with vlogging, I started roaming around on YouTube. And I don't mean just the clips of old tv shows or spots put on there by corporate entities. I mean the little personal videos. The video replies that people leave to other videos. Lots of fun stuff.
A while back I discovered "annspade." She was the first person I subscribed to. She's even dropped in here a few times. Recently, she did a video response to a video by "projectblogsphere"
Here is the projectblogsphere video.
Simple enough. He is thanking his first 50ish subscribers. Very polite.
Then annspade recorded a video reply to him.
Also very nice. Good people on YouTube.
Now, because I'm me, I thought it would be funny if I recorded a reply to her reply to projectblogsphere.
And here that is.
Because annspade was raised right, she replied to my reply... to her reply to projectblogsphere.
No, really.
Are you following so far?
Good.
So then projectblogsphere replied to Ann's reply to my reply to her reply to his initial video.
And it went a little something like this.
If you've been watching carefully, you'll know that I had no idea what a "spricket" was when I made my video response to Ann's video response to projectblogsphere's video.
Now I know.
The charming and talented "spricket24" recorded a video response to project blogsphere's video response to Ann's video response to my video response to Ann's... other video response to projectblogsphere's initial video.
She really did.
Then "Hurtlocker Two" responded to spricket's response to Ann's response to my response to her response to projectblogsphere.
Though he didn't mention me by name.
"sirjimalott" replied too!
And "welcomestranger" responded to projectblogsphere's response to Ann's response to my response to her response to his initial post.
Yup. It's true.
I think that is everyone.
I'm not going to lie... I am kind of excited about playing a role in causing all this trouble.
EDIT: Ann reminded me that I totally forgot about "dejuanp," who left a video response for the original projectblogsphere video, but is still tied in with this madness.
A while back I discovered "annspade." She was the first person I subscribed to. She's even dropped in here a few times. Recently, she did a video response to a video by "projectblogsphere"
Here is the projectblogsphere video.
Simple enough. He is thanking his first 50ish subscribers. Very polite.
Then annspade recorded a video reply to him.
Also very nice. Good people on YouTube.
Now, because I'm me, I thought it would be funny if I recorded a reply to her reply to projectblogsphere.
And here that is.
Because annspade was raised right, she replied to my reply... to her reply to projectblogsphere.
No, really.
Are you following so far?
Good.
So then projectblogsphere replied to Ann's reply to my reply to her reply to his initial video.
And it went a little something like this.
If you've been watching carefully, you'll know that I had no idea what a "spricket" was when I made my video response to Ann's video response to projectblogsphere's video.
Now I know.
The charming and talented "spricket24" recorded a video response to project blogsphere's video response to Ann's video response to my video response to Ann's... other video response to projectblogsphere's initial video.
She really did.
Then "Hurtlocker Two" responded to spricket's response to Ann's response to my response to her response to projectblogsphere.
Though he didn't mention me by name.
"sirjimalott" replied too!
And "welcomestranger" responded to projectblogsphere's response to Ann's response to my response to her response to his initial post.
Yup. It's true.
I think that is everyone.
I'm not going to lie... I am kind of excited about playing a role in causing all this trouble.
EDIT: Ann reminded me that I totally forgot about "dejuanp," who left a video response for the original projectblogsphere video, but is still tied in with this madness.
Labels: annspade, projectblogsphere, spricket24, YouTube
Monday, November 13, 2006
I don't like Mondays.
Except that I do.
Usually.
Mondays, to me, are a day for fresh starts.
On Monday... I'll start eating more vegetables.
On Monday... I'll start getting more exercise.
On Monday... I'll stop messing with the high-priced hookers.
But, I don't feel that way today.
Today I'd much rather be curled up in my big comfy chair, in front of my TV, watching last night's episode of "The Wire" that I have pvr'd.
My fingers don't even want to co-operate with typing this post.
It's my birthday on Saturday. The 18th. (You all have five shopping days left.)
Typically my birthdays put me in a weird, introspective headspace.
Seems like it'll be the same this year.
I had a dream the other night that I was living in a WalMart with my friends Coo Funk (from "The apartment" quadrology.) and The Goat (the friend we went to visit in the volleyball player/werewolf thing.) I met Natalia Cigliuti and we started dating. Yes, also in WalMart.
My point? She's realllly cute.
Actually that's not my point.
Both Coo Funk and The Goat are married - as are an increasing number of my friends. And that is very cool. Especially since none of us are getting any younger or prettier.
I suspect that if you had asked someone when we were teenagers, which of "the boys" would be amongst the first to get married, I probably would have gotten a lot of votes.
Maybe I didn't have a point afterall.
I feel like I need one of those Monday fresh starts, but on a bigger scale.
Like I want to go someplace. Maybe Ireland. Maybe Australia. Grow a beard. Work in bars and restaurants for a couple months. Spend my time roaming and writing in some beat-up old notebook. Maybe work as a deckhand on some schooner. I know how to sail.
Maybe grow my hair. Maybe buzz it off. Maybe one then the other.
Definitely a beard though.
Maybe I need a new relationship.
Maybe my own idealism would just wreck it.
Maybe not though.
Maybe I need new t-shirts. 100% cotton. Size XL (or XL tall if they have them.)
I used to get bogged down on what ifs, how comes and thoughts on how I could have changed things in the past. I don't find myself doing that anymore. I spend my time thinking about the present and the future much more. That is a good thing.
I still have no idea what the fuck I am going to do. But, I feel better equipped to figure it out.
And I have a hole in my sock.
Except that I do.
Usually.
Mondays, to me, are a day for fresh starts.
On Monday... I'll start eating more vegetables.
On Monday... I'll start getting more exercise.
On Monday... I'll stop messing with the high-priced hookers.
But, I don't feel that way today.
Today I'd much rather be curled up in my big comfy chair, in front of my TV, watching last night's episode of "The Wire" that I have pvr'd.
My fingers don't even want to co-operate with typing this post.
It's my birthday on Saturday. The 18th. (You all have five shopping days left.)
Typically my birthdays put me in a weird, introspective headspace.
Seems like it'll be the same this year.
I had a dream the other night that I was living in a WalMart with my friends Coo Funk (from "The apartment" quadrology.) and The Goat (the friend we went to visit in the volleyball player/werewolf thing.) I met Natalia Cigliuti and we started dating. Yes, also in WalMart.
My point? She's realllly cute.
Actually that's not my point.
Both Coo Funk and The Goat are married - as are an increasing number of my friends. And that is very cool. Especially since none of us are getting any younger or prettier.
I suspect that if you had asked someone when we were teenagers, which of "the boys" would be amongst the first to get married, I probably would have gotten a lot of votes.
Maybe I didn't have a point afterall.
I feel like I need one of those Monday fresh starts, but on a bigger scale.
Like I want to go someplace. Maybe Ireland. Maybe Australia. Grow a beard. Work in bars and restaurants for a couple months. Spend my time roaming and writing in some beat-up old notebook. Maybe work as a deckhand on some schooner. I know how to sail.
Maybe grow my hair. Maybe buzz it off. Maybe one then the other.
Definitely a beard though.
Maybe I need a new relationship.
Maybe my own idealism would just wreck it.
Maybe not though.
Maybe I need new t-shirts. 100% cotton. Size XL (or XL tall if they have them.)
I used to get bogged down on what ifs, how comes and thoughts on how I could have changed things in the past. I don't find myself doing that anymore. I spend my time thinking about the present and the future much more. That is a good thing.
I still have no idea what the fuck I am going to do. But, I feel better equipped to figure it out.
And I have a hole in my sock.
Labels: beard, birthday, introspective crap, Mondays, Natalia Cigliuti
Sunday, November 12, 2006
"I lost eight teeth. I got four fillings. I need surgery on my eye.
I am going to get braces. I'm falling apart!!!" - The Monkey*
(*The Monkey is my ten year old cousin. You may remember her from such posts as this one. Or this one. Or maybe even this one.)
Labels: The Monkey
Saturday, November 11, 2006
Friday, November 10, 2006
She was tempted. She really was.
It would have been so easy to flip him off as he looked back at her in his rearview mirror one last time.
But, she was raised better than that.
She started too though...
It still didn't seem real to her.
Nine years.
They shopped for rings!
But, it was really over.
He told her from the beginning that he wasn't "the marrying kind."
She thought that he'd grow out of it. That he'd grow up.
She suddenly remembered something she read on a fridge magnet at a friend's home, "Love is not blind - it sees more, not less. But because it sees more, it is willing to see less."
The "her" she was before him seemed like a stranger now.
She thought about signing birthday cards and not writing his name too. Her eyes started to sting.
She knew that she'd never love that way again. She knew that people would try to tell her otherwise. She knew that they would be wrong.
She also knew that not a day would go by that she wouldn't regret not fighting harder.
Everything was going to be different from this point on.
He was the love of her life. There was no questioning that.
She went back inside the apartment. Everything was a reminder.
She was going to have to move.
She poured herself a cup of tea and curled up under a blanket on the couch.
There'd be tear-filled conversations with friends. There'd be wine drunk. There'd be ice cream eaten.
She just didn't have the strength for that yet.
She stared out the window at the softly falling snow. She took a sip of the warm tea. She pulled the blanket up to her chin.
She probably should have told him that she was pregnant.
It would have been so easy to flip him off as he looked back at her in his rearview mirror one last time.
But, she was raised better than that.
She started too though...
It still didn't seem real to her.
Nine years.
They shopped for rings!
But, it was really over.
He told her from the beginning that he wasn't "the marrying kind."
She thought that he'd grow out of it. That he'd grow up.
She suddenly remembered something she read on a fridge magnet at a friend's home, "Love is not blind - it sees more, not less. But because it sees more, it is willing to see less."
The "her" she was before him seemed like a stranger now.
She thought about signing birthday cards and not writing his name too. Her eyes started to sting.
She knew that she'd never love that way again. She knew that people would try to tell her otherwise. She knew that they would be wrong.
She also knew that not a day would go by that she wouldn't regret not fighting harder.
Everything was going to be different from this point on.
He was the love of her life. There was no questioning that.
She went back inside the apartment. Everything was a reminder.
She was going to have to move.
She poured herself a cup of tea and curled up under a blanket on the couch.
There'd be tear-filled conversations with friends. There'd be wine drunk. There'd be ice cream eaten.
She just didn't have the strength for that yet.
She stared out the window at the softly falling snow. She took a sip of the warm tea. She pulled the blanket up to her chin.
She probably should have told him that she was pregnant.
Labels: "Flip-off Friday"
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
The ACN had a good day today at school.
- She played "the statue game." (Music is played, and when it stops they have to freeze like statues.) She loved it.
- She got some extra computer time. (They have a computer pimped out for her to use.) A little boy in grade four played with her. His name is Josh. According to her teacher, who writes in a book that travels back and forth to ACN's Mommy & Daddy, ACN "greatly enjoyed his company." I asked if he was a nice boy and she just giggled. I should have given her the "no flirting" speech again.
- She found out that she has to wear a red shirt to school on Friday for a Remembrance Day thingy.
- She let the people in the PT/OT clinic borrow her bike so that a little boy could try it. It turns out that he can use it, so he'll be getting one of his own. Yay!
Labels: ACN
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Have you ever been so bored that you wanted to listen to me watch a Spanish soap opera?
Really?
Okay...
La Verdad Oculta.
This is Elsa:
"I have to get home and put on my white pants before... mañana."
Really?
Okay...
La Verdad Oculta.
This is Elsa:
"I have to get home and put on my white pants before... mañana."
Labels: podcast, telenovela
Sunday, November 05, 2006
Friday, November 03, 2006
"If I could re-arrange the alphabet, I'd put "I" next to "TV," but "U" could stick around too."
This was the night I met "Melody."
Initially she thought that I was somebody else.
I thought that she was delightful.
We disagreed on everything. Politics. Religion. Tattoos. Music. Sports. Movies. TV. (She didn't own one!!!)
But, I told her how much I liked her shirt.
That was enough for her.
We danced. Her cutely. Me baaaaaaaaaaaadly.
She found that charming. I blame her vodka and cranberry.
We sat and tried to talk over the din.
I have no idea what she said, but her smile was amazing.
We are going to get together for breakfast.
Right after someone posts our bail.
We were kind of in the middle of a little bar brawl. 100 people. 25 cops. 6 paddywagons. Broken windows. Thrown chairs.
That chick in the black shirt realllly should not have gotten Melody mad by punching her in the face.
Ooooh, I hope that we go to iHop.
And --
Oh, sorry. Kanye West has interrupted this post and told me that if I don't choose him as my "Flip-off Friday" subject that this entire blog "loses credibility."
Initially she thought that I was somebody else.
I thought that she was delightful.
We disagreed on everything. Politics. Religion. Tattoos. Music. Sports. Movies. TV. (She didn't own one!!!)
But, I told her how much I liked her shirt.
That was enough for her.
We danced. Her cutely. Me baaaaaaaaaaaadly.
She found that charming. I blame her vodka and cranberry.
We sat and tried to talk over the din.
I have no idea what she said, but her smile was amazing.
We are going to get together for breakfast.
Right after someone posts our bail.
We were kind of in the middle of a little bar brawl. 100 people. 25 cops. 6 paddywagons. Broken windows. Thrown chairs.
That chick in the black shirt realllly should not have gotten Melody mad by punching her in the face.
Ooooh, I hope that we go to iHop.
And --
Oh, sorry. Kanye West has interrupted this post and told me that if I don't choose him as my "Flip-off Friday" subject that this entire blog "loses credibility."
Labels: "Flip-off Friday"
"Those 'what ifs' are loud little fuckers," he thought.
On most days he was okay with how things went down.
On most days.
But, today wasn't one of those days.
Memories flooded back.
He doesn't have enough fingers to plug all the holes in that dyke.
Not today.
"It'd be better for everyone if you let it go," they would tell him.
If he actually asked.
And he didn't.
They probably say it behind his back.
He doesn't give a shit.
Memories are interesting creatures though.
Somehow those exact same memories can ellicit very different responses in you from moment to moment.
He hates "bittersweet."
Anyone who uses it, really has no idea about what "sweet" is.
But, he is doing well.
Most of the time.
He is accomplishing amazing things.
Important things.
People tell him so.
Not enough people though.
He hates that he feels that way.
He didn't think that things would play out this way.
He's usually cautious. He'd never allow himself to want something too much, so that the possible letdown wouldn't be as damaging.
He made the mistake of letting himself believe that one time.
He probably won't let it happen again.
And not because he is any wiser. He just isn't capable of letting his defenses down like that again.
He was close to having it.
He could almost reach out and touch it.
"Is it REALLY impossible for me to get it?"
And with that Al Gore turns away from the White House fence and walks back to his car.
On most days he was okay with how things went down.
On most days.
But, today wasn't one of those days.
Memories flooded back.
He doesn't have enough fingers to plug all the holes in that dyke.
Not today.
"It'd be better for everyone if you let it go," they would tell him.
If he actually asked.
And he didn't.
They probably say it behind his back.
He doesn't give a shit.
Memories are interesting creatures though.
Somehow those exact same memories can ellicit very different responses in you from moment to moment.
He hates "bittersweet."
Anyone who uses it, really has no idea about what "sweet" is.
But, he is doing well.
Most of the time.
He is accomplishing amazing things.
Important things.
People tell him so.
Not enough people though.
He hates that he feels that way.
He didn't think that things would play out this way.
He's usually cautious. He'd never allow himself to want something too much, so that the possible letdown wouldn't be as damaging.
He made the mistake of letting himself believe that one time.
He probably won't let it happen again.
And not because he is any wiser. He just isn't capable of letting his defenses down like that again.
He was close to having it.
He could almost reach out and touch it.
"Is it REALLY impossible for me to get it?"
And with that Al Gore turns away from the White House fence and walks back to his car.
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Whichever.
I gots it.
And it sucks.
The week nanowrimo starts, my muse is chillin' on vacation someplace.
So far, in two days, I have 3000 words. Almost 400 off pace. But, hopefully later today/this evening I can go on another writing spurt.
I should also say that in that 3000, there is a lot of stuff I had written previously for another novel idea.
So, even with cheating, I can't keep up.
Crud.
I started blogging a while back so that I could try to learn to stop censoring myself. And, for the most part, I think it has been fairly successful. I am happy about that.
However, I used to be much more prolific. A couple of years back, I used to be able to sit down for a few hours and really churn out a LOT of pages. And much of it was stuff that I thought was pretty strong.
I'm not sure what has changed.
I tried using an outline. But, writing the outline seemed to drain me of the "need" to tell the story.
I am actually trying to wing it completely with the nanowrimo novel. And it feels weeeeeird. And not weird like the first time you wake up in a strange land with a Thai hooker in your bed, I mean REALLY weird. (I totally should give Lawan a call sometime.)
I have no idea what any of my characters are going to do next.
I am not sure that I like what they've already done.
And I am already finding myself thinking too much about what people will think of it.
That is a big part of my problem.
I have yet to figure out how to just let shit fly, like I am starting to be able to do here at PDDC. Heck, I considered doing a vlog this morning of me doing a karaoke version of "With or Without You." You all so dodged a bullet.
I am going to work on just sitting here and writing the novel. Word by word. Page by page.
But, my inner critic is loud lately. And it kind of sounds like Megan Mullally, for some reason.
Odd.
I think I may try to do a mini-outline for the novel. Just something very basic. You've read my stuff, you know that I should never be allowed to meander too much.
Or maybe I just need a new muse.
One that supports, but at the same time inspires just by being there.
One that subtlely lets you know when you need to work harder, but makes you feel like there is absolutely no doubt that you can do it. That you can do anything.
A muse that doesn't judge.
A muse that makes you feel bigger... more capable.
A muse that makes you feel safe to write anything. Safe to tap into any emotion.
Safe to share.
Yeah, I need a muse like that.
If you happen to run into one, drop me an e-mail.
I gots it.
And it sucks.
The week nanowrimo starts, my muse is chillin' on vacation someplace.
So far, in two days, I have 3000 words. Almost 400 off pace. But, hopefully later today/this evening I can go on another writing spurt.
I should also say that in that 3000, there is a lot of stuff I had written previously for another novel idea.
So, even with cheating, I can't keep up.
Crud.
I started blogging a while back so that I could try to learn to stop censoring myself. And, for the most part, I think it has been fairly successful. I am happy about that.
However, I used to be much more prolific. A couple of years back, I used to be able to sit down for a few hours and really churn out a LOT of pages. And much of it was stuff that I thought was pretty strong.
I'm not sure what has changed.
I tried using an outline. But, writing the outline seemed to drain me of the "need" to tell the story.
I am actually trying to wing it completely with the nanowrimo novel. And it feels weeeeeird. And not weird like the first time you wake up in a strange land with a Thai hooker in your bed, I mean REALLY weird. (I totally should give Lawan a call sometime.)
I have no idea what any of my characters are going to do next.
I am not sure that I like what they've already done.
And I am already finding myself thinking too much about what people will think of it.
That is a big part of my problem.
I have yet to figure out how to just let shit fly, like I am starting to be able to do here at PDDC. Heck, I considered doing a vlog this morning of me doing a karaoke version of "With or Without You." You all so dodged a bullet.
I am going to work on just sitting here and writing the novel. Word by word. Page by page.
But, my inner critic is loud lately. And it kind of sounds like Megan Mullally, for some reason.
Odd.
I think I may try to do a mini-outline for the novel. Just something very basic. You've read my stuff, you know that I should never be allowed to meander too much.
Or maybe I just need a new muse.
One that supports, but at the same time inspires just by being there.
One that subtlely lets you know when you need to work harder, but makes you feel like there is absolutely no doubt that you can do it. That you can do anything.
A muse that doesn't judge.
A muse that makes you feel bigger... more capable.
A muse that makes you feel safe to write anything. Safe to tap into any emotion.
Safe to share.
Yeah, I need a muse like that.
If you happen to run into one, drop me an e-mail.