The Seventithird One

Guest post by Spencer Burton. Edited by Arlill Rodriguez.

I was at a Chinese buffet several days ago for my brother’s birthday, and I received this fortune: “Your lucky SAT answers are: a, c, d, a, b, b, c.”

My first thoughts were, “Well, they are a little late in getting this to me.” But the more I thought about it, which I tend to do right when I want to go to bed, I realized what a horrible fortune that was.

I am not saying the average fortune cookie is a mini work of Shakespeare, but come on? How lazy is this. I think the person writing this  just wanted an excuse to hit the keyboard a few times, and figured out they could justify hitting “a” through “d” as if they were test answers.

Secondly, this cookie will most likely miss its target audience, unless the writer assumed that the average person visiting a buffet are all high school kids gearing up for placement tests. Now, I certainly gorged myself on Chinese food at the time, but standardized tests were not on my mind at the time – at least not in front of what should I get with egg drop soup. Regardless, this fortune doesn't even apply to all high school kids looking to get into college. I never took the SAT. Instead I took the ACT, which is a common test kids on the east coast take in place of the SAT. So, this cookie already is likely to be given to someone who would care less about the answers.

Lastly, since when was the SAT only 7 questions long? It is probably over an hour long test, which penalizes guessing in order to make sure people taking it are really showing what they know. It is a test designed to be too long. Either this person is so far gone from the school that they forgot what the SAT was – which is possible, considering they like to bash on the key board and think most who eat at Chinese buffets are high school-ers – or they really were just trying to look smart in giving me something other than my lucky lottery numbers every time I decide to put down a couple pounds of food.

In short, I would tell the writer of this cookie to go back to saying dumb stuff about happiness, or success. Or at the very least start being cynical and insult people. At least then it might be something interesting and it would make engaging lines for all those people who add “in bed” at the end of them.

The Fiftisixth One

Happy New Year everybo-...wait a minute. Oh. Uh...

It is now 2013 and many people have been wondering what intriguing developments this year will bring to all of the little children. Problem is that the little children probably won't be thinking about it that much. I always remember having a lot of difficulty remembering it was a new year when I wrote in my abnormally-sized kindergarten journal.
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I'd like to thank everybody who watched the first two episodes of Awkward Arley and didn't want to burn me at the stake shortly after. We will be working on more episodes in the next few months but it will be a challenge for the Awkward Arley crew to surpass the quality of those two episodes and a lot of pressure is on me to deliver something worth watching. At the same time, I've been working on two screenplays, two short stories, and the newly established Random Chatterings podcast. At the same time, same time, I've had to focus on my schoolwork more seriously than in previous years which explains why the past few months have been very lacking in terms of content. An unexpected development has been the amount of incredibly self-defacing jokes I've written that I've become very desperate in wanting to tell in the form of another standup routine. I've been researching/brainstorming various formats so that I could potentially share these jokes publicly whether it be an audio recording or a video to post on my channel.
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My winter vacation has been nothing much but video games, resting, and writing jokes that I can't tell a single soul without them burning me like they would have burned a witch in the Renaissance. All in all, it's been a pretty good vacation: I got to hang out with my family constantly (mostly my brother) and Santa bought me a bunch of amazing movies and video games for Christmas. The unfortunate thing about my living dominion or fortress of solitude is that i live with mein fuhrer (German for the leader). now dont get me wrong, I love my family but there is always that one person that you jsut dont want in your family but they still have to be there and you just have to put up with it. That my friends, companions, and strange people who are reading this because of pity, is my aunt. Now the thing that just annoys me is that she...is the MEANING of perfectionist; So, you can see how we dont really get along. My aunt is not one of those normal clean freaks, ohh no, clean freaks themselves would call her insane; she also has super hearing so if i open a bag of chips too loud, open, not close, OPEN a door too loudly or even breath too loudly, she will rain on you like god rained on the Egyptians, no wait..at least god apologized. She usually warns you that if you do "something wrong" again, she'll rip your head off. She talks to me and my brother when ever we do something wrong as if were retarded, like one time we finished eating and one of us forgot to put our chair back inside, we went to our room to go get away from it all in our paradox of wonders called "videogames".  She called BOTH of us and talked to us exactly like this: "hey, did you know that when your finished eating, most people push in their chairs" now, you can just imagin the thoughts going on in me and my brother's heads, like telling her to shut the fuck up or just hitting her with a chair (my brother is insane) . She talked to us like if we dont know what manners or politeness is; the only reason we cant argue with the creature of perfection, is because SHE IS GODLIKE! Everything she says is right, and the way she does it is right EVERYTHING ELSE IS WRONG! Anywho...mein fuher just runs the whole damn house. Now here is where i just want to slap her and my brother is thinking of more medieval objects to damage her head with (he told me a mace). when she leaves for work, I can clearly hear her in spanish "oh my poor dogs, I really dont want to leave you with them i'm so sorry my baby's hopefully you will still be alive when I come back". Yes aunt...yes we cant take care of two dogs, in fact, for breakfast i was going to feed them rat poison! a nutritious breakfast! The thing that most annoys me is that every once and while, her back hurts and she cant do a damn thing, so she bothers everyone less (my brother calls this the best days ever)  but, even when she is practically on crutches...SHE STILL CLEANS! It just pains me to see an aging woman in pain and just causing herself more pain, and not being able to help because she thinks im so destructive that i can burn down the house with a water gun. Still, Im glad i came to expirence new expirence, new ideas, and definintly, new video games, this has been a great time and im so sad to go and leave it all...but hey...there' still summer break right?
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Hey, get off the computer!!

Sorry about that. My little brother, Gary, took over for a bit while I was feeding the dogs rat poison. Which reminds me...I'd like to formally announce my brother's promotion as an admin to the blog! What this means is that he will also be posting things here from time to time. You can find him on Google+ with the name Shadow or under the blog section "The Information Survey".
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Every year, I wonder why I continue to maintain this blog with the frequency that I have been. I'll admit my only audience is the faithful Facebook group that checks up on my blog from time to time and even then, only half of the group ever goes to it; the other half, I feel like I'm just pestering them for my attention. If any of you do feel that way, please feel free to leave the group whenever you'd like. I won't be upset if you do. The only people who know what's been going on personally in my life are my closest friends, my fraternity brothers, and my family simply because I'm not and never have been very comfortable with sharing my life with the outside world, which would explain why the input on the blog has always strictly been previously written projects. Someone once told me that it is a challenge to write things since they become more and more personal the more time you devote to the project, so by that criteria, I have been very personal with the material I've posted thus far. As much as I've enjoyed working on this blog, I realize that at this point, the blog has become a major distraction from the more important things in life. My grades have suffered heavily from pointlessly building up "fantasy" projects that never have a solid foundation and I'm at the risk of getting academic probation. I can technically attribute this risk to laziness but I will admit this blog has also been a part of it. What this means is that I will be taking an indefinite break from the blog as I reassess what my reasons for being in college are. My lifelong dream is to tell stories that change/challenge people's lives but I haven't taken this goal seriously recently. This break will be a necessary refresher not only for the blog followers but also for me. I will post something else this weekend but it will be the last thing I post until I return from the break in May, when I return to the City of Smog once again. To the approximately 300 friends I have on Facebook, I'm sorry I haven't checked up on all of you. That doesn't mean I will be trying to, it just means I'm sorry that I haven't but as I've told my really good friend, saying sorry is my moral obligation for committing unspeakable atrocities (like telling someone how I feel about them). That kind of thinking can emotionally drain me. With all that's been said, I always keep asking what is the point of this blog? What is the point of investing months on a post that I'm never completely satisfied with? Have I been completely honest with my commitment to being a writer? I honestly don't think so. What will four months without the blog do for me? I have no idea. Maybe nothing. Nothing at all. What will it do for you all? Either way, I'd like to thank everyone for sticking around for as long as they have reading the inane ramblings of a complete lunatic on a weekly/monthly basis. Other than my own selfish pursuits, you guys have always been a reason to try to be as entertaining a writer as I've tried to be these past couple of years. I know my humor is really difficult to understand, fuck, at times, I have to remind myself why I thought a certain idea was so goddamn funny in the first place. I will occasionally update the Facebook group itself with pictures/videos and the Tumblr blog will always be there if you want to see images I feel are worthy of being reposted based on my (non-existent) criteria. I leave you all with a joke I wrote recently: I think it's really depressing to talk to other people because it reminds me of how much of a fucking liar I am. 

Thank you all for your time, attention, patience, and respect. I'll see you in May.

Your misguided moron,
Arley Rodriguez                                                                     

Everybody’s looking at me: The Neurotic Character in Literature

 Originally written on December 7, 2011.

This is the first of a three part weekly series. I've thought about posting this since the day I've finished it but I've held off on the idea for several reasons, the most important one being: NO ONE COULD CARE LESS ABOUT READING AN ACADEMIC PAPER I WROTE. I'm currently majoring in Spanish and one of the things a Spanish major has to know is writing long papers. I made a joke in high school about how long papers would have to be in college. I should slap my past self for being a smug bastard. Despite this, the following academic papers that I will post for the next three Wednesdays are about topics that matter a great deal for me and as such, I tried to make the papers sound very personal, not like the stilted, template-based ones we wrote in high school. This first paper is about something I wanted to investigate ever since I began to appreciate comedy. What are the origins of the neurotic character and why have we begun looking up to it as a modern archetypical hero? So, even though this is technically an academic paper, I still consider it as a kind of creative work since I can rationally argue on the significance of my biggest cultural influences and that has to count for something. Due to certain restrictions (such as only being 5 pages long), I could only pick out several important cultural figures that could be considered as neurotic although a more consise paper would much longer, way too long for this blog, even. Like always, let me know what you think/how the argument could've been improved in the comments.

The neurotic character is the unspoken hero of our modern lives. When at once we looked up to the strongman who could overcome any obstacle, suddenly we revere the character whom does everything wrong. The neurotic character, at one glance, is the living, breathing archetype of everything conceivably wrong with the world, but due to the character’s inexplicable popularity, absolute hatred toward the character isn’t common. The neurotic character is believed to be a modern invention, or a comical contrast to the more serious archetypes, but in fact, the neurotic character has been an integral component of literature for centuries. The neurotic character, within the text, is despised by everyone but beloved by everyone outside of the text.

The neurotic character everyone relates to is George Costanza from Seinfeld. George is a relatable character from a well-established sitcom. George behaves unlike most people, obsessing over pointless trivialities, taking advantage of everyone and everything, and being at the blunt of every moment of misfortune that comes his way. George, for a sitcom character, is very depressing, and constantly ponders the necessity of life, wondering if the mistakes he continues to make are worth minimum wage or even life; his behavior is a definitive trait of the neurotic character who“…suffers from easy fatigability and irritability. He is dissatisfied with everything including himself”(1). The center of his problems is his failed love life. George does not know to keep a relationship together, and constantly makes destructive or impulsive decisions that ruin the relationship. Nothing could be more tragic or hilarious than acknowledging that George’s fiancé died from licking poisonous wedding envelopes he had picked out. George is a character with no realistic prospects; his reason for getting up in the morning is “to get the Daily News”(2). Even after hearing a friend’s harsh argument about George’s laziness and encouraging George to mature, still George questions him with a comic “Why?” as though his friend’s words of wisdom flew right over his head, and George still refuses to accept reality, that there is more to life than getting the local paper.

Larry David, a “fictional” character from Curb Your Enthusiasm, is the apex of the neurotic character in pop culture. Larry is a character who has always been looked upon a weird misanthrope in the eyes of the other characters who simply cannot rationalize his actions. Larry talks of many unspoken rules that others are not aware of, although the rules are morally based at their core, even if they are ridiculous. Larry makes terms of each “rule” in order to get the point of the rules across to the other characters that consider the rules as something shortsighted and pointless. Larry also works under his own understanding of others, even if at times, he can be fairly off, usually, he knows how to manipulate others for his own means, such canceling appointments and using his mother’s death as an excuse. At the very center of Larry’s behavior is an unmistakable core that has a sense of justice. Larry and his wife go to the grand opening of their restaurant; all goes well until the chef, who has Tourette’s, spews out several curses that halt everyone’s conversations and leaves the room in complete silence. Ever the good spirit, Larry recalls seeing high school students who shaved off their heads in support of a fellow classmate who is going through chemotherapy, and does what any good-hearted soul would in that situation: he screams “Scum-sucking motherfucking whore!”(3) Shortly after, his manager curses, and eventually the entire classy restaurateurs invoke in loud profanities. The clip ends with Larry in the middle of the ruckus he causes, arms folded, proud of the moral obligation he made for the chef. It is an unusual solution, one some people would have trouble understanding, but it’s a truly daring act to risk the reputation of your restaurant if only to spare the feelings of a chef suffering with Tourette’s. Though Larry’s behavior is unusual, ultimately it becomes understandable and relatable.

Notes From the Underground, a famous novel from the early 19th century, is an example of the development of the neurotic character. The narrator with no name begins his “novel” by the narrator’s voice “exist[s] in our society, when we consider the circumstances in the midst of which of our society is formed,” an indication that someone with the narrator’s opinions undoubtedly exists within the norm(4). The norm is questioned by the narrator and at times,  may seem even more deluded and mistaken than the narrator’s own conceptions. The narrator’s “intense self-consciousness causes him to be vain at one moment and self-loathing the next,” and seething with bitterness towards the normal man, although his criticisms and observations are undeniably truthful towards the folly of people. The narrator’s observances are very similar to George Costanza’s character in that both of them are very pessimistic towards the outcome of the world, and through their pessimism exists a moment of truth. Also, both characters are aware of their inadequacies and uselessness in the scale of everything in the universe, and both of them question their reason to live. Dostoyevsky’s narrator falls upon the themes made important in modern times, and many literary critics “identify the [narrator] as the archetypal modern antihero,” or the neurotic character(5).

Don Quixote goes back even further back in the early 16th century, with a neurotic character that has become timeless. Don Quixote is a lowly man living in an impoverished village, but due to his love of chivalric literature, believes himself to be one of the characters from his books, a valiant knight. Throughout the novel, Don Quixote causes much mischief in his travels with his squire, Sancho Panza, as he tries to save a beautiful princess who is actually a prostitute, and fight a dragon that is actually a windmill. Kashdan’s analysis remarks on traits neurotic characters embody: becoming “self-absorbed” in their own world, and ultimately being rejected by society, traits worn proudly by both George and Larry(6). In Don Quixote’s case, his behavior is purely chivalric and highly respectable, and with no actual malicious intent. For Don Quixote, being a knight with principles and values is more worthwhile than living the simple life of a villager, and ultimately, it is a reminder that even the world of the normal individual can be distorted by cynicism, repetition, and fear of change. It is remarkable on how much more sense Don Quixote’s actions are compared to the values of normal life. Bringing back Larry’s example, Larry swearing in the restaurant may not be the most appropriate solution to the chef’s unexpected swearing, but it was the right thing to do, despite the circumstances or consequences.

The neurotic character is the embodiment of our unforeseen behavior, and the most truthful voice in our society. When at one point we looked upon the valiant hero or the confident one, now we look at the neurotic character as the antihero; despite their values and customs, ultimately what each character wants is justice for all people, and some kind of rational understanding for the world’s mysteries, including the production of characters like the narrator, and how such characters emerge from a seemingly normal environment. When we are able to recognize our own faults, develop them, and ultimately improve ourselves with this long, ongoing process, we cannot stop but recognize the bumbling characters of Don Quixote and George Costanza for taking that first step.

Works  Cited:

(1)Price, Antoinette. “Understanding the Neurotic.” The American Journal of Nursing, Vol. 37, No. 8 (Aug., 1937), pp. 878-881. JSTOR. Web.

(2)KrsONE305. “Kramer Talks to George About Life.” YouTube. Web. July 13, 2009.

(3) Sujeetwearsvests. “Curb Your Enthusiasm. Season 3, Episode 10: Restaurant Grand Opening.” YouTube. Web. Jun. 23, 2010.

(4) Dostoyevsky, Fyodor.  Notes from the Underground.  Trans. Constance Garnett. Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing, 2009. Print.

(5) Nielson, Keith. “Notes from the underground.” Masterplots, 4th ed; November 2010, p1-4. Literary Reference Center. Web.

(6)Kashdan, Joanne G. "Don Quixote de la Mancha." Masterplots, 4th Ed.; November 2010, p1-5. Literary Reference Center. Web. 

Be sure to check out the RS(TBTT...E) group on Facebook, or on Tumblr for images, videos, and more (but not much more). Also, Harold from The Presenters has his own Twitter account now! Yeah...I'm running out of ideas.

Awkward Arley [Ep. 1] - "The 100th Episode Spectacular!!!"

Oh, god. What is this?

Why, thank you for wondering, fellow blog reader. Remember this blog post? Unfortunately, this project is going through many, many changes and until I have a clearer idea of what I'd like to do, I'll be postponing this particular short film until later. What "this" is supposed to be is a "brand"-new web series called Awkward Arley. Produced by Case Western Reserve University's Ignite Television and co-directed by Nabeel Malick and I, this is our first official project and technically my very first short film. Being a comedy, it was much more easier to write about than my other more abstract project and even though it took a while to complete (about 5 weeks), we're already diving in headfirst into the next episode which we'll try our best to improve on the quality from the first. What I can promise is that it will be 5 minutes longer than the pilot. Below this block of words is the original outline we used when we were filming the episode. We made several changes when we started to film only for the sake of coherence. Awkward Arley is an improvised program, very much like Curb Your Enthusiasm. With future episodes, we'll try to distance ourselves from the Curb foundation although with a show called "Awkward Arley", it'll become our own challenge. One warning: this is an awkward program, designed by our disturbing minds to make you squirm in your seats so...NSFW. Watch at your own discretion. Also, we apologize for the ending.
Why?
You'll know it when you see it.

Arley holds a cue card with the title of the show on it. Dudley Dickface floats by and slaps the card off Arley’s hands. He holds “100th episode Spectacular” in front of the camera. Fade out.
Fade in. “Previously on Awkward Arley” appears on the screen, followed by the Ignite logo and annoying beeps. “Now back to our show…”

First scene: bedroom (find location, afternoon, sun’s still out) Arley has just finished a paragraph for his article for the Daily. Dudley Dickface comes in, pushes the door open, soda in his hand, “Arley!!”
“Oh, hey dude.” says Arley, with some hesitation.
“ How’s your writing for the Daily Show?” says Dudley. Camera goes to Arley, looking at the screen that says “The Daily”, whose expression changes from pride to discontent in a millisecond.
Dudley mentions he’s been at the Susan B. Anthony Clinic, looking for dates. Arley opposes the idea immediately. Dudley mentions how some of them have “blue waffles”, to which Arley makes his first mistake: “what’s a blue waffle?”
Dudley charges to the labtop, getting in front of Arley  and looks it up. Arley immediately close his labtop. Dudley makes a snarky remark which Arley can’t respond to.

Second scene: Black “Later that night…”, fades into Arley asleep in bed, Arley mutters blue waffle as (obviously-photoshopped) images of blue Crayola and waffles. “bru waffle, blue waffle, THE HEADCRABS ARE GONNA GET ME!!”

Third scene: Flora Mather Center (filmed in Ignite Office) Arley interviews a Flora Stone Mather Center representative. Representative remarks on Arley’s fantastic work on the article about the “Susan B. Anthony Center”. The interview goes well except for Arley writing down “blue waffle” every so often and scribbling it out. After she answers the first question, Arley blurts out, “Okay. Second question Blue waffle. Um…”
“What did you say?” says the representative.
“Nothing. Nothing. So, how’s things?” says Arley in a moment.
“What’s a blue waffle?”
“It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
“What is it?”
“Fine, I’ll tell you.”
Arley explains what it is without being explicit. The representative doesn’t understand the vague explanation so she looks it up. Arley demands that she doesn’t. She does anyway and is disgusted, as Arley expected. They get into an argument. Camera slowly pans to the tape recorder.
Fourth scene: We’re in a dark room. Only the desk lamp illuminates Awkward Asian’s face. We notice that he’s wearing headphones and can hear the conversation. He is doing something that everyone does but no one talks about. He says, “Louder. Louder.”
Black out. “Awkward Arley Theme” plays in the background with the credits.

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The Coffeehouse Routine

Originally written/spoken on November 22, 2010.

A few weeks ago, I showed one of my closest friends the stand-up routine I performed in high school. He told me that it teleported him back to those days when we would spend minutes or hours talking about pop culture figures, relationship issues, and nostalgic withdrawal. It had the same effect on me. Other than the muttering, the stuttering, the joke premises that didn't work, the only other thing I thought about was the laughter made by people I haven't seen in a year. If I was a more sensible man, I would make the effort to communicate with each and every one of the members of the audience again. The following is a stand-up routine I wrote for the 2nd coffeehouse event we had at our school, technically a charity event, and I was the only "comedian" performing. I was originally going to talk about love in excruciating detail comparing it to a bike chain and a sledgehammer; I worked on the premise for two months until I reconsidered the whole routine, a week before the performance. As I was on stage, I remembered how I once kicked a chair when the audience wasn't laughing. I made sure not to make that mistake again. The overall theme was how I was confessing to everyone how I was no longer funny, treating it like a medical condition with symptoms such as not being able to hear the punchline, and laughing at unfunny things. I kinda wished I took advantage of trying not to be funny and saying ironic statements regarding my "epiphany". It was very painful to listen to this again, understanding that the idea of becoming a comedian was an elusive fantasy that I had the chance to try, at least once. (Words in parenthesis are actions.) [Words in brackets are from the original routine/edited for clarity.]

(walk up to mic, grunt exasperatedly) Hello, everybody. It's nice to see you all. You look very nice and pretty, I guess. I have, um, a tale to tell you all. It's [like] a tapeworm: stringy, flexible, and possibly life-threatening. It’s, um, not really the easiest thing I have ever admitted to anybody. It’s probably less simple than when my brother told me that he was going to be a baseball star, a [testosterone-fueled] baseball star and I told him I was going to be a writer, and then he told me the reality of a writer is basically ten years of making sure that you can, you know, get something published in a magazine of some sort; and my hopes and dreams were crushed that day.

I’m no longer funny. (audience will disagree or agree; expect both) I know what you're saying. It’s not possible. It, it’s not even conceivable. And yet it is. Oh, yes it is. I saw the signs, they were as clear and present as a teacher’s pet, you know who usually sits at the front row holding a polished red apple or a building on fire. Only I didn’t tell the student to swallow his apple or get a fire extinguisher. I just let them be. See, senior year hasn't been one of the worst years; It's actually been one of the most relaxing, enjoyable of all the [academic] years I've yet experienced and nothing like the holy grail of all years that surpasses all other years. I don't even know where that, okay, there's the whole "We're leaving. We'll never see you guys again." Isn't that a little depressing, though? I mean, "I'm never going to see you again. I'm going to have a different life. I'm gonna go have some kids. I don't feel like ever talking to you ever again. I'm going go associate myself with people, who are more impressive than you." Okay, fine, in that case, senior year is a wonderful year. But actually, I've been having a lot of interesting conversations with a lot of people, mostly about falling. We really like to talk about the drop. We enjoy talking about people who suffer from the drop. People in general, people in the quad, me falling, Kramer from Seinfeld falling, have you seen this guy? This guy has the most amazing falling I've ever seen. It's almost as if he's on a frictionless floor that just defies all reality. It's amazing, a masterpiece of falling. So, if you want a good example of falling that isn't embarrassing, that's more of a [performance art piece], go, go see Kramer. He's pretty good at that.

It's actually been one of the more easier years. Times have been much easier, believe it or not. All those nightmares of seniors (older students) ripping their hairs out over all the stress were greatly exaggerated. We lost most of it during junior year. And the rest [working] on college aps. Recently, someone asked me if I was working on my applications this weekend and I stared at her for a few more seconds. A, applications? Applications? Does anyone say applications? Does anyone have enough patience TO SAY applications? The process [itself] is long, hard, you know, almost completely stressful and that's for the little bittest of hair. You know how hair is all over the place, it's on certain parts of the body that can't really be exposed at this moment? That would be the time period where you RIP those hairs OUT because there's no other kind of pleasure than getting those hairs, the invisible hairs, ripped-out! I mean, why [would] we ever need an elongated term like applications to remind us of the long, hard work that we just slave over only to receive a letter, only to wait patiently for a letter written by someone we don’t even know. It makes no sense to me. It makes no sense to me how paper can make someone's life-Like this! (takes out routine from your pocket) This (slap the sheet) piece of paper! It's made me suffer for the past two months! Paper. It's deadly. That's why there's paper cuts. That's why people complain about paper cuts because paper cuts-are deadly! We have to watch out for those.

Well anyway, senior year's been wonderful; I've had a chance to analyze a lot of things: movies, paintings, mental states, it’s all been very relaxing and easygoing. And I've actually had the opportunity to listen to many jokes, a lot of, a lot of really great jokes. Some very little knock-knock jokes, very little, 'orange you glad I said banana' kind of jokes. They've been very great, consistent jokes that are really masterful, even though the humor itself is more spontaneous than anything else. It's not exactly like a [registered] joke that someone's planned a long time for. It's more like one of those jokes that come out of nowhere, it's like popcorn popping. The joke is this little, tiny ball of kernel that just (POPS). It's almost amazing. However, there has been one crucial element to the joke that's omitted. The punch line. The thing is that I can see the punchline every time someone makes a joke, I can see [it] very clearly; it's out there in the distance. It waves to me and I wave back. (wave to the crowd) It has that moment like in those movies where there's an expectant smile, that really long face that's just full of emotions. "(in a high pitched voice, somewhat breath-taken) OH! Where have you been all my life?! I've been waiting for you for such a long time." And all I can say is, "Me too!" And I'm not the only one, I mean of course I'm not the only one who's listening to the joke; there's a lot of other people behind me in the crowd who are also waving. They're holding signs and back-up jokes to keep the joke alive. However, suddenly as someone tells the joke, "Knock knock. Who's there? Orange. Orange who? O-" (mouth out the rest of the joke). (sarcastically monotone) HAHAHAHAHAHA! Their mouths become mute. I hear nothing. I hear no vocal chords. There's nothing going on there, and I can't help but tell them, "Wait, say that again? Can you say that again? I couldn't hear that one. Could you say it again?" But, you know, people get so caught up in that one little moment. They don't even care about what you're thinking, about you missing the joke. You know, it's the strangest thing. Don't you wish you had a pen near you and you made sure that if someone could write down the joke, you could laugh at it; but it's a depressing thing, it's not even the same person telling the joke. It's basically someone's writing the joke on a piece of paper and you go back to your bed and you read it and you're crying and laughing at the same time. "(blubbering miserably) This is so-funny!" It's really depressing. But it's happened so many times since that I [don't really care.] "Oh, there goes another one of those jokes. Words spoken by sophisticates. (I made that word up, by the way.) Those people who think there's so much more comical than me. You know, another one just comes and goes."

However, and we always go back to the 'however', don't we? The 'however' changes the meaning of life because suddenly you hear someone talking about Luke Skywalker being Darth Vader's son. [Then,] they say, "However…" "However what? Tha, that's it." "However, it's also possible that he's a transvestite." However, recently, I was on the bus. It's a good bus, very good bus seats, comfortable. It's enjoyable looking out the window and seeing the road [shift] into different forms. No one's ever really looked at the road before and I don't see why. It's amazing, it's a part of our history. We see the flatness of the road and then the cracks, and then we see the more damaged cracks and then the flatness. It's amazing. There's yellow, there's white, and there's green. Sometimes, there's red. When there's red, I actually get kind of concerned; I don't think I want to look at the road anymore if I see red. In any case, I'm on the bus and there's some sophomores telling a joke and I listened attentively because there's nothing else to listen to; my MP3 player's broken. It was one of the most disturbing, horrific, ghastly, [most disgusting] jokes I’ve ever heard in my life. And it was funny. Immediately, I decided to receive medical attention. I was kicked out of the hospital the [following] day. Apparently, they thought it was all in my head. Like all of THIS (draw an imaginary circle around your face) isn't already in my head.

Well, it has been a loss,  no longer being funny. [Life happens. I’ve decided to accept the inevitable with my head up high, see the advantages of no longer being the life of the party, family, etc. I make comments, after all being funny doesn’t necessarily mean you can’t talk, it’s just that instead of laughing, people look at me with concern. This is not funny. This whole thing is not funny. See how far it’s gone? In any case, I’ve decided that it’s too much pressure trying to be funny, too many obstacles to cross. If you’re a funny guy like I used to be, you know exactly what I’m talking about. You know? (point to eyes) These things? The eyes are the funny person’s most dangerous obstacle. In a venue like this, eyes can double an audience. When the funny person makes a joke, it’s not the face he looks at, it’s the eyes, those blank, obtuse, globby, rounded things that observe your every move.] It seems that I'm out of time. Well, if you want to hear more about it, just talk to me and I'll tell you all about not being funny. Thank you very much, everybody. (walk offstage. Frown.)

The Fortisixth One

The following is a stream-of-consciousness post. Apologies.

A person can make only so many promises to someone. People are incredibly harsh when it comes to mistakes, depending on how severe they are. And yet, some of us, the foolish ones, remain faithful to the liars who continue to break those promises.

My father the drunken fucking bastard.

The clock has run out.

It's been rewound many, many times before and even replaced after it breaks, but finally it's run out. After 19 years, the clock has stopped running, and I've had the nerve to throw it in the trash.

When you accept that life is a roller-coaster that peaks in its insanity and drops in interest constantly, what is the point of riding the same coaster over and over again when every ride ends in a violent, fiery crash?

The brute, the barbarian, spewing out his bits of language in different settings like a sprinkler. Only swear words can escape his lips, putrid words that falter in flight as soon as they're spoken, dragging themselves onto the ground much like pouring salt in the gardens.

He stands proudly on his territory, a broken household filled with cockroaches and rats, his closest companions. A tiled-up porch broken to bits, a gaping hole beggin' for someone's leg to get caught up in it and snap right off. A house that has a clear view onto the neighborhood, full of fools, bastards, drunks, liars, adulterers, idiots, believers, nonbelievers.

I sympathized with the beast many times. It was his birthday the following Thursday, and we did very little to recognize it besides sending a birthday text. How lonely can someone be when his own sons abandon him like this? He has a very difficult job. He's a construction worker and a damn fine one.  I wouldn't be surprised if that was the reason that sets him off.

The beast is capable of camouflage, disguising reality with trickery, able to produce tears that even the saltiest oceans couldn't. He stuck to his story for almost a year now and we kept pulling ourselves back into it but we couldn't help but listen.

It's morning time now but my body is still in action mode. I don't think I fell asleep to tell you the truth. If I did, I'd probably feel more in tune, refreshed but instead I can only remember the position of the room, the yellow light marking its way in the room as the beast stumbled from his cave to cast us out. The brave warriors holding their weapons but forced to drop them as they knew they would only be repelled by the beast's scales.

If none of this makes any sense, how could it ever? How does it feel to have irrefutable proof that someone you once loved can't be saved.

In 11th grade, I was the only one who defended Blanche Dubois of not being crazy, but at the very end of Streetcar Named Desire, I found out she was. And so I've made it to the end of my own play, with all the ducks in a row ready for fire.

Life sucks. That might be the most blunt way to say that but sometimes, that's the only way you can say the obvious. Life fucking sucks.

End scene.

"Mental" Notes: The Freshman Years (Pt. 2 of 2)

Check out The Freshman Years, Pt. 1, to see the initial background information about these posts. More information about the ideas will be posted later in the comments. Thank you and enjoy.

(1) An idea for a short film: Longtime artist Frank Tecran reaches his creative limits and falls into a deep depression that concerns his wife, Marion. After much discussion, Frank decides to return back home to his childhood home at Cleveland,Ohio. Despite the arrival of a new baby underway and the amount of stress used on finding a new home in Cleveland, Marion reluctantly agrees and they move back within two weeks. The trip reinvigorates Frank and he announces to the world his next project which he prematurely states as his masterpiece. Unsurprisingly, the whole town keeps open eyes and ears at the prospect of a new tourist attraction that could reinvigorate its popularity. The work is finished after many months and the whole city sits patiently at its unveiling. Frank makes a heart-breaking speech about new opportunities, and allows one tear to escape just as he pulls away the cloth. Excitement turns into confusion and disgust as Frank reveals a larger than life rendering of the David's phallus. Despite the numerous amounts of complaints and death threats placed on Frank, he unabashedly defends the reputation of his statue and of himself although he does try to make it more...publicly presentable.
"What if I tied some balloons at the end of it?"
'That's a terrible idea.'

This idea would be particularly difficult to pull off, not just in the scale, but in how it's meant to be a light-hearted dramedy about a man who's suffering from depression. Also, with the statue, it's meant to be an ongoing plot-point and joke which may or may not pull the audience out of the depressing outlook cast on by Frank Tecran. At this point, the statue unveiling seems to be a pivotal moment in the short but what could be done for a follow-through? Much like my other ideas, I came up with this one while I was walking to class. It seems that my best ideas usually come from a stroll. That or the bathroom. I think if I wanted find a good resource for pulling off a dramedy with difficult subject matter, I'd try to watch 50/50 or Dr. Strangelove. The name Frank Tecran has nothing to with anything, it just sounded professional, and Marion is a good wife name; I don't have any evidence to back me up on that.

(2) A 5 minute short film. Music: Hang On Little Tomato(Pink Martini)-The short begins with a small film festival coming to an end, just as the lights turn on. Everyone starts packing up their things until only three people are left. Arley(tentative name) takes a chance to ask the two guys if he can go home with them. He gets disappointed when they say they also walked here. He sees three sandwiches on a platter, and asks if he can take them. Since he doesn't want to to carry the sandwiches on a platter, he decides to wrap them in newspaper, packs his things and leaves the building, while bidding his two friends goodbye. He carries the sandwiches in both hands, tempted to juggle them, and walks in the darkness. He gets worried by the lack people around him until he sees a couple walking not far from him. (The music is cued here) He runs up behind him, but tries making as little noise as he can. Once he's two feet away, he slows down his steps comically, and proceeds walking behind them. He smiles at the couple holding hands and applauds them for daring to walk in the dark at such a late hour. The woman turns back and sees Arley behind them, but turns back as if she saw no one. He keeps his distance and observes the two lovers and their embracing company. The two walk down some stairs, and try to jump over a few steps together which Arley doesn't do. It's been two minutes and Arley is still behind them. He watches their hands again and begins thinking about his own experiences, all of them a fragment of his imagination. He grows sadder(a cue for the music to slow down, only the piano plays, ala Up) and decides to take a different path when a fork in the road appears. He watches the couple again, and walks alone into the darkness.

This is pretty much a word-for-word retelling of what actually happened to me one night in college. I know from the description of walking behind this couple that I seem to act like a stalker, but it was about 10pm when I left the film screening and I was walking alone for almost 3 blocks in a street known for having muggings so when I saw this couple, I didn't hesitate in following them. I knew both of them so they weren't in any real danger. For the short, I would actually try to make it completely silent, with only a few gestures and cues that tell the viewer that it's late and no one can drive me home. In an unusual way, this short is meant to be a music video for the delightful song "Hang On Little Tomato" by Pink Martini, although it quickly takes on a depressing tone once the music slows down and our protagonist begins to imagine how lonely he feels. With absolutely no respite to happy-go-lucky couples, I am jealous of every happy couple I've ever seen, and I blame this on my own shortcomings and impatience in looking for someone I'd like to go out with. To be frank, the only primary reason, as of now, that I'd want to go out with anybody is to get to kiss them on the mouth. I know, it's a very selfish goal but you can't help but wonder what it feels like, and sketches or depictions on TV/movies are a distant portrayal of what must be an unforgettable experience. I've been very cynical about kissing, describing it as "moist palms pressing against each other," but I can't help but continue to wonder about it, who the lucky gal could be. I wouldn't even mind kissing a guy on the mouth, but only a peck and only for a moment. It would be tricky to recreate those emotions for the short film but it would an intriguing challenge. It would probably be difficult to find a couple willing to be depicted this way. Last thing, Pink Martini is a multi-lingual group that I believe is still active today; a really good friend of mine introduced me to them after I asked her how I wanted to expand my musical tastes; she's graduating today and if she ever reads this comment, I wish her the best of luck in college and in the future.

(3) A short story/one-act play about a high school student who behaves pleasantly in front of everyone only to hope that they will vote for him as the Salutatorian, even though he actually is quite resentful towards everyone. His hopes are dashed when his best friend recommends to him to vote for the obvious choice instead of him; he learns who the Salutatorian is at an all-school assembly and reveals his true personality publicly to everyone. His chances for a spiritual redemption come by when he learns about the school's upcoming coffeehouse showcase and starts brainstorming a fake-salutatorian speech.
"That's not funny."
'What isn't funny? It's a bike chain and a sledgehammer.'
"But what does that have to do with love?"
'It's a thinking man's joke.'
"Is the thinking man in a vegetative state?"

I was going to work on this idea last summer but it ended up being a little too personal for me to complete. I came up with the idea shortly after a good friend of mine told me to vote for someone else as the salutatorian rather than myself as is stated in the plot. We(by we, I mean, Harvard-Westlake) have an annual event called the coffeehouse, an event meant to demonstrate everybody's talents, whether it be singing, poetry, awesome instrumentals, or in my case, stand-up. I performed in 2 coffeehouses, which I will post on the blog on a later date, and was writing my material for the third. I kept changing ideas from a normal stand-up routine that made fun of Prom and nail polish (info of which can be found in "Another Comedy Routine, 9/19/11") and a fake salutatorian speech that would be comical, dramatic, and nostalgic. The fake speech, even though I thought about it constantly, wasn't completed on time and I had to drop out. The quote in the description about a bike chain and a sledgehammer was, in fact, my original material for the second coffeehouse meant to be an ambigiuous analogy for love. I told the idea to my therapist who told me where's the joke? I didn't know. If I was ever going to return to this idea, it would be much later on, after I've become more comfortable with filmmaking and with dialouge-driven scenes.

(4) A guy, Jake, enters his room after shaving his beard, only to discover his room has been invaded by dwarfs. The conversation goes back and forth in strangeness as Jake discovers he's a butt-wipe who cares about the human race, and the seemingly harmless dwarfs have committed genocide of the gnomes. Needless to say, it doesn't resolve itself very well.

This is the result of waking up early in the morning and having no one to talk to while eating breakfast in the dining halls. Just like the invisible dogs idea, this idea resulted from just imagining a guy who discovers dwarves in his room. The jokes were achingly corny and I got bored with the idea while I was thinking about it and decided to go to ridiculous extremes such as accusing the dwarves of killing off the neighboring gnomes. Rather than learn a lesson, Jake decided to kick out the dwarves for their crimes against humanity. It's fair since the dwarves called Jake a butthole most of the time. Needless to say, this is not an idea I'll revisit anytime soon.

(5) A parody of weddings as a plot device, featuring a mouse who pulls his dead fiance all the way to the altar. The animated short begins with the customary wedding march played by an organ that slowly "disintegrates" into a record player version. Many different camera angles of the church, until the mouse comes into the church.

Parody might be the wrong word to use for this admittedly disturbing criticism of weddings. Specifically, this targets weddings as a last resort for sitcom/movie ideas in how an event known to evoke strong emotions in others. If there's any recycled idea I get tired of, it's when weddings somehow get involved in soap operas and one of two things happen: either the wedding goes off without a hitch and the bride and groom are written off the show OR wither the bride/groom are (GASP) killed by the bad guy!!! It's also meant to be criticize the perfection depicted in high-scale weddings by replacing the bride and groom with mice.

(6) A story about a famous celebrity, beloved by practically everyone, who is preparing for his 'coming out' routine where he reveals his hatred for humanity.
"I hate everyone. I want everyone to die in a fire."

People, at times, can be absolutely appalled by someone's behavior, regardless of how harmless the act seems to be to the person. Others, like psychologists, are fascinated by such behavior, myself included. The idea would be a very short film chronicling the rise of this celebrity and ending with his first standup routine that tears apart the very community that brought him to prominence. The quote I posted is very harsh but would be the celebrity's opening joke in the routine. The short would end with everyone in the audience becoming speechless as the celebrity leaves the mike on the stand on the center of the stage and walks off.

(7) Imagine someone who is able to view another person's mistakes via special glasses. The mistakes can be displayed as a black or shadowed movement that parallels the "normal" movements. A theory regarding whether or not we make more mistakes than we're aware of.

This idea came about after a conversation I had with a close friend at Starbucks. I tried to imagine a visually appealing way to track every single mistake we could ever make on account of trying to figure out every single mistake we've ever made, be it simple ones like skipping out on brushing our teeth or serious ones like potentially ruining a very close relationship with someone. Since there is no accountable way of measuring just how many mistakes a person can make, it's somewhat interesting to imagine the mistakes we do count are the ones we know we've done. I also thought about the things we say being wrong and how that could be represented with the "shadow" versions, either that the wrong words would become highlighted in black and becoming visible. Needless to say, this is an incredibly difficult idea to explain with words alone.

"Mental" Notes: The Freshman Years (Pt. 1 of 2)

With this post, I premiere my new column, "Mental" Notes. It's meant to be a public way to flex my brain lobes during an intense period of writer's block. "Mental" Notes, although it is meant to be a type of public forum, won't have the same kind of grammatical attention as other posts will, as it's meant to be a stream-of-consciousness form of brainstorming. "Mental" Notes won't be a weekly column, and there's a chance two posts of "Mental" Notes might follow the other on the next day or have a space of a month without another post. 

College was a wonderful experience, at least during the first weeks. After that, it became increasingly difficult to get inspired enough to write anything so any idea that would cross my mind, I would immediately type it via Evernote, even if it meant getting certain details to be very specific or vague enough that I could recall it later that night. I would continue to complain to everyone I knew how most of my ideas were either repetitive, blockbuster-ish, nonsensical, or just terrible, although everyone still wanted to hear about it. If anything, the only thing holding me back this year was my own self-criticism. There were several projects that I've been working on for weeks, Semaphore being one of them, but the writing process has been such a pain that these once entertaining projects have now become a burden, one I wish I could just do away with. Despite my negativity, I plan to finish Semaphore this summer. In fact, every single time I type anything, it feels like I'm just regurgitating someone else's ideas and passing them off as my own. Maybe I'm facing reality at this point, realizing that since I'm in college, I have to think about a likely career which at this point is being a writer, but that's as ambiguous a career as you can get. Now that I've bored you all with my incessant negativity, let's get to the point. The following ideas are some of the bright points of my wallowing, obscure beginnings as a writer in college, the few times when just considering how an idea could work have been a joy to figure out. Since I acknowledged it, one thing I will work on over the summer is improving my outlook on life. Whether it'll make a difference by the end of the summer, I'll have to see. I'll post more information about the individual ideas in the comments. Enjoy!  

(1) An average, normal day at Case Western Reserve University goes on as a junior takes a break from studying to read his favorite short story by Ray Bradbury. All is well and peaceful until a car drops from out of nowhere right into the middle of the street. The care lands nose-first and scrapes along for a few feet until stopping and dropping its back wheels onto the street. The junior looks away from the book and rushes over to the car. After struggling to open it, he uses his book to smash open the window, and opens the door with the door handle. He looks around for a second to see if anybody is inside when his entire arm is being held up a loud, growling noise. A dog leaps from the car and starts attacking the junior.
"This is what I get for saving your life?" he retorts as he slips off his jacket and drops it, which the dog continues to chew on. The junior cautiously enters the car, and notices something in the back. There are a stack of paint cans that cover most of the back seat. When the junior touches the can, all of them collapse on him and the junior is completely drenched in paint. After checking the labels, he's relieved in knowing that the paint is non-toxic but astonished when he realizes what year the cans are from: 2100(The current year is 2011). One of the dogs waits in the front of the car, shaking nervously, until it sees the junior approaching him carefully, and finally embracing him energetically with many licks on the cheek. The dog who attacks him tries again with the junior grabbing the dog's body and forcing it to behave properly. The dog gets half its body doused with "future" paint, as a result, so other people only see its backside instead of its front. The junior doesn't realize he's invisible until he notices a curious police officer paying no attention to him as the officer investigates the crash. The officer bumps into him and gets frightened, claiming that there's something in the car that can't be seen. The group of students try to approach the car but the officer threatens to punish anyone who does. The junior sees the dogs leaping out of the car and tries to follow them. The crowd screams in horror at the sight of the attacking dog's hind legs and tail.
"Where are you going?" says the junior to the dog. "Come on!" he picks up the two dogs and runs away.

One morning, when I was walking to class, a quick scene played out in my mind that involved a car landing nose-first and dragging itself on the road for about 8 seconds while the hapless college student can only watch. From that point, ridiculous plot points kept making more connections to the idea until reaching the conclusion that the car was part of an experiment that went wrong(not horribly wrong, mind you). At one point, during the original draft, I made an unnecessary joke about that the paint cans covered by the shroud resembled a corpse, scaring the junior to fall back on the car horn. To be fair, the plot is rich enough that I could consider it for a short story in the future, but far too advanced and technologically demanding for a short film.

(2) An R-rated movie for kids. A poorly timed music festival goes horribly wrong when riots threaten to destroy the entire city. The riots end after a week but the effect on the city doesn't. No one dares to try to leave their homes in fear of looters and graffiti artists. Two brothers, 13 and 8, do the unthinkable and go to the site of the music festival. They notice a banner that has been ripped from its pole but is still in pretty good shape. They go back home and try to make a kite of the banner. At the same time, a powerful gust of wind takes the two brothers, working in the garage, out of it, and into the skies, all 1000 feet of it. Hanging on tightly, the brothers begin fearing for their lives until they get high enough that they are able to see beyond the city and are amazed at the sight of it.  Brothers paragliding across the country using many large fabrics to get to their destination. Later on, they improve the design of the first banner, are able to find a second banner, and begin a ludicrous cross-country journey around the US. A frightening moment: bullies start chasing the two brothers and obtain a weapon to try to pierce the fabric.

This idea came about in a vivid dream I had one night. It began with both me and my brother running away from a manic who's shooting at us. A few bullets pierce bits of the fabric that we're holding. The maniac starts reloading bullets, just as my brother and I notice a steep drop ahead of us. At that moment, two of the maniac's cronies drop in from nowhere with automatic machine guns and RPG's. We have no choice but leap from the edge. We let the fabric unravel, open up, and the wind currents miraculously carry us into the skies. The maniac pulls out his own fabric (from out of nowhere) and chase us. The dream skips the chase and ends with my brother and I flying next to some hot air balloons. The background, about the ruined music festival, was included afterwards for the concept. This is a concept I'd love to return to in the future, possibly when I have a large enough budget to film it. 

(3) A man watching television is verbally assaulted by the television personality(TP) he's watching. After a few seconds of futile insults, the TP starts hurling glass bottles at him(that don't break)-(the man has difficulty reacting to the bottles hitting his head, only being able to slur out an inaudible word) until, finally, the man decides to turn off the TV and go for a walk. He opens the door, and takes a step, and falls 10-15 feet in a ditch that surrounds his house. For the next few minutes, the man struggles to pull himself out of the ditch despite his broken bones.

3) This idea came to mind shortly after a ridiculously long study session. I was walking back to my dorm, and an image of a man, whose fluids have been replaced by rancid toxins, watches an increasingly boring program. It was one of my many inspiring daydreams that temporarily replace reality with an unusual premise. It becomes a problem when I act out the scene in real-time to people in passing. The idea for the man to fall in the ditch was a way to surprise the viewer in my hallucinatory fantasy. Shortly after, I preceded to watch an entire web series, CrackedTV, from beginning to end…and it was still Wednesday.

(4) A college student, upon realizing he's becoming less and less social, decides to overcome his fear of greeting everyone while walking by deciding to embarrass himself and say "Ripe figs" repeatedly while walking in numerous tones(whispering and shouting).

After a brainstorming session about programs to consider airing on the college television station, I thought about an unusual PSA that encouraged people to say "Ripe Figs" as a way to break the ice in the college community. I would be the unfortunate guinea pig in the skit for Case Jackass (a show that sounds exactly like what you'd expect) and says "Ripe Figs" in a large crowd of people while someone would be filming from a distance. This is still currently a "private" idea but would be worth a shot as an abnormal experiment or at least a conversation topic for the cynics at Case Western.

(5) A short story/short film describing your trouble with making mac and cheese in college. It'll be called "Mac and Cheese".

This was my idea for my first short film before writing Semaphore. It would've starred myself as the hapless college student who forgot to practice making mac and cheese before coming to college. It would've been a combination of slapstick, visual gags, and exaggerated facial expressions (just like every other comedy). It was based on my actual first attempt at making mac and cheese one Friday afternoon when I was too lazy to head over to the dining halls which was a 2 minute walk from my dorm. I followed the instructions very closely but still made the mistake of drowning my macaroni in boiling hot water, causing the individual pasta pits to mend into a clump of fabricated greed. I poured the cheese on it and ate it, clump and all. It was the most embarrassing thing I'd eaten up to that point but I only had to wait two days for more disgraceful examples of sustaining myself in college.

(6) A short "foreign" film about someone who is with his friend, but then cuts his lips deeply. Done with gibberish and body gestures.

After writing the first draft of Semaphore, I took a walk and had this scene play in my head. It was supposed to be a heightened example of gestures being a way to express emotions coupled with buckets of blood pouring out of the lips (because that's funny, right?) Overall, this was more of an amusing thought than something I would consider making.

(7) Possible idea for a Spanish short story: the tale of a rat who survives a nuclear blast.

After I took Introduction of Spanish Literature, I realized that I didn't give enough attention to the Spanish culture as I should have all these years and in the spirit of the work of Julio Cortázar, I decided to write my own short story in Spanish. This was the first idea I considered. To be fair, it never went beyond this sentence and a quick little sketch I drew to visualize the impact, but it would've been a combination of prose and poetry, giving an impression of the explosion but never explaining where/why it happened. The rat would've been an interesting analogue for the aftermath of the blast. For some reason, I'm inspired by explosions, the look, sound, and feel of them, and like Hollywood, it's something I tend to heavily abuse during my daydreams.

P106-The Car Accident(Rough Draft)

Harold gets into a car accident and is forced to walk down the 405 while trying to remember how the accident happened, trying to deliver an important package to the closed post office, and trying to deliver a gallon of milk for his wife.

This is something I've promised for a very long time, one of the few Presenter episodes that I thought had such potential that it would be worth writing about, but ultimately, like all of my ambitious ideas, it blew apart the minute I realized I wouldn't be up to the task of writing an entire episode, plus, the creative spark that lead to the episode's inception just hasn't returned in a versatile way. Despite those shortcomings, to satisfy the "audience" I have, I will post the incomplete first draft of the episode. Things to note: this draft only has half of the ideas from the original premise. Things that weren't included is a scene of 3-4 minutes of Harold talking to the milk as though it was his companion, similar to how I talk to myself in a state of paranoia when I'm alone for a period of time; another scene is where Harold is picked by a friendly stranger but kicked out when Harold decides to eat only a third of a candy bar; and even the original premise didn't have an ending. Admittedly, this premise borrows heavily from elements of Curb Your Enthusiasm, only exaggerated to levels even Larry David would never consider. The dialogue isn't as "fresh" as I remembered when I first tried to write this and may seem to be more disturbing than hilarious. Maybe I've become a harsh self-critic but recently, everything I've written hasn't been up to my standards, whatever those may be. Also, Season 3 will be posted very soon, but it will be the last season. I do love the premise of the Presenters, but I think it's time to move on. With that said, don't take this script very seriously as everything written is only for the sake of comedy, even if it's unfunny comedy. Thanks for reading and enjoy (if you do). Comments are always welcome. 

Things (in parenthesis) are alternatives to lines written. They also indicate actions the characters make. A (weird) running joke is that Harold's wife doesn't have a name. This issue is addressed with in a later episode.

(Amateur Version) A blank screen. Unlike previous episodes, it opens with the theme from Curb Your Enthusiasm. The song plays for several seconds until cutting to a flashing siren and a loud wail. We cut to tow officers discussing the wreckage. Another cut shows the 405 still active although there's a noticeable curve of red lights and a patch of red, blue, and white. Another cut shows a car that has been flipped upside down. The camera moves towards the front of the car and the vague representation of fingers curled around the wheel. At this point, the song abruptly stops; a close up reveals Harold, still grabbing tightly onto the wheel, eyes blank and staring straight ahead at the road or sky. He looks quickly to the left and the right and unbuckles his seat belt. His body drops onto the floor, and his head bounces off the surface. In a panic, he searches around his car, and sees a gallon of milk, still strapped in the back seat. He carefully unbuckles it and grabs once it drops. An outside shot shows the side door trembling until a foot pushes it out. Harold carefully crawls out of the car. Once out, he turns back and sees the wreckage just as a fire ignites from the underside.

Harold: Hmm...
Harold sees an officer making a call and walks up to him.
Harold: Scuse me.
Officer #1: Hm?
Harold: Are you busy?
Officer 1: A little. Wait just a second.

Harold waits and checks on the damage of the car. A weird feeling creeps in on Harold and he begins coughing and hacking up loudly. Off camera, he spits out his cell phone.

Officer 1: Sir, what seems to be the problem?
Harold: (cleaning up the spit with his sleeve) Uh, well, I was the person who just had an accident. I, uh, climbed out of my car. I might have damaged my internal organs!
Officer 1: Sir, calm down. You look fine. Please return to your vehicle.
Harold: Is that a joke?!
Officer 1: Yes. Terrible, isn’t it?
Harold: Where are the paramedics? I, I need to get checked out. Something might be out of place!
Officer 1: Straight ahead. And don’t scream in front of an officer. You could be seen as a threat. (walks away)
Harold: (raises his hand) Won’t do that again. Sorry. (under his breath) Asshole.

Harold turns again to see the damage on his vehicle. (He pulls his wallet out and whimpers upon realizing the amount it will be to repair his car, or at least to be sold to a foolish buyer). Harold sees the paramedics.

Harold: Uh, scuse me?
Paramedic 1: What’s the problem, sir?
Harold: well, I just got into an accident and I was wondering if I might have any broken bones, or anything in that criteria.
Paramedic 2: What criteria?
Harold: Well, you know, the physical damage to the body. Look, can you just check me?
Paramedic 1: (shrugging at Paramedic 2) You look fine. Most people probably couldn’t walk up to us if their bones were broken. You did, so…
Harold: Walking is nothing! I might’ve gotten a temporary dose of adrenaline. My stomach might’ve been pierced. My small intestine twisted up! Please, just a quick checkup!
Paramedic 2: Sir!! You’re fine! Now, please, we have to see if everyone else is okay.
Harold: And who could that be?! I have the only upside down car right now!
Paramedic 1: Sir!
Harold: All right. God! (walks away)

Harold feels a rumble in his pants. He checks his phone. A close-up shows 6 missed calls from the Editor.

Harold: Oh, shit. (pushes send) ...helloooo?
The Editor: Harold, what the fuck happened to you? When I call a person, I expect him to fucking answer!
Harold: I know, I know. I’m sorry. I…I just got into an accident and-
The Editor: Harold, (don’t start flinging this shit in my direction). You’re supposed to be the reliable one.
Harold: I know.
The Editor: For God’s sake, I have to constantly hear this hullabaloo from those idiots you call friends and suddenly I get the same fucking routine from you?
Harold: Sir, it’s not a routine. I was driving down the 405 in a hurry, I black out for a second, and suddenly I’m upside down-
The Editor: Harold, you’re full of shit. Listen, I need you to do something for me.
Harold: What is it?
The Editor: There’s a really important package that you need to pick up from the post office.
Harold: Uh, I think it’s-
The Editor: I’ll text you the address. Now hurry. And next time, I will call you only once. If you don’t respond, you’ll be kicked out of my responsible list. Understood?
Harold: Yes, but-
The Editor: See you tomorrow. (hangs up)
Harold: How am I going to get there? (closes his phone) Damn it.

Harold holds his phone tightly and remembers the gallon of milk. He goes back to the car and picks it up. He begins walking away from the wreckage and towards the edge of the freeway when a huge explosion stops him. He turns back and sees his car smoldering and burning.

Harold: Course.

Harold walks away from the worse wreckage and walks into the darkness.

Harold shakes the gallon of milk to make sure it doesn't have any punctures or holes. Harold feels his phone vibrating and answers it.

Harold: Hello?
Wife: Hi, honey!
Harold: Oh, hi, (), how are you?
Wife: Fine, fine. Just been working on my (stuff). It's taking me a goddamn hour to complete it. How are you?
Harold: Uhhh...don't get worried. I'm fine...I kinda got into an accident-
Wife: WHAT?! Oh my god, are you okay?!
Harold: Yeah, I'm fine, I'm fine, I only have a few scratches. 'Cording to the paramedics, I'm perfectly fine if I can take a few steps forward.
Wife: Oh, that's a relief! Did you get the milk?
Harold:  What?
Wife: The milk?
Harold:  Oh, the milk. Yes, it was...my second passenger. In fact, it was the first thing I thought about after I got flipped upside down that the milk was still intact.
Wife: I'm sorry, but you know how important the milk is for the cake. It's a specific brand that's very popular-
Harold:  I know, I know. I'm sorry, honey. Didn't mean to overreact on you.
Wife: It's okay. You have the milk, right?
Harold:  Honey, I'm cradling it in my arms as we speak.
(Wife: Good. Do you want me to pick you up?
Harold: You could...uh, it's gonna be a little tricky, though.
Wife: You can just stay at the edge of the highway and wait for me to pick you up.
Harold: I know, but...there's a lot of rapists in dark places. (You might not want to pick me up when you arrive.)
Wife: Harold, don't be silly. No one's sane enough(going) to rape you.
Harold:  How do you know?!
Wife: Harold.
Harold:  Sorry, sorry.
Wife: Where exactly are you?
Harold: You know that giant hotel that's right at the crossroads of the 405?
Wife: You know...I'm just gonna use the GPS. I'll be over there pretty soon.
Harold:  All right, see you later, then.
Wife: Bye. Don't get raped.)

She hangs up.

Harold: I'll try not to. Harold: Hmm...
.......................
If you want to see a visual interpretation of this scene, go here.

Now What? - Fixing the Flat

November 8, 2011...
Nothing serious to report this week, or from last week, for that matter. I had some schoolwork to do and I did it. Most of it, at least, there’s a pressing Art History paper due next week that I have yet to start on, but that’ll change tomorrow. All goes well, I might get to stay in the museum on Friday to research further. That’s not to say that everything was fine last week. As the first week of November, it became my first test of endurance and ability, if I was truly capable of starting an assignment and finishing it within a week or two weeks, instead of having another all-nighter. It may be a college tradition to pull off the all-nighters, and drink obscene amounts of caffeine to do it, but I’m simply not capable doing that since I usually pass out on cue at 10 or 11pm. Also, realizing the all-nighter is the only thing holding my grades from improving is another incentive to get procrastination out of my system. I read once that it takes 21 days to fully break a habit. Seems as though I’ve got some work to do. Saturday was a depressing day, and it was all my fault, of course. I invited someone who I was interested in to help me study for an Art History exam, and when she arrived and realized I didn’t have any actual questions about the exam, she got understandably upset. Of course, it took two days to rationalize her reaction as anything other than bitter hatred. I can safely say that the hours following the awkward meeting were various. I felt like a pregnant woman whose emotions kept switching unexpectedly: first from sadness to anger to understanding to humorous to bitter to vengeful to spiteful to rational and so on and so forth. I saw her yesterday and when she decided to talk to me, despite running a few minutes late to class, I knew I had overthought the whole situation. A huge lesson was learned this week, one that, since rejection is as natural a part of life as hunting, will help me improve my understanding of others. Maybe.

November 15, 2011...
Thanksgiving is a wonderful time of the year. It’s one of the few holidays that most schools accept as a day worthy enough to have classes closed for. It works out well for the working student as he can forget about his failed Chemistry quiz for one second, and think about what actually matters: family, and being the one who breaks off more of the wishbone. After this especially difficult semester, it’ll be wonderful coming back to LA for a few days. I’m kind of disappointed, however, that I will be bringing work back with me so that I can stay ahead of the curve. But on the first day, Wednesday, college and responsibility will not exist, and for good reason. It’ll be wonderful seeing my family again. Until it happens, I can only speculate on the amount of wonder those four days may or may not have. I’ve found it unusual that on the first day I saw snow falling from the sky, and landing on the ground, I was probably the most wide-eyed, child-like student that night. I have seen snow before but never from the beginning of the snowfall. It was a beautiful sight. And then there’s school, which will continue to be a part of my life for a few more days, but boy, are those days packed! SAGES final draft, math exam, Art History paper, Philosophy realization. It seems to me that school wants to make Thanksgiving break a well deserved 4 days of rest, but I’m probably not the only one who’s made that connection. Either way, it’s gonna be a difficult battle, but with Thanksgiving break this close to happening, we’re going to see if it’ll be a triumphant march back home.

NW? - A Death in...                                                NW? - Departure

Now What? - A Death in the Family

October 11, 1011...
I’m afraid to type about anything this week since it’s mostly very personal. Also, I have a crapload of work due next week, but that’s probably everyone’s situation. My brother hastily admitted that things have taken a turn for the worst since I left, and although it’s an expected reaction, it doesn’t make me any less guilty for “causing” it. My brother is only 13 years old, and only begun to realize how many challenges life will give him, and while I can advise him on most things, saying goodbye to your big brother is something he and I guess, all of my family, will have to learn to deal with, eventually. And to think the only problem I thought I had this week involved telling someone my religious affiliation (that doesn’t exist…yet.) As a creative thinker, an occasional thought can be something I love to dwell in for hours at a time, but sometimes, I suddenly get shoved right into a really uncomfortable thought that takes much effort and/or time to escape from. This week’s really terrible thought stems from the ongoing feeling I’ve had for this friend of mine. I never would’ve assumed anything about her, as to the possibility of a relationship and would’ve just waited to see what happen, but that’s never the way it works for me. The minute a conversation ends, my mind races with the numerous amounts of possibilities that this may lead to. I don’t know why that always happens, but I just can’t help it. It’s an internalized bad habit, and that much more difficult to break. In other news, I have a job. It’s not a very intense job, so…yeah, progress all around. Truthfully, I have nothing else to say about this week; in fact talking about anything just stresses me out further as I have to analyze on the many mistakes I keep making, and I’d prefer to just sleep on it right now. Sorry, bit of a cop out, but I couldn’t give any less of a damn right now.

October 25, 2011...
The wheel of life continues to spin on a flat. Since last week, and although I’ve had the support of my friends and loved ones, I’m still in a state of shock. The whole matter seems to be very simple and almost painfully complicated all at once. People keep asking me how I feel, and I can’t answer properly. How am I supposed to feel? Should be I grieving immensely, faking happiness to fill the hole, crying uncontrollably, or damning cars forever for being people killers? In a specific sense, I feel absolutely nothing at all, but much like there was no time in the beginning of the universe, at this moment, I might be experiencing every possible emotion but choose not to decipher any of them.  To assign a feeling to my current state of mind feels cheap and artificial, just posting another symptom on the goddamn bulletin board, and since there’s no pin, it’ll stick right off. It’s been more difficult than on Saturday, when I went shopping for the first time (don’t judge me, at least I did it), it was the first time I realized how distant we truly were: the distance of myself at the ancient, filthy bus station and her body back in El Salvador. The distance of her and I: infinite. Life does go on, and much like Spielberg bringing Seinfeld tapes with him on the set of Schindler’s List, I will do the same by listing off my favorite Seinfeld episodes on my blog, an unoriginal idea but…fff!! Also, my feelings towards a certain someone grew unexpectedly. As I’ve mentioned, life can be pretty complicated about things like that.

November 1, 2011...
This is it! November will be my month of triumph. No longer will I hinder my own progress on long-term projects by watching comedies until 1 in the morning.  No longer will I stare at a blank page for hours with all of my books and resources carelessly spilled out onto the tables. No longer will I grovel about how much of a failure I am. No, enough is enough! I will be a college student! Wait, hold on… How many papers have I written in two months? 5, technically, and have I enjoyed writing those papers? Well, yes, since I chose the subject for each. As it turns out, I’m already a college student and have been one since August 24. There might be one overarching problem that continues to be a problem, but in all other regards, life as a college student has been wonderful. By joining a fraternity, I’m learning about how to be a responsible person in an irresponsible world, whatever that means. I set my own schedule, do my own laundry, and so on, and so forth. I finally have two jobs and making enough to live by, and overall, I’m amazed at the amount of friends I’ve made in the first 2 months after fearing I would only make a couple. Of course, seeing if those friendships will remain by the end of the year is another story. No one ever considers that unless they have a personal relationship with their friends; usually, we stroll across the days thinking it’ll be the same for the rest of our college experience, unaware of the possibility of change. Whether or not that possibility makes us happy or not is another question to ask on another day. Either way, it’s going pretty well so far, and aside from the warmth that grows in our dorm, I’ve got no complaints…yet.

Editor's note: October 18th's entry was The Twentisecond One, with a few edits before posting. 

NW? - This Room...                                        NW? - Fixing the Flat

Ideas That Will NEVER Happen: Vol. Cuatro

What's this? Another project from 7th grade that went unfulfilled? Almost. Let's start from the beginning...

The Idea: A long time ago, when making drawings brought out encouragement from my parents, rather than shameful silence, I began work on my first and only graphic novel that I've ever completed: Sonic the Hedgehog vs The Dark Emerald: An epic adventure in 4 parts! The comic follows the adventures of a blue, anthropomorphic hedgehog as he is, once again, forced to stop everything he's doing to destroy Dr. Robotnik's latest creation, a gigantic(and lazily drawn) Mecha Sonic with rectangular eyes and noses. An epic 10 page battle rages on until Sonic single-handedly annihilates the machine with his spin jump. Ready to chase after Dr. Robotnik, Sonic uses the seven chaos emeralds to transform into Super Sonic. The emeralds merge into Sonic's body, only be expelled out of it, launching Sonic a few feet away. The emeralds merge into a large emerald that becomes darker and darker. Dr. Robotnik, in his floating mobile, chuckles endlessly at his diabolical plot of "pretending" to lose only for Sonic to use the emeralds haphazardly. Keep in mind that I (and probably many other dedicated fans) came up with this idea long before Sonic Unleashed. The dark emerald communicates(through some unusual way) to Sonic that it plans to obliterate itself from within the core of the earth, cause a powerful energy surge that will spread across the entire planet and cause hundreds of years of darkness. Of course that's what it'll do. After laughing hysterically and spitting at Sonic's face, the emerald flies off and Sonic runs after it. An elaborate chase sequence involving lasers, clouds, and planes occurs and a direct hit at the emerald causes it to shrink. The emerald flies off to the nearest volcano while Sonic and a horrifically drawn Tails head off to Tails' laboratory to design an unfashionable shrinking suit that's impervious to lava. A few pages later, Sonic chases after the emerald again, all the way to the deepest part of the ocean where, after a young blogger decided that drawing the lava suit was simply too much trouble, decided Sonic can proceed in his adventure able to breathe underwater. Another dramatic battle goes on that leaves Sonic bruised up until he remembers the six chaos emeralds, still in his possession somehow, begin glowing and fire a rainbow-colored laser at the dark emerald, that just arrived at the core of the earth(if this doesn't make sense, blame my 10 year old self for learning about the 42 presidents instead of the layers of the earth). The dark emerald's power diminishes dramatically(seems to be a trend 'round here) until it self-destructs, launching Sonic out of the ocean and onto an island. Sonic, in a few panels, recovers and smiles triumphantly towards the sky, thumbs sticking out, hubris assured. If only my love of nonsensical plots continued to this day, I'd have finally finished my goddamn screenplay.

Why this will never happen: The story, to my ten year old self, is as convoluted yet endlessly entertaining as any summer blockbuster but even for a property like Sonic the Hedgehog, the only places a plot involving a floating, talking dark chaos emerald would be suitable is in fan-fiction or the comic book series. It's been really great trying to recreate this story from the original drawings that are, unfortunately, long gone, but it does show how quickly ideas can flow when they have a chance to be revised in anyway, and although the overall plot doesn't make sense, at least the transitions from one scenario to another make sense. Having said that, this relic from an ancient time will remain that way since, due to college, cynicism, and some bouts of depression, making a story like this would involve a ridiculous amount of time I simply don't have right now. Oh right, the other reasons. Um...SEGA already has a stable of ideas/plot-lines for Sonic's next video games but even they won't try to write a plot as farfetched as a dark emerald...but if they do, I was the one who called it.