Random Chatterings [Ep. 13.5] - Well, The Days Have Gone By...

It’s another compilation episode! In the opening, Arlill explains (again) why there hasn’t been a new episode in almost 2 months. He also talks about a new home-brew project he’s been working on to make up for the podcast drought. In the next segment, we hear Arlill and Gary try to sum up their summer experience in 2010 then we transition to bloopers and outtakes from Episodes 12 and 13.

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We are constantly tweaking the podcast format so if you have any suggestions for episodes or general questions, feel free to post them in the comments.

Check out my new short, Unrelated Sentences, here! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9D4-Dpfo2d8

Technical info:

Recorded with Adobe Audition CC and a Sansa Fuze by Arlill and Gary Rodriguez

Edited with Adobe Audition CC by Arlill Rodriguez

"Random Chatterings Theme Song (piano and orchestrated versions)" composed by Sergiy Turchyn

“Spring Yard Zone [Genesis Version]" composed by Masato Nakamura

"Knuckles Theme (from Sonic 3)" composed by Brad Buxer and Bobby Brooks

“Quartz Quadrant - Present (US Version)“ composed by Spencer Nilsen

2010, 2015

EPISODE 13                                   EPISODE 14

Fredrick

There once was a bunny. His name was Frederick and he was on his death bed. He lived for about 10 years but was finally giving the go-ahead to the grim reaper to take him back to the essence of the universe. The rainbow-colored hospital dimmed in color as the entire place began mourning Frederick. His family, a bunch of money-grubbing social wimps, waited at bay for the appropriate moment to begin suing Fredrick's estate for his millions of carrots. The situation was too much for his son, Jeffery, to handle and he killed himself by choking on his cotton-ball tail. Frederick sat in his chair, staring outside of the window, watching the protestors walk by. His heart filled with joy when he saw the youth acting on their own beliefs rather than the systems. Little did Frederick know that the protestors were hired by a cigarette company to gain publicity.
The nurse walked to his bedside, holding her paws together.
"Mr. Frederick?"
"...ye, yes?"
"This is kind of awkward. Um, my husband, he loves your work."
"Oh, oh thank you."
"Yeah, but...here's the thing. He heard that you were in the hospital right now so he made an unusual request."
"What is it, my dear?"
"I can't say it out loud or I might get fired."
"Oh, okay, just whisper it."
"Um...all right."
The young rabbit, wearing the cutest red cross hat, hopped over to the wise hare, and whispered, “He wants me to french-kiss you. He only gets turned on by the saliva of his dying heroes.”
“oh, OH! Uh...well...okay, but I want my eyes closed the whole time. My faithful wife, Dorothy, bless her soul, would be devastated if she ever knew."
"No problem, and really, I don't mean to offend."
"I understand."
The wise hare closed his eyes. His illness slowed down his movements so it took him a minute to close them fully. The nurse closed the door. She slowly reached toward Fredrick's lips, and stuck her tongue in his mouth. She swiveled around for a while, sticking into molars and incisors until finally snake-wrapping it around Fredrick’s flattened tongue. The nurse did everything in her will to prevent her heel from rising up, reminding herself that she is not supposed to be enjoying this. She stops, and looks at Frederick, thinking he's dead.
“Oh,” Fredrick says, “you remind of Beatrice, my first companion."
"Really?"
“Yes. There's a reason why she was my first."
"Oh. Sorry, sir. I have to leave now. You understand, though?"
"Of course. Give him my blessings."
"I, I will. Farewell," said the nurse, opening the door, and hopping outside to reach her disturbed lover. Strangely, this was not the only time old Frederick received such requests. For his sake, I will not reprint the more absurd ones. 
Frederick was a watch maker. He had a shop in the town square. Against everyone's wishes, he built the quaint shop next to a shopping mall, and was almost sure that he would become bankrupt in a matter of days. His business grew and grew, and more bunnies preferred to line up to have their watches repaired than to watch the controversial remake of Deep Throat starring only children.
His secret? He was a fantastic conversationalist. Even in his early years, he resembled a rugged Socrates, a rabbit who understood how and why the world functions but didn't stop questioning when someone or himself was wrong. Frederick never swore, either. Never even thought about it. He offended people, accidentally, but he never went out of his way to be vulgar. His family couldn't stand him, thought he was a despicable disgrace who ruined the family name. He wouldn't hesitate speaking to his family if they ever came by his shop, but everyone in the town knew him as Frederick the watch-shop owner. And everyone waited in bated breath for the death of their famed conversationalist.

The Sixtininth One

The headline is correct. For the fall semester, I will be going to the University of Carlos III in Madrid to study film-making. It’s been my dream since sophomore year to be able to officially study filmmaking under an official curriculum. Officially. With all of this going on, I must be one extremely excited to go. Right?

I’ve completed three years of college (a massive accomplishment, in and of itself) with only one left to go. Then what? To be honest, I’m not completely sure how I’m supposed to feel right now, especially with the beginning of my professional career looming closer and closer. 

I’ve also chosen to participate actively in the film industry where there is not a guarantee of financial security. It’s also incredibly competitive and I will be going up against other ambitious and creative filmmakers pushing to have their own ideas produced. I am very much aware of these difficulties, especially if I pushed myself to create my own film major, but now that I’m closer to the goal, I couldn’t be more frightened as well. The most anyone can say is "if you’re passionate about something, pursue it endlessly" but at what point should you admit that you’re abusing yourself too much to achieve your dreams? 

Maybe that’s what’s worrying me the most. This fall, I will be able to prove, once and for all, if I am capable of doing film. I’ve done it before (to mixed results) but can I do it under an academic program? Should I even be asking this question if only to ruminate on it for the rest of the summer?

…I guess I’ll find out a few months from now.

I made some promises that I did not adhere to, College Student: Nutrition for example, so I apologize to you all for not keeping up with them. I won’t say what I’m working on now since that puts more pressure on me but I will say that stuff is coming, sooner than you might think. With yet another year of working on this blog coming and going, I’m always surprised by the small yet devoted following that I somehow maintain and could not be more grateful for your support especially when I ask for absurd requests like this one: "So, I'm currently writing a script and one of the characters is a ghost. Do you have suggestions for comically tragic ways that the character died? I'd really appreciate it!”

Thanks for being with me on this crazy journey.

-Arlill “Arley" Rodriguez

Summer=Chicken Plate

During 10th grade, hidden far away from the critics of the world, I made my first recording about ‘my’ sitcom, The Presenters, with a story about how Harold was having difficulty relating to his son, Hal. He tries to remedy this by mentioning all of the girls in Hal’s life, expecting some kind of reaction. It became an obsession of mine and every single Monday, I would go back to my hiding space, located at the edge of the school, and let my ideas flutter away in the form of an awkward teenager’s constant ramblings. I’ve only told five people about the recordings, and probably won’t let others know about it since my voice is an acquired taste. Shortly after making the story recordings, I embarked on a journey even I wasn’t sure I wanted to take: to explain the machinations, the fascinations, and the folly of my mind. How the great essayists of our time could take the same journey and survive still impresses me. For 22 episodes, I became the question and the answer to all random thoughts. It’s something I’d like to share with everyone in a different way. Seriously, you can’t listen to a person’s terrible accents for twenty minutes even if you tried. Summer will be over soon and I couldn’t think of a better way to commemorate this upcoming event than with the transcript of when I pontificated on the meaning of summer. It was a year ago, summer had just began, and an 11th grade-going-into-12th grade boy sat quietly in his room, waiting for his thoughts to arrange themselves correctly...

...This is the special summer edition. (taps on the window three times) Thought the window was open. This is the special summer edition, where I’m going to talk about how excellent it is now summer. But, I’m not sure what else can come out. If anything. I know that it has been a few weeks since the last one* but that’s just because I’ve been occupied with my own, um, with my own...purposes. Bu, not purposes. I’ve been occupied  with my own, um...I’ve been...busy. Simple enough. Okay, well, to start with...it’s summer. The temperature is going to get warmer,  people are going to get...warmer, uh(nervous laugh), it’s just that time, it’s a transition from...let’s say a tight-packed piece of meat to something that’s been cooked for a couple of minutes and is going to get ready to be served. Somewhere in the, uh, nice, fancy restaurant. Summer is the time where we’re sitting on that plate, in that nice, fancy restaurant, contemplating all the mistakes we have made but not caring because we are about to get eaten. I think that’s the best way I, we can describe summer. At least, one of the non-poetic ways that I’ve come up with.

Now this makes more sense.