Lack of Class

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I’m not a very classy man. I pretend to be. I like to withhold my “swears” in public. When my weight is in the acceptable range, I like to wear button up shirts (when it’s not – it’s a hooded sweatshirt. Guess what I’m wearing now). But when it comes down to it, I don’t drink with my pinky extended. My car has an ever-growing rust infestation, and, much as I hate to admit it, I’m a member of the lower class.

Years ago I was at a small cookout with some people I knew from MSU (one professor and a couple students). Becky, the professor and sweetest person you could ever hope to meet, had all types of meat to grill. I may be misremembering this, but she had steak, hamburgers, hot dogs and even the fabled cheddarwurst. For some reason, I imagine rednecks sitting on pink flamingos around a broken down Ford that’s been turned into a grill chomping on their hot dogs filled with cheese.

Of course, I wanted the cheddarwurst. And, of course, I hesitated. Don’t get me wrong, I would have happily eaten the steak, the hamburger, hell, anything that once had a pulse and blood running through its veins. Thankfully, some cheddarwurst made their way to the grill.

At the same event we were talking about our “bucket lists”. I don’t remember everyone else’s, but I know most were wanting to go to Europe or Asia or some other country.

My list, in no particular order…

1) Go to Kansas City (for years I’ve wanted to travel to Kauffman Stadium to watch the Twins because it looks so damn beautiful. Also, Negro League hall of fame is a bonus.

2) Beat Wizardry for the NES (Don’t laugh, this game is tough as nails. Finally beat around a year ago due to creative use of the reset button)

3) Make a feature-length movie (Almost, almost had this one finished a year or two ago, but alas…)

I know, aim high, right? Instead of going overseas, one of my goals in life is to make a less than 10-hour journey. Shit, I could finish the other two goals by the end of 2011. The movie wouldn’t be very good, but still… I could do it.

Lately, I’ve been caught in lines at gas stations where the guy at the front of the line is sitting at the god damn counter buying and scratching off lottery tickets. This pisses me off to no end. I don’t care that people waste their money on scratch-offs. In fact, I’ll buy the occasional lottery ticket myself. Even though my life’s work is 1/3 complete, I don’t have a lot of time. Especially when my cheddarwurst is cooling in my hand. So take your ticket and go scratch it at the back of the line.

Have some fucking class.

 

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Be Like The Duke

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The last time I gave up on writing, I felt a little lost, like I do now. I have ideas, but they don’t become fully formed. Obviously that’s because I’m not working to flush them out, but I don’t feel the pull to do that.

For the longest time, I thought that’s what writing was. Writers, by definition, write. Call it my Christian upbringing, but I believed in a form of divine inspiration. When the time was set to write, the ideas would pour into me. But apparently this writing thing is supposed to have a little “work” involved.

Anyway, I hadn’t been inspired in a while. My confidence was low. I didn’t write anything for a long time.

Then I got re-acquainted with “The Duke.” No, not the big ass burger Graves and I tackled in our college days, and no, not John Wayne.

David Duchovny.

I rented “Californication” for obvious reasons. Duchovny, sex and…. well…. that’s about it. What I discovered was something that would inspire me. Here was a badass writer who smoked, drank (par for the course) and got laid left and right! (abnormal).

“Weed, whiskey and Warren Zevon” as he would say later on.

Duchovny is writer himself. Supposedly, he wrote the screenplay for a little-known movie called “House of D” in six days. My friend The Governor and I heard about this and would joke about it from time to time, calling it “The Duke Challenge.”

Before “Californication” I tried my own version of The Duke Challenge. I would stay up late, sometimes all night, brewing coffee and writing. I only got halfway through, but the seeds were planted.

Sometime soon, when I get into writing mode again. When I can write more than 400 words and have the piece make sense, then I’ll know I’m on my way.

Return of the Rambler

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I feel like I’ve done this a time or two before.

We’ve ALL done this a time or two before. That’s why we’re here.

I know no one wants to hear a sad story, or a story where they can’t sympathize with the protagonist, so I’ll try just to do this once.

I used to have something to say. I used to have blind ambition. I used to have balls.

Film was my desire. After watching “Clerks” for the first time I was motivated to make movies. I bought some Syd Field books and wrote a Clerksish screenplay about my gig at the movie theater. Being the person I am, I was determined to shoot THAT movie. You know, get some camcorders, some bad high school actors, and try to make it turn out. Thankfully it never happened.

Instead, we shot “Pizza Delivery Man”. Yes, THAT “Pizza Delivery Man”. A story about a Pizza Delivery Man who had a philosophical pizza chef at his parlor, a horny friend and an “easy” delivery. Which, after a rewrite with a friend (who had the best intentions) replaced the Tommy Chong-like chef with a slutty boss. Which was toned down to get our high school theater teacher to be in it….. and then she turned it down because it was still too inappropriate. So our PDM was shot with a 18ish year old playing the slutty boss, Tom the Pimp as a bench-humping friend and myself as a a bad-acting co-star.

The 20-minute film wasn’t even good enough to make MSU’s amateur film festival. One of the films that beat it out was called “Objects”… or as a title card on the movie read…. “Ojects”.

Yes. That was better than my movie. But, if you get me drunk enough, I’ll let you watch it some day.

(short entry, but I’m building some writing muscle…)

To Be Continued…..

 

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