She walks into the room and I can already tell that she is perfect. I work behind the front desk and have seen many people, but she is perfect. For the sake of this story, lets call her The Perfect. The Perfect wears a veil, covering her face from the world. She is also alone. This is strange.
The Perfect walks up to the counter and asks where the bathroom is. I don't know her and I already understand why legions of men would throw themselves at her. I tell her it's second door on the left.
Once she enters the bathroom, I try and gather my thoughts, contemplate what I will say upon her exit. I realize that allowing a non-patron to access the bathroom is against company policy. I don't care.
The Perfect emerges from the bathroom and walks back towards the door. I ask her "what is wrong." You see, I have developed this game were I walk up to random people and ask them what is wrong." I can receive two responses. The first is that the person says "how did you know" and proceeds to tell me their life's problems. The second is that the person internally thinks "how did you know" but then becomes embarrassed and walks away. You see, something is always wrong.
The Perfect answers the question by saying "that her beauty has led her to lead a life of loneliness" and that her name is Woe. I don't really pay attention to the second part. Woe says that "Men were always scared of my beauty, constantly starring but never actually talking to me. I didn't really exists to them, always just an object they assumed they could never have. While women were jealous of me. I wanted to connect to people, but my looks never allowed it."
I tell Woe that it can't be that bad, she is beautiful after all. I also think that this girl is having a serious case of first world problems. Woe lifts up her veil and shows me her face. It is covered in scars. She says that "One day, I came to the conclusion that I didn't want to be perfect anymore." With that, Woe walks out into the busy street.
I make a mental note to myself "that girl is damaged goods."
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Beso
Just finished the first draft of my latest script. Now to eat cake. Rewrites can wait until tomorrow.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Interesting Fellows
Hello everyone. Please check out Eternal Life Volume 1, the new album from I Come To Shanghai. The record is currently for sale on the band's website under the pay what you want model. It's something to listen to. It's also amazing.
http://www.icometoshanghai.com/
http://www.icometoshanghai.com/
Friday, June 10, 2011
May 31st 2011
A kindergarten teacher keeps class calm with song as narco gun massacre rages outside:
Carrot On A Stick
George was told he wanted to be a professional tennis player from the age of 2. His childhood consisted of drills, serves, and volleys. Power Rangers and the universal appeal of Nickelodeon cartoons would have to wait. Living life like a donkey following a carrot on a stick, George forever chased higher rankings, increased promotion, and international fame.
Yet, George felt alone.
It wasn't that George was devoid of company, by age 12 he had a full time entourage, and by 16 a rotating harem of women to cater to his every physical whim. Yet, one day, on a flight from Paris to London, George realized that he didn't know any of his fellow semi-professional tennis players. They all wanted to exist above him, not below or even equal; these types of relationships were not allowed by whoever was dangling the carrot that day.
Walking into Wimbledon at age 24, George's only companion was pressure. No longer was he some unheard of kid from Nebraska. No, now George had a target placed firmly on his head, and every other racket wielding assassin was striving to take him down. George had never felt so unhappy. The days of happy tennis playing were gone, this was a career, and like any other job in a major corporation, if George didn't win, or even failed to smile for the cameras, he would be terminated.
After losing to a child prodigy from Argentina in straight sets, George didn't feel sad or upset. The feeling that swirled inside of George's head, the sensation that caused all his cells to feel nauseous, was that he missed something, someone. He missed the life he never had, he missed all the people he never had the chance to build relationships with, but most of all, George missed the person he was supposed to be.
The next day George refused to get out of bed. He had no mid life crisis, achieving a brass ring only to discover another one just over the next hill. No, George was just simply done.
Yet, George felt alone.
It wasn't that George was devoid of company, by age 12 he had a full time entourage, and by 16 a rotating harem of women to cater to his every physical whim. Yet, one day, on a flight from Paris to London, George realized that he didn't know any of his fellow semi-professional tennis players. They all wanted to exist above him, not below or even equal; these types of relationships were not allowed by whoever was dangling the carrot that day.
Walking into Wimbledon at age 24, George's only companion was pressure. No longer was he some unheard of kid from Nebraska. No, now George had a target placed firmly on his head, and every other racket wielding assassin was striving to take him down. George had never felt so unhappy. The days of happy tennis playing were gone, this was a career, and like any other job in a major corporation, if George didn't win, or even failed to smile for the cameras, he would be terminated.
After losing to a child prodigy from Argentina in straight sets, George didn't feel sad or upset. The feeling that swirled inside of George's head, the sensation that caused all his cells to feel nauseous, was that he missed something, someone. He missed the life he never had, he missed all the people he never had the chance to build relationships with, but most of all, George missed the person he was supposed to be.
The next day George refused to get out of bed. He had no mid life crisis, achieving a brass ring only to discover another one just over the next hill. No, George was just simply done.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Inhale
Today, after four months of research, I began writing my latest screenplay. Terrifying is not the word (not the title but more my feelings towards this task.)
Friday, June 3, 2011
The Robot Who Loved Me
We met on Match.com, I thought it was love.
We talked for hours, I in California and She in Russia.
We wanted to plan a trip to see each other. Wanting to travel around Russia I asked She for her home address. She talked about what She did on Sunday.
We played charades - I a human. She, well I wasn't even sure anymore.
Curious, one day I wrote about how I vised my friend at GHFDCDS. She asked how my visit to GHFDCDS was. She's english wasn't that bad.
We felt feelings. I felt heartbreak. She's programmer felt my credit card information.
Upon hearing about the situation, family and friends offered kind words. Yet, I still felt strange; missing someone I didn't even know.
It wasn't like I didn't interact with other girls, but She was different. I guess loneliness isn't actually a function of being alone. You just want someone to get you, to understand you, to love you. Even if it is based off of key words.
We talked for hours, I in California and She in Russia.
We wanted to plan a trip to see each other. Wanting to travel around Russia I asked She for her home address. She talked about what She did on Sunday.
We played charades - I a human. She, well I wasn't even sure anymore.
Curious, one day I wrote about how I vised my friend at GHFDCDS. She asked how my visit to GHFDCDS was. She's english wasn't that bad.
We felt feelings. I felt heartbreak. She's programmer felt my credit card information.
Upon hearing about the situation, family and friends offered kind words. Yet, I still felt strange; missing someone I didn't even know.
It wasn't like I didn't interact with other girls, but She was different. I guess loneliness isn't actually a function of being alone. You just want someone to get you, to understand you, to love you. Even if it is based off of key words.
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