50/50 – A toss up

February 27, 2013

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There was likely a moment, and a table, at which sat writer Will Reiser and producers at Summit Entertainment, and someone had to say, “It’s about a guy whose girlfriend cheats on him, his father has Alzheimer’s, and he gets cancer.”  And at some point, someone else had to lean forward in a chair, maybe adjust the glasses, raise an eyebrow, and say, “I’m listening.”  And then Reiser may have said, “It’s a comedy.”  Then, about two years later, after 17 various film festival wins and nominations, they could have raised glasses of champagne, raised both eyebrows, three “best screenplay” awards, and said, “Holy crap, we did it!”  What they did is 50/50

Adam (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) seems to do everything right.  From picking up other people’s trash to waiting for the traffic light to change, regardless of how non-existent the traffic is, he does what he is supposed to do.  He apologizes when late for work, as rare as it may be, and he keeps a very orderly home.  Unfortunately, life does not treat him the same way.  After experiencing pains in his back, he goes for an MRI that shows a rare form of cancer.  In his methodical way, he studies up on the internet.  Do you want to guess what his chance of survival is?

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50/50 is not about Adam as it is about the people around Adam, what they do, what they don’t do, what they should or should not have done, while helping Adam, or helping themselves, deal with the situation.  Rachael (Bryce Dallas Howard), Adam’s girlfriend, tries to explain to Adam how difficult this is on her.  Diane (Anjelica Huston), Adam’s mother, initially makes it all about her, how she is affected by her son having cancer when she already has to deal with a husband suffering from Alzheimer’s.  Kyle (Seth Rogen), Adam’s co-worker at a public radio station, wants to use the situation to bring Adam – and himself – as much happiness and sex as possible, while still possible.

On the medical/clinical side, Adam is meeting with Katherine (Anna Kendrick), a therapist who sheepishly admits that he is only about her third patient ever.  While she’s got all the theory memorized, she has not practiced long enough to know exactly what works or doesn’t work in the field.  Because she has not yet practiced long enough, and because Adam is maybe two years older than her, she is not yet able to regard him as a patient, a social security number, and instead sees Adam as a man hurting and in need.  That’s not a bad thing, but it comes with complications that I’m sure you can figure out without me saying so.

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Adam starts chemotherapy and meets a few elderly gentlemen, Alan (Philip Baker Hall) and Mitch (Matt Frewer).  At half their age, 27-year old Adam is out of place but in good company.  They are the perfect guides to help keep him grounded while also recognizing what’s ahead of him.  They’re a blend of optimism but not naivety, and caution but not fear.  They know that when the chances are 50/50, and there are three people in a room, then at least one – maybe two – are not going to make it.  That doesn’t mean they’re going to just roll over and take it.  When one of them dies, and Adam asks “why,” the other answers, “What the fuck does it matter?  His heart stopped.”

Kyle throws a party, but why?  It’s not a going away part, or at least it shouldn’t be.  People are hesitant to talk to Adam because it’s like talking to someone on death row.  It seems like Kyle threw the party so he could get the women sad and emotional, then prey upon them.  After Rachael and Adam break up, Kyle takes Adam out to meet women in a bar.  There are some kinks to work out, but it eventually works, but is it Kyle trying to help Adam enjoy what might be his last months or is it Kyle trying to gain from Adam’s losing situation?  It is not easily answerable.  Seth Rogen is pretty much the same character you expect but toned down a little.  He is mainly responsible for scattered laughs.  Too many and you get complaints that you’re making fun of cancer.  Too few and you’re just making a male version of Beaches or Terms of Endearment.

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50/50 is billed as a “dark comedy,” which is not easy to do.  A great example is the scene in which Adam’s doctor is attempting to tell him that he has cancer.  The techno-language-vernacular is so specific and mumbled that it all goes over Adam’s head, and he has to ask the doctor at least twice to repeat it until a few pieces fall together.  For Jonathan Levine (Warm Bodies) to so carefully direct that scene so well but with relatively little experience is fabulous and certainly justifies the nominations and wins ranging from the Golden Globes to the Writers Guild Award to a dozen film festival nods to boot.

As stated, 50/50 is not so much about Adam as it is about those around him, and there is a good reason for that.  When someone has cancer and faces death in such a way, they’re going to need help.  They’re going to need strong people to lift them up, physically and emotionally, and relaxed people to keep them calm when they want to freak out and break things.  How well a patient comes through it may very well depend on how well those support people do their jobs.  Regardless of how the statistics are added, you could say that all cancer patients’ chances are 50/50.  Either you live or you don’t.  Same with a movie – either you like it or you don’t.  I liked it.

Teacher gives it a B.


Language Pet Peeves 6 – Obviously

February 25, 2013

1.  Transitive vs. Intransitive Verbs

2.  You and Me and I

3.  He and She and They

4.  Unconscious vs. Subconscious

5.  Obviously, you suck

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1.  Transitive vs. Intransitive Verbs

Many writers like to give advice.  By giving advice, it makes us feel like other people we believe we are writers because we know things that those other people didn’t know about writing.  So we assume that they assume that we have done more writing because we know more about writing.  Not so.

One of the prime pieces of advice that writers give to appear more “writerly” is to never use intransitive verbs, only use transitive.  Unfortunately, not everyone knows what the hell that means.  Transitive verbs “transfer” action from the subject to the object.  Intransitive verbs (notice the “In,” like “In”decent – not decent) do NOT transfer action.  Intransitive sentences are those in which the subject didn’t do anything but instead had something done TO it.  Let me show you.

Becca kicked my balls.   Transitive sentence.

Becca, the subject, committed the action upon the object, my balls.

Easy, right?

My balls were kicked by BeccaIntransitive sentence.

My balls, the subject, did nothing other than receive the action of the kicking.  Instead of the subject doing any action, it was the object doing the action.  The subject did nothing but instead had something done upon it.  With vengeance.

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2.  You and Me and I

I love stupid people.  Stupid people think they know things and then, when attempting to prove what they think they know, they fuck it up.  Then I smile.  You do too, provided you’re not one of those stupid ones.  Stupid people eventually believe that they must stop saying “You and me” and should always say “You and I.”  They don’t realize that sometimes you still have to say “You and me.”  Do you know how to figure it out?  If so, you’re not stupid.  You can go.  The rest of you, sit down.

Normally, “You and I” will appear at the beginning of a sentence because, normally, “You and I” will be the subject.  Although “you” is fairly universal, “I” is a subject pronoun.  It’s like this.

Rich needs to buy condoms.

Rich is the subject.  But I wouldn’t actually refer to myself as Rich, not unless there’s something wrong with me.  Instead, I would likely say:

I need to buy condoms.

If a pronoun is needed to replace the subject, you use a subject pronoun.  In this case, it’s “I.”  Now, let’s look at the object pronoun.  You might remember from the transitive/intransitive crap that usually the object is towards the end of the sentence.  Like “balls” when “Becca kicked my balls.”  Let’s make Rich the object this time instead of the subject.

Someone buy Rich some condoms.

Now, Rich is the object.  Now, let’s find a pronoun for the object.

Someone buy (I/me) some condoms.

Which sounds right?  Which is right?  Me.  But none of this addresses whether to say “You and me” or “You and I.”  Calm down.  I’m getting to that.

You and (I/me) need to buy condoms.

Not sure if it’s subject or object?  Take the sound test.  Remove “You.”  What sounds right?

I need to buy condoms – orMe need to buy condoms?

I, of course.  Now let’s do the same thing but switch the location of You and I and me.

Please buy you and (I/me) some condoms.

Same as before, let’s remove “You.”

Please buy I some condoms – or – Please buy me some condoms?

Me, of course, because that location is for the object pronoun, and the object pronoun is “me” and not “I.”  So, when you’re not sure whether to you “You and me” or “You and I,” just cut out the “You” and decide which sounds better between “me” and “I.”

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3.  He or She or They

I’m all about being politically correct.  Can’t tell you just how happy I was when we started using “police officer” instead of “policeman,” or “mail carrier” instead of “mail man,” or “fire fighter” instead of “fireman.”  Ooooh, how that gives me douche chills.  Want more douche chills?  Then read these examples:

If anyone finds Britney’s virginity, he should return it.

If anyone finds Britney’s virginity, she should return it.

If anyone finds Britney’s virginity, they should return it.

So which is right?  All?  NFW.  Lots of people tend to use “they” because they’re afraid of being sexist.  How?  Well, is it sexist to assume that “anyone” is going to be male?  What if the “anyone” is female?  What if Britney is lesbian?  What if a female took Britney’s virginity?  It could happen.  Charge the camera batteries, just in case.  Anyway, using “they” is  both wrong and stupid.  It’s wrong because “anyone” is “one” person.  You can’t use “they” to represent “one” person, dipshit.  I should know because I used it for a long time until the grammar police shoved a nightstick up my ass.

With “they” tossed out, what’s left?  What about that “he/she” thing?  Like this:

If anyone finds Britney’s virginity, he/she should return it.

That looks pretty stupid and sort of like a reference to a hermaphrodite.

If anyone finds Britney’s virginity, he or she should return it.

Correct but it still looks dumb.  Here’s another correct but dumb-looking way to write it:

Should one find Britney’s virginity, one should return it.

Here’s what I do.  I rewrite the sentence so that I don’t have to use either one.  Shhh.  Watch this:

Should one find Britney’s virginity, please return it.

See?  I wrote it in such a way to remove that choice.  Now, it’s completely politically correct without sounding stupid.  Mostly.

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4.  Unconscious vs. Subconscious

Holy fuck and a half, I can’t tell you how many writers – published writers – in things like Time magazine, CNN, doctors removing toy cars from my rectum, so many people using these two words incorrectly.

What is conscious?  It means “awake and aware of one’s environment.”  Like being up and about, making coffee, watering flowers, jerking off to a good porn site.  The usual stuff.

What is unconscious?  “not awake or aware of one’s environment.”  Like being asleep, perhaps from jerking off too much.  Like being cracked in the head with a bat, lying on the floor, dreaming of jerking off too much.

What is subconscious?  “beneath, hidden, or unseen by your regular awake self.”  Like when your wife usually throws something at you just after she screams your name.  Then, in a reaction that is built into your brain through learning, you immediately duck every time you hear her scream your name.  That’s your subconscious mind at work.

Although writers get this incorrect more than 50% of the time, I have to wonder about the editors who supposedly are reviewing what I’m reading.  Too many times I read something like this:

My wife sent me for milk, but I unconsciously drove to the strip bar.

Really?  So you were driving while you were asleep?  No, dumbshit.  It goes like this:

My wife sent me for milk, but I SUBconsciously drove to the strip bar.

You weren’t asleep.  You just acted or reacted without applying much thought due to either what you have learned or what you have grown accustomed to doing regularly, like going to a strip bar.

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5.  Obviously, you suck

Obvious and obviously are two of the most over used and incorrectly used words in the English language.  Not only are they overused, but they’re downright insulting.  To even use obviously is almost wrong because it appears to state something that doesn’t need to be stated.  I’ll use an example to illustrate my point.

Obvious – easily seen, recognized, understood, or evident

Rich is obviously one messed up guy.StraightJacketDeluxeb

If it is obvious, then why mention it?  To make yourself feel better?  To appear more knowledgeable?  It is little more than a polite way of saying this:

Everyone except you knows that Rich is one messed up guy.

What could be the reason for that?  Also, what is the result if the person to whom you’re speaking is not aware of it?  It seems as if you’re bragging that you know something that the other person doesn’t know.  I would bet that 99% of the time that you might use the word obviously, I can rewrite it without that word, retain the meaning, and help you sound less insulting.  But why would I rewrite it?  Do it yourself, you lazy shit.

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The Campaign – Or, The Biggest Loser

February 23, 2013

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For many years/films I completely disliked Will Ferrell on screen because it seemed that he played every role with the same over-the-top hyper-enthusiasm (see: Old School, Semi Pro, Step Brothers, Wedding Crashers, Talladega Nights, most SNL appearances).  But when Jon Favreau directed him in Elf, Ferrell showed that – with the right director – there was more of an actor inside him, similar to when Paul Mazursky discovered how much more of an actor was inside Robin Williams in Moscow on the Hudson.  Up until then, most scripts for Williams literally had pages that read “Robin does something funny here.”  It doesn’t work, which is why we have directors.  For the same reason, The Campaign doesn’t work either.

In The Campaign, Ferrell reunites with director Jay Roach (Austin Powers, Meet the Fockers) who not only allows Ferrell and Zach Galinfianakis to improvise too much, he also resorts to the same crude humor prevalent in the Austin Powers films.  I’m no prude.  Dick jokes can be funny, testament being how many times I watch Jackass , but they need to be used sparingly because even a funny dick can wear out its welcome.

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Long-time incumbent North Carolina Congressman Cam Brady (Ferrell) seems to be running unopposed until two egotistical billionaires, the Motch Brothers (Jon Lithgow and Dan Akroyd, in a premise too similar to Trading Places) challenge Brady by financing Marty Huggins, an unlikely political challenger and son of one of their best friends.  Brady is in the mold of that same over-the-top Ferrell, drinking and bullying his way thanks to a sense of entitlement and idiocy brought on by patronizing handlers, while Huggins is more of a church-going, bad-sweater-wearing, effeminate-talking family man.

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From their first public meeting, kind of a Meet the Candidates luncheon, Brady comes out swinging with a video tribute to Huggins that includes pictures of him throughout school years depicting him as an overweight, clumsy oaf.  Despite his inexperience, Huggins does not back down but needs the help of slick campaign manager Tim Wattley (Dylan McDermott) hired by the Motch Brothers, likely based on the Koch Brothers who have tossed millions at the likes of various Republican candidates in the past few elections.  Wattley immediately transforms Huggins’s house, wardrobe, and family into those of a more mainstream candidate.  From there, it’s event after event and major embarrassing gaffe after gaffe.  The polls go up and down like a see-saw thanks to baby punching, dog punching, DWI arrest, one shooting the other, and a sex-filled message on the wrong answering machine.

As I said, I’m no prude.  The scene in which Huggins asks his family to confess anything embarrassing that might be used against him in the campaign is brilliant.  I cried laughing, but that same type of humor was piled on a little too heavy.  It wasn’t a matter of nudity but more about the language and suggestions of what was happening that you didn’t exactly see.  The sex inside the port o’ potty, sex with a woman’s head in a freezer, the sex and sexual imagery in the negative campaign commercials were just plain overkill.  By the time they get to the actual election, I was just hoping it would all get over and done with, and it would have been a perfectly acceptable ending if an ethics committee had disqualified both of them and declared a squirrel as the winner.

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If Roach is going to direct anything more successful than this, he’s going to have to get his head out of the toilet.  Occasionally, we all need a toilet, but only for about four minutes a day and not forty minutes of a film.  The Huggins family confession scene was mostly toilet.  Don’t get me wrong, it was brilliant, but that line of comedy can get old fast.  Another brilliant moment was the housekeeper Mrs. Yao (Karen Maruyama) at the home of Marty’s father, Ron Huggins.  I won’t even hint at what was so funny because it would kill the joke if you ever happen to see it.  I tried to find it on YouTube but no go.  It’s only a few seconds, it’s genius, but it’s not worth paying a rental fee.

The Campaign is supposed to make fun of actual mudslinging that takes place during the nastiest of political seasons, and there is probably more truth to this film than I realize.  If that’s what you’re looking for, I would recommend Primary Colors with John Travolta, Emma Thompson, Kathy Bates (Best Supporting Actress nominee), and Billy Bob Thornton and directed by Mike Nichols (The Birdcage, The Graduate).  As for The Campaign, it’s a two-joke movie when you only have time for one.

Teacher gives it a D.


Moonrise Kingdom

February 15, 2013

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If I told you that Sam (Jared Gilman), a man in uniform, was in love with Suzy (Kara Haywood), a woman who lived in a lighthouse on the edge of a New England island, and they were going to run away together until a hurricane approached, you would say, “Don’t we have enough crappy Nicolas Sparks’ films?”  But if I told you that Sam’s uniform was the Khaki Scouts, Suzy was a troubled teen daughter of two eccentric attorneys, they were both 12, and after they ran away they’d be pursued by half a dozen scouts with knives, axes, sticks with nails, a motorcycle, a seaplane, Bruce Willis, Bill Murray, and Harvey Kietel, you might pull up a chair.  This is what happens in worlds created by Wes Anderson.  This is Moonrise Kingdom.

Scout Master Ward (Edward Norton) is not the most attentive leader and either doesn’t know or isn’t aware that all of his scouts, except Sam, hate Sam and wish to beat him up because he just doesn’t fit in.  Also having trouble fitting in is Suzy, whom Sam first meets when he wanders away from a church production of Noah’s Ark and stumbles upon Suzy in her raven costume and applying her make up in the dressing room with the other birds.  It only takes a short exchange and some challenging glances for them to know they’re soulmates, and it must be true because they don’t see each other again for a full year.  Only true love can do that.

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They write letters and make a plan.  Sam steals a canoe, and Suzy packs a suitcase.  Sam brings a tent, sleeping bags, and a mess kit.  Suzy brings a kitten, books, a record player, and lucky lefty scissors that will be needed.  Sam can catch fish and cook them on the fire he can build.  Suzy believes she has magic binoculars.  I can’t even begin to make it sound as absurd as it really is, and I haven’t gotten to all of the grown ups searching for these pre-teen fugitives.

In addition to the distracted scout master, the search party includes Capt. Sharp (Bruce Willis) of the Island Police, a lonely bachelor involved, semi-secretly, with Laura Bishop (Frances McDormand), Suzy’s mother.  Walt Bishop (Bill Murray), Suzy’s father, is in a world of his own as he struggles among searching for his kid, figuring out if his wife is having an affair, and drunkenly chopping down random trees as stress relief.  The searchers are rounded out by a sadistic group of scouts who, when not carefully tending to their camp chores, look forward to the beating they plan to deliver Sam.  I did mention that this is a comedy, right?

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Wes Anderson (The Royal Tennenbaums, The Darjeeling Limited, Rushmore) clearly has learned Woody Allen’s two rules of comedy.  Rule 1:  react normally to absurd situations.  Rule 2:  react absurdly to normal situations.  Not only is the whole film pretty much “theater of the absurd,” but part of its beauty is that is it presented like theater of the bad.  There’s a narrator (Bob Balaban) who seems to appear through a time warp, simultaneously dryly telling about the future while existing in the moment.  Dialogue is delivered like a stale pizza, as if the actors had just glanced at it and are reciting it to the best of their limited memories – but it works and is part of the charm.  Anderson’s camerawork is fabulous, tracking shots around the Bishop home as if each room was built and stacked on the set of the old TV show Hollywood Squares.  Even outdoor shots are fun, often with characters centered in the frame while everything else seems to move around them.  The colors feel overexposed, as if the whole film was shot through Instagram, which helps to give the “feel” of being set in 1965.

Sam and Suzy are 12, but they’re not children.  They’re more in control of their lives than any of the adults, and I think that’s part of what Anderson is going for.  Many children are smarter than their parents, and often better behaved.  Lots of kids know more than we give them credit for, and these two are no exception.  They have such an awareness that it wouldn’t be a surprise if they moved to the suburbs, got jobs and a house, and lived happily ever after.  Age doesn’t matter in Moonrise Kingdom, only desire.  They desire to escape those who don’t understand or appreciate them.  They desire to help and protect each other because it seems the only people interested in their happiness is each other.  Winning “Movie of the Year” from the American Film Institute and an Oscar nomination for Best Original Screenplay probably brought along some happiness too, I suppose.  The only thing I was not happy about was a short but awkward scene in which Sam and Suzy are dancing in their underwear.  While it might be normal for 12-year olds to experiment with touching each other, it somehow seemed kind of wrong for us to watch it.  It was a scene I could have done without and contributed nothing.  I guess even the best summer fantasies can’t be perfect. Note of interest, this role was the result of Cara Hayward’s first ever audition, and she is a member of Mensa.

Teacher gives it an A for both a grade and Absurd.


Post #500 – fridayfictioneers via rochelle – 2/8

February 6, 2013

Every Wednesday Roger Wisoff-Fields posts a picture prompt challenging writers to create a 100-word story, poem, or whatever works for you.  After posting your work on your blog,  go back to her site and add your link on her Friday Fictioneers post.  Place.  Page.

Please read the notes after the story.  It’s important.  

Well, to me, because it’s my 500th post.

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Philadelphia Airport – en route Mexico – 11/8/12

The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber

His mini poodle Ernest was tucked neatly under the seat in his carry-on cage as Flight 505 raced down the runway.  The idea of returning to his lover’s strong arms lightened his heart as the plane floated to the clouds. After finally finding the courage to admit his true feelings, he proudly told everyone and enjoyed his emotional freedom. He couldn’t have been happier. His skin sparkled in the window’s reflection as he looked out at the wing, only to see the engine rip away.

For the first time in his life, it was okay to scream like a schoolgirl.

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100 words

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This week’s post came about a little differently, but let me first explain that this is my 500th post.  For a few weeks I thought about doing something special or interesting for #500.  Thought about congratulating myself in some way, maybe asking people to contribute something, but that seemed too much like pointing a finger at myself and waving a flag with my own name on it.  And then something else happened instead.

This morning Tom Poet sent me his story to get my opinion because someone else did not like it very much.  I immediately did what I can’t help doing – started “tweaking.”  First, one grammar adjustment, then one or two adjectives, then one or two hints at the ending.  For example, I added Flight 505 because the 505 looked like the SOS distress call.  But my psychic side knew what was going to happen next – Tom felt like I had changed too much, that it was no longer “his” story.  He suggested giving me credit as a co-author, but really he did the hard work, and I swept up the sawdust from the shop floor.  Then I suggested we both post the same story and acknowledge the collaboration, and luckily he was cool with that.  I say “luckily” because occasionally I read someone’s story and leave a comment that says, “I wish I had written that.”  This was one of those stories.

But I need to get to the 500 part without wasting more of your time.

I thought about what I really enjoy doing on/with this blog.  I really enjoy writing these stories each week.  I really enjoy making comments and suggestions on other’s work.  And I really enjoy that there are friends to be made here who I could not possibly meet any other way.  With too many to mention without causing someone to feel they were left out, I’ve been fortunate to have coffee with a couple of you and might soon get on a plane or behind the wheel to meet up with a few more of you.  So it made perfect sense that this would be my 500th post because it is a combination of everything that I enjoy here.  Writing with a purpose, making suggestions, and connecting with people.  Also, it’s a little extra cool that Rochelle used one of my pictures this week.  Too many stars aligned for me not to take advantage of it.

My thanks to Tom for allowing me to join in with his story.  Also, if anyone tries to read into this and think it’s some kind of a “coming out” statement, you are very wrong!

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#fridayfictioneers via rochelle – 1/25

January 24, 2013

Every Wednesday Roughskin Wisoff-Fields posts a picture prompt to challenge writers to create a 100-word story or poem or anything that works for you.  After you post your work on your blog,  go back to her site and add a link to your post on her Friday Fictioneers post.  Place.  Page.

I’m going to try to keep up with this, as should you.  Give it a shot.  I prefer to stick to 100 words, but she doesn’t mind either way.  Not everyone has the time to sit and write, revise, edit, revise, edit, etc. until getting it down to 100 and telling everything you want to tell.

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Lunchtime in Florida

“Lookit the chest on the blue one!”

“Red bikini got perfect legs.”

“Legs?”

“Yeah.”

“Legs are okay, but I love a big rack.  Watch ‘em bounce when she runs to the water.  Nature’s built-in buoys.”

“You got issues.  Think about where those legs go.  That soft, round, fleshy-”

“You’re into butts?  I thought you meant something else.”

“Wanna get that soft spot.  Can’t wait to taste me some juicy-”

“Shhh.  Calm down.  She’s coming.”

Me calm down?”

“Dude, you’re scaring them.  You come on too strong.”

“Relax.  It’s SpringBreak.  They’re everywhere.  And I’m hungry.”

Two sharks lurked beyond the breakers…

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100 words


#newyorker magazine caption contest #366

January 23, 2013

So, like last time, you can put your caption here as a comment.  But better yet is to click on the picture, go to the New Yorker magazine website, and enter your caption in their contest.

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“I dunno, Phil.  I think your tip expectations are a little too high.”

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#fridayfictioneers via rochelle – 1/18

January 17, 2013

Every Wednesday Rickety Wisoff-Fields posts a picture prompt to challenge writers to create a 100-word story or poem or anything that works for you.  After you post your work on your blog,  go back to her site and add a link to your post on her Friday Fictioneers post.  Place.  Page.

I’m going to try to keep up with this, as should you.  Give it a shot.  I prefer to stick to 100 words, but she doesn’t mind either way.  Not everyone has the time to sit and write, revise, edit, revise, edit, etc. until getting it down to 100 and telling everything you want to tell.

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 006

Phone Call

“Hello?” said a raspy growl, putting down crayons.

“Afternoon, Sir.  I’m calling on behalf of-”

“Half of what?”

“Sir?”

“Half a sandwich?”

“No.  On beHALF.  I’m with the National Association-”

“Location?  In the living room.  Where are you?”

“No, Sir.  I’m calling on be-.  I’m calling for-.  (exhale)  We’re trying to raise money for-”

“Money?  Sure.  I’ll take some money.  Whatcha got?”

“No, Sir.  Would you like to donate-”

“I LOVE doughnuts!”

“Certainly, but children in town need-”

“Let ‘em get their own damn donuts!”

“No, Sir.  I’m-”

From the kitchen.  “Jimmy.  Who’s on the phone?”

*click*

“Wrong number, Mom.”

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100 words


Un Clown(e) Sur Le Feu

January 16, 2013

If you are not aware of A Clown(e) on Fire, I forgive you. He might not. In a recent post, he declared an opening for the position of “A Clown on Fire: Club Member Wrangler” (ACOFCMW) which loosely translates to “Dapper One Under Clown’s Honorable Expertise” (DOUCHE). In order to gain the title of DOUCHE, one must declare one’s candidacy as well as express one’s reasons for declaring one’s candidacy.  The rest of this post might not make much sense to those who aren’t aware of the competition – but there’s a great picture of the mayor’s wife.  So I got that going for me too.

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“I’ve got a good mind to join a club and beat you over the head with it.”  Groucho Marx.

600full-groucho-marx

Le Hero De Moi

If there were ever a club I would love to join, it would be Club Clowne.  And if there ever were a club that would hit you over the head, it would be Club Clowne.  And if there ever were yet another club of which I had joined and would be closed by the police after various members were caught with their pants not just down but on the wrong people, it would be inconspicuously blending in on South Street in Philadelphia while fronting as a Mexican restaurant.  Not that it ever actually happened.

As a member of Club Clowne, I would take my duties as seriously as I take my coffee.  Sugar, no milk.  I’m no pussy.  The title I would hope for is Efficiency Expert.  I know that term is rather highly technical for most people, so let me break it down.  “Eff-”  as in F- you.  As in, if you don’t like how I’m approaching my duties as Efficiency Expert, then fuck you.  It doesn’t take an expert to say “fuck you.” Just say it like you mean it, or you’re at least willing to back it up.  In fact, Club Clowne will need an official greeting, and I think we’ve just established one.  We will also need a secret handshake.  I propose a middle finger up one’s nose, then swish and flick.  Projectiles earn extra points.

As a member of Club Clowne, it will be my job to see that meetings are productive.  One of the best measures of a productive Club meeting is how many paper towels were needed to clean up after the meeting.  Need for a mop earns extra points.

school_girl_espeon_kidnapped_6_by_natsuko_hiragi-d38yceb

la femme du maire m’aime

As a member of Club Clowne, I would gladly play a role with public relations.  For example, I would be happy to write press releases to explain how it was all a misunderstanding and the mayor’s car will be returned later today and in relatively good condition.  Returning the mayor’s wife might take a little longer.  Just waiting for the penicillin to kick in.

As a member of Club Clowne, I would assist with fund-raising.  The main source of income would be what my New Jersey friends and I used to call “Window Insurance.”  It always seemed to be a great coincidence that someone’s windows would get mysteriously broken less than a week after missing a window insurance payment.  Go figure.

c'est tout simplement faux!

c’est tout simplement faux!

As a member of Club Clowne, I would do my best to promote diversity in our membership.  If that means scouring the bayous or small apartments of Louisiana in order to find qualified personnel, then dammit that is where I must go.  If that means riding a creaky bus through the northern highlands, then I will be on that bus, though I expect it will be a short bus.  If that means walking the beaches of Mexico wearing a Speedo after double-dosing on Viagra, then I will make that sacrifice.  Worked last time, so what the hell.

As a member of Club Clowne, I would be certain to volunteer for record keeping.  Just put them in the closet, but be careful not to let Tom Cruise get out.  Last time he got out, it took us three days to get him back in again – and he was NOT happy about it, but Katie Holmes was tapping dancing like a midget trying to stamp out a fire.

In closing, I know that it is not a right, not a privilege, not just an honor, but it would be a “privhonright.”  I’ll get back to you on what that means, but I can give you this much – getting OUT of Club Clowne will be just as tough as it will be to get in.  If you’re not sure what that means, just ask any of the recovered hamsters that spent last Saturday night in Oprah Winfrey’s ass.

(Translations by Google© Translate)

Oprah-Winfrey

“je n’ai pas mangé, cette fois”


#fridayfictioneers via rochelle – 1/11

January 10, 2013

Every Wednesday Rachmaninoff Wisoff-Fields posts a picture prompt to challenge writers to create a 100-word story or poem or anything that works for you.  After you post your work on your blog,  go back to her site and add a link to your post on her Friday Fictioneers post.  Place.  Page.

I’m going to try to keep up with this, as should you.  Give it a shot.  I prefer to stick to 100 words, but she doesn’t mind either way.  Not everyone has the time to sit and write, revise, edit, revise, edit, etc. until getting it down to 100 and telling everything you want to tell.

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copyright-roger-cohen

Showtime

Moments before the 8pm show, tremors shook Karnagee Hall.

Tiny, “IT’S GONE!”

Dust rained in the basement as he stomped his feet.

The stagehand, “We’re looking, Tiny!”

The agent, “Get him a chair!”

The seamstress, “Get him a couch.”

Tiny, “Whaaaa!”

First clarinet, “Please change my seat.”

Tiny, “Whaaaaaaaaaa!”

The conductor, “Keep him quiet!”

“Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!”

The stagehand, “I’ll get tissues.”

The custodian, “I’ll get a mop.”

The seamstress, “Maybe a towel.”

The agent, “Call the producer!”

Tiny stomped harder.

The producer, “Call the carpenter!”

The mover trudged carefully, lugging an oaken cello.

The mover, “Found it!”

Tiny smiled, “My violin!”

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100 words

This would have been a good one for me to have kept track of the revising because I had originally written ...said the agent  and …said the stagehand after each line of dialogue.  Then I realized I could get away with removing “said” from each line because we can tell that it’s being said.  It’s dialogue.  Then I shifted the attribution to be beginning, like a script.  Like this:

Producer:  Call the carpenter!

The problem there was that it did not give me the same visual impact without quotation marks, but I didn’t like having the quotes with the name and colon because it just isn’t the right format.  By moving the quote after the title, it gave the dialogue more impact, which is what really drives this.  For me, it felt like a nursery rhyme, which is kind of what I wanted.


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