or
My, How time Passes!
As captain of this particular love boat, allow me to welcome you aboard with a lame, form letter explanation...
Before, I hack out a single word of this email, Allow me to welcome new subscribers to my email list. If you've never received an email from me before, then allow this to be your greeting. If you did not give me your address, then I probably stole it from someone else's email list and added it to mine. Hopefully, this won't be a problem. But, if my deluded ramblings annoy, then feel free to let me know. I'll be glad to remove you, after your public stoning and general taunting. On with the report...
Well, how long did I make it without writing? Probably a lot longer than most would've thought. But, it turns out that the human need to communicate is too strong to ignore. In fact, it turns out that the need to communicate is right up there with nourishment and sexual gratification on the psyche's To Do list. So, after yet another night of coming home to an empty email box (save
the apologies, I am sure that you are all as busy as I am) I have decided to grasp fate by the horns and scream into the void! As it were.
Is this narcissistic? Perhaps.
Am I writing because I want you to hear me? Yes.
Am I writing because I want to speak? Yes.
Is it unwanted? Perhaps. But, in respect to the formal complaints that were lodged by the vocal minority, concerning my lack of Email etiquette, I have made some changes. By these, I solemnly vow...
First, I vow to never send on a quiz or comical email survey to anyone, ever.
Second, I vow to keep my ego in check and report with less consistently. As much as I am sure that you are all fantastically interested in the latest hobo that I've stumbled on to, I will try to limit my ramblings to only that which seems to actually be interesting to me. No more dime store philosophy, either. I am sure that you have your own opinions of the human condition and are quite fine without mine. So less of that, then.
Third, if I take the time to sit at the keyboard and produce another epic, I will send it to you as a blind copy and send the original to myself. Thus, a recipient of my email can feel safe, knowing that I have taken every precaution to ensure their safety from the ravages of Internet Strangers.
Fourth, I also plan to include some bits of random libel, disparaging your good names, hidden surreptitiously in my emails. I figure that to be the best way to ensure that my writings are read.
Fifth, and finally, more midgets and monkeys.
Actually, I was lying about that whole libel thing. I promise to smear only my own good name, or change the names to protect the scandalous.
So, having now dispensed with the tedium, let's get on to the body of this work, shall we?
How in the Hell are you? It seems like ages since we last wrote and even longer since I heard your voice. How have you been?
Really.
Good to hear it. I'm fine, too.
Are you keeping busy?
Good. Good. That sounds like a lot of hard work. But, it sounds like you're happy doing it. I remember well, how interested you were in that.
Me? Well, I work a lot. When Ed Conkle promised me plenty of hours, he wasn't kidding. We figured last weeks work to come in, right around seventy-nine hours in eight days. That should be a nice paycheck. I guess I am the number two tech guy at his theater (The Metropolis Performing Arts Center in Arlington Heights). I think I have earned my many, many hours only by the fact that I am available and a quick learner. If Tom Tutino could see me directing stagehands around a light hang, he would commit some embarrassing act of poor hygiene. He and I both remember my incredibly poor efforts at Western Kentucky University. Now, oddly enough, I make my living doing nothing but tech. Weird, huh? But, I stay busy.
In fact, I just completed the Scenic design and painting of a massive Van Gogh replica for the show that's currently in our theater, "Where did Vincent Van Gogh?" with Dan Castellanata. You might recognize Dan best, as the voice of Homer Simpson. He's a great guy and very, very quiet. He will even do some of the voices from The Simpsons, on demand. Tonight, he said "Hello, Mister Mr.B" in Homer's voice and it was very, very weird. In retrospect, that little anecdote seems kind of lame, but it was just neat to hear my name spoken by such a familiar voice. The Simpsons has been on the air for thirteen seasons now. No small accomplishment for any show. So, that's interesting.
What else?
Oh, I was in a minor accident two days ago. Rear ended in very slow traffic, by a Korean News Broadcaster in a Korean News van. The driver, Jeon (pronounced John, duh.) was too busy yacking on his cellphone and did not notice that it was not time to move forward yet, in the creeping traffic jam. I looked up in the rear view mirror and saw him coming, realized that he had no time to stop and braced for impact. WHAM! He hit me hard enough to drive me into the car in front of me. WHAM AGAIN! That car was not damaged by the impact, as my car absorbed most of the force of the crash. My car is still drivable. The bumper has a huge crack in it and hangs an inch lower than it ought to. I am going to gather estimates early next week and Jeon will pay for the repair, or his insurance will. I waited there for the police to arrive, so I have a Police report.
Was I injured?
Well, aren't you nice for asking? Good on your mother, then. No, I am fine.
My neck was a little stiff the next morning, but otherwise just fine. That is, unless you are a pretty girl, and in that case, I am suffering horrible agony that can only be quenched by pity and adoration and many, many back rubs. In fact, it might be fatal. We'll talk.
So, how is your love life?
Really? Wow. I didn't think you were going to be so ... graphic, but OK.
Jesus, it sounds like fun, just be careful not to throw your back out. You're not as young as you once were. But hey, who is? Right?
Me? Well, not to delve too much into the sad, sad story, but Corina and I agreed to part ways about a month ago. Call us victims of completely differing schedules, we found that we had really, really grown apart. It seemed like the only logical thing to do. So, we separated. You know, I really shouldn't say any more about it. She might not appreciate me blabbing about it. So, unless you are a pretty girl and are looking to comfort me in my hour of despair and heartbreak and stuff, then I best shut up about that.
If you are a pretty girl, we'll talk.
OK, new topic. Something cheery.
How is your pet? Oh, right, I forgot. I'm deeply saddened at your loss. I'm sure that your former pet is in God's capable hands now, way up in a special place reserved for Pets. Where dogs run free and cats have plenty of furniture to pee on and claw the shit out of. There, there. You can cry, if you need to... Here's a hanky. Go ahead. It's nature's release.
Since, we are on the topic of pets, Maggie says "hello!" She is just as cute and dopey as ever. Her days are kept busy, with sleeping and eating and sleeping. Occasionally, she takes a few minutes out of her busy schedule to come to wherever I am in the apartment, to look pretty and get petted. The weather is nice and she has finally figured out how to stand in our low hanging windows and look down on the street. So, she's a people watcher. She doesn't bark at other dogs, which I take a sign that either she isn't threatened by them or that she doesn't know she's one of them. I secretly harbor a silent belief that Maggie believes herself to be a human. Albeit a shorter human, with more hair and a disturbingly intimate relationship with her own naughty bits. But a human, nonetheless.
Elouisa, my cat, is still busy watching over the house with quiet disdain. She actively avoids Maggie and the other cats and only acknowledges me when she discovers an empty food bowl. Every now and then, when I find a few free minutes to watch a movie, she curls up on my chest and smiles at me and I pet her and she purrs. It's a comfortable peace, that we have, and an easy relationship. She's a good cat.
Until Corina finds a new apartment, I am baby-sitting her cat, Jack the Demon Spawned. He is very, very fat. And he is a hellion. He tears through the house, completely underfoot. He wakes me up at roughly six thirty every morning, to be petted. He purrs too loudly and pisses Peter off, by eating Figment's food and soiling Figment's litterbox, defiantly. He is a mess, to be sure, but he is also soft and cute and he purrs really loudly, which is nice, and I will miss the little bastard, when he is gone.
By the by, Peter celebrates his twenty-fifth birthday tomorrow. So, if you know him and you forgot to get him a gift (I have to hurry out and get one tomorrow, myself), you might want to give him a call tomorrow or soon thereafter and wish him well. If you don't know my roommate, Peter, then skip this part and move on to the next bit of news.
I will be gaining a new temporary roommate July 1. Corey H., of Western and Boone fame is making the Big Move to the Windy City. He will be invading my home, setting up camp in the sun room and we might look for a house for him and Peter and I to live in. There is also a moderately good chance that Mr. R. Temple might make the big move in August, so he might live with us also.
God help our neighbors. All it would take, would be one night of Mr. Temple, dancing on our roof, wearing only boots, his tech belt and a smile, to familiarize us with local law enforcement. Well, if that should happen, I'll let you know about it.
For those of you keeping track, I have finished forty pages of my first screenplay. I don't know if anything will ever come of it, but I enjoy it as a hobby and it gives me creative outlet. now, that the creative juices are flowing again (which is really sort of a disgusting metaphor when you picture it), it seems that I have tons of ideas for a few more screenplays. So, I am writing them all down in notation form in the computer and will go back and formalize them, when time permits. the important thing is to capture the idea, when you get it. Then you can change it or discard it later, as the story best sees fit.
You know what, I love writing, though. I really, really love it. I like brainstorming ideas, solving problems. On the drive home from the theater, late at night, I take a particular scene from my script and turn it around in my head. I look for better ways to capture the feeling of the moment, or sharper dialogue or clearer structure. By the time I get home, I am dying to get the program loaded and the scene reworked. And, there is also the pride of knowing that in my heart, I am writer. It's one thing to dream up good stories. It's an altogether different feeling to put them down on paper. If you enjoy writing, you know exactly what I mean. If not, I bet you can imagine.
Oh, that and I am about to register for my third level of Improv classes at ImprovOlympic. This level, is even more Improv intensive and is around the time that one starts getting noticed and put on a team. Wish me luck.
Okay, you bastard. I think, I've subjected you to quite enough.
Well, that's kind of you to say. I guess, it was more of "my pleasure" as well.
Look, it's been great talking to you (and for you. In fact, you never sounded funnier). Let's not go so long between writing, okay? I know we are both very, busy bees, but we have to try harder to stay in touch. In fact, if you feel the urge, write me back and tell me more than what you said in this email. Let me know how you are doing. Because, I may be far away, but I am
definitely interested in you and how you are doing, and how you life is going.
So, write me. I miss you already.
See? Now you've gone and made me all maudlin. You fink!
Be well.
Write Often.
Mr.B.
PS. Here's that Random Libel I promised you... Did you know that JOE M. wears little girly panties? No? Well, you do now. Shhhhh. It's a secret. Next time he bends over, take a peek, you'll see something pink and frilly. He's a sick individual. It's disgusting, really. Now you know. Over and out.
No comments:
Post a Comment