INT.– NIGHT — MIXED MAGIC THEATRE
Having returned to the theatre following after some time spent at the local cinema, Jon and The Feath sit in the theatre’s office area as the elder Mr. and Mrs. Pitts-Wiley set the stage and microphones for a poetry show.
As Jon and The Feath sit, Jon picks up a harmonica from the desk and begins to play it. Jon is by no means a harmonica player; his efforts, though valiant, produce but one chord which he plays over and over and over. The Feath, worn from a full day of errands the gym and a movie can only look at him with a weary but bemused expression. Suddenly, she grins and breaks her silence
The Feath: It would be so great to like…hit you with a cymbal right now while you’re playing that harmonica. Just…the sound you’d make would tickle me.
The Feath laughs a tired laugh. Jon stops mid-chord.
CUT TO BLACK
INT. – NIGHT – THE NEW APARTMENT
Boxes and bags and clothes are still strewn about Jon and The Feath’s new residence. Earlier that evening, some progress was made in the kitchen, progress that allowed The Feath to make tremendous stuffed shells which the two ate at the kitchen table.
At this moment, we find the two sleeping when The Feath suddenly sits up. Jon, always keen to major movements, is stirred from his slumber. He’s groggy, but ready to make moves if need be.
Jon: What’s up?
The Feath: I had a nightmare.
Jon is prepared for the standard nightmare fare: someone killed someone else, something was chasing the two of them, etc. He’s also prepared to be scared by said dream as The Feath has a tendency to do when recounting her dreams. Still, he props himself on an elbow to listen
The Feath (cont’d): I dreamed you threw me away.
The Feath: Yeah. I dreamed you threw me away and there were other wives you threw away too. They were all strung out on drugs and…you threw me away.
Jon is stunned and cannot speak. He can only wonder what he’s projecting to bring the woman he loves to dream dreams like that. Should he say less? Should he say more? He doesn’t know. As The Feath shuffles off to the bathroom, Jon can only stare at the lights coming through the blinds.
It’s only Tuesday morning.
I’m an emotional eater.
As I sit here writing this, part of me wonders what purpose is served by telling you the above, but as I near the end of this sentence, it serves the purpose of giving some direction to the mood I’m in right now. We have to have our drafts in on Thursdays around these parts and, by the time you read this on Monday, my mood will probably have changed but the Monday that you’re in right now matters less than the Thursday on which I write this.
I’ve mulled all week on what to write; what yarn I should spin for the people good enough to take a gander at what it is I think about daily. But today, the today I’m in, I have neither the energy nor the patience to come up with something clever; something that has deft turns of phrase or some redemptive call back within. Today, the today I’m in, is one in which I scramble to keep things together; it’s one in which I feel cared about but under-appreciated; one in which I seem to be about ten hands short of what I need to get things done; one in which I feel overwhelmed and don’t really give a damn about being thoughtful. So I’m just going to talk.
It would be disgustingly smug to say I’m alone in the world. It’s just not true, but that doesn’t stop the feeling of loneliness or isolation. It’s not a comfort when you’re trying to do all the right things and just can’t seem to break even, when the constant refrain in your head is to sigh and think: It’s always something…
My life is crazy right now. It’s not “trapped under a building with no means of escape” crazy, but it is definitely “this is real life and there’s no such thing as a timeout” crazy; this is “I’m going to bullet point my thoughts in the hopes of making sense of them or perhaps bullet point them as a desperate cry to the internets” crazy. Below are some observations from life since March 20th.
What I Kinda Knew: Life would be crazy around this time.
What I Didn’t Know: Life would be so effing crazy around this time.
Between getting married and preparing for a child, it seems like…everything is happening at once. My wife and I certainly precipitated much of said happening, but it’s still mind-boggling. My daily thought process looks something like this, in no particular order:
Post to Root. Blog. Update website. Waste time on Twitter. No, don’t waste time on Twitter. OK, fine, just a little time on Twitter. Get an apartment. Turn on the gas. Turn on the electricity. Move into the apartment. Turn on phone. Hook up cable. Plan shower. Plan outdooring. Get gym membership. Do I need the financial aid package? No, screw that. Well, maybe I shouldn’t screw it. Paint the apartment. Find a dryer. Renovate theatre. Get friends to perform for next season. Get a car. Get car insurance. Get life insurance. Get death insurance. Get insurance insurance. Pay taxes. How much do they want? Crap, I’ll have to pay in installments. Pay student loans. Get health insurance. Get car seat. Get stroller. Get the plastic thingy that goes over the stroller. Get bassinet. Get crib. Get diapers. Get diapers. Get diapers. Get clothes. Plan theatre company season. Get diapers. Put gas in car. Get diapers. What happens after she goes into labor? The doctors just give us the kid and say good luck? Are they insane?
You thought it was over with Buddy Cop I: Straw Man. But Detective’s Pitts-Wiley and Kriss are back. And this time, it’s personal.
INT. — NIGHT — POLICE HEADQUARTERS
Detectives Kriss and Pitts-Wiley are putting on their jackets, getting ready to clock out. The rains from the last few weeks have made the office suffocating and they’ll be glad to get a good night’s sleep. There are wives to attend to; kids to play with. Both Pitts-Wiley and Kriss love the job, but sometimes you need a break.
The office is empty besides the two lawmen and there’s an almost eerie calm. No hustle. No bustle. Just the hum of the ceiling fans and a few stray computers that never get a day off. Kriss waits at the door of the office, tapping out a beat on the door frame. He’s excited; there’s a great UFC match on tonight and, for the first time in months, he won’t have to DVR it. Pitts-Wiley is shuffling over the desk looking for his keys. As he finds them, the phone rings. Pitts-Wiley looks at Kriss. Should they answer or shouldn’t they?
Kriss: Who the fuck would know? If it was really important, they’d call our cells!
Pitts-Wiley: Remember the last time we just left it?
Kriss: Yeah, yeah. The 2000 election. For fuck’s sake. Answer it.
Pitts-Wiley answers the phone. The voice on the other end is shaken, frightened.
Pitts-Wiley: Uh huh. World Star Hip Hop? Am I saying that correctly? OK. Ma’am. Things are going to be just fine. Listen, we’re going to send a squad car your way right now.
Pitts-Wiley hangs up the phone. He looks dejected. Kriss sees his plans going down the drain as well.
Kriss: No fight?
Pitts-Wiley: ‘Fraid not, partner.
CUT TO: INT. — MOMENTS LATER — POLICE HEADQUARTERS
Kriss and Pitts-Wiley fire up the unit’s computer. The department had been undergoing budget cuts for the last year or so, but Kriss had one of his snitches trick out a computer that even the tech guys in the department are jealous of. Both men sit in front of the computer. You can almost see the bags forming under their eyes as the start their investigation.
Kriss: World Star Hip Hop?
Pitts-Wiley: Yeah. Lady said…to be honest. I don’t know what she said. She sounded completely out of it. Wasn’t making any sense. All She kept saying was “Too short. Too short…” What that means? I have no idea.
Kriss: Hmm… Too short. Too short. Did she mean the rapper?
Pitts-Wiley: Shit if I know. Way she sounded, she coulda been piloting a mission to the moon.
Kriss: Screw it. Let’s put it in the search.
Kriss types “too short” into the search box. Clicking on the first link he could find, the resulting video makes him blanch. On reflex, he backs away from the computer. Pitts-Wiley has only seen Kriss move in that way once: when they found that body in the trunk off the expressway.
Pitts-Wiley: What is it?
Kriss: I think…Just look.
Pitts-Wiley looks and immediately wishes he hadn’t. Read the rest of this entry »
INT. — NIGHT — MIXED MAGIC THEATRE
Following a performance of When Mahalia Sings, The Feath sits in an chair in the theatre’s box office. She looks exhausted from performance. Jon, having finished his light and sound tech duties for the evening, emerges from the booth and sees The Feath. Concerned, he speaks
JON: You OK?
The Feath: Yeah. Just tired.
Jon: I saw you battling on “Joshua Fit the Battle of Jericho”.
The Feath: I’d say “struggling.”
Jon: How come?
The Feath: …There’s a baby on my diaphragm.
Pops did this in one take. Yo Guru! You ain’t gotta punch his shit!
“Moving pictures are worth a thousand _____________” — Me
INT — DAY — KENTUCKY FRIED CHICKEN
April 12, 2010.
Today, KFC has released its mythical Double Down, the more than chicken sandwich; it’s the sandwich made out of chicken. Jon feels it is his duty to tackle the giant. Armed with an iPhone, The Feath reluctantly agrees to accompany him on this journey. What you’re about to see is the event as it took place.
Taking the Plunge
- The Double Down is nothing if not decadent. The flavor combinations aren’t altogether peculiar so much as the proportions are borderline ghastly. If this was in nugget form, it would still push the bounds of culinary decency, but really, chicken, bacon, and cheese aren’t strange bedfellows. That combination is outlandish when done in sandwich proportions.
- I drank too much on Saturday and woke up Sunday morning feeling sluggish. I wasn’t hungover; but I did not feel good about my beverage choices the night before. I can’t bounce back like I used to. As I type this post-Double Down, I think I felt better when I woke up Sunday morning.
- The Feath ordered food of her own as I Double Down. I mentioned considered going for an unprecedented Quadruple Down. She promptly blanched and dropped her piece of chicken. The mere thought of seeing me take down another Double Down caused a woman seven months pregnant to lose her appetite.