Friday, December 28, 2012

"Storm Clears" and "Guilt"

While I threatened it might happen, the day has finally come, to both your and my surprise....original songs:

I wrote these songs during my period of unemployment, solely for myself. But, when asked to do something for a friend's b-day variety show, having no stand-up comedy act, I decided to take the leap and perform two of my originals.

I'm not a great guitar player. I'm not a good singer. I'm not sure my guitar was in tune. But...I did it.

The first song is called "Storm Clears", and the second is "Guilt".

Tuesday, December 25, 2012

Lover and Hater

One felt unrequited love. The other unrequited hate. They both had issues.

The Lover had admired her from afar, after meeting her briefly up close. A quick interaction to a chemical reaction which wormed its way into vivid, heartbreaking dreams. In pictures, she claimed the title of the Adorable Queen, a woman the Lover knew any man would desire.

The Lover was prone to grand gestures, and only the grandest would be fit for his Adorable Queen, his inner monologue convinced him. And no one could accuse the Lover of not being a man of action.

“Flowers and chocolates?” He thought. “No, not good enough for my Adorable Queen!”

The Queen left her small house on the edge of Culver City one morning, sipping the caffeinated Colombian coffee she prayed would flutter her eye lids up. Sadly, they still hung too low, with the upper and lower lids reaching for each other like a fallen child to their mother as the morning sun attempted to invade the fortress of her irises. And so thus, the Queen missed the rose bush which had been so neatly planted in her lawn behind the shades of midnight.

The Queen yelped as the roses’ green claws left their marks across her falling body. But, if she had not fallen and rolled onto the grass, she may also not have noticed the letter addressed to her, in an amateurish 8th grader’s cursive. As she tore open the envelope, the paper soaked in the red life seeping from the cuts in the Queen’s hands.

Inside the letter, the Queen discovered a certificate, certifying ten shares in Godiva under her name. Also enclosed was a note from the Lover:

“So you can have flowers every day, and chocolates never too far away.”

It should be noted that the Lover knew little of the rate rose bushes grew, nor much about the stock market. The Queen sensed this, but found the gesture mildly charming, minus the need for Neosporin. If only this would-be suitor had remembered to leave their name with the note.

It took a week before the Lover realized he had made this error. Feeling foolish, he could only make up for it with an even grander gesture! But what could beat eternal flowers and chocolate (dividends)?

The Adorable Queen had made it a point over the following week to not leave her home with any lingering fatigue. Her eyes were wide and shining as she stepped foot out her door to find a whimpering Pomeranian puppy staring up at her with hungry eyes. The Queen's heart almost melted...but quickly cooled as a bulldog walked up behind the Pomeranian. Followed by a middle-aged Doxen. And an old German Shepherd. As the Queen raised her head, she was introduced to the entire residency of the Give Pups a Chance adoption center, who had recently been given a home with an unknowing mother. The Lover stood at the back of the pack, holding the leash of a three legged Labradoodle with one hand, and waving with the other.

Good intentions cannot always make up for the failures of over compensation, as the Lover discovered following the notice of a restraining order from the stern but polite Office Lancaster that afternoon.

The Hater had never considered himself a hater, until Scrawk came into his life. To most, Scrawk was known as Scranton Hawk, a lanky lad of Norwegian decent. Scrawk’s beard ran redder than his hair, and his eyes screamed of an innocent cluelessness that was only truly innocent half the time, and clueless the other half.
What lead the Hater to his inarguably negative view of the Scrawk was a combination of pestilent interactions, warring views, and apocalyptic luck.

Their initial introduction came during a joyous holiday soiree at the mid-level production company where the Hater had worked thanklessly as an assistant for the last year and seven months. The Hater had set his eyes on the Creative Executive position soon to be created as the company prepared to expand. He had made his intentions clear to his superior that he desired the position. The Hater learned that night that Scrawk had also been aware of the Hater’s intentions. Upon meeting:
“Who do you know at the company?” asked Hater.

“I know myself. I got the C.E. gig. Sorry dude.” replied Scrawk.

So flippant was Scrawk’s apology, the Hater was tempted to throttle the skinny Norwegian’s naked throat, and he imagined pressing his thumbs against the Adams Apple which protruded towards him like a stick in the eye.

The Hater swallowed his desires for retribution, washing it down with his liquidating pride. Attempting to find a common ground with his foe, the Hater broached the subject which they both lived for: film. As Hater shared the works which inspired him; artful Italian films, quirky comedies, and breathtakingly original dramas, Scrawk’s interest vacillated between bemusement to apathy.

Scrawk liked horror films, or movies starring Jason Statham. Scrawk was a numbskull.

The final straw for the Hater broke during the premiere for the company’s latest release. The Hater left straight from work, having had to work late for the boss who had ignored his intentions for promotion but still expected A+ loyalty and service. The Hater often worked hours like these, leaving him little time for social interactions or meeting potential romantic partners. So he invited his sister, recently back from college, to be his plus one that night.

The Hater and his sister arrived on the red carpet at the same moment as Scrawk, who had on his arm the Adorable Queen. The Queen was an assistant at a management company who the Hater was familiar with, and had hoped to find an opportunity to become even more familiar with when the opportunity arose. Apparently, that opportunity arose for Scrawk before it had for the Hater.

The Hater learned to hate that night. Unencumbered, unapologetic hate. Whether Scrawk knew this didn’t matter. Whether Scrawk had any knowledge of this hostile energy emanating from the Hater was of no concern. The Hater needed to remove the Scrawk from his path. When Scrawk did cross Hater’s path at the premiere, it began with a step on the Hater’s new Marc Ecco’s.

“Whoops, didn’t see you there dude.”

Scrawk quickly scanned the Hater’s sister with judgmental eyes, comparing the Hater's mysterious date to his own. He then whispered to the Hater in an aside, “Man, you can do better than that!”

Perhaps in his mind, this was a backhanded compliment, but Scrawk failed to realize the line in the Hater’s mind he had crossed, turned back and spit on. The Hater was very loyal to his family, and took an affront to them as three to himself. Scrawk had to go.

In hindsight, the Hater later thought infiltrating an extremist jihadist website to declare a fatwa on Scrawk was a bad decision. Not so much that it was overkill, but because it put the Hater on the CIA’s very focused radar. CIA Agent Nelson had to admit he was boggled by the sudden appearance of this Bar Mitzvah-ed US citizen on a website frequented by people largely in favor of destroying Israel, and this man’s statements claiming Scranton Hawk’s involvement in anti-Muslim groups did not match what Nelson had in his files on the Norwegian, but he felt it was worth monitoring all the same.

Agent Nelson paid a visit to the Hater on a dreary Monday afternoon. The Hater's co-workers were baffled by his sudden ushering out by the man in black. While rumors spread as to the reasons, the Hater's boss saw this as a perfect opportunity to let his increasingly resentful assistant go.

After a long night of questioning, the Hater was released to his new world of funemployment.

The Hater had grown impatient with the jihadist’s reluctance to rush an attack on a single, low-profile individual anyways, and had moved on to less lengthy plans. The Hater purchased a scorpion from a local exotic pet store, and spent a rainy afternoon holding down the arachnid with a prong while using tweezers to squeeze venom out of the tail. The Hater knew very little about scorpion anatomy, and only managed to really piss off the scorpion in this process.

It did not take long for the perturbed scorpion to free its tail from the tweezers, and strike the Hater’s wrist.

When Office Lancaster arrived with his partner at the home of the Hater two days later, after apartment neighbors complained about an ill-fitting aroma loitering outside the Hater’s door, they were not shocked to find the pale, blank faced body of the Hater with his back on the floor, and legs still on the chair in which he had been sitting two days earlier.

At his funeral, there remained a sense of confusion as to what lead the Hater to purchase a scorpion, and to handle it with such carelessness. He had been a boy scout, claimed his grieving mother. Friends and co-workers mentioned his recent agitated state, arisen from an unknown cause. The priest prayed he was now at peace, and would go forth in beautiful unrest to the next world. The Adorable Queen shed a tear on Scrawk’s shoulder with these final words. She was a knock-out in her new black Versaci dress, the cost of which was supplemented by Godiva dividends. As she looked behind her at the saddened faces, she spotted a man quickly sinking behind a headstone.

The headstone was at least 200 feet away, so within the restraining order’s limits, but the Queen felt the Lover should not be here either way. It was in poor taste.