I spent 15 minutes watching my 4 year old cousin write 5 words with a pencil.
It was like witnessing a miracle. Honestly, to see those puny fingers wrap around a pencil and press against paper to create script from nothing was nothing short of magical.
Don't tell me it's just me who feels this way.
It was fascinating to see her put the letters together. Each word was an adventure and I felt like I needed to be a part of it, even if it meant I could only watch.
Sigh. I can't wait to be a father.
The Turn (24th March 2009)
I came across this script I attempted to write and complete for a friend of mine earlier this year. He's doing a course in Direction. He wanted something slick and Guy Ritchie-esque and I guess I got a little carried away.
(So what else is new?)
Disclaimer: this was an email directed at said friend, so excuse the lower case and haphazard structure.
--------------
Scene: there's a stray dog. the camera moves in closer and a hand reaches out with a piece of bred or something. the dog snatches the bread as the voice begins: (camera moves from dog to the ground and his feet.. and the rest follows)
"It's a dog eat dog world mate, a dog eat dog world. I mean, in today's world, all one needs to learn to do is keep your cards close to your chest, and bet big when the hand comes along. Don't trust nobody, look over your shoulder and smile at the pretty ladies that walk by." (here there'll be three attractive women going by and we show them grinning in acknowledgement at the protagonist)
(distracted) "So as I was saying, in the world today, a simple fucker like you or me can't make it without a set of rules, a code. You do your business and you watch your possessions carefully." (camera is at chest level as he removes his rolex and looks at the time.)
"You wake up in the morning, have your cup of coffee, walk out the door with a happy face and some money in your pocket and you face the day. Go to work, go to the park, go to the fucking pub if you need to, but you get up and just go somewhere, you know? I mean honestly, how many of you fuckers (the camera pans across the street, focuses on the pedestrians and there's cars too) manage to make your day's keep eh? The world is filled with slimy, despicable filth mate. Nobody's clean, not even your own fucking mum. It's a shame there's no one around to clean up these streets, to do some good in this bloody old world." (camera reaches his face, he stares straight into the camera, takes a blade out from his pocket and cuts his forehead slightly) "I mean, how's a man supposed to make an honest living, eh?"
(he smiles, suddenly straightens his face, blood dripping from his head, takes a few steps and gets hit by a car. he groans and the driver rushes out to see if he's ok. driver helps him up, looks frantic, gazes around to see if there are any cops. our protagonist staggers a bit, holds his head, there are a few gestures made and within ten seconds the driver takes a wad of cash out from his wallet, places his hand supportively on the protagonist (let's call him "bob" for quick reference) and acts apologetically. briskly moves to his car and drives off. as he's driving off, bob limps towards the camera with a pained expression, which quickly transforms to an evil grin and he continues walking)
(all through this scene, there will be no noise. this is where we introduce his line of work, by way of a narrative, so it continues straight from when he steps onto the street and towards a booze store. the rest of this narrative will be quick, and he will swig his little bottle on the way to the bar to meet ricky, that way his alcoholism is conveyed)
"The thing is, I don't. I'm an artist, a grifter. Sort of like Robin Hood. Except I don't have a crew. And I don't wear fucking tights. I pull the small con, I find these douches that can't think right, simple enough marks, and I give them a run for their money. Literally. I mean if you have the money and not enough sense to protect it from the two-bit scum that walks these streets, you don't deserve it now do you? How many times have you looked at the change the cashier gives you? How many times have you taken someone's word for it? How many times have you put your faith blindly on something, without really having a go over it in your head? That's it mate. That's confidence. And I'm one of the best." (pause) "I've been living off of it since I was a kid; my mum couldn't pay the bills and my dad... well he wasn't in the picture much. Someone's gots to put the bacon on the table, right? It started out with petty stuff, stealing veggies and all that. But I soon learnt that there's a better way of taking stuff from folks. Right under their noses, taking it with their consent. When the prick comes out and gives you his money, his food, his liquor, you know you've earned it. My mum, the poor lady saw the pearly gates 'cause of pneumonia and now I'm on me own and I have to say, I couldn't have it better. I've been stashing away some for a while now, with all these grifts and a couple more should put me into retirement. Then it'll be on a boat some place on the mediterranean and our boy can have the easy life, maybe settle down with a girl from Spain; those girls are always fit; and make a couple babies before I knock it, eh?" (pause, as he imagines it in his head, and nods) "Yeah, sounds about right."
(he pushes the door open and walks into the bar, there's loud music playing and he scans the tables for his friend ricky. locates him, they exchange a warm hug and a smile, and sit down. the narration continues, now focusing on ricky, as bob starts describing how similar him and ricky are and how they are friends from back in the day. there's a close up of ricky holding a 20 pound note up towards the bartender, asks for a round of beer, the beer comes and the camera watches him switch the note into a £10 and he takes the change.)
There you go. I had bigger dreams for this than a mere blog post. Maybe one day I'll add to the story and take it further... maybe. Thanks for reading you lovely readers you.
(So what else is new?)
Disclaimer: this was an email directed at said friend, so excuse the lower case and haphazard structure.
--------------
Scene: there's a stray dog. the camera moves in closer and a hand reaches out with a piece of bred or something. the dog snatches the bread as the voice begins: (camera moves from dog to the ground and his feet.. and the rest follows)
"It's a dog eat dog world mate, a dog eat dog world. I mean, in today's world, all one needs to learn to do is keep your cards close to your chest, and bet big when the hand comes along. Don't trust nobody, look over your shoulder and smile at the pretty ladies that walk by." (here there'll be three attractive women going by and we show them grinning in acknowledgement at the protagonist)
(distracted) "So as I was saying, in the world today, a simple fucker like you or me can't make it without a set of rules, a code. You do your business and you watch your possessions carefully." (camera is at chest level as he removes his rolex and looks at the time.)
"You wake up in the morning, have your cup of coffee, walk out the door with a happy face and some money in your pocket and you face the day. Go to work, go to the park, go to the fucking pub if you need to, but you get up and just go somewhere, you know? I mean honestly, how many of you fuckers (the camera pans across the street, focuses on the pedestrians and there's cars too) manage to make your day's keep eh? The world is filled with slimy, despicable filth mate. Nobody's clean, not even your own fucking mum. It's a shame there's no one around to clean up these streets, to do some good in this bloody old world." (camera reaches his face, he stares straight into the camera, takes a blade out from his pocket and cuts his forehead slightly) "I mean, how's a man supposed to make an honest living, eh?"
(he smiles, suddenly straightens his face, blood dripping from his head, takes a few steps and gets hit by a car. he groans and the driver rushes out to see if he's ok. driver helps him up, looks frantic, gazes around to see if there are any cops. our protagonist staggers a bit, holds his head, there are a few gestures made and within ten seconds the driver takes a wad of cash out from his wallet, places his hand supportively on the protagonist (let's call him "bob" for quick reference) and acts apologetically. briskly moves to his car and drives off. as he's driving off, bob limps towards the camera with a pained expression, which quickly transforms to an evil grin and he continues walking)
(all through this scene, there will be no noise. this is where we introduce his line of work, by way of a narrative, so it continues straight from when he steps onto the street and towards a booze store. the rest of this narrative will be quick, and he will swig his little bottle on the way to the bar to meet ricky, that way his alcoholism is conveyed)
"The thing is, I don't. I'm an artist, a grifter. Sort of like Robin Hood. Except I don't have a crew. And I don't wear fucking tights. I pull the small con, I find these douches that can't think right, simple enough marks, and I give them a run for their money. Literally. I mean if you have the money and not enough sense to protect it from the two-bit scum that walks these streets, you don't deserve it now do you? How many times have you looked at the change the cashier gives you? How many times have you taken someone's word for it? How many times have you put your faith blindly on something, without really having a go over it in your head? That's it mate. That's confidence. And I'm one of the best." (pause) "I've been living off of it since I was a kid; my mum couldn't pay the bills and my dad... well he wasn't in the picture much. Someone's gots to put the bacon on the table, right? It started out with petty stuff, stealing veggies and all that. But I soon learnt that there's a better way of taking stuff from folks. Right under their noses, taking it with their consent. When the prick comes out and gives you his money, his food, his liquor, you know you've earned it. My mum, the poor lady saw the pearly gates 'cause of pneumonia and now I'm on me own and I have to say, I couldn't have it better. I've been stashing away some for a while now, with all these grifts and a couple more should put me into retirement. Then it'll be on a boat some place on the mediterranean and our boy can have the easy life, maybe settle down with a girl from Spain; those girls are always fit; and make a couple babies before I knock it, eh?" (pause, as he imagines it in his head, and nods) "Yeah, sounds about right."
(he pushes the door open and walks into the bar, there's loud music playing and he scans the tables for his friend ricky. locates him, they exchange a warm hug and a smile, and sit down. the narration continues, now focusing on ricky, as bob starts describing how similar him and ricky are and how they are friends from back in the day. there's a close up of ricky holding a 20 pound note up towards the bartender, asks for a round of beer, the beer comes and the camera watches him switch the note into a £10 and he takes the change.)
There you go. I had bigger dreams for this than a mere blog post. Maybe one day I'll add to the story and take it further... maybe. Thanks for reading you lovely readers you.
Blueberry Cheesecake (11th November 2009)
Slice One - Standing in a crowded bus, covered in sweat.
It isn't my sweat. Unwillingly subjected to the grime these 9-5ers seem to have accumulated, I stand grinning because one of my senses is distinguisingly privileged.
I have music.
Slice Two - Sitting at someone else's desk at the office.
Trying to use the internet; the server is down, but I will persistently hit the refresh button, hoping it will catch a little signal and then I will have the world at my finger tips. What do I need it for? I don't know yet but it's nice to have the option. The A/C runs dry air consistently through its vents and my fingers are cold. Not entirely sure how to keep myself busy but I've put my friendly face on and it's Day 1 on the battlefield.
Looking forward to Day 2... mostly because it means Day 1 will be over.
Slice Three - Staring at a beautifully lit wooden stage in an auditorium.
One of those classy halls with heavy carpets and comfy seats filled with people wearing mufflers... and reading glasses. There are two elegantly dressed Spanish women bowing to the audience; then they begin their recital. Piano and violin. Classic. They swim through symphonies and give me a lot to think about. My ears and eyes are soaking in the music, but everything else is everywhere else. Where am I going to go after this? Who am I going to meet? How am I going to get there? What am I going to eat? When am I going to find a house for myself? Is this the life?
Well it sure is exciting.
-----------------------------------
"That's enough, thanks", I said to the waiter. The spread is amazing and I am stuffed. This cheesecake really hit the spot. I want to go home now.
But it isn't for me to decide, I need to wait on my Uncle and his wife. I'm at a 40th birthday party, and it is hopping.
I'm outside the city; outside the state, rather. Magnificent house - so many rooms, so much space, yet still very homely. No frills spared, the caterers walked around serving fancy hors doeuvres to the fancy guests. Needless to say, I felt out of place.
But then I also felt completely in place. I watched as these people twenty years older than me were dancing and singing awkwardly and it was exactly like the parties I've been to, minus the fancy stuff.
Honestly, this generation gap business is a myth. Yeah, we were born into the internet and yeah, we are quicker to grasp shit but NO to everything else.
Intelligence is a language by itself and if I looked a little older and wasn't introduced as anyone's nephew, the whole of that night would have been an experiment in camouflage. It made me reflect constantly, like a fucking house of mirrors this party. These people knew each other in all shapes and ways. Some went to college together, some work together, some slept with each other but things didn't work out, some are somebody else's friend and so on.
Sound familiar?
Of course it does.
Their language, their relationships, their concepts felt so synonymous and I felt like I could relate. Once we were comfortable, we got to talking about everything from naming kids to psychoactive drugs. It was amazing. I stood fascinated at how everyone gelled together and I thought about how everyone who grows up with you is obviously someone you consider close. But then there really is no finishing line to the process, is there? We're always growing up.
And then we die.
Haha, I'm only kidding. I mean, yes of course, we do die. Eventually. But there's loads of room for some fun in between. And I was witness to a heck of a lot of that at this soiree. Good time.
This new city life ain't so bad.
And I fucking love blueberry cheesecake.
It isn't my sweat. Unwillingly subjected to the grime these 9-5ers seem to have accumulated, I stand grinning because one of my senses is distinguisingly privileged.
I have music.
Slice Two - Sitting at someone else's desk at the office.
Trying to use the internet; the server is down, but I will persistently hit the refresh button, hoping it will catch a little signal and then I will have the world at my finger tips. What do I need it for? I don't know yet but it's nice to have the option. The A/C runs dry air consistently through its vents and my fingers are cold. Not entirely sure how to keep myself busy but I've put my friendly face on and it's Day 1 on the battlefield.
Looking forward to Day 2... mostly because it means Day 1 will be over.
Slice Three - Staring at a beautifully lit wooden stage in an auditorium.
One of those classy halls with heavy carpets and comfy seats filled with people wearing mufflers... and reading glasses. There are two elegantly dressed Spanish women bowing to the audience; then they begin their recital. Piano and violin. Classic. They swim through symphonies and give me a lot to think about. My ears and eyes are soaking in the music, but everything else is everywhere else. Where am I going to go after this? Who am I going to meet? How am I going to get there? What am I going to eat? When am I going to find a house for myself? Is this the life?
Well it sure is exciting.
-----------------------------------
"That's enough, thanks", I said to the waiter. The spread is amazing and I am stuffed. This cheesecake really hit the spot. I want to go home now.
But it isn't for me to decide, I need to wait on my Uncle and his wife. I'm at a 40th birthday party, and it is hopping.
I'm outside the city; outside the state, rather. Magnificent house - so many rooms, so much space, yet still very homely. No frills spared, the caterers walked around serving fancy hors doeuvres to the fancy guests. Needless to say, I felt out of place.
But then I also felt completely in place. I watched as these people twenty years older than me were dancing and singing awkwardly and it was exactly like the parties I've been to, minus the fancy stuff.
Honestly, this generation gap business is a myth. Yeah, we were born into the internet and yeah, we are quicker to grasp shit but NO to everything else.
Intelligence is a language by itself and if I looked a little older and wasn't introduced as anyone's nephew, the whole of that night would have been an experiment in camouflage. It made me reflect constantly, like a fucking house of mirrors this party. These people knew each other in all shapes and ways. Some went to college together, some work together, some slept with each other but things didn't work out, some are somebody else's friend and so on.
Sound familiar?
Of course it does.
Their language, their relationships, their concepts felt so synonymous and I felt like I could relate. Once we were comfortable, we got to talking about everything from naming kids to psychoactive drugs. It was amazing. I stood fascinated at how everyone gelled together and I thought about how everyone who grows up with you is obviously someone you consider close. But then there really is no finishing line to the process, is there? We're always growing up.
And then we die.
Haha, I'm only kidding. I mean, yes of course, we do die. Eventually. But there's loads of room for some fun in between. And I was witness to a heck of a lot of that at this soiree. Good time.
This new city life ain't so bad.
And I fucking love blueberry cheesecake.
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