Monthly Archives: September 2014

Want to hear my idea for a really cool TV show?

I just had the coolest idea for a TV show. It’s going to take place in California. There’s going to be this really cool high school kid. But even though he’s super handsome and looks like he’s twenty-five, his life is really hard. He comes from a broken family. He lives in a really shady neighborhood. While he hasn’t landed in any serious trouble yet, it’s only a matter of time before the unfortunate circumstances of his life wind up setting him on a path toward crime, prison, or worse.

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But all of that changes when this kid gets adopted by a really rich family from one of the nicest neighborhoods in Southern California. It’s the family that everybody wishes they were a part of. The dad is a really cool lawyer, with a long haircut and giant eyebrows. They have this gigantic mansion, and a smaller house right behind the pool. “That can be your house,” the dad says to the kid. “You don’t have to worry about us being all up in your business. We’re cool parents. Come and go as you please.”

And there’s more. This rich family, they have their own son. He’s going to be your stereotypical nerd, only he’s not going to have glasses or asthma or anything like that. Basically, he’ll just tell everybody that he’s a nerd. “They’re not comic books, they’re graphic novels!” might be something that he says every other episode. This nerd is an only child, and he’s always had trouble fitting in. Will he get along with this new guy that his parents took in from the streets?

He will. They become best friends, brothers even. They go to high school together. They get two really hot girls to become their girlfriends. There are some other high school people involved as well, but they’re all going to be side characters, and years after the show finishes its run, nobody’s going to remember anybody besides the parents and the four main teenage characters. Oh, and there’s also going to be some weird sub-plot about a really rich evil old guy. I think he’s the nerd’s grandfather. He’ll be married to a woman with short red hair.

I don’t have much else in terms of details, but I think that the show is going to run for about four years. I’m really hoping that I can get some cool indie-rock band to play the theme song. I already have it all written out:

We’ve been on the run
Driving in the sun
Looking out for number 1
California here we come
Right back where we started from

Hustlers grab your guns
Your shadow weighs a ton
Driving down the 101
California here we come
Right back where we started from

California!
California!
Here we come!

You know exactly what this is, don’t you?

Ever since he could remember, Jim always felt as if something terrible was right about to happen. And I’m not talking about a bad accident or anything like that, I mean a true sense of dread, that something really sinister was looming just beyond the periphery of his vision. It was a shapeless type of terror, so vague that his imagination had no choice but to fill in the gaps.

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Like the house where he grew up, the main basement was scary enough, and sure, there was always that feeling like someone was chasing him up the stairs. But he’d heard other people have similar reactions, and so it was easy enough to write those goosebumps off as the same normal types of fears that everyone else carried around.

But what Jim had inside of him was something else. Like just next to the main basement there was this really small closet, like a much shorter door. It wouldn’t even close all the way because it had been repainted so many times over the years, and so it had to be kept shut with this old latch that had been nailed on from the outside. On the other side of the door, there was a really creepy subterranean crawlspace, something that city officials might need in case there was ever a serious problem with the block’s sewage pipes.

But there were never any problems, so the door just stayed the way it was, just barely closed, but only ninety-nine percent of the way there, it almost looked like it was really trying to pull away from that nail. And when Jim thought about that door, it was like he could see a pair of wrinkly old fingers pushing through that half-inch or so of space, blindly fumbling around in a weak attempt to unhook the latch from the other side.

And whereas the feeling of being chased up the stairs largely went away the minute he made it to the living room and shut the door behind him, he could never quite shake the feeling that there really was something behind that door, a little old man, a really nasty troll, something straight out of a scary movie, with snow white skin and a razor sharp smile that reached all the way up to his ears.

It wasn’t that he was afraid of an old man or a basement troll exactly, but it was that type of lasting horror that seemed to haunt his everyday, that feeling that he couldn’t stop feeling, like something was just out of reach, ready to pop out at any moment, even though it never did, there was that sense of inevitability, like it was just a matter of time.

As he grew up, Jim would try to rationalize his crippling anxiety, and he did a pretty good job leading a normal life considering that the fear was an ever-present companion. He’d tell himself that it was all in his head, even though inside of his head there was another voice telling him that it wasn’t. When it got really bad, he thought, well, at least I’ll see it coming. If something ever does confront me, I’ll have known it all along. But that only provided a fleeting idea of security, because when he really thought about it, what was worse? If that sniper were real, the one he fantasized about targeting him in his crosshairs from some unseen rooftop vantage point, wouldn’t it be nice to be able to live without the fear, regardless of the certain outcome?

And he tried, he really tried to ignore it, when he closed his eyes to go to sleep at night, he told himself that there weren’t a group of ghostly figures standing around the perimeter of his bed. When he walked home from the train at night, he wouldn’t let himself look down, to see if there really were any eyes peering at him from behind drainage grates leading to the sewers. He just kind of continued living his life, because he really didn’t have a choice in the matter. Whether he wanted to believe in it or not, it was irrelevant, it didn’t change the fact that even though his brain held to that steadfast idea that something evil was just about to jump out and nab him, so far, there’d been nothing. And so it was always this way, such a struggle to make it through days, which, despite his apprehensions, kept getting more and more regular.

Until one day he came home and there was a man sitting in his living room. He didn’t look particularly evil, but that’s where Jim’s mind went immediately, sizing up this smallish guy with a docile enough looking face, he felt certain that there was no other explanation as to this man’s presence besides the culmination of all of his life’s worries.

“Who are you?” Jim asked.

“You know exactly what this is, don’t you?”

“So, all of it?”

“Yeah. All of it.”

Jim sat down on the couch, wishing that he might feel a little relief knowing that it wasn’t all in his head. But there was nothing. If anything, the fear took on a new dimension, crossing a threshold that he didn’t know existed when it was all limited to the confines of his imagination. As he sank into the pillow cushions, the man stood up and slowly started walking toward him, very slowly, each step elevating that feeling of panic, exponentially, even as the space closed between them, it felt like he might not ever get there, that was no upward limit to what he was feeling, that maybe he’d never reach him, that this was it, his new eternity, one of hopelessness and despair, like one of those math curves that goes on forever, getting closer to zero, but stretching on and on without ever arriving.

Dude, what happened?

This guy doesn’t know what he’s doing, sitting on that park bench, waiting to make a move. He should have made a move like an hour ago, or even if he tried to do something like half an hour ago, maybe he could have pulled something off. But now there’s no chance. Even if he got up right this second, he’s going to be late. He’s regretting ever having gotten up and gone into the city today. Or even more than that, he’s regretting going onto craigslist looking for jobs, spending all of that time writing out his resume, taking the day off so that he could go into this interview.

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And for this, it’s pathetic. He knows it, too. He got up early. No, even before that. He’s been getting up early for days, ever since he got that email from the recruiter telling him that she set up a meeting. It was one of those moments where his heart let out something that can only be described as a double beat, like one beat, but with the power of at least two, followed by a silence, a long moment where he could feel the sweat build up in his glands, that moment right before his skin would get wet, it was cool, but not in a comfortable way, like an electric way, like even though he knew it was sweat, it could have very easily been fire. And that moment stretched out forever, he wondered if his heart would ever start beating again, and right before it did, it always did, for a fraction of that infinite space, something inside just kind of wished that it wouldn’t start up again. He didn’t want to die or anything that dramatic, but going forward didn’t really seem that appealing either, and he wondered what it would be like to spend an eternity right here, right in this elongated pause in between beats.

But then it beat and he couldn’t go to sleep that night. The closest thing he got to rest were these sort of sleep-like states where, even though he was aware that he was in his bed trying to not be awake, the dreams came at him anyway, dreams of showing up to the interview, trying to blow on his hands to evaporate some of the sweat from his palms, trying to figure out what he’d say to the secretary when he walked in the building. And then he’d have dreams in the other direction, where everything would go almost ridiculously according to plan, if he had a plan. But they’d hire him and right away he’d be the boss and he’d accumulate so much vacation time that he’d be on vacation almost instantly, a tropical island getaway, one of those seaside resorts where he wouldn’t even have to raise his hand to order another drink, no, the hotel staff would be so accommodating, they’d have it all timed out, so that exactly as he took his last sip, the empty glass would be replaced by a new one.

This was like three days of non-sleep, all the while the pressure of figuring out what to say, when to show up, how many copies of his resume to print out, what subway he’d take to the office, what kind of tie would he wear, should he wear a full suit or just a jacket and tie, did he need to get a haircut or would that look too eager? And he got there like three hours early, just in case, just in case the subway broke down, or it started raining and the tunnels got flooded, or if he lost his MetroCard and all of the machines at the station stopped working, so he’d have to walk to the next stop just to be able to pay for his ride, or if he got to the building on time but couldn’t find the right entrance, so many variables.

And in his rush to get out the door in the morning, he was starving, but he didn’t eat anything, and he usually drank like three or four cups of coffee, but not today, nothing, and so he couldn’t go to the bathroom when he woke up, because he was so nervous and he didn’t have the coffee in his system, and everything just felt off, hungry and full at the same time. He figured he’d get something to eat, get a cup of coffee. But not now, not just yet, maybe in an hour, just so that he’d get that nice after-lunch buzz, just one cup of coffee’s worth of caffeine to really make him stand out, to bring out his inner go-getter.

In an hour or two. But for right now, he might as well just sit on this park bench and try to calm down, to cool off. And he sat there and watched everybody else coming and going to their jobs. He looked at his messenger bag, which really wasn’t necessary, he only had one folder inside, five copies of his resume printed on not-too-fancy cardstock inside of that. Did the bag look as hollow on him as it felt carrying it around? Could you tell from looking at him that gravity was having a hard time keeping this empty bag fastened to his shoulder?

And he couldn’t get off of it. The sweat came back but this time it did feel like burning. And even though the minutes ticked by in what seemed like an exponentially decreasing speed, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he should’ve gotten something to eat a while ago, that now he wouldn’t have time to walk around the block and find a deli, to eat something without making it obvious that he’d just eaten, that he should’ve gotten up ten minutes ago and started walking toward the building, that his phone’s ringing in his pocket and he should at least answer it, say something about being right outside, that he should really at a minimum take his phone out of his pocket to see if it was the recruiter or the employer trying to figure out what happened, why he didn’t show.

And what’s it going to feel like on the train ride back? Just because you look like a commuter coming back from a job doesn’t mean everyone can’t tell that it’s all bullshit, that you’re the only pretending, just for one day. What are you going to say to your cat when you walk back inside the apartment later on in the evening, when he’s looking up at you, asking without asking, how did it go? How are you going to just sit back down on that couch like nothing happened? What did you do today, dude, what happened to your day? Are you going to have to get this shirt dry-cleaned again? What about the slightly more expensive resume paper, are you just going to add that to the list of money spent on almost making it to a job interview? And what’s the point of trying again? What are they going to say if you ask for another day off? How is next time going to be any easier?

Guess what?

Guess what? Actually, never mind, I probably shouldn’t say. You’re not interested? Really? I mean, I could tell you. All right, our cousin, Trish, she’s broke. Totally broke. Isn’t that hilarious? I mean, I guess it depends on your sense of humor. No, I’m not happy that she lost her job. But it’s just kind of funny, right? When you think about it? That new car that she bought last year? Man, talk about bad timing.

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She leased it? Whatever, it’s a new car. Yeah, I guess her company was doing a lot better last year. And sure, you never know when you’re going to run into serious health problems. Still, it just goes to show you that you shouldn’t go around flaunting your wealth and good fortune, because you never know when you’re going to get sick and lose your job and wind up broke. Really? You can lease a brand new Altima for that cheap? OK, well, still, it sort of flaunting. You don’t see me driving around a brand new Altima.

And did you hear about my neighbor Amir? Haha, I really shouldn’t gossip, but he had some sort of a septic issue, something about a broken pipe, and his basement was just totally flooded. Isn’t that hilarious? Like a whole basement full of raw sewage. Jesus, you could smell it from down the block. And we all went outside and stood by our doorways with our fingers pinching our noses. Because that’s just gross, right?

Yeah, right, I see what you’re saying. And I guess I get where you’re coming from, how it sounds mean spirited. Maybe it was a little mean spirited. I thought it was funny at the time. Man, I still think it’s kind of funny. But now I totally get what you mean, yeah, if that was me, I would be really pissed off if someone were standing outside of my house pointing and laughing.

But I’m stuck now. I’m equal parts feeling bad for their misfortune while still finding it all really funny. What does that say about me? Can’t we just agree to let the funny things stay funny? Doesn’t it make more sense to at least laugh about some of this stuff? I’d rather laugh than sit around and mope.

Like when my brother-in-law John lost his foot in that car accident. No, that wasn’t funny by itself. But remember that first prosthetic that he had, the temporary one before the insurance agreed to pay for that really advanced piece of robotics? Come on, that was funny. The foot was like three times bigger than his old one. He couldn’t get any of his shoes around it. And yeah, maybe painting it yellow with orange toenails was a little overkill, but is it really such a character defect to try and introduce even a little bit of joy to an otherwise grim situation? And why hasn’t he gotten over it? That was years ago, and every time we have a family get together, I can tell that he’s still holding some sort of a grudge. Come on John, that new leg you have is better than your old one ever was. Remember at the barbecue last summer, and all of the ice was frozen into solid blocks inside the coolers? He was practically showing off, “Hiyah!” breaking them up with his titanium heel. Everyone was giving him high-fives, but not me, he just kind of looked at me and gave me this really weird head nod.

No, I’ll try to be better, you’re right. Sometimes I just have to let things go. Like I was going to say something about your shirt, but now I’m not going to. Nothing. Seriously, it’s nothing. It’s a great shirt. I like it. What? Come on, you just gave me a whole big speech about being nice and not saying mean stuff. Well what do you mean? I didn’t telegraph anything. OK wow, well fuck you too buddy. You’re shirt sucks! There, that’s what I was going to say. It sucks. It’s a really stupid shirt. Jerk!

Labor Day gratitude

Happy Labor Day everybody! Here’s to us, the workers, the men and women that make this country work. If it weren’t for a strong work ethic, this nation would have gone straight down the pipes a long time ago. So go ahead, take one Monday off, you earned it.

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Here’s to a minimum wage that hasn’t gone up in forever, that when adjusted for inflation, doesn’t allow a full-time working adult to make a living. Here’s to you, minimum wage worker, thanks for doing what you’re doing, even though you probably have to ask for some sort of government assistance even though you are working, even though a lot of minimum wage employers won’t actually hire you full-time, they’ll make your hours just a little short of full-time, because they don’t want to pay you insurance or a living wage.

A special Labor Day thank you to our wonderful politicians, year after year doing nothing to address the issue of stagnating wages. Thanks to the Democrats for paying very mild lip service to crafting legislation that would force job creators to pay a fair wage to their workers, but an extra special thanks to the Republican naysayers, ensuring through their steadfast opposition that eight or ten dollars an hour mandated by the government is just fine.

And a shout out to all the employers that only pay their employees the legally allowed bare minimum. You’re doing a great job. This is what America is all about. This is what life is all about. It’s about taking as much as you can, giving as little as possible, and making sure that nothing ever changes.

But really, thank you, thank you, thank you, to the millions of illegal immigrants currently toiling away in our fields, picking our strawberries, canning our tomatoes, all of the sharecropping jobs that pay just enough for an individual to survive. How much does an undocumented immigrant make nowadays anyway? I have no idea. That’s the whole point. It’s undocumented.

Just never complain about anything, you hear that aliens? We all appreciate your hard work, but if you complain, or cause a fuss, we’ll send you back. Where? Who cares? Somewhere south of the border. You want that? We don’t really care, because there are millions and millions of eager non-citizens willing to risk their lives to take your place. They won’t complain. So think about that the next time you try another one of those May Day parades come spring.

Finally, I’d like to send out my sincere thanks to the people at the top. Thank you, really, thank you, for making our country what it is. You are the foundation upon which the entire nation stands. You create the jobs. You spend the money that makes funding national campaigns possible. You send the lobbyists to Washington to then remind the politicians what they were sent there to do. Thank you for using your power responsibly and fairly. It’s very clear that, with all of the money and power and law at your disposal, you’ve all been doing a really good job for the past thirty years making America a great place for everybody to live. Seriously, business people live and die by results. And the results speak for themselves. Keep up the great work. Don’t change anything.

Everybody else, I hope you had a nice day of barbequing. It would be nice if you could come in early tomorrow and get a head start on the four-day week.