Wednesday, June 13, 2012

My short story Questions of War is to be made into short film.  I'll keep you up-to-date. 

Thursday, September 8, 2011

What a Politician in Him

What a Politician in Him
Melvin Smith dabbed his tie on his brow. Clip board in hand, he made sure that he posture was perfect. There could be no mistakes. The Labor Party just couldn’t take any more embarrassments.
“Hello, my name is Melvin Smith and I’m your local Labor Party candidate,” he said to himself, extending his free hand for a handshake.
Melvin tried again, this time in a deeper tone. “Hello, my name is Melvin Smith and I’m your local Party candidate.”
He shook his head. This was going to be harder than he thought. But once he got past the introduction he knew that he was golden. Melvin had spent hours in front of his mother’s full length mirror going over talking points. Like all the other great MP’s, everything had to boil down into two word phrases: deficit reduction, growth plan, citizen focused.
The first house on his canvassing route approached on the right. Melvin’s heart started to pound. He closed his eyes to see the future, just like his public speech professor had taught him. Envisioning everything he wanted, he started to feel a calm wash over him as he made his way up the driveway. The very Earth seemed to give way at his confident step.
He strode up to the door. A quick jab on the door bell summoned the owner. Melvin turned around to see if there was anything about the house he could compliment about. He nearly doubled over at what he saw. The drive way was covered with wet concrete; all along its length his feet had made their mark.
Melvin whipped around as the door opened. A six-foot six man with arms like tree trunks answered the door.
“Yes?” he asked.
“Hello,” said Melvin. “I’m your local Conservative Party candidate.” The he turned around and ran back down the path.

Monday, August 3, 2009

A little play I never tried to get produced

Harold- A middle aged man
Carol- A young woman
Bartender-Tends the bar
Harold and Carol are sitting at a table at a bar.
Harold: You know you should keep one eye on the present and one on the past. But I only have the one eye; all I see is the past. It’s like living in a dream. I can’t wake up.
(Order a shot. The bartender brings it to him. Harold drinks it quickly. Hence forth whenever Harold orders another shot this happens.)
Carol: And why are you telling me this? It isn’t like I can wake you up. Whatever that metaphor means…
Harold: …It isn’t a metaphor.
Carol: So you’re living in a dream? From the looks of you it looks more like a nightmare.
Harold: There isn’t much anyone can do. I am just talking, lots you know? Have you had any drinks yet?
Carol: No, and don’t pretend this is some great journey of self discovery. This is a bar for crying out loud.
Harold: Crying out loud, now that’s something I could get into right now. I can’t remember the last time I cried but it seems like such great alternative to offing myself.
Carol: Oh stop being so melodramatic. And let up with the I am a tough guy with a troubled past act.
Harold: What are you talking about?
(Orders another shot)
Carol: You’ve been acting so long that you’ve fallen for your own antics.
Harold: What about you? You’re Miss I’ve Been Around the Block so I can tell you what’s up like psychologist without the degree.
Carol: Never had a chance to go get ahead in life…
Harold: Trouble past too I see.
Carol: Stop gloating.
Harold: I just like making fun of you.
Carol: (Pause) How did you lose that eye any ways?
Harold: I was born without it.
Carol: That was a letdown.
Harold: Would it make you feel better if I told you some guy tore it out of my head?
Carol: And why would anyone do that?
Harold: Well I have a shadowy past. Which involve a lot of illegal activity. All sorts of shady business.
Carol: Why don’t I just take that for granted?
Harold: You do that. Now tell me something about yourself. How are you so well versed in the ways of humanity? Offer me some insight into human nature.
Carol: Well I lived in the slums. I never had enough to eat. I had an abusive father…
Harold: …Should I be crying you a river?
(Orders another shot)
Carol: Don’t interrupt… Hey didn’t you say you wanted to cry?
Harold: That’s so unmanly.
Carol: Isn’t it time to shed the stereotypes?
Harold: Not until I make a self discovery about myself. But speak for yourself. Look at you. Acting tough when you’re really fragile but underneath that you’re resilient.
Carol: Hey buddy I don’t know you well enough to get into that.
Harold: What are you talking about? I’ve know you all my live.
Carol: Can one person really know another?
Harold: Oh great. This conversation is really being dominated by questions. Have you noticed that?
Carol: I’ve noticed a great deal of things.
Harold: Care to share?
Carol: Not yet.
Harold: Be that way.
Carol: I’ll be this way until you change me.
Harold: I don’t want to change you.
Carol: Then you and I are dancing to different drums.
Harold: Ok.
(Orders another shot)
Carol: What are we doing here?
Harold: I think we’re trying to out cliché each other.
Carol: No I mean…
Harold: Yeah… I know what you mean.
Carol: Do you really?
Harold: I can take a guess. Maybe.
Carol: Ok
Harold: Alright, I really don’t know what you mean. What are you having a mid life crisis or something?
Carol: Maybe… One life ends another beings.
Harold: Don’t give me that, you’re not half way through your life.
(Orders another shot)
Carol: You don’t know how old I am do you?
Harold: I won’t guess that’d be rude.
Carol: Don’t be horrid.
Harold: I don’t understand.
Carol: Don’t you get it?
Harold: Not really.
Carol: I feel like telling you.
Harold: Then tell me.
Carol: Nah, I don’t want to trap you.
Harold: I am witty guy, I’m sure that I could disarm any trap you lay out.
Carol: I don’t know what to say.
Harold: Don’t say anything at all, sometimes that’s best.
Carol: Let me riddle you this, why do you love me?
Harold: My heart didn’t give me a choice.
Carol: That’s sweet.
Harold: (Turns away from Carol) I wish it did though.
Carol: What did you just say?
Harold: I left everything that in this society gave me value. Like a sick man following the promise of a cure. But I only think this sometimes. I mean, yeah. I had job and left that. Had a wife and left her.
Carol: Aren’t you happy with me?
Harold: Well sure. You were the cure of my mid-life crisis. Hey aren’t you going to order any drinks tonight? They’re on me.
Carol: I can’t drink tonight.
Harold: Why not?
Carol: Can’t drink the night before an operation.

Like someone for their strengths love them for their flaws

On the whole humanity's goal overall and to the specific individual is to find happiness. Isn't it? I see a lot of people who see it fit for themselves to wallow in their own problems. The question why not? We like people for their strengths but must love them for their flaws (or at least tolerate them). That stands to reason that people who wear all their imperfection on their sleeves will be able to weed out people around whom can only like them, driving them away with their flaws. What will remain should be a circle of people whom have the potential to love you, to look past your flaws maybe even embrace them.
On the other hand isn't our society coming to a head with our values on what's on the inside versus what's on the outside. Our flaws by their very definition are our weaknesses. If history has shown us anything it's that the weak are dominated by the strong. Everyone has flaws it's just a matter of burying your flaws deep enough so that all anything sees are first glance are strengths. For the betterment of ourselves shouldn't we surround ourselves with strong people. Seeking to adopt their better traits. Learning their strengths to turn them into our own.
There must be a balance at some point. Weak, strong what difference does it make?