Josh o' Trades

Tuesday, February 28, 2006

There She Goes…

There she goes, again.

Y2K didn’t exactly go very well for me. Over the span of 12 months, I lost 5% of the hearing in my left ear, 2 jobs, a grandmother, and a fiancée.

Yeah, needless to say, the new millennium was not my finest hour.

However, I was lucky in that I had a couple of friends to see me through. One in particular, Malia, is celebrating a birthday today. She and The Farm Boy helped me pick up the pieces of my fractured soul and start feeling human again.

She claims we first met while I was recovering from my ear surgery, but I don’t remember meeting her until I was fully ensconced within the 96-Hour Clause. To quote, uh, myself:

"Whenever you break up with someone, you evoke the Clause. Think of it as…temporary insanity. You can’t be held responsible for anything you say or do during that time. And everything starts to get better afterwards."

You see, my first memories of this girl are of throwing a softball bat at her head. Hey! Don’t look at me in tone of voice. It slipped. It did. Really.

I can only imagine what she must have been thinking. Here was this guy with cheesy N-Sync-esque blonde highlights hurling a large, heavy object at her. Lucky for me, she didn’t take offense. Actually, it just seemed to bond us quite early on. Had I only known…

Malia (much like the Apocalypse Queen, Lady Steph, and JJ) is of that rare species who can look right through my defensive shields and see the real me I try to keep hidden from the world at large. I guess she liked what she saw, because she decided to stick around. If she hadn’t, I shudder to think where I’d be right now.

Many a summer night were spent on the curb outside a restaurant or movie theater or RedRoc’s house, just talking and listening. Of endless discussions of fate and God and the human condition. Of worthiness and esteem and all the little things that keep us going day in and day out.

We hid in plain sight as members of a youth group Human Scavenger Hunt, shot a trailer for a movie that didn’t exist, and stared in a Britney Spears video. We hung out in Jerry McGuire’s kitchen and jumped off the roof of the Heights Baptist Church. We danced in the fountain from the Friends opening credits, and earned our own table at IHOP.

She tried to convert me in the ways of coffee and I taught her to flip a guy three times her size over her shoulder. She abandoned me one night with a person she knew I shouldn’t have been with, and I helped her write the script for a "casual" phone call that ended just as badly.

I helped her move four times in three months, ragged her about her inability to pronounce simple words like "Sprite" and "Bagel," and marveled at her idea of proper fiber intake ("Eat the tree!!") She and I christened Eve with a meteor shower and gave Speedy a run for his money at the UTD track. We made declarations at a pool party once and suffered the consequences as they both came true. She has kept me entertained with stories from her past ("Let me in! Let me in! Let me out! Let me out!") and she has a very nice shoe.

I’ve had to track down movies on VHS (from Canada, no less) because she was too proud to buy a DVD player, have supplied canned food items in lieu of free-weights for her to curl, and got her and her boy in to see Episode 2 with the cast and crew, as well as that coveted Boba Fett autograph.

She sat on my couch and did laundry with Blondie, watching (and explaining) Fight Club, while I was out on job interviews. She understands the Pep’s attraction to Bitter Apple and can quote Young Frankenstein line for line. We’ve both loved and lost, and laughed and cried, and have climbed and fallen. And, we’re still here.

She married the boy of her dreams (quite literally) a couple of years ago, and is very happy, despite not having that X-Terra just yet.

She is one of my best friends, and I will always be thankful for knowing her.

Happy Birthday, Supergirl. Just remember, no matter how old you get, I’ll always be…younger.

As will your husband, ya cradle-robber…

Love ya!
-Spidey

"A diplomat is a man who always remembers a woman's birthday but never remembers her age." ~Robert Frost

Monday, February 27, 2006

The Clearing At The End Of The Path

Good night, Old Man. Darren McGavin is gone. Best known as Ralphie's Dad in A Christmas Story, McGavin's charm and charisma made him as popular a yuletide figure as George Bailey. I first knew him as Gus Sands, Kim Basinger's boyfriend with the "eye that sees all," from The Natural. He had over 170 roles in both television and the silver screen. He was 84.

The Shakiest Gun in the West has made his last draw. Don Knotts was more than an actor, or even a person. To me, he IS my childhood. From Henry Limpet to Luther Heggs, from Ralph Furley to, yes, Barney Fife, Mr. Knotts will always be the person I think of whenever I get nostalgic for the more simple times of yesteryear. He was 81.

(Edited to add)

Just found out that Dennis Weaver has also left us. I still remember vividly watching him on Gunsmoke and Dr. Kildare reruns. His turn as Sam McCloud was another of those role models I looked up to. But, it was probably his David Mann, in Spielberg's Duel, that I'll always know him for. He was 82.

Good Morrow, Gentlemen. May your days always be bright, and your nights be warm.

"We understand death for the first time when he puts his hand upon one whom we love." ~Madame de Stael

Friday, February 24, 2006

Feature Friday: Sliding Doors

For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. Every day, we make hundreds of decisions that dictate the outcome of that day. More often than not, we are never aware of what would happen had we made a different decision.

What if we had chosen not to take Central that night, had not gotten caught in the gridlock there, made it to the restaurant early instead of late, and ended up meeting the person that could change your life forever?

Or, how about if we had not decided to wait on the coffee maker for an extra two minutes for that fresh cup and had been 3 people ahead in line and had bought the winning $240 Million Lotto Ticket?

Or, what if we had just been 30 seconds earlier, and had caught that train?

Title: Sliding Doors
Year: 1998
Director: Peter Howitt
Staring: Gwyneth Paltrow, John Hannah, John Lynch, Zara Turner, Douglas McFerran, Paul Brightwell, Jeanne Tripplehorn

It's been a bad day for Helen Quilley (Paltrow). Her birthday was over the weekend, and she and her friends partied a little too much, so she's running late, as usual; her live-in, unemployed, writer boyfriend (Lynch) gets to sleep in; and when she gets to her public relations job, she finds herself let go because she helped herself to four bottles of company vodka the Friday before, leaving none for the V.I.P.'s who stopped by the office on Saturday night.

Oh, and the boyfriend's cheating on her, in her bed. Only she doesn't know this...yet.

A devastated Helen stumbles her way to the train station, has to maneuver around a little girl, and just misses the train. Then, the movie makes a unique turn. We get to see time rewind itself to the point of Helen running the stairs, just as before, only this time the little girl's mother pulls her aside, allowing Helen to catch the train just the doors are sliding shut.

From here on out, we see Helen's life as both versions of reality play out. In Version A, Helen misses her train and has to settle on a taxi ride instead. Just before she gets in, a young man tries to steal her purse, resulting in a nasty bump and cut on her forehead. Stuck at the hospital all afternoon, she gets home just minutes after Lydia (Tripplehorn), Gerry's American ex-girlfriend leaves the apartment. Still having to support both herself and Gerry, Helen takes on two jobs to make ends meet, grows ever weary of Gerry's behavior, and must come to terms about becoming pregnant.

In Version B, Helen does make the train, where she takes a seat next to charming James (Hannah). After finding out about her being fired, James helps to cheer her up. Finally able to smile after her troublesome morning, Helen returns home to catch Gerry and Lydia in the act. Furious and heartbroken, she makes her way to the local pub, where she runs into James and his friend Clive (Brightwell). Later that night, when Helen's best friend Anna (Turner) arrives to take her home, James offers the two a ride. Over the course of a few weeks, with Anna's and James' help, Helen heals and takes her life back, changing her appearance and setting up a new outlook for herself. She finds herself falling for James, despite not wanting too. But James is harboring a secret that may destroy all the groundwork Helen has made thus far.

I don't know about you, but I love movies that make you think. It's rare that I find one with great writing, great acting, and a premise that sparks in-depth conversation afterwards. That, plus I'm a sucker for an good accent (preferably New Zealand or Australian, but English will do in a pinch).

This was 1998, and Gwyneth Paltrow was following up her acclaimed 1996 performance in Emma. It was shortly before her Oscar win, and long before the produce came into the picture. No, this was back when most people only knew Gwyneth because she and Brad had just split.

I find that I like most of her roles. And, while I don't think she deserved Best Actress for Shakespeare In Love, I did enjoy her performance quite a bit. Same here. She gives Helen a quirkiness and real world quality that you instantly bond with. You know this girl, or someone a lot like her. She gets to play the full spectrum of emotions and you generally feel for her and want things to turn out right for her. As well you should. The movie IS about her, after all.

Scottish actor John Hannah is wonderful in this film. Though known to a few from Four Weddings and a Funereal, most American audiences didn't discover him until his turn in 1998's The Mummy. Hannah brings a fresh face to the leading man staple, and he wins you over with his boyish charm. He's funny and real, a good combination to have in an actor. However, Hannah knows when to tune it down a couple of notches, so as to come off as natural, and not acting. Wonderful performance. I'd like to see more from him.

What love story would be complete without "the other woman?" Jeanne Tripplehorn is a delight. Her Lydia has a difficult role to play. She is the ex-girlfriend recently returned to get her man back. But she can't help but check out the competition. Her character really doesn't have much of an arc in the movie, so Tripplehorn plays every scene as far as she wants, awesomely taking her performance over the top and dragging poor John Lynch along with her.

And speaking of Lynch, his Gerry is my least favorite in in the movie. I'm not sure if he wasn't well written, or if Lynch just wasn't on par with everyone else around him. You never once feel anything but seething hatred toward him. I can understand this, he IS the bad guy here, but I never saw any reason why Helen was with him in the first place. I think it would have helped to have seen some of what she thought was so great about him, so that his betrayal would have that much more impact.

Rounding out the cast are the best mates to Helen and Gerry, Anna and Russell, respectively. Zara Turner plays the typical best friend to Helen and has some wonderful lines at Lynch's expense. She's tough and strong and hates to see her friend hurt. She's the type of person you like to have on speed-dial whenever life takes a turn you weren't expecting. And Douglas McFerran is that one college buddy we all still have. The one who tries to be the voice of reason, but only after you've already done the wrong thing. And he can't help but find the humor in said situation. McFerran has fun with his role, and does his best to be Gerry's conscience; but without much help from Lynch, the character of Russell comes off as very one note. Still, it's fun to laugh right along with him.

This is one of those great little movies to watch when it's cold and rainy outside. Curl up on the couch with a cup of hot chocolate and let the story play out in front of you. And, if when it's over, you want to play What If? and rethink a couple of your decisions? Just remember, choose wisely.

-Jos

"Choices are the hinges of destiny." ~Edwin Markham

Thursday, February 23, 2006

Enter Sandman

So, it looks like I may have figured out a way to get past that snag in the Everwood script I mentioned yesterday. And, it came to me during one of my dreams last night. It's a pretty radical solution, one not associated with EW, or even on the WB for that matter, well, except for Smallville generally and Supernatural specifically, but, NEVER on Everwood. (As Jane says, if you can write a spec that can cross into other shows, then give it a shot) It ends the episode in a direction I hadn't really imagined, and makes me want to see the next episode.

Kind of cool, when the story starts to write itself.

Other than that, not much more to report. Haven't received the latest version of Chase's movie script, so I can't start working up the storyboards yet; finally back on track with the spec-script; and trying to get some work projects off my desk.

All in all, just your typical Thursday.

-Jos

"Dreams are illustrations... from the book your soul is writing about you." ~Marsha Norman

Wednesday, February 22, 2006

Wistful Wednesday

Yeah, the fog came in on little cat feet, alright. And left it's muddy paw-prints all over my hood and windshield. No, it wasn't the Pep. She knows better, the ungrateful little minx. Besides, she's an indoor cat. No, there are lots of strays around the apartment. They're cute and all, but damn...

Anyway, on the way to meet up with Chase last night, I was treated to an amazing sight. I tend to stick to the back roads and found myself alone in the fog with only the gauzy halos of the intermittent street lights to guide my way. I don't usually like driving at night, but there was an ethereal quality of seeing the lights of the city only in fragments as I passed in and out of the translucent patches. Very haunting, but in a good way.

The trip was made even more poignant by the soundtrack, Omar's Terribly Happy Mix '05. At the point I realized I was alone on the road, Bjork's So Broken started playing. The Spanish guitar and her troubled voice added to the melancholy mood I was in and made the drive that much more memorable. Also of note on the Mix is Stay With You, by John Legend, and The High Road, by Betty LaVette, both slow and packed with feeling. But nowhere near as powerful as House On Fire, by the DM's. Al's haunting, soulful vocals really move the song and sits heavy with your emotions. That feeling quadruples when you learn that Chris and hers house did burn down a couple of years ago, taking everything they owned, even their dog. It's strong stuff. Seriously, go buy a copy of the CD. You won't be sorry.

The meeting with Chase went well. I like his movie idea and I think this is going to be a lot of fun. I may have signed on to do too much, but, alas, what else is new? I am concerned about taking time away from the Everwood spec-script, and that promise to myself to make more down time, but I think this is a worthy cause. And I always give 110% to every project I'm working on, so yeah. I'll be starting the storyboards soon. I'll try to post a few of them, if I can. We'll see.

I've hit a snag on the script, and need to devote some time to work on it. This always happens, as AJ can attest to. I finally get to a point where I stop writing the story in my head, and start putting it down on paper, when the 16 other stories running around in my subconscious start demanding my attention. I just need to force myself to finish the project I've committed to, and, once that's finished, then I can move on to the next. Ugh. Just need some accountability. Not to worry. All will turn out well in the end. You'll see.

That's enough for today. Go back to your lives.

-Jos

"Nothing is so fatiguing as the eternal hanging on of an uncompleted task." ~William James

Tuesday, February 21, 2006

What A Difference A Day Makes.

I'm feeling much better today. Yeah, thanks for not asking. A couple of muscle relaxers, a few chapters of the adventures of Benjamin Weaver, and "poor" (read: stoned) Bode Miller still without a medal makes Jos a happy boy. Seriously, can't we, like, GIVE Miller to another country or something? France, maybe? At least pull his Nike endorsements. He so does NOT need to be the face of the US Olympics.

So, I finally broke down and took a couple of meds last night for my neck and shoulder. I had a few pills left over from when I broke my ankle a couple of years ago. They make the pain go bye-bye. Sorry, Chase, if our conversation last night was a little slurred. My side of it made sense, in any case. I...er...uh oh. See? This is why I don't usually do pain pills. Well, we'll have to see about this one, won't we?

Anyway, Chase and I are meeting tonight to work on some storyboards for a student film he's producing. It sounds like a lot of fun, and gives me an excuse to bust out with the pencils again. Been a long time. If all goes well, maybe the Muses will leave the Apocalypse Queen and come back to me, and I'll be inspired to submit something to the Allied ArtBlog. There's a picture in my head that I need to put on paper, if only to appease the obscure movie quotes, totally useless trivia and the combined voices of Chloe Sullivan, Veronica Mars, Lorelai Gilmore and Alyson Michaels (and Delia Brown, of course), if only to give them more room to duke it out. Scary place, my head. Best to avoid it, if at all possible.

I suppose I should get back to work before those two VIOXX I took this morning finally kick in, and I..........ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

"I think my favorite sport in the Olympics is the one in which you make your way through the snow, you stop, you shoot a gun, and then you continue on. In most of the world, it is known as the biathlon, except in New York City, where it is known as winter." ~Michael Ventre

Monday, February 20, 2006

Monday Musings

Well, things are finally slowing down over here at Jo'T HQ. We're not dead, mind you, but I can actually see my desk for the first time in weeks, so there is that.

My daily pre-dawn trimmer in the Force has decided to take things up a notch: In a bold move, the cold weather of late has elected to sign a merger with the little pixie demons currently residing inside my right shoulder blade, mining for ore and playing the nerve-endings there like an Eric Clapton and Eddie Van Halen Battle of the Bands Playoff Superstar Spectacular (And, it's drunken, happy Eddie; not sober, bitter Eddie, so yeah). The entire right side of my upper torso and neck is so stiff, I can barely move. And falling asleep on the couch yesterday didn't help much. I can't turn my head to the right at all. I have to turn my whole chest and keep my head and neck perfectly still. I feel like Keaton in the first Batman. Only without the rubber molded pecs...

(Edited 2-21 to read 'Keaton', not 'Keating'. Thanks, JJ)

Other than that, the weekend was pretty worthless. The cold and sleet and ice made going anywhere a bad idea and made getting back home that much more interesting as you got to play Pole Position to avoid all the wrecks along the way.

The gang went and played Whirly-Ball Saturday night. Yeah, somewhere out there, someone said: "I'd like to combine the life and death realism of bumper cars and the playing field of basketball using only the tools of that game on the opening of Miami Vice where the guy had the scoop on his hand." Brilliant!

Still, much fun was had.

Also, it seems like my weekends are turning into Hitchcock viewing opportunities. Sunday morning, awake despite a double shot of NyQuil, Encore Mystery was showing Rope. Now, I probably haven't seen Rope in almost two decades. I knew I enjoyed the story (two young men pull off the "perfect murder" only to be foiled by their former Housemaster-Hitchcock's go-to guy, Jimmy Stewart), however, I'd forgotten that the whole movie is essentially a 1-er, one continuous take with no editing or cutting. Hitch accomplished this by shooting 10 minute segments and splicing them together by having a person walk in front of the camera to hide the cut. This process allows the whole movie to play out in real time. Very impressive.

The roads are still a little icy, so be careful out there (Cue the Hill Street Blues theme music). Thanks for stopping by.

-Jos

"Tell a man there are 300 billion stars in the universe and he'll believe you. Tell him a bench has wet paint on it and he'll have to touch it to be sure." ~Murphy's Law

Friday, February 17, 2006

Feature Friday: Iron Giant

The fall of 1999 was an exciting time in my life. I was quickly adjusting to a new job, had just recently moved into the apartment I still currently reside, and was making preparations for a wedding that would never come to pass. Oh, and the end of the world was neigh, as Y2K was only a couple months away. Ah, the good old days. :)

It was around this time that my college buds and I started getting anxious about an animated movie about to be released. There had been a buzz for several months about a guy named Brad Bird and how his new film, The Iron Giant, was going to blow everyone away. Reports were coming in saying that this was going to be as big as Star Wars. We were skeptical, of course. But nothing was going to keep us from seeing it. The reports were not wrong. The movie was everything it was hyped to be. An instant classic in the making. A little film with a big heart. Too bad no one saw it.

Title: The Iron Giant
Year: 1999
Director: Brad Bird
Staring (voice): Jennifer Aniston, Harry Connick Jr., Vin Diesel, James Gammon, Cloris Leachman, Christopher McDonald, John Mahoney, Eli Marienthal, M. Emmet Walsh

It's 1958. 14 year old Bobby Fisher has won the US Chess Championship, there is a Chinese Civil War, Russia's "spy" satellite, Sputnik, has fallen back to Earth, keeping the Cold War efficiently cool, and a 50 foot tall extraterrestrial alien robot has crash-landed in the woods behind 9 year old Hogarth Hughes' house.

Sounds like an old black & white movie just begging to be ripped apart by the MST3K guys, doesn't it? Well, you'd be wrong. Set in a small seaside town in northern Maine, The Iron Giant is more akin to a coming of age story than a cheesy sci-fi flick. The town has that Norman Rockwell Americana feel about. Think of it as "A Boy and His Dog." Only, with "Robot" instead of "Dog," and you get the idea.

Hogarth (Marienthal) is a young boy who lives with his waitress mother. Hogarth's Dad is never mentioned, nor even seen (except for a brief photo in Hogarth's room), so it's up to Annie (Aniston) to be both Mother and Father. This can be tiring, as Hogarth's imagination sometimes gets the better of him. Plus, he's a 9 year old boy. Trouble just has a way of latching onto him. So, when he overhears a fisherman's tale of an alien monster that crashed his boat the night before, Hogarth can't resist taking up the chase.

Early on in the film, we discover that Hogarth doesn't have that many friends, so when he stumbles across tall, dark, and Diesel, the bond between them is that much stronger. Due to his injuries sustained in crash-landing, the Giant has lost his basic logic circuits, and his original programming. When Hogarth finds him, he's a blank slate, waiting for new orders. At first, Hogarth can't believe his luck. Imagine, his own personal 50 foot robot! The possibilities are endless.

However, the sleepy little town doesn't have one stranger in it's mists; it has two. Enter Kent Mansley (McDonald), government agent, and a McCarthy-era trained, Red Scare fearing, full blown conspiracy theorist. To say he harbors nothing but contemptment for the "visitor," is an understatement. Mansley's paranoia and unnerving ability to be in the right place at the most unfortunate times, make him the ultimate wrench in Hogarth's plans. Maneley could have been completely over the top for the comic responses alone, but Bird was smart enough to imbue him with an eerie controlling and a malicious side that lets you understand the character better, and allows him to get his comeuppance in the end.

And just when you think it's all over for Hogarth and his pal, help comes in from an unlikely source: the beat-nick, artistic Dean McCoppin (Connick Jr.) Dean owns the scrap-yard, where he works on his sculptors and fends off the idle stares of the local townspeople, who don't understand his views and opinions. As much a social pariah as Hogarth, Dean comes to find a little piece of himself in the Giant and the persecution cast upon him.

By the time the army shows up and inadvertently activates the Giant's defensive program, the ending is almost inevitable. With the town, and his new friends, in danger, the Giant must do what he can to save them.

Bird, who won an Oscar for the Incredibles, has written an amazing screenplay, based on Ted Hughes' 1968 Iron Man. The set design, the period feel, the awesomely ridiculous Nuclear Prevention "Duck & Cover"-esque survival film shown in Hogarth's classroom. Bird really outdid himself in setting the stage.

This is an overall great film that, regardless your age, can transport you back to your childhood, and show you the true meaning of friendship.



Have a great weekend. Stay warm!

-Jos

"Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art.... It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things that give value to survival." ~C.S. Lewis

Thursday, February 16, 2006

Word Of Mouth

I belong to an acting troupe that operates out of Frisco, called Word of Mouth Productions. Over the past 6 years, WOMP's put on several plays, musicals, and melodramas.

The first one I appeared in was 'The Body in the Belfry.' We then went on to perform: 'The Cotton Patch Gospel', 'WHBC Presents: The 1940's Radio Hour', 'Peril On The High Seas', 'Smoke On The Mountain', 'The Sanders' Family Christmas', 'All I Really Need To Know, I Learned In Kindergarten', and 'You're A Good Man, Charlie Brown.' Plus several Christmas productions and comedy skit routines.

WOMP also offers acting workshops around the year.

I've had so much fun with these people. They are at the top of their craft, and to watch them perform is truly amazing. WOMP is having auditions for a new show, 'The Saga of the Golden Horseshoe; or That's No Lady, That's My Filly.' Auditions were supposed to be tonight and Saturday, but circumstances beyond our control have pushed them back a few weeks. But, all will work out well. It should be a fun show.

If we ever have an awards ceremony, like the Cameys, we're so totally calling the award the WOMPA!

Hope everyone is having a good week. Go out and enjoy the weather, Dallas, because today's 80 degree afternoon will give way to a high of only 40 tomorrow. And we won't get out of the 30's over the weekend. Sigh. This is why everyone is sick and can't get any better.

Get back to you day, and thanks for stopping by to listen about mine.

-Jos

"The trouble with weather forecasting is that it's right too often for us to ignore it and wrong too often for us to rely on it." ~Patrick Young

Wednesday, February 15, 2006

One Single Yesterday

Sorry, things here at Josh o' Trades HQ have been crazy busy the past couple of days. Not much pertinent information to disclose. Still working on the spec-script outline. When the script breaks, you'll be the first to know.

Until then, or until I get out from under this pile of projects on my desk, I'll let you peruse this. It's the first chapter of a story I entered for NANO, a couple of years ago. It's about a group of summer camp counselors. It's called One Single Yesterday. I pulled the title from an old Joplin tune.

Hope you like it...



One Single Yesterday




"…and I’d trade all of my tomorrows for one single yesterday…"

--"Me & Bobby McGee" by Janis Joplin





"The first time you fall in love is the easiest thing in the world to do. It’s allowing the other person to fall in love, again, with someone else, that shows your true mettle."

--Andrew, Sr. Commander, Guardian Guild – Civilian Chapter





"Sail on, Silver Girl…"

-- "Bridge Over Troubled Water" by Simon & Garfunkel

•••

Wake up, Silver Girl.

It was several long moments before Alyson Michaels realized what was happening. The loud thumping drum behind her ears wouldn’t stop its assault on her senses. She opened her eyes slowly and resolutely and found herself in a nightmare version of hell.

The car was in the river. The windshield was gone with the hood and roof crumpled and broken. Water was rushing in at a frightening pace. Alyson was hanging forward, held only by the seatbelt. Outside, the rain and hail were beating a kinetic rhythm on the roof. Inside, riverwater was rising up her calves.

Oh, God…

Cold terror griped her as she realized just where she was. The base of Cape Fear. Fifty yards down from the embankment on Anderson Road. In the middle of the worst hurricane in two years.

At the bottom of the cape!

What had happened? Her memory of the past hour was lost in white noise. She vaguely remembered something about a fight; the road was wet, and Jeremy had – Jeremy!

She looked around franticly.

Where is he?

He wasn’t in the car with her. She couldn’t tell if he was in the river. The storm outside made it impossible to see anything.

The car made a violent shutter and the passenger window dropped below the surface of the lake. Alyson screamed as cold water cascaded in around her.

"Jeremy!" she shouted, "where are you?"

The car lurched again and Alyson found herself in water up to her neck.

"Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God…no. Please…"

In a panic, she tried to unfasten the seatbelt. It wouldn’t budge. She was trapped. Her cry was cut off by a forced mouthful of water. Tears were running down her cheeks though she didn’t notice them. Her feet kicked involuntarily as she sank completely underwater.

She saw a thick red blob floating near her face. Shock overtook her as she realized that it was her blood. She opened her mouth to scream and swallowed more water. Her lungs started to burn and convulsions shook her in her seat.

Realization came with a sobering effect. She was going to drown. She was about to die.

All alone…

A small light flickered just outside her field of vision. She turned to look, but it was very small and soon faded. And then, the world grew dark around Alyson Michaels.


•••




Wednesday, May 31, 1995

Teal sundress with white sports bra
Tan sandals
172 3/4 lbs. (More or less…)

Ugh! Nine hours on a Greyhound Bus is not how I wanted to spend my first day of summer. Alas, that’s how it was spent nonetheless.

Ok. I’m keeping this journal so I can keep track of my first real job. Mom says I should keep it because my memory isn’t so hot and, this way I’ll have something to show my kids. Whatever. Not having kids anytime soon, Mum, so there. Dad says to keep it because he wants proof that I’m actually working this summer and not just getting a tan and hooking up with cute lifeguards on his dime. Ha! As if, Daddy-O. B and I have only been apart a couple of months. (Ok, seven. But who’s counting?) I’m so not in the mood for another guy. Ever. Well…maybe not ever, but certainly not for a while. Life’s too
short and I have a job to do now. No guys this summer. Period.

Anyhoo, back to beautiful Southport, North Carolina. Beautiful is not the word. Lush green trees, golden sands and endless blue sea. Not unlike KH, but…I dunno…different, somehow. Can’t quite put my finger on it. Déjà vu perhaps? I’ll let you know as soon as I do. Promise.

Cape Fear is breathtaking. Saw it from the window on the way into town. (Opposite window, of course. Michaels’ Luck strikes again!) Blue/black waves breaking against the coast with reckless dismay, even in early summer.

Well, just pulled into station. Gotta run. When next I write, it will be from within the cabins of Boyett Bay. Wish me luck…

I closed my laptop and slipped it back into my Jansport. I stretched and winced as my neck refused to pop. Several hours on a bus did nothing for my poor back (not to mention the nagging hunch that TOM was making his visit a few days early.)

The past few weeks had started to take their toil. Though, nothing would prepare me for what lay ahead. But, as always, I’m getting ahead of myself…

It’s the last day of May, 1995, and I’ve just traveled some 300 miles from Kitty Hawk to Southport, North Carolina, to become the newest counselor at the prestigious Boyett Bay Summer & Boating Camp for Youngsters. Four months of fun in the sun off the coast of Cape Fear.

My name is Alyson Michaels; I’m eighteen years old and ready to make my mark.



The bus station was nothing much to write home about. Just a large green and white terminal identical to those found just about anywhere else. The only difference between this one and the one back home was that my folks were not two blocks away. The urge to shout a victory cheer was almost impossible to suppress.

I slung my backpack over my shoulder, waited for the guys to unload my bags (only three – I was impressed!), and walked into the terminal proper. I checked my watch and saw that we had actually arrived ten minutes ahead of schedule. Whatever. I could’ve walked here in half the time. I swear the driver was going at least fifteen miles under the speed limit!

There were only a few people milling around inside – ones I’d seen on the bus - so I guessed my ride hadn’t made it yet. Which was alright. The thought of getting back in a car for even a few minutes made my head hurt. (Not to mention my butt!) I made my way over to a vending machine on the far wall in search for chocolate and quick stop by the ladies (I never use bathrooms on buses or airplanes. The thought of someone else walking in makes me too nervous to pee.)

My fears were confirmed, TOM was indeed early. Curse my luck, the first week was my lifeguard certification drills. Oh, well. I’ve swam with cramps before. Nothing new there. Just a problem I’d just as well not had this early into it.

The face in the mirror was not one I expected to see. Florescent lights should be illegal! The dark circles under my eyes were a sharp contrast to the pale skin. I really could use that tan, I thought to myself. I pulled out my hair-band and ran my hand through the oily mop of brown tangles.

I washed my face and slicked my hair back. It wasn’t long enough for a ponytail yet, so I re-adjusted the headband and took another long look at the girl-not-quite-a-woman staring back at me. Only her green eyes looked familiar to me.

Oh, well. I have four months to get to know her…

When I came out I saw two very tan people in white Boyett Bay t-shirts sitting near my bags. The girl had beautiful dark brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. She was about my height and had the darkest blue eyes I had ever seen. They were almost navy!

The blonde guy was wearing expensive sunglasses and had a tattered paperback tucked under his arm. He was holding a small cardboard sign that read: MICHAELS, in black marker.

I grinned and walked over.

"You Alyson Michaels?" the girl asked.

"One and the same," I replied.

She smiled at me, held out her hand and said, "I’m LC Larkin."

I hesitated. "Elsie?"

Her right eyebrow twitched. "LC. Short for Linda Carroll. But, nobody calls me Linda Carroll, got it?"

"Oh, yes," I stammered, but took her hand. "Sorry. LC it is."

"Alright then."

I was so going to like her.

She smiled back. "He’s Greg Williams, but we all just call him the Professor."

I turned to Greg. "The Professor?" It was hard not to sneer.

He sighed and shook his head. He turned toward LC and bit his lip.

Damn. Bryan did the same thing whenever he was embarrassed. Will I never get over the man?

LC nudged him in the ribs and laughed. "Greg here always has his head buried in a book. Been that way all his life. Grigs always said that the boy’s going to be an English professor someday. The nickname stuck. It’s sad if you ask me. A little boy thing. Him and Grigs and Tin-Man. They’ve all been going or working at Boyett for the past ten years. Can’t use real names or anything"

You’re one to talk, LC, I started to say, but thought better.

I raised my hand. "Uh, Grigs and Tin Man?"

She shook her head. "You’ll meet them in due time. And, if they like you, you’ll get a nickname too. It’s a good thing…I think." She laughed. So did I, though I had my doubts.

"Come on," the Professor said, "let’s get rolling." He glanced at my feet. "Are those all the bags you have?"

I looked down and nodded.

"I’m impressed," he grinned.

"Wait ‘till you try to pick them up," I smirked.

"Oh, they can’t be that – Lord! What’ve ya got in here? Bricks?"

LC and I laughed. "Only the barest essentials I could not afford to give up for four months," I stated in my defense.

"Come on you two," LC replied, picking up the smallest of my suitcases, "we’re running late."

The parking lot was nearly empty save for an old Honda that looked like it hadn’t moved since the first Reagan administration. That and a faded gray Jeep with huge tires.

"Don’t scratch the paint," the Professor grunted as he hoisted one of my bags into the rear of the Jeep.

LC turned to me and pointed to the several scrapes and dings along the side fender. "Like he’d ever notice."

"Hey," he shouted, "I heard that!"

We laughed and climbed in and were soon on the main road heading toward Boyett Bay.




Ok. A little back history…

In the spring of 1946, Rear Admiral JR Boyett retired from active duty from the United States Navy. Upon the request of his loving wife of forty-three years, JR set about moving back to his beloved Tar-Heel state to spend their retirement years running a summer camp for kids.

By the summer of 1947, the Boyett Bay Summer & Boating Camp for Youngsters was born. Alva and JR ran the camp as smooth as an aircraft carrier until 1978, when JR passed away. Boyett Bay was turned over to JR’s son, JR the second, and had been one of the leading camps along the Carolina coast for over fifty years.

At least until 1992, when JR II suffered a major coronary and left the camp in the not so capable hands of JR III, or JR Jr.

I first heard about Boyett from my pool manager last September when I was working as a lifeguard at the Kitty Hawk Municipal Aquatic Club. Teresa "Tag" Griffis called me into her office one day after the last of the kids was out of the pool.

I love Tag’s office. Every wall was covered with pictures and awards from Swim Team’s past. There was a large print of the ‘93-’94 Swim Team over her desk with a sash declaring "National Champs" over it.

I caught a glimpse of the sixteen-and-a-half-year-old version of myself; all braces and dimples and innocence. What a difference a year makes.

Tag put down her coffee mug and stared at me with those gray eyes of hers. Some of the kids were scared of that stare. It had a way of looking straight through the nonsense and getting right to the point.

I always preferred it to her "Heat Vision" stare, though…

"So, Aly, where are you thinking of applying to work while you’re in school next year?"

"Dunno, Tag," I said, taking a much needed seat after a long day in the sun. "Haven’t given it much thought. Maybe KH Community? Was really thinking of coming back here. Why?"

"Well, I have a friend down in Cape Fear that needs a life-guard slash counselor this summer. Ever hear of a camp called Boyett Bay?"

I shook my head. "Doesn’t ring any bells. Should I have?"

She crinkled her nose. "No, I suppose not. Hasn’t been a big deal in a few years.

Doesn’t matter. Experience like this looks good on college applications. Junior needs to fill this slot in a hurry. Would you be interested?"

"Let me think about first. Talk it over with the folks, you know? Cape Fear is a pretty good ways from here. Don’t know if they’ll let the ‘baby’ go too far on her own yet."

Tag smiled. "I know what you’re thinking. And, yeah, your Dad’s gonna blow a gasket, but let me talk to them. Junior Boyett has a top-notch facility down there and he’s a good guy. Plus, your Mom and I went to school with him."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Come to think about it, your Mom and Junior may have even gone out a couple of times."

"Shut up!"

"Hand ta God."

An involuntary shudder ran down my spine.

I picked up my gym bag and rummaged around inside it until I found my comb. "I’ll think about it, ok?"

"That’s my girl. Now," she motioned to the parking lot, "get outta here, I have work to do."

I smiled and left. Tag called the folks the next night after dinner and by the end of the week, my application had been submitted and accepted. I was going to be Boyett Bay’s newest employee.




Boyett Bay was located about fifteen miles northeast of Southport, right in the middle of one hundred and fifty aces of the most beautiful country I’d ever seen.

As the Professor’s Jeep bounced its way down the gravel and dirt driveway, the feeling of going back in time overwhelmed me. The camp itself was set back off the main drive another three hundred yards. For the longest time, I could see nothing but Longleaf Pines and Sweet Birch trees. But then, we broke into the clearing and the view took my breath away.

A dozen small cabins surrounded a large amphitheater. Facing us was a huge wooden arch with "Boyett Bay" spelled out in blue and white paint. A stone walkway led to an old blockhouse and assembly hall about eighty yards behind the arch.

To the east, was one of the Boiling Spring Lakes, complete with dock, boathouse and several canoes and rafts. The west was lost to innumerable Oaks, Willows and Dogwoods. To the south, I could just make out the twin lighthouses of Bald Head and Oak Island.

All in all, it was amazing! I couldn’t wait to spend my summer here.

LC and I (with the Professor in tow) carried my bags up to one of the cabins on the west side. Due to the layout of the grounds, Cabin Five was the furthest back from the main camp. And the most private, LC explained, so of course, it was the natural hang out for all the counselors.

"Welcome home." LC smiled as she pushed open the door with her left foot. "Just drop your things, Junior wanted to see you first thing."

Ah, yes. JR Boyett, Jr. I’d heard a few things about him from Mom and Tag. But, he had hired me flat out with no interview or probation or anything. So, either Tag had talked me up pretty good, or the man was just plain desperate. I hoped it wasn’t the latter.

"Not a problem," I answered as I dropped the largest bag onto the right-hand bed. "Is this where I’ll be bunking?"

"Yep," LC said. "You, me, Tessa Archer and Nat Kendrick."

The Professor looked up at that. "Nat’s back this year?"

"Yeah. She and Tin-Man are down at Red’s. They’ll be back here Sunday for the softball game."

The Professor squinted and pursed his lips. "I didn’t think they were still together."

"They’re not. Just don’t tell Nat that." LC groaned. "I just said "Nat that’, didn’t I?"

I nodded and clapped a hand over my mouth to stifle a giggle. "’Fraid so."

She shook her head and grinned. "I’m glad you’re here, Aly. I think we’re gonna have fun."

I smiled. "I hope so."

"Come on," the Professor stated. "Junior’s waiting."




The three of us made our way back to the blockhouse. A short guy wearing only swimming trunks and a ballcap ran up to us. He had a deep tan and pale green eyes. He was soaked and I assumed he had just returned from a late afternoon swim.

"Hey, Kids. This the latest victim?"

LC smirked. "Alyson Michaels, meet Charley Grigsbey."

He took my hand. "It’s a pleasure, Allycat. And, please, call me Grigs. Everyone else does." He looked at the others. "You heading over to the office?"

Professor nodded.

"Good. Tell Junior I got the leak in the catamaran under control." He looked back toward the dock. "For now, anyway."

"Will do, Grigs." She looked him over. "Now, go get yourself cleaned up."

Grigs grinned and snapped a mock salute. "Yes, Ma’am. You going to ‘Nick’s tonight?"

LC turned hesitantly in my direction. "Thinking about it." Something in her voice made me nervous.

"Hey, it’s tradition." Grigs smiled in my direction. "All newbies have to be initiated over at ‘Nick’s."

I didn’t like the sound of this. "Um…what kind of initiation?"

"Nothing to be concerned about," LC said as she took my arm. "Come on. See you around eight-thirty, Grigs."

"Trust me, Allycat. It’s nothing painful. At least not too painful." His lop-sided grin made him look ten years old. He bowed to me and started to run toward the cabins. "Later, Kids."

As I watched him go, I wondered, not for the first time, just what I had gotten myself into.




Junior Boyett’s office was located on the second floor of the blockhouse. The room smelled of wet wood, stale cigarettes and old coffee. The desk – I believe it was oak, but I couldn’t be sure – was covered with pile after uneven pile of papers and folders.

Half-eaten fast-food containers and empty candy wrappers littered the side cabinets and the floor around the antique swivel chair, which housed the boss. An overflowing ashtray was resting not quite evenly on the edge of the desk.

The man himself was the picture of discomfort. He was easily fifty pounds overweight. His skin was pale and blotchy. There were dark circles under his eyes that his bifocals couldn’t quite hide. His once dark hair was starting to fade to a dull gray and the few thin strands that remained on top were combed hap-hazzardly over his bald pate.

The man was a caricature of the stereotypical overworked underpaid boss who was in way over his head. It broke my heart.

Junior stood up as we entered. He extended a fleshy paw with fingers the size of sausages. His fingernails were stained yellow from years of smoking. I expected his palms to be sweaty, and wasn’t let down.

"Alyson," he boomed with an oily smile. "Welcome to Boyett Bay. Tag Griffis had nothing but good things to say about you."

Then, almost as an afterthought. "How’s your mother?"

The idea of Mom and this…man almost made me ill. I could see no redeeming qualities in the guy. Not a one.

"Pleasure," I said. I’m not convinced I was able to keep the contempt out of my voice. If I wasn’t, Junior seamed not to notice. "Thank you for the opportunity to work here, Mr. Boyett."

The used-car salesman smile returned. "Call me Junior." He motioned to one of the armchairs along the wall. "Have a seat. You must be exhausted from your drive in."

The chair was covered in even more papers and folders. I picked up an armload, but wasn’t sure where to place them. I looked questionably to LC. She smirked and nodded to the floor. I dropped the stack, which kicked up a layer of dust that would have sent my mother into hersterics.

I pulled the chair out and took a seat. LC and the Professor did the same. Junior plopped back down into his chair.

"First of all. This is your first time working as a counselor, correct?"

I nodded.

He looked to LC then back to me. "You should know that not everyone is cut out for this job. LC and Greg here can vouch for that."

I started to ask who "Greg" was when I remembered that it was the Professor’s real name. It was a little scary how quickly I was settling in here.

Junior resumed. "By the end of your first week, you’ll understand. Now, not to worry, I have no doubt that you’re gonna do just fine here." He pointed to the two people beside me. "You’ll be surrounded by the best staff this camp has had in fifty years."

LC and the Professor rolled their eyes. I could tell this was an old story. Junior probably told it to all the new recruits.

"But," he interjected, "don’t think that it’ll be all fun and games. It takes a lot of hard work to run a camp of this size. Tag says that you’re a workhorse, and I’m gonna see if she’s right.

"We run a tight ship here. And, while we cut up and joke around, never forget that we’re here for the kids. For the next twelve weeks, the kids in your charge are your life. You have no other priorities. No other obligations. Got it?"

"Yes, sir." I was a little shocked that he thought I wasn’t here to work. But, Tag had mentioned that the turnover rate here was higher than usual.

A more grandfatherly grin appeared on his full face. "Good. Good. Like I said, I expect no problems out of you."

His attention returned to his desk. "Now, you kids get out of here. I have a lot of paperwork to do."

We got up to leave. The Professor placed a hand on my shoulder, smiled and shook his head.

LC spoke up. "Oh, Junior?"

"Yeah?"

"Grigs wanted you to know that the catamaran is water tight again."

"Glad to hear it. Maybe we’ll have everything operational by the time we open."

The Professor rolled his eyes. "First time for everything, I suppose."

"Get out of my office, Williams."

The anger in Junior’s voice startled me for a moment, but then I caught the slight smile on the large man’s face. These three were old friends. The banter was second nature to them. I hoped that I would get that comfortable with them in time.

We were walking out when Junior called my name.

"Yes?"

"One last rule. Almost forgot. Under no circumstances are you to date anyone in this camp. You read me?"

I tried to find any of the levity that he and the Professor had just shared, but found none. The man was completely serious.

"Not a problem, Junior. I just got out of a long relationship. I don’t plan on dating anyone for a long time."

Ah, if only it were that simple.




By the time LC and I made it back to Cabin Five, the long day was catching up with me. I collapsed onto the bed and fought the urge to lie there for the next four months.

"Don’t get too comfortable in there," LC called from the bathroom. "We’re still heading over to ‘Nick’s tonight."

‘Nick’s. I was getting more than a little upset about the vagueness of this guy. "Ok, that’s it," I snapped. "Just who is this ‘Nick,’ and why are going to his place tonight. And what’s this initiation I keep hearing about?"

LC walked into the room, a toothbrush in her mouth, her blue eyes large. "Relax," she said around the brush. "‘Beat-Nick’s’ is a little coffee bar over on Bald Head Island. Our friend, Nick Singleton owns it. It’s been the camp staff’s biggest hangout for the past five years or so."

"A coffee bar?"

"Yeah, you know, like that new show on NBC, Friends?"

Bryan and I had watched it a few times. It had its moments, but nothing to really write home about. It had managed to make it a full season, but I doubted it last much longer.

"Yeah, ok. Sounds cool. Just as long as we’re not out too late. I’m whipped."

"I promise. Not too late." Her smile was warm and contagious. I closed my eyes for a few minutes and reached under me to kneed my poor spine.

Had I had looked in the mirror, I would have seen the crossed fingers behind her back.




I changed into a tee shirt, jeans and a pair of Keds, and traded in my scratchy contacts for my glasses. LC and I met up with the Professor and Grigs. We all piled into his Jeep and were off.

It was only a short drive to the ferry, but I enjoyed it. Southport at twilight was quite gorgeous. The setting sun washed our surroundings in a coppery red hue that reinforced that sense of timelessness. Everything looked like a sepia-tone photograph.

Grigs was talking to the Professor about getting all the boats ready for the opening in a week and a half. LC and I were in the back. The wind was blowing through our hair and it felt great. It was one of those moments that stay with you for years to come.

A truly perfect moment in time.

Bald Head Island is really only known for two things: It’s view of Cape Fear, and the lighthouse. "Old Baldy" could be seen for miles around. Built in the early eighteen hundreds, the octagonal tower stood over one hundred feet above the mouth of the Cape Fear River. According to LC, it’s the oldest standing lighthouse in North Carolina.

The ferry trip was quick, but I was surprised that we didn’t take the Jeep with us. When I asked, Grigs explained that cars were not allowed on the island. Golf carts and bicycles were the only forms of transportation. And walking, of course.

If nothing else, this job was going to keep me in shape.

There was a guy at the terminal renting golf carts that seemed to know the others. I was introduced to Logan Greenwood. He had been a former Boyett counselor as well. He looked young and I suspected that he wasn’t too happy with his station in life at the moment.

He wished me luck and I waved goodbye. He was cute in that unkept way most guys my age were. He had dark hair and dark eyes. He was taller than me, which was always a good thing, and he had a nice smile. Suddenly the idea that I’d never get over Bryan began to waver ever so slightly.

LC caught our little eye contact. Nothing much escaped her attention, I would soon find out.

"Best to stay away from that one for now, Aly," she purred in my ear. "Boy’s nice, but has some baggage issues to overcome first."

"Don’t worry about me, LC, that’s the last thing I need right now."

But was it? I wasn’t so sure anymore.

She grinned at me. "Still, it’s nice to see you have good taste."

She grabbed my hand and we ran over to where the guys were waiting with the golf cart.

In less than five minutes, the Professor pulled up in front of a little wood and stone building. The plaque on the front wall declared it to be "Beat-Nick’s." It didn’t look like much from the outside, but then, the best hangouts rarely did.

Inside was a different story. The hardwood floors were polished to a golden shine and the deep red and green throw rugs gave the place a very comfy feel. There was a huge stone fireplace that I bet was the best place to sit during a winter storm. Large leather armchairs sat in a semi-circle around the hearth complete with footrests.

Four-person canoes hung from the rafters and assorted sports paraphernalia were strewn here and there. Hundreds of photographs of parties large and small adorned the walls. I saw the three people with me in more than a few of them. Interspersed with the pictures were stapled one-dollar bills with quotes and signatures scribbled on them.

Overhead speakers quietly played a nice mix of oldies rock and 80’s and 90’s contemporary music. I saw a digital jukebox on the wall between the bathroom doors.

On the far side of the main room was a long oak bar with brass and chrome piping. There was a very large man behind it, wiping it down. A floor to ceiling mirror ran the entire length of the back wall. There was a side room that held various pool tables and dart boards and card and chess tables. TV’s were mounted to the corners, each tuned to a different sports channel.

I was quickly beginning to see why the Boyett staff liked this place.

LC and the boys made their way up to the bar. I sank into a recliner near the fireplace. It felt just as good as it looked. I hadn’t realized how tired I was until I closed my eyes. The urge to fall asleep was quite hard to resist.

The old Lennon / McCartney tune, Rocky Raccoon, filled the room. Damn, damn, and damn some more. It was the song playing when Bryan and I first kissed.

Alright! I wanted to scream. I get it! I’m not going to be over him anytime soon! I’m not going to find anyone better than him.

Fine. Fine. I accept that. But I wasn’t ready for marriage. Not last year and not two (seven) months ago. And, I was too tired to keep defending myself to myself. Yes, I was the one to break it off. Yes, he didn’t see it coming. Yes, it hurt him way more than it hurt me.

But, I have the right to lie my life the way I want to. Right? That’s what I used to think.

The hand on my arm almost produced a scream. Almost. It did cause me to jump, though. Which, in turn, caused LC to jump and drop the two coffee mugs she was holding to the floor.

I looked up at her, my face full of embarrassment. "Oh! LC, I’m so sorry."

She grinned. "No worries, Aly." She looked down. "No permanent damage done. You ok?"

"Yeah."

A new voice entered the room. "Everything alright over there?"

LC turned to me. "Aly Michaels, meet Nick Singleton. Owner and proprietor of ‘Beat-Nick’s’"

"Pleased to meet ya, Little Lady. Friends call me Nick."

The man holding out his hand was in his mid-thirties, with short brown hair. He was even taller up close and had the biggest forearms I’d ever seen. The thick drawl held hints of either an Oklahoma or Texas ancestry.

"Sorry ya don’t approve of the coffee. Ya could’ve just returned it."

"Oh! I’m really sorry, I-"

But Nick was laughing. "Aww, that’s alright. Just a couple of mugs. Easily replaced." He regarded the floor. "And hardwood’s the easiest thing to clean. You shore you’re alright?"

I could feel my cheeks get flush. "Yes, sir."

A frown formed on his face. "Now look here." He pointed a large finger at me. "Let’s get this straight. I’m Nick. Just Nick. No sir’s. No mister’s. Nick. Got it?"

"Y-yes, s-…Nick," I stammered.

The big man roared with laughter again. "Calm down, Aly. It’s ok. Really. Can I get ya anything?"

I took a deep breath. "Sure, Nick. How about some hot chocolate?"

A warm infectious smile lit up his face. "Can do. How about a slice of cheesecake as well? It’s pretty fresh."

My stomach awoke to those words. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten. Somewhere near Jacksonville. About eighty years ago. "Um…you wouldn’t happen to have a burger or two hiding back there, would you?"

Nick grinned. "I’ll see what I can find." He turned to Grigs and the Professor. "Come on, Boys. I need your help changing out the tap."

Grigs was protesting. "How come you always have to change out the tap whenever we show up?"

Nick placed a large hand on his shoulder. "Just lucky, I guess."

When the guys were gone, LC sat down beside me. "You sure you’re ok?"

I closed my eyes and sighed. "Yeah, LC. I’m fine. Just tired is all."

I looked back at the bar. "So, what’s the story with Nick? I take it he’s not a local."

She laughed. "Yeah. Nick migrated here form a little town in East Texas a few years ago. He really is a teddy bear. All roar, no bite. Unless there’s trouble, of course. You saw his arms, right?"

"Did I? Man looks like he could punch holes in concrete."

A small grin pulled at the corners of LC’s mouth. "He can. And has. This one time, he and Tin-Man…well, it’s not important. Let’s just say I’m never worried about being here after dark."

Now, that got me curious, but I could see in her expression that that story was for another time. It did, however, bring up another question I’d been wondering about.

"Hey, LC?"

"Yeah?"

"If it’s forbidden for staffers to date, what about Nat and…uh, Tin-Man? Who is this guy, anyway? Sounds like an urban legend"

She did laugh this time. She pointed to a picture on the wall to my right. "First of all, Tin-Man is actually Jeremy Hart. That’s him."

The photo showed a guy in his mid-twenties with long brown bangs and a Robert Redford smile. Dirt on his face and Band-Aids on his fingers. He was standing at the top of a cliff with a breathtaking view of the North Carolina mountainside behind him.

It was like when I see someone I only know from the radio. I’ve never been good at visualizing what people look like. I don’t think anyone really is. But, really, not at all what I was expecting. This was the mighty Tin-Man? Kind of disappointing, in a way.

Still, he looked smart (not to mention a little dangerous), but cute nonetheless. I couldn’t help it. There’s just something about a guy with an adventurous side that gets my blood pumping.

"Anyway," LC stated, breaking off my wandering thoughts, that small grin returning to her lips. "He’s senior staff, so he gets special treatment. But, it’s not like that.

"Boy doesn’t date. Not really. No, he and Nat are old friends, from elementary school and up. Every summer, a few of us drive down to Florida. His mom has a house down there. Red’s cool. You’ll like her. Nat’s just visiting, that’s all."

I was looking through the rest of the pictures. There were several shots of the Boyett gang at different events. In most of them, Tin-Man was in the center. However, while the rest of the group was looking at the camera, I noticed that LC was looking at Tin-Man.

It was a look I’d seen before. One I’d seen in the mirror after I’d just meet Bryan. One I knew all too well. I turned back to face her. "You like him, don’t you?"

For a long time I didn’t think she’d answer. Then, she said softly. "It doesn’t matter."

About that time, Nick and the boys came back carrying plates of burgers and baskets of fries. Hunger took over all other thought.

If it hadn’t, I would have seen LC wipe a tear from her eye.




I had just finished my burger and second slice of cheesecake (homemade by the way, by Nick, no less) when the door opened and several people dressed in Boyett Bay polo shirts walked in. Nick let out a yell and kicked the volume on the jukebox up.

I’d like to say that I remember everyone I met that night, but…no. Mom’s right, my memory is pretty rotten, and I didn’t have my journal to write the names down.

I do remember one in particular due to the fact that I spent the rest of my summer with her no less than ten feet away. Tessa Archer, the Kiwi.

Again with the nicknames. Why? Why, I ask you? We’re adults for crying out loud. Ah, well, nobody asked me, right? Right. Moving right along then.

Tessa (I refuse to call her Kiwi) was a really nice girl from New Zealand. The girl had one of the most beautiful accents I’d ever heard. And, she was a good two inches taller than me even, and I’m no slouch at five-foot, ten and three quarter inches.

Her long arms and legs were covered with a tan darker than I’d ever have in two lifetimes of lying out and her strawberry-blonde hair reached her mid-back.

I wasn’t aware how much pure hate one person could feel for another. I bet she never had a single pimple her whole life. It’s just not fair. People like her are just not natural, and shouldn’t be allowed to live.

But, she was sweet and we bonded right from the start. Together with LC, we were a force not to be reckoned with. We were girls, hear us roar.

Ugh! Sorry about that. I need to sleep more.

Anyway, all I’m trying to say is that Tes and I hit it off pretty well that night. That, and Grigs gives the best back rubs in the history of the planet.

Sorry, got ahead of myself. Will try not to let that happen again.

At some point of the night, I complained to Tes and LC about my back. When I was twelve, I was in gymnastics. It wasn’t my idea by any means. Dad had a love of the Olympics and dreamed of seeing his little girl flying through the air on her way to a gold medal.

Fate had other ideas.

I wasn’t as graceful as most, but my long limbs made me pretty versatile in the beam and bar events. I had a strong upper body and with enough coaxing, I could make it bend the way I wanted it to. And, it was fun, those days filled with cartwheeling and flipping on big blue mats.

I’d always been athletic and figured that when placed within my already weekly cycle of swimming and tennis, it would be a great way to stay in shape. Mom was worried, as always, but Dad just beamed. A genuine smile form the old man was rare to come by in those days, so I took every chance I got.

It was the last event of some little regional meet that was really nothing more than excuse for coaches to get together to see the competition without putting their name on the line. It was well past nine and pouring rain outside. Mom and Dad were in the bleachers somewhere and I was getting nervous.

It had been an off night for our team. Peggy Moreland had slipped from the parallel bars not once, not twice, but three times. The parent running the music for April Dodson’s floor exercise had played the wrong song, which threw off her timing. And, Wendy Hampton had been in the bathroom all night driving the porcelain bus due to an unscheduled Mexican lunch.

All in all, not our best night.

Mom hadn’t washed my favorite uniform, the red one, so I was stuck with last years green one. Coach Brasher was in one of his moods. The rest of the team was done and ready to leave.

I really had to pee.

I was supposed to run up to the horse, bounce off the springboard and do a summersault with a twist, and stick the landing. Nothing to it. Done it a thousand times. You can almost see what’s coming, can’t you?

I hit the springboard dead center. Perfect bounce, everything one-hundred percent--by the numbers--green lights across the board. Halfway through the summersault, I realized something was wrong. Either I hadn’t pushed off the horse hard enough, or I had timed my rotation too slowly. In any case, the floor was a lot closer than it should have been.

And, I was still upside down.

I really don’t remember much after that. I remember looking up and seeing Coach Brasher and the other girls. I could see their lips moving, but couldn’t hear any sound. I remember seeing rain hitting the little back windows of the ambulance. I remember waking up in the hospital the next day with a plastic ring around my neck, a tube in the back of my hand and what
felt like an icepick lodged between my shoulderblades.

I looked at Mom. I couldn’t read anything from her tears. She cried at television commercials, so she was no help. It was the look on Dad’s face that told me everything. That frown spoke volumes.

I had impacted my neck and shoulders and had broken a vertebrae in my mid-back. I was in traction for eight weeks. It took another two months before I could walk without a cane. And my father never smiled again.

It’s been a few years now, but I still can’t take long car rides or sit in one position for too long. The ride down here had been murder. If I didn’t lie down soon, I was going to regret it the next morning.

Anyway, I was complaining about my back when Tes called Grigs over. He had me sit on one of the footstools and placed his hands on my shoulders.

Oh. My. God. The boy has magic fingers. My body turned instantly to play-dough under his touch. He pressed and rubbed hard into the muscles of my back with a strength that even my physical therapist had lacked.

In less than two minutes, he had loosened my entire back. Nine hours worth of tension! In two minutes! The boy ain’t human. And then, he…he did this thing with his fingers. I can’t describe it. It was like he was popping them, but, no, that’s not quite it. You just have to experience it for yourself.

It wasn’t just great. It was pure heaven. I would have done anything he asked me to right then. Anything.

"It’s a good thing he only uses his powers for good, huh?" LC said, but I barely heard her.

Though, I did try to answer. My neck didn’t work anymore as I think my entire backbone had turned to rubber. Under different circumstances, the moan that escaped my lips would have caused me enough embarrassment to pack up and move to the other side of the country. By that point, however, I hadn’t a care in the world.

I heard the Professor’s voice. "Don’t knock her out yet, Grigs. Nick, I think it’s time for the initiation." Cheers went up all around me. I knew I should have been a little worried, but Grigs had lulled me into a state of nirvana.

I should have known better.




I found myself on top of a wooden chair surrounded by everyone. Grigs, the Professor, LC, and Nick were closest to me and I wasn’t too keen on the smirks I saw on their faces.

The "initiation", it turned out, was for me to stand up in front of everyone and sing the Boyett Bay theme song.

Ok. Two things wrong with this picture. One: I didn’t exactly know the Boyett Bay theme song. Two: Hmm. How do I put this? Yeah. Singing and me? Not on the best of terms. I mean, there’s a reason I was asked to retire from the school chorus. No. I’m not kidding. And, no, I don’t want to talk about it.

Now, you have to keep in mind that I had been up for nearly twenty hours by that point. Not really the best time to ask me to do something I rarely do in front of close personal friends. Let alone a room full of strangers that I’d just met a handful of hours before.

But, there was also the fact that Grigs had loosened the remaining strands of logic I had left with those magic fingers of his. Oh, and just to add more fuel to the fire? Yeah. I noticed that the really cute guy from the rental station had joined our little band of merry men.

Those brown eyes looked up at me from underneath his sable bangs and I just wanted to know for certain what toothpaste he used. I mean, I could’ve spent the next three years staring at the boy.

Without a doubt. I’m just saying.

Anyway, back to the chair of impending doom.

LC handed me a very worn card that looked as if it had lived the better part of a century under one of Nick’s tap refills. On it were printed the verses of the camp theme song.

I looked down at her with what must have been an expression of pure terror.

"What?" she asked. "It’s tradition." She grinned wickedly and waved her hand around the circle. "We all had to do this our first night." Cheers and nodding approvals followed. I couldn’t help but see Grigs smirk.

So I turned back to Logan. What? The boy knew how to smile. I’m just saying.

"Fine," I muttered. I took a deep breath and cleared my throat.

"Boyett Bay, we’ll always love you. Hold your honor high."

This was humiliating.

"We will cherish every memory, Of your dear old name."

My voice cracked on name and I heard Tessa laugh.

"Higher yet we hold your banner, Wave it far and wide."

Will this never end?

"Now we pledge anew to Boyett, Dear old Boyett Bay."

Thunderous applause and encouragement greeted me. I felt my face turn about eighteen shades of red before I was allowed to step down. And, just for the record, it was one Logan Greenwood, he of the dark hair and dark eyes, that offered a hand to help me down.

LC pulled me away and hauled me back toward the door. Her fingers sank into my upper arms with a strength I wasn’t expecting. "What did I tell you about Logan?"

I looked back over my shoulder. "I know, I know." I sighed and turned back to LC.

"I think I’m in trouble."

She laughed and shook her head. "No doubt, sister."




Alright. I guess there’s something you should know. Something I’m not too proud of. Might as well get it out of the way…

I started dating Bryan Jamison during the summer before my junior year of high school. He was captain of the boys swim team. He was tall and tan and had a look about him in the water that screamed competitor.

His dad taught eleventh grade English and his mom worked at the bank. He had two brothers and one sister, his twin. Julie and I had been friends since elementary school. So, I had grown up knowing him. He and his brothers used to tease Julie and me relentlessly. For years, just the sound of his voice used to make me tense up.

And then, something changed. It was like a light inside of me was suddenly switched on.

We were on the team bus on our way back home from some swim-meet that I can’t even remember right now. The girls and I had been beaten thoroughly and I was in no mood for the songs and hijinks usually associated with trips home.

Sometime during that long drive, Bryan ended up beside me. He didn’t say a word. He just took my hand in his and looked at me. His eyes asked the question and my mouth answered by finding his.

And that was all it took.

For the next year, you couldn’t tear us apart. We did all the things couples do. We went to movies and biked in the park. We went on hikes and exchanged gifts on birthdays and at Christmas.

We trained together side by side in the pool and talked for hours about our hopes and dreams. We were voted "Best Couple" our Senior year and got invited to the best parties.

Sure, we had our ups and downs. Every couple does. Trust me. If your relationship never argues or fights, then there’s something wrong.

Our main issue was the whole "physical" thing. Just how far is too far? And just because you cross one line once, does that mean that you can never go back to that line?

It was hard. I’m a very physical person. That’s how I showed my affection. I liked holding hands. I liked hanging all over somebody. I loved back rubs and falling asleep on the couch after a couple hours of heavy breathing.

But, there was a point I didn’t want to cross. I’m not saying I was going to "save" myself for marriage. Now, I’m not condemning that either. It works for some people, and more power to them. I’m just not that strong. You know? All I’m saying is that when that when the time came, I wanted to be sure.

There was also a large matter of respect. The further I went with Bryan, the more I felt less and less special and attractive in his eyes. And that hurt.

It came to a point when I was the only one who was saying stop. Don’t get me wrong. I really wanted to give Bryan everything I could. I loved him. As much as I could love anyone then. I loved the attention, and – let’s face it – the boy knew how to make out.

That was the problem. He knew what buttons to push and which emotions to play. Now, don’t start thinking him a jerk. He really wasn’t. I don’t think he had some agenda of getting me into bed. He wasn’t like that. He was a really nice guy. In the beginning, he had wanted to back off as much as I did. Sometimes more.

But, he was an eighteen year old male. And some urges are hard to turn off once they start rolling. Others are impossible.

The night Tag told me about Boyett was our one year anniversary. We had a nice dinner in town and went back to his house to watch movies. His parents were out of town for the week on a cruise. His brothers were off at school. Julie (the two of us had drifted apart once Bryan and I started dating. I was really sorry about that) had found somewhere else to be that night.

I had no intention of seeing Cary Elwes portray Robin Hood. I couldn’t bear to see him in any role that couldn’t live up to Wesley.

"As you wish." Heh.

And I wasn’t about to watch Andrew McCarthy and Jonathan Silverman drag a dead man around through yet another film. I mean one whole movie was bad enough. But a sequel? Who exactly was beating down the studio door for a part two of that? No, really. Who?

But as much as I tried to make him watch Meg Ryan stalk Tom Hanks across the country, Bryan would have no part of it. So I was truly surprised that he agreed on another Tom Hanks headliner. Of course, we didn’t even get to the part where he meets Denzel before we were…um…otherwise occupied.

I can still feel him placing my anniversary present on me. A breathtakingly beautiful opal and diamond necklace. His hands were warm against my skin. His breath tickled my earlobe. The lingering taste of dinner was still on his lips.

Before I knew it, most of our clothes were on the floor. For one brief moment, he stopped and looked at me, his eyes wide, brows raised.

No words were exchanged. None were needed.

I closed my eyes and nodded yes.


•••

It was well past midnight before Tessa, LC and I made it back to Cabin Five, and I could barely see, let alone walk. The girls dragged my weary butt into the cabin and deposited me roughly onto a nearby bunk.

If the others did anything else that night, I’ll never know. I’m pretty sure I died well before my head hid the pillow.

And thus ended the first day. Only four more months to endure…



•••

-Jos

"You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you." ~Ray Bradbury

Tuesday, February 14, 2006

Valoween

RRRRIIINNNGGG

ME: Yeah-lo?

LADY STEPH: Hey!

ME: Oh, hey.

LADY STEPH: So. Where did you and (NAME WITHHELD) go for Valentine's Day?

ME: We, uh, we went to Sue Ellen's.

LADY STEPH: Sue Ellen's? Honey, Sue Ellen's is a lesbian restaurant and bar.

ME: Really? Didn't notice.

LADY STEPH: No need for sarcasm. Just, why would you take her there?

ME: It was her friend, (NAME I CAN'T REMEMBER)'s idea. She just came out last weekend, and didn't want to spend V-Day by herself. (NAME WITHHELD) thought it'd be good for her to be around other people right now.

LADY STEPH: She brought a friend along on a Valentine's Day dinner?

ME: Wasn't my idea.

LADY STEPH: I didn't know (NAME I CAN'T REMEMBER) was gay. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

ME: Thank you, Seinfeld.

LADY STEPH: Again with the sarcasm. Why...wait. What happened?

ME: ...

LADY STEPH: Talk to me, Choir Boy.

ME: Well...

LADY STEPH: Yeah?

ME: Dinner was ok. The place was packed, people everywhere. Very loud. Not my first choice for a 6 month anniversary date.

LADY STEPH: That's right. I forgot. How did you manage to arrange an anniversary on Valentine's Day?

ME: I wasn't thinking. Anyway, despite the noise, and the crowd, and (NAME I CAN'T REMEMBER), things were going well. Until...

LADY STEPH: Until what?

ME: Until dessert. We had a brownie sundae. Not bad.

LADY STEPH: You're stalling.

ME: Yeah. So after I paid the check, (NAME WITHHELD) said she wanted to tell me something.

LADY STEPH: And?

ME: Yeah. She said that while we'd had some fun...

LADY STEPH: No! She broke up with you?

ME: There's more.

LADY STEPH: What else could there be be?

ME: She said...she informed me that I'd...

LADY STEPH: What? You'd what?

ME: Failed the test.

LADY STEPH: The test? What...Oh. No. She didn't.

ME: Score one for the other team.

LADY STEPH: She came OUT on your 6 month anniversary? On...on Valentine's Day?

ME: Pretty much.

LADY STEPH: Oh, honey. Well, you know, she did have big hands.

ME: Shut up.

LADY STEPH: And she did kick your butt in video games.

ME: Shush.

LADY STEPH: And she did have the biggest adam's apple.

ME: Bite me.

LADY STEPH: Kidding! Just kidding. I'm so sorry.

ME: Yeah. Me to. I still had to drive the happy couple home.

LADY STEPH: Couple? No! Her and (NAME I CAN'T REMEMBER)? No way!

ME: Way.

LADY STEPH: She came out to you, made you pay for dinner, and drive her and her new girlfriend home?

ME: I paid for (NAME I CAN'T REMEMBER) too.

LADY STEPH: You are too nice. Can we, like, nominate you for sainthood or something?

ME: Story of my life.

LADY STEPH: And you're still sober?

ME: I need chocolate.



Hey, Kids. This is your Uncle Josh here. The event mentioned above happened 9 years ago today. It's a tragedy, one that could happen to anyone. Even you. Well, maybe not you, but perhaps to someone you know. But, it doesn't have to.

Romance is supposed to be remembered every day. Not just on the 14th of February.

That's why I'm boycotting this annual "holiday" that exists only to make the candy and the flower and the card and the jewelry people that much more money. Money you worked hard for, I might add.

And, you can help. By supporting your fellow single friends. For just a few dollars, the cost of a Shiner and a chocolate chip cookie, you can make a difference in a single person's life.

Go, relationship people, go spend some time with those who have too much of it on their hands. Sit on their couch and watch TV. Order a pizza tonight and use that V-Day card as a placemat. Give those diamond earrings to your mother instead. You owe her that much.

You can spend time with your significant other tomorrow. Let today belong to the few, the sad, the single!

Long Live Valoween!!!!!

-Jos

"True love comes quietly, without banners or flashing lights. If you hear bells, get your ears checked." ~Erich Segal

Monday, February 13, 2006

Back Into The Frey

Man, Monday yet again. Where do the weekends go?

Had fun Friday night, watching the opening ceremonies and mocking the Costas most ruthlessly with the Apocalypse Queen.

And speaking of the Olympics, I think Bryant Gumble’s statement sums it all up best:

"Finally, tonight, the Winter Games. Count me among those who don’t care about them and won’t watch them. In fact, I figure that when Thomas Paine said that “these are the times that try men’s souls,” he must’ve been talking about the start of another Winter Olympics. Because they’re so trying, maybe over the next three weeks we should all try too. Like, try not to be incredulous when someone attempts to link these games to those of the ancient Greeks who never heard of skating or skiing. So try not to laugh when someone says these are the world’s greatest athletes, despite a paucity of blacks that makes the winter games look like a GOP convention. Try not to point out that something’s not really a sport if a pseudo-athlete waits in what’s called a kiss-and-cry area, while some panel of subjective judges decides who won. And try to blot out all logic when announcers and sportswriters pretend to care about the luge, the skeleton, the biathlon and all those other events they don’t understand and totally ignore for all but three weeks every four years. Face it — these Olympics are little more than a marketing plan to fill space and sell time during the dreary days of February. So if only to hasten the arrival of the day they’re done, when we can move on to March Madness — for God’s sake, let the games begin."

Saturday brought cooler weather and a score of fanboys to the Richardson Civic Center. Anthony Daniels was in attendance, and the Star Wars fans were out in droves. Tony was a good sport, and I had a good time hanging out with Mark and Sti-Fu and Cat. Met Tom Hodges and his wife. Very nice people. Can't wait to see them again in April.

Saturday night ended with an impromptu viewing of some classic Hitchcock. An aborted attempt to watch The Aristocrats (Dear, God, that was awful! Omar, what were you thinking?) we instead loaded Rear Window. Truly amazing to watch the Master at work. Inventive camera angles, vivid color palettes, minimalist score, and Princess Grace. Pure heaven.

Sunday was a nice slow-paced afternoon with Johannes. We watched the new Harrison Ford vehicle, Firewall. Um. So-so. Not bad, just not all that exciting either. Mostly implausible, wickedly over the top at times, and so full of plot holes you almost overlook the fact that Ford is old enough to be a grandfather to the kids in the movie. Almost. Still, it wasn't awful.

Didn't spend any time with the spec-script. (Sorry, AJ. Maybe next weekend) I felt I needed a break the past couple of days to do some of the things I'd been putting off for too long and catching up on some rest. Still waking up early, but at least I'm able to go back to sleep for a little while.

Also, take a minute to send Heather some good thoughts. She's had a rough week.

Monday brings with it more time sensitive projects and tighter deadlines. Still, I do work better under pressure.

That's it for today. Come back tomorrow for Valoween.

-Jos

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
~William Shakespeare

Friday, February 10, 2006

Feature Friday: Glengarry Glen Ross

It was a balmy Friday night during the summer of '95. Rueben and I were just returning from our weekly sojourn to Borders (sorry, JJ, I don't mean to be unfaithful, it's just that the Borders Siren call is too tempting to pass up - and they have those comfortable couches!). Mark had been trying desperately for me to watch this video he'd found for a couple of weeks. He told me it was about a bunch of real estate salesmen. Now, I worked (still do) day in and day out all week long with salesmen, and had no desire to watch a movie based solely on them. But, Mark was adamant (God bless him) and was standing at my front door when I got home. He wouldn't take no for an answer. Boy, I'm glad he didn't.

Title: Glengarry Glen Ross
Year: 1992
Director: James Foley
Staring: Jack Lemmon, Al Pacino, Ed Harris, Alan Arkin, Kevin Spacey, Alec Baldwin, Jonathan Pryce

"Put that coffee down. Coffee's for closers only." It's 7:30 on a rainy night at Rio Rancho Estates, where there is one week left in the monthly sales contest. First place wins a new Cadillac El Dorado. Second place is a set of steak knives. Third place is you're fired. Oh, do I have your attention now? For the salesmen in the room, Moss (Harris), George (Arkin), and Shelley "the Machine" Levene (Lemmon), the message is clear: Sell. Or walk.

There is a fourth salesman, Roma (Pachino), but he's so far in the lead (close to $70,000 over Moss) that he needn't worry too much. In fact, he's across the street laying the groundwork for a big sale to James (Pryce), a guy he just met at the bar. After a more than sobering "pep-talk" from Blake (Baldwin), a messenger from the bosses downtown, it's the lower rung salesmen who have to prove themselves worthy of the new "golden" Glengary leads. These leads are locked up in the safe my office manager John Williamson (Spacey). What follows is a story that shows just how far people will go to save themselves.

If Playing By Heart was one of the greatest ensemble casts ever, then Glengarry Glen Ross is the Olympic Dream Team of ensemble casts. The end all, be all, of all that is all. Everyone in this film brought their A-Game, and I think each cast member gives the performance of their careers.

Where to begin? Kevin Spacey is outstanding as the college-trained manager with no sales experience. He runs a tight office and doesn't want to, or can't, understand why his people can't close the sells on the leads he's already given out. He's just a guy who wants to get home to be with his family. He's not the bad guy, but he isn't a salesman either. His Williamson sees things from a different perspective, one more along the lines of Mitch and Murray (the bosses downtown), and that doesn't bode well with the men under him, living on commission.

Alan Arkin is just a pleasure to behold. Every sales team has a guy like George Aaronow. Nervous and unsure of himself. Scarred to upset the client, so he doesn't push when he should. Always willing to follow, never to lead. Arkin has a way of blending into the background so well that his co-workers really don't even notice he's there. They use him as a sounding board for one scheme or another, but are never looking for his advice, only for him to parrot their ideas back to them. His George brings much of the needed levity in an otherwise dark, somber film.

Ed Harris plays Dave Moss, a bitter character with a chip on his shoulder. Always quick to find a way to place the blame on everyone else but himself, he's one of those guys who hate to see walking toward you, because you know he'll never have anything good to say. Harris plays Moss with so much anger and contemptment for the job, you wonder why he's still at it. Still, he manages to keep Moss from being 2 dimensional . There are moments of clarity just under the surface, just below the grimace, that another actor could not have pulled off.

Pachino is still king. His Ricky Roma moves as though he were 10' tall. He's all confidence and charm, and Pachino plays him with a suave that oozes out of the screen. You can tell he loved playing this part. His mannerisms and body language and the way his whole demeanor changes whenever he's with his co-workers as opposed to a potential client is staggering to see. Pachino is one of the best out there. This is the movie that shows us why.

Ah, Jack Lemmon. The man is a legend. In a time where he could have been living off of his fame and just calling in roles, he stepped up to the plate and knocked this one out of the park. His Shelley Levene is heartbreaking to watch. A former sales leader in the office, he's been in a slump for several years, barely making his monthly quota. He's starting to doubt his abilities, and is staring into the face of his own mortality. To make matters worse, his daughter is in the hospital, and her expenses are adding up. In a fit of desperation, he makes his way out into a thunderstorm to make a big sale. The look of elation on his face is wonderful. The man is just amazing to watch. It truly is a shame that he's gone.

And, Alec Baldwin. Hands down, the best monologue ever to be put on film. He gets to do more in his five minutes of screen time, and have more fun, than most actors get to in their entire carrier. It's that good.

The movie is based on David Mamet's excellent play of the same name. Mamet writes in a way I can only dream to achieve. His dialogue is so rich and powerful. And real. It's just a pleasure to hear the man's words. May he continue to work for many years to come.

James Foley does some great work here as well. This story is all acting, so the 3 or 4 small sets are merely afterthoughts. Which works great, as it has that theater feel to it. I've said that this movie could have been made for $10, and that isn't an exaggeration. This cast could have been acting in someone's garage with cardboard sets, and it would still have been great.

Thank you, Mark. I can be stubborn sometimes. I'm glad you didn't let up. Go watch it. And Always Be Closing!

-Jos

"Talent is that which is in a man's power; genius is that in whose power a man is." ~James Russell Lowell

Thursday, February 09, 2006

The 4th Monday Of The Week

So, Mom's out of the office and this place becomes a ghost town at 5:30. Must be nice. Well, it gives me a chance to catch my breath. For now, anyway.

Yeah, the week's been crazy busy, but that's ok. I prefer it to the alternative. I work better when I'm backed against the wall. You'd be amazed what you can accomplish when you have no other choice. :)

The spec script is coming along. I've written a rough draft of the episode, and now I'm trying to piece it together in screenplay form. (The Everwood transcripts I downloaded made this process look much easier.) I should have something to show AJ hopefully by the first of next week. (AJ- please note: VERY rough draft)

I mentioned earlier that C-3PO himself, Tony Daniels, will be in town on Saturday for the Dallas Comic Con Fan Appreciation Day. My buddy Mark puts on these shows 2 or 3 times a year and they are always a blast. If you're in town, you should come out and meet my boy Sti-Fu, shake Tommy's hand, and drool over Cat (and her sketches). They're the best in the business, and you'd do me proud to stop in and say hi. The show's on Saturday, the 11th, from 11am - 6pm at the Richardson Civic Center. Tell them I sent ya, and you'll get...absolutely nothing. I carry no weight over there what so ever. :) Still, the show is free, so what have you got to lose?

I'm still getting my internal 3am wake-up calls. Not sure what that's all about yet, but it's wearing me down. 3am here is 7pm in Australia. Hey, Flo, anything happening on your side of the world around that time, mate? Hopefully my mind will figure out what it needs to know, and I'll finally be able to get some decent sleep. Sigh. No rest for the weary. Literally.

Anyway, as I said before, not much going on right now. Watched a couple of movies last weekend. Hung out with JJ and her buds for the Super Bowl, and burned through about 3/4 of the new King. All in all, a good week. Now if only I could get my work hours down to a respectable number, we'd be getting somewhere.

See you tomorrow for a new installment of Feature Friday.

-Jos

"If the human brain were so simple that we could understand it, we would be so simple that we couldn't." ~Emerson M. Pugh