This will be the last "best of" for awhile, and I'm posting it early, to avoid any conflicts with your Christmas/Hanukkah shopping, as well as mine. "Mistletoe" was the spur of the moment coda, for the next to last screenplay that I wrote. I figured that if a script reader read the first five pages and the last five, that this little addendum would help it sell better...guess not.
At any rate, enjoy Mistletoe and recreate the end scene while you are at it.
Showing posts with label Humor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Humor. Show all posts
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Best Of: "The Sound It Made When It Broke"
No, it's not December 22nd (or the sunset of December 21st), but let us celebrate Hanukkah early with The Sound It Made When It Broke. Actually, this story has very little to do with Hanukkah and everything to do with me being meshugganah. Nevertheless, nosh a little while you read this, and take the goyim out for Chinese food and a movie, so that they get the full-on experience.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Not East Of The Hudson, It's Not...
"So how did you like your trip to New York City?"
"I liked it. Some highs, some lows. They sure love to throw elbows there. There was this crazy woman who got on the bus and she jabbed me in the back, right between the shoulder blades, even though she had plenty of room to pass. Then when we went to Time Square, it was like one great big mosh pit. I decided that we should turn around before we even got to the middle of that mess. We visited where Anne used to live, right over by Washington Square Park and we went to that deli that was in "When Harry Met Sally." What was the name of that, honey?"
"Katz's."
"Yeah, Kat's, it was over on Houston Street."
"Howston."
"No, I saw the street sign it said 'Hue-ston."
"It's pronounced "How-ston."
"But it was spelled H-o-u-s-"
"-I know, but everybody says Howston."
"Hold on, hold on. The NFL team, you know, the Oilers, play in what city?"
"Houston."
"And the NBA Rockets?"
"Houston."
"And Nolan Ryan pitched for the 'what' Astros?"
"Houston."
"So what's the name of the street?"
"Howston."
"I liked it. Some highs, some lows. They sure love to throw elbows there. There was this crazy woman who got on the bus and she jabbed me in the back, right between the shoulder blades, even though she had plenty of room to pass. Then when we went to Time Square, it was like one great big mosh pit. I decided that we should turn around before we even got to the middle of that mess. We visited where Anne used to live, right over by Washington Square Park and we went to that deli that was in "When Harry Met Sally." What was the name of that, honey?"
"Katz's."
"Yeah, Kat's, it was over on Houston Street."
"Howston."
"No, I saw the street sign it said 'Hue-ston."
"It's pronounced "How-ston."
"But it was spelled H-o-u-s-"
"-I know, but everybody says Howston."
"Hold on, hold on. The NFL team, you know, the Oilers, play in what city?"
"Houston."
"And the NBA Rockets?"
"Houston."
"And Nolan Ryan pitched for the 'what' Astros?"
"Houston."
"So what's the name of the street?"
"Howston."
Sunday, February 25, 2007
"Spin, Couch, Spin"
On a blog that I used to lurk on, a blogger asked a question and I responded with an autobiographical story. She then reposted it to a blog that was going to tie-in blogging with beer, I guess they were going to do their own brew and things didn't quite work out. Here it is, warts and all...
I’ve had alcohol at various stages before then, but fourteen was the first time I got full-on lit up. A friend of mine was in a juvenile halfway house, out towards the beach and I would go visit him after school.This was in 1979, before drug & alcohol testing was so prevalent, so I doubt the same could take place today. A couple of the older residents scored some Ranier Ale, a.k.a. “Green Death” and they invited over the residents of a nearby female juvenile half-way house.
I was crushing on the gal closest to my age, though I doubt she felt the same. She opened a 16 oz. can of Ranier and proceeded to drink the whole thing in three gulps, then she crushed the can.
Of course my young macho ass was not going to have a “girl” out drink me, much less one that was smaller than me. I never drunk more than a few sips of any alcoholic beverage before that day, nor have I ever in my life, developed a skill for speed drinking.I don’t remember a lot beyond that stage, other than that:
A) All the girls drank and ran, literally. They knew how to put it away and not even have to dole out five lines of conversation. Much less, a goodnight hug or kiss.
B) I have no talent for drinking. Not then, not now.
C) They call Ranier Ale “Green Death” for a very good reason, because that’s the way it makes you feel after a couple of cans.
D) When the couch wants to, it can spin like one of those centrifuges that the astronauts train in to withstand G-forces.
E) When the room wants to, it can spin like one of those centrifuges that the astronauts train in to withstand G-forces.
F) Call me “Days Of Our Lives” because I knew just what “the sands of time” felt like when they went “through the hourglass.” I didn’t want to “fall” into the ceiling.
G) That was the first time, but it took me another three times to figure out that carpets everywhere fear me when raw tomatoes and alcohol are involved.
Note: Now you have a pretty good impression of why I only drink once in a blue moon.
I’ve had alcohol at various stages before then, but fourteen was the first time I got full-on lit up. A friend of mine was in a juvenile halfway house, out towards the beach and I would go visit him after school.This was in 1979, before drug & alcohol testing was so prevalent, so I doubt the same could take place today. A couple of the older residents scored some Ranier Ale, a.k.a. “Green Death” and they invited over the residents of a nearby female juvenile half-way house.
I was crushing on the gal closest to my age, though I doubt she felt the same. She opened a 16 oz. can of Ranier and proceeded to drink the whole thing in three gulps, then she crushed the can.
Of course my young macho ass was not going to have a “girl” out drink me, much less one that was smaller than me. I never drunk more than a few sips of any alcoholic beverage before that day, nor have I ever in my life, developed a skill for speed drinking.I don’t remember a lot beyond that stage, other than that:
A) All the girls drank and ran, literally. They knew how to put it away and not even have to dole out five lines of conversation. Much less, a goodnight hug or kiss.
B) I have no talent for drinking. Not then, not now.
C) They call Ranier Ale “Green Death” for a very good reason, because that’s the way it makes you feel after a couple of cans.
D) When the couch wants to, it can spin like one of those centrifuges that the astronauts train in to withstand G-forces.
E) When the room wants to, it can spin like one of those centrifuges that the astronauts train in to withstand G-forces.
F) Call me “Days Of Our Lives” because I knew just what “the sands of time” felt like when they went “through the hourglass.” I didn’t want to “fall” into the ceiling.
G) That was the first time, but it took me another three times to figure out that carpets everywhere fear me when raw tomatoes and alcohol are involved.
Note: Now you have a pretty good impression of why I only drink once in a blue moon.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
"The Sound It Made When It Broke"
The sound it made when it broke was kvetch...clomp! No, that's the sound that mayn Tanta (my Aunt) Beth makes coming down the stairs. She complains, then her prosthetic leg thumps the stairs.
Complaint, thump, crappy weather, thump, told you not to date her, thump.
I swear she takes the thirty-odd stairs we have and drags her descent out like she's coming down the Empire State Building.
You asked for it, thump, you're shiksa-outta-luck, thump. I wasn't alone when I thought Kiki was the one. All of my friends felt the same way, complete strangers thought we were a perfect couple and all of my family (save one) thought she would be an ideal wife. It's not like we go to temple but twice-a-year outside of the Holy Days, but my mom was so enamored of Kiki, that she was even willing to look past the fact that she was a gentile.
Yes, everyone thought she was perfect for me, save for my Aunt Beth. My parents and sister believe that Aunt Beth is either in the early stages of Alzheimer's or that she's going senile, but I know that she forgets the minutiae to in order to remember the important things. I also know that her intuition is sharper than a dozen butcher's knives and I was hoping that she would be wrong for a change.
I mean, I gave up school for Kiki and in my family, education is life. Yet, after I put aside the most important aspect of my life for our so-called "love," she runs off with a guy named "Horst." What the f*ck kind of name is that, anyway? Horst! Is that rancid chicken soup taking the "up" express elevator out of your stomach? Or is that a contraction of "horse" and "sh*t?"
So the sound my heart made when it broke, sounds just like mayn Tanta Beth when she comes down the stairs and I can still feel it sink, with each echoing step.
Are you okay, Boytchik?
Yes, I'll be fine.
Good, it's over, it's done. You've got it out of your system. Now, are you going back to school?
No, Tanta Beth, I still need to give school a rest. I thought it over and I would like to take up painting again...maybe a little sculpting too, and pick up my writing where I left off. Maybe even play the piano, again. You know...I want to be a Renaissance man.
What, "Renaissance?" Butter women up with poetry, then keep them locked up all day? Eat undercooked meat and wear tights? Your cousin Herschel already does all that.
Note: I'm a goy, but the desire of higher education for each generation is equally stressed on one side of my family and the child that doesn't follow that path, winds up a disappointment to the family, no matter what. The last line of the story was the only redeemable bit of dialogue from my first stillborn screenplay.
JJ had the starter sentence, "the sound it made when it broke."
Complaint, thump, crappy weather, thump, told you not to date her, thump.
I swear she takes the thirty-odd stairs we have and drags her descent out like she's coming down the Empire State Building.
You asked for it, thump, you're shiksa-outta-luck, thump. I wasn't alone when I thought Kiki was the one. All of my friends felt the same way, complete strangers thought we were a perfect couple and all of my family (save one) thought she would be an ideal wife. It's not like we go to temple but twice-a-year outside of the Holy Days, but my mom was so enamored of Kiki, that she was even willing to look past the fact that she was a gentile.
Yes, everyone thought she was perfect for me, save for my Aunt Beth. My parents and sister believe that Aunt Beth is either in the early stages of Alzheimer's or that she's going senile, but I know that she forgets the minutiae to in order to remember the important things. I also know that her intuition is sharper than a dozen butcher's knives and I was hoping that she would be wrong for a change.
I mean, I gave up school for Kiki and in my family, education is life. Yet, after I put aside the most important aspect of my life for our so-called "love," she runs off with a guy named "Horst." What the f*ck kind of name is that, anyway? Horst! Is that rancid chicken soup taking the "up" express elevator out of your stomach? Or is that a contraction of "horse" and "sh*t?"
So the sound my heart made when it broke, sounds just like mayn Tanta Beth when she comes down the stairs and I can still feel it sink, with each echoing step.
Are you okay, Boytchik?
Yes, I'll be fine.
Good, it's over, it's done. You've got it out of your system. Now, are you going back to school?
No, Tanta Beth, I still need to give school a rest. I thought it over and I would like to take up painting again...maybe a little sculpting too, and pick up my writing where I left off. Maybe even play the piano, again. You know...I want to be a Renaissance man.
What, "Renaissance?" Butter women up with poetry, then keep them locked up all day? Eat undercooked meat and wear tights? Your cousin Herschel already does all that.
Note: I'm a goy, but the desire of higher education for each generation is equally stressed on one side of my family and the child that doesn't follow that path, winds up a disappointment to the family, no matter what. The last line of the story was the only redeemable bit of dialogue from my first stillborn screenplay.
JJ had the starter sentence, "the sound it made when it broke."
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