Creeeeeek...
The rod iron gate squeals as I open it and walk into the courtyard. It's mid-afternoon, which means there is still plenty of time to laze by the pool.
"Consuela?" I say as I turn the corner. I can't imagine her lazy fat ass being anywhere else on this beautiful day.
"Mmmmmmm," she coos from her floaty bed. She is exactly where I left her three hours ago. Her skin is a little more bronze; and the inside of one of her calves is a little more white than the other -- so I assume, logically, that at some point she had her legs crossed. But other than that she is in full sloth mode.
"I have a surprise for you!" I say and kick off my shoes, before walking towards the pool's edge.
"Dats nice," she purrs.
"Don't you want to know what it is?" I say as I pull the bottle of champagne out from the paper bag I'm holding. She hears the crinkling of the bag and guesses:
"Yer had da good meeting den?"
I pause.
Whatever happened to those diligent servants who wait on you their whole life? The ones who greet you happily as you enter the door -- grateful to be an integral part of your life. Where are they?
"Open your eyes!" I snap at her. I'm standing there barefoot with a bottle of champagne and she can't even be bothered to take 3 minutes out of her lazy day to feign some sort of excitement.
I must have startled her because she jostles a bit on her floaty bed. A small tidal wave heads towards me as I take a seat on the pool's edge and slip my sweaty feet into the water. I've decided against arguing with Consuela about going upstairs and grabbing two glasses. And so, as she paddles pathetically towards me with one arm, I pop the champagne. We'll drink it straight from the bottle.
The cork flies off into the bushes, and I take a gulp.
Creeeeeeek.
Click. Click. Click.
I turn around to see one of my neighbors enter the courtyard. She smiles. Tall-ish. Blonde-ish. Dressed a little skanky-ish. I think she might be a hooker? It's that type of building.
I smile at her. Hookers are people too.
"Hey!" she says and walks towards me with a big smile. "Are you the one that just moved into 3B?" she asks, as she too kicks off her shoes and settles down beside me. She makes a face to say 'you have the right idea' and also sticks her feet in the pool.
"Yes. I'm Karen." I say, and offer her the bottle of champagne. She happily obliges, tells me her name is Dina -- or maybe it was Pina? And then takes a swig before handing it back.
"What are we celebrating?" she asks. Funny how I get more enthusiasm from a neighbor I just met, than my half-assed housekeeper. I glare at Consuela who shrugs and resumes her previous position on the floaty bed. She doesn't seem to mind that I haven't offered her champagne, so I indulge my attention on Dina...or Pina.
"Well..." I say rather coy to my new friend. "I just got green lit to write the first draft of a screenplay."
"That's fantastic!" she says as I pass the champagne back to her and she takes another swig before continuing:
"That's really great news. Is that why you came out here? Me too, well...sort of. I'm an actress -- well, want to be an actress -- no, am an actress. I've been here 3 years and gone on countless auditions. I've come close many times. My big claim to fame is being Ali Larter's stand-in on that Beyonce movie. But that's huge, right? In any case -- humble beginnings." she says, and finally stops to take a breath.
I can't tell if this neighbor is going to be fun, or annoying. In any case, she is a pleasant alternative to Consuela on this blistering hot afternoon -- and so, feeling happy that she's not a hooker since we are drinking from the same bottle, we pass the champagne back and forth in celebration of all our dreams that are about to come true.
Californication
MANUEL ALEJANDRO MySpace Video
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Don't forget the St. Bernard
ding! ding! ding!
The car alarm reminds me to remove my keys before I step out. I readjust my skirt and look down at my toes. I'm wearing open-toed shoes. Since I haven't found a good pedicure place that I like -- and by 'good' I mean sanitary; I got Consuela to do my toes. And, despite a small argument over colour choice, the experience was more or less successful. But, I don't think I'll make her do it again. She isn't the greatest at exfoliating, and, seeing her scowl through the whole process takes the fun out of it for me.
Deep breath.
I open the door to this particular studio lot and walk inside. Confidence. I have confidence. I have just as much right to be here as anyone else.
Click. Click. Click.
My shoes make an echoed sound on the floor as I walk towards the offices. Alex, my Exec from Warner Brothers has set up various meetings with producers who they like working with to see if we can add to next year's slate.
OK - correction. Alex, my Exec from Warner Brothers, gave a heads up to my agent -- who is his good friend, about throwing me into various interviews because they want to create a slate with producers (who are also vying for positions) for the following year. I think that is how we're suppose to say it.
And now I'm standing in the under decorated and somewhat cluttered closet-of-an-office of one of the biggest producers in Hollywood.
He approaches me and reaches out his hand. He's a lot younger than I thought he would be.
"David?" I say with a nervous smile, and reach out my hand.
"Oh no," says the guy in front of me. "I'm Eli. David's actually on location. But, come into my office -- let's have a chat. Can I get you anything?"
I'm somewhat thrown by this younger guy. I don't know if he's a producer, or an assistant, or some actor that they've hired on a hidden camera show -- and the joke is on me, but in any case I ask for a water and follow him into his office.
"Have a seat," he says and reaches for the mini fridge behind his desk. He hands me the water and I sit across from him and take a gulp.
"Alex tells me you're a wonderful writer," he says.
"Thank you," I tell him. I accept the compliment instead of shaking it off. I don't want him to think that I doubt myself in any way.
"So...why don't we start by you telling me some things you are working on, and see if we can maybe collaborate on anything. Sound good?" he says. I like this guy. He seems really approachable. I really hope he's not the assistant and I'm wasting my time...
"Sounds perfect." I say and take another gulp before I begin.
"Well..." I say to him as I start to compose the next few sentences in my head so they can dictate through my mouth properly. But before I can begin I interrupt myself with a thought.
"Do you want me to start with any particular genre?" I say so I'm not boring him.
"Nope." he says, "Just tell me whatever you're working on, and we'll see if something flowers out of it."
OK. Sounds easy enough. Either he's going to like my ideas or he's not.
"Well, there is this one idea I had for a movie. It's basically about a girl who loses all her friends in a horrible accident, and then finds out that she is the beneficiary of their kids. And she doesn't have any kids. So now, she's responsible for like 8 children. It's heartwarming. I'm actually falling in love with the characters. Especially the really young kids that don't understand the extent of everything that happens." I say and pause to see if I've lost him.
"What are the conflicts?" he asks matter-of-fact.
"Internal or external?" I ask back.
"Start with external." he says.
I think he might be interested.
"Well, there are family members who obviously want to contest this. And at first she's relieved, but then she notices things about these family members that are in direct conflict with how her friends would have wanted to raise their children."
I pause.
There is silence.
I wait.
"Do the kids go to these family members?" he asks.
"At first they do," I say "and she goes back to living her normal life. But of course, something is missing. She thinks she's happy, but the guilt of betraying her friends' wishes starts to creep up on her. And - oh, I forgot another conflict. She's really committed to her work; and thinks that by letting these kids go back to their immediate families that she will find solace in her old life, but work is empty in comparison. She starts to screw up at meetings, and loses clients. She can't concentrate. By the end of the second act she is miserable."
I pause.
There is a longer silence.
He leans forward, but he's still in his train of thought. So I wait there quietly for a few more minutes.
"I think it would make more sense if we have her lose her job because of the kids; then she gives the kids back to their families, then she's at another job but it's anticlimactic."
That's not a bad idea...
"What season were you thinking of setting this in?" he asks. To be honest I hadn't considered it, but I guess it makes sense to lose her friends in a car accident -- so there would need to be snow on the ground.
"Oh, winter!" I say, as if it was pure madness to consider anything else.
"OK," he says and leans back in his chair. "I like it. Go write me a first draft. We'll make it a Christmas movie; so make sure there's lots of heartwarming scenes of the kids without their parents during the holidays -- you know, like a little girl singing in a choir but she's sad because no one is there to watch her, or something like that. You'll figure it out."
"Fantastic!" I say.
He tells me that he'll send a contract to my agent and let Alex know where we're going with this. We shake hands and I turn to walk out the door. Just before I leave his office I hear from behind me; "Oh, and make sure there is a dog in this movie. I like St. Bernard's. Have it go missing in the third act and tie that in to the kids and her reconnecting. Make sure it's a St. Bernard."
A St. Bernard?
"Sure," I say. I try to mask the confusion in my voice. I step a little quicker towards the door before he tells me to have one of the parents lying in a coma or something...
"Oh, Karen!" he says and chases after me. I walk a bit faster, but eventually turn around.
"I think it would also be really cool if you have one of the parents lying in a coma, and when things get tough we see this character talking to them. I want lots of tears!!"
"Great!" I say. My shoulders wince a bit, but I try my best to mask it. I can make this work. I'm going to make this the best damn Christmas movie there ever was!
I just really hope this guy isn't the assistant.
The car alarm reminds me to remove my keys before I step out. I readjust my skirt and look down at my toes. I'm wearing open-toed shoes. Since I haven't found a good pedicure place that I like -- and by 'good' I mean sanitary; I got Consuela to do my toes. And, despite a small argument over colour choice, the experience was more or less successful. But, I don't think I'll make her do it again. She isn't the greatest at exfoliating, and, seeing her scowl through the whole process takes the fun out of it for me.
Deep breath.
I open the door to this particular studio lot and walk inside. Confidence. I have confidence. I have just as much right to be here as anyone else.
Click. Click. Click.
My shoes make an echoed sound on the floor as I walk towards the offices. Alex, my Exec from Warner Brothers has set up various meetings with producers who they like working with to see if we can add to next year's slate.
OK - correction. Alex, my Exec from Warner Brothers, gave a heads up to my agent -- who is his good friend, about throwing me into various interviews because they want to create a slate with producers (who are also vying for positions) for the following year. I think that is how we're suppose to say it.
And now I'm standing in the under decorated and somewhat cluttered closet-of-an-office of one of the biggest producers in Hollywood.
He approaches me and reaches out his hand. He's a lot younger than I thought he would be.
"David?" I say with a nervous smile, and reach out my hand.
"Oh no," says the guy in front of me. "I'm Eli. David's actually on location. But, come into my office -- let's have a chat. Can I get you anything?"
I'm somewhat thrown by this younger guy. I don't know if he's a producer, or an assistant, or some actor that they've hired on a hidden camera show -- and the joke is on me, but in any case I ask for a water and follow him into his office.
"Have a seat," he says and reaches for the mini fridge behind his desk. He hands me the water and I sit across from him and take a gulp.
"Alex tells me you're a wonderful writer," he says.
"Thank you," I tell him. I accept the compliment instead of shaking it off. I don't want him to think that I doubt myself in any way.
"So...why don't we start by you telling me some things you are working on, and see if we can maybe collaborate on anything. Sound good?" he says. I like this guy. He seems really approachable. I really hope he's not the assistant and I'm wasting my time...
"Sounds perfect." I say and take another gulp before I begin.
"Well..." I say to him as I start to compose the next few sentences in my head so they can dictate through my mouth properly. But before I can begin I interrupt myself with a thought.
"Do you want me to start with any particular genre?" I say so I'm not boring him.
"Nope." he says, "Just tell me whatever you're working on, and we'll see if something flowers out of it."
OK. Sounds easy enough. Either he's going to like my ideas or he's not.
"Well, there is this one idea I had for a movie. It's basically about a girl who loses all her friends in a horrible accident, and then finds out that she is the beneficiary of their kids. And she doesn't have any kids. So now, she's responsible for like 8 children. It's heartwarming. I'm actually falling in love with the characters. Especially the really young kids that don't understand the extent of everything that happens." I say and pause to see if I've lost him.
"What are the conflicts?" he asks matter-of-fact.
"Internal or external?" I ask back.
"Start with external." he says.
I think he might be interested.
"Well, there are family members who obviously want to contest this. And at first she's relieved, but then she notices things about these family members that are in direct conflict with how her friends would have wanted to raise their children."
I pause.
There is silence.
I wait.
"Do the kids go to these family members?" he asks.
"At first they do," I say "and she goes back to living her normal life. But of course, something is missing. She thinks she's happy, but the guilt of betraying her friends' wishes starts to creep up on her. And - oh, I forgot another conflict. She's really committed to her work; and thinks that by letting these kids go back to their immediate families that she will find solace in her old life, but work is empty in comparison. She starts to screw up at meetings, and loses clients. She can't concentrate. By the end of the second act she is miserable."
I pause.
There is a longer silence.
He leans forward, but he's still in his train of thought. So I wait there quietly for a few more minutes.
"I think it would make more sense if we have her lose her job because of the kids; then she gives the kids back to their families, then she's at another job but it's anticlimactic."
That's not a bad idea...
"What season were you thinking of setting this in?" he asks. To be honest I hadn't considered it, but I guess it makes sense to lose her friends in a car accident -- so there would need to be snow on the ground.
"Oh, winter!" I say, as if it was pure madness to consider anything else.
"OK," he says and leans back in his chair. "I like it. Go write me a first draft. We'll make it a Christmas movie; so make sure there's lots of heartwarming scenes of the kids without their parents during the holidays -- you know, like a little girl singing in a choir but she's sad because no one is there to watch her, or something like that. You'll figure it out."
"Fantastic!" I say.
He tells me that he'll send a contract to my agent and let Alex know where we're going with this. We shake hands and I turn to walk out the door. Just before I leave his office I hear from behind me; "Oh, and make sure there is a dog in this movie. I like St. Bernard's. Have it go missing in the third act and tie that in to the kids and her reconnecting. Make sure it's a St. Bernard."
A St. Bernard?
"Sure," I say. I try to mask the confusion in my voice. I step a little quicker towards the door before he tells me to have one of the parents lying in a coma or something...
"Oh, Karen!" he says and chases after me. I walk a bit faster, but eventually turn around.
"I think it would also be really cool if you have one of the parents lying in a coma, and when things get tough we see this character talking to them. I want lots of tears!!"
"Great!" I say. My shoulders wince a bit, but I try my best to mask it. I can make this work. I'm going to make this the best damn Christmas movie there ever was!
I just really hope this guy isn't the assistant.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Tick Tock! Make it Stop!
Tick Tock! Make it stop! There's a party on the block!
I'm not exactly sure if those are the words but I don't care. This is the perfect song to get me revved for my first day on the lot. The 134 just opened up and now, like Lauren Conrad feeling the rain on my skin -- wait, that doesn't work.
And now...like Lauren Conrad I'm drenched in words unspoken as I cruise down the highway and...
ALMOST MISS MY EXIT! SHIT!!
"Sorry!" I yell to the person behind me. I make sure I raise my chin high enough so they can see my face in the rear view mirror and know that I wasn't intentionally trying to kill them. I waive one arm up apologetically. I'm not sure if that means the same thing as it does back home -- but in any case, I've done my best to make amends as I circle down the off-ramp and head towards the studio.
Tick Tock! Make it stop! There's a party on this block!
I love this song!
I turn the music down as I approach the gate. A woman security guard comes towards the car. Funny - I've played this scene out a million times in my mind. She was always a fat friendly man who actually stayed in his security box instead of approaching the car.
"Name?" she says matter-of-fact.
I tell her. Then confirm who I'm there to see. She hands me a map of the studio and points me in the direction of the parking lot closest to the place where I have to be.
And that's it.
There's no can can of burlesque dancers welcoming me into to the gate. And if it wasn't for the fact that I didn't turn the volume all the way down -- there would actually be no music accompanying me on this very big moment in my life.
Silence.
It's rather anti-climactic.
No wonder we all go running to the theatres...
I turn the radio back up -- the song is still playing but I fear it's on its last verse and so I want to milk this moment for all that I can. I want to emblazon a theme song over the pictures my memory is recording as I drive through the lot.
Tick Tock! Make it stop! There's a party on the block!
I'm not exactly sure if those are the words but I don't care. This is the perfect song to get me revved for my first day on the lot. The 134 just opened up and now, like Lauren Conrad feeling the rain on my skin -- wait, that doesn't work.
And now...like Lauren Conrad I'm drenched in words unspoken as I cruise down the highway and...
ALMOST MISS MY EXIT! SHIT!!
"Sorry!" I yell to the person behind me. I make sure I raise my chin high enough so they can see my face in the rear view mirror and know that I wasn't intentionally trying to kill them. I waive one arm up apologetically. I'm not sure if that means the same thing as it does back home -- but in any case, I've done my best to make amends as I circle down the off-ramp and head towards the studio.
Tick Tock! Make it stop! There's a party on this block!
I love this song!
I turn the music down as I approach the gate. A woman security guard comes towards the car. Funny - I've played this scene out a million times in my mind. She was always a fat friendly man who actually stayed in his security box instead of approaching the car.
"Name?" she says matter-of-fact.
I tell her. Then confirm who I'm there to see. She hands me a map of the studio and points me in the direction of the parking lot closest to the place where I have to be.
And that's it.
There's no can can of burlesque dancers welcoming me into to the gate. And if it wasn't for the fact that I didn't turn the volume all the way down -- there would actually be no music accompanying me on this very big moment in my life.
Silence.
It's rather anti-climactic.
No wonder we all go running to the theatres...
I turn the radio back up -- the song is still playing but I fear it's on its last verse and so I want to milk this moment for all that I can. I want to emblazon a theme song over the pictures my memory is recording as I drive through the lot.
Tick Tock! Make it stop! There's a party on the block!
Thursday, February 25, 2010
New Beginnings
Keys?
Check.
Driver's License?
Check.
I take a deep breath and look at myself in the mirror before stepping outside.
Go get 'em!
I step outside and am...
Instantly blinded.
Where the hell are my damn sunglasses? I rummage around in my purse for them with one hand while I squint to block the sun from burning two gaping holes where my eyes used to be.
Got 'em!
I throw them on for immediate relief, lock my door, and take in the view from the top of my steps. I'm temporarily staying at some furnished apartment while I'm in LA. It's very Melrose Place; although we're not in Melrose -- and there's no Kristin Davis rising from the pool in the middle of the night to put a curse on us all.
The original series was so much better than the new one. I hope they cancel it soon so one of my shows has a chance...
"Consuela!"
I clunk down the steps and walk towards the pool in the middle of the courtyard. I'm already late for my meeting, but want to make sure that Consuela is going to be ok while I'm gone.
"Whaa-aaat, Mia?" she whines from the pool. She's managed to buy herself some sort of floaty-bed thingy. How in God's name she ever found one that could hold her fat little body is beyond me...although somewhere in the back of my mind I remember seeing some sort of computer recreation of how steel ships float in the water. Something to do with the entire weight of the water being heavier than the steel ship...
So I guess the water weight of the pool is heavier than Consuela. Good to know.
"I'm off to my meeting." I say to her as I stand by the edge of the pool. She doesn't look up. I'm surprised she hasn't figured out a way to blast The Macarena through an outdoor sound system by now -- because that and a Pina Colada is the only thing missing from this scene.
I stand there for a minute to see if she will respond. It's high noon, and the sun is beaming down on both of us. She takes her fat little hand and splashes some water on herself.
I feel the sweat start to pour out from my armpits; and know that I need to take immediate shelter in the air conditioning of my car.
"OK, so I'm off.." I say as I begin to walk away.
"Yer iz have a good day, Mia" she coos from her floating throne. And so I push through the rod iron gate and head towards my car. Well, it's not my car. Just one that I rented for while I'm out here paving the road to success.
I hop in, blast the air conditioning, and remove the roof. Yes, it's a convertible. Very LA. Very cliche. Very Carrie Bradshaw when she went to go meet Matthew McConaughey in season five. Or was that season 4? In any case, I don't care. I couldn't resist. It's a bright sunny day. I'm not hurting anyone...
I think about my meeting as I sit in traffic. I think about everything that brought me to this moment. I wonder if Nancy Myers will pop her head in and ask me for lunch...or maybe Tom Hanks...or J.J. Abrams.
I'm about to be welcomed into their world. I'm one of them. They see me. Really see me. I'm having a Sally Fields moment like when she won her Oscar.
I just love her in Brothers & Sisters. To think she started out as a flying nun...
Concentrate!
I regroup so I can focus on the traffic that seems to be flowing around me. Why I always end up in the lane that never moves is beyond me. I'm late -- but everyone is more or less late here. They're very forgiving of the traffic. If I knew my way around the city better I could take an alternative route, but I'm not there yet.
One day...
For now I need to focus on my meeting.
Check.
Driver's License?
Check.
I take a deep breath and look at myself in the mirror before stepping outside.
Go get 'em!
I step outside and am...
Instantly blinded.
Where the hell are my damn sunglasses? I rummage around in my purse for them with one hand while I squint to block the sun from burning two gaping holes where my eyes used to be.
Got 'em!
I throw them on for immediate relief, lock my door, and take in the view from the top of my steps. I'm temporarily staying at some furnished apartment while I'm in LA. It's very Melrose Place; although we're not in Melrose -- and there's no Kristin Davis rising from the pool in the middle of the night to put a curse on us all.
The original series was so much better than the new one. I hope they cancel it soon so one of my shows has a chance...
"Consuela!"
I clunk down the steps and walk towards the pool in the middle of the courtyard. I'm already late for my meeting, but want to make sure that Consuela is going to be ok while I'm gone.
"Whaa-aaat, Mia?" she whines from the pool. She's managed to buy herself some sort of floaty-bed thingy. How in God's name she ever found one that could hold her fat little body is beyond me...although somewhere in the back of my mind I remember seeing some sort of computer recreation of how steel ships float in the water. Something to do with the entire weight of the water being heavier than the steel ship...
So I guess the water weight of the pool is heavier than Consuela. Good to know.
"I'm off to my meeting." I say to her as I stand by the edge of the pool. She doesn't look up. I'm surprised she hasn't figured out a way to blast The Macarena through an outdoor sound system by now -- because that and a Pina Colada is the only thing missing from this scene.
I stand there for a minute to see if she will respond. It's high noon, and the sun is beaming down on both of us. She takes her fat little hand and splashes some water on herself.
I feel the sweat start to pour out from my armpits; and know that I need to take immediate shelter in the air conditioning of my car.
"OK, so I'm off.." I say as I begin to walk away.
"Yer iz have a good day, Mia" she coos from her floating throne. And so I push through the rod iron gate and head towards my car. Well, it's not my car. Just one that I rented for while I'm out here paving the road to success.
I hop in, blast the air conditioning, and remove the roof. Yes, it's a convertible. Very LA. Very cliche. Very Carrie Bradshaw when she went to go meet Matthew McConaughey in season five. Or was that season 4? In any case, I don't care. I couldn't resist. It's a bright sunny day. I'm not hurting anyone...
I think about my meeting as I sit in traffic. I think about everything that brought me to this moment. I wonder if Nancy Myers will pop her head in and ask me for lunch...or maybe Tom Hanks...or J.J. Abrams.
I'm about to be welcomed into their world. I'm one of them. They see me. Really see me. I'm having a Sally Fields moment like when she won her Oscar.
I just love her in Brothers & Sisters. To think she started out as a flying nun...
Concentrate!
I regroup so I can focus on the traffic that seems to be flowing around me. Why I always end up in the lane that never moves is beyond me. I'm late -- but everyone is more or less late here. They're very forgiving of the traffic. If I knew my way around the city better I could take an alternative route, but I'm not there yet.
One day...
For now I need to focus on my meeting.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Maybe I'm a little scared...
The Instructor stands at the front of the classroom, but I gaze off into the heavens. All the other little souls are excited, I can feel their energy flowing through me, just the same way that they can feel my distraction.
"Ahem," The Instructor clears his throat and I break my gaze, smile, and look towards the front of the classroom.
Today's lesson is on the concept of secularity. We have to be prepared for the disconnect and isolation we will feel when we go down to Earth.
"Can someone explain to me what they think 'individual' means?" The Instructor asks the room. My eyes wander again back towards the heavens -- watching the purple and pink lights dance above me. I don't know how any of the other little souls can pay attention when the lights are so magnificent...
"It's because we need to learn this," whispers a little soul that sits to the left of me.
"I know," I whisper back.
Just then, the glass ceiling above me begins to fog over, and the heavens and all their glory are blocked for the time being. The Instructor has pushed the button that we use sometimes when the heavens are too luminescent, and it is hard for us to see each other in this classroom. They weren't like that today -- but the seal still coats the glass because I wasn't paying attention.
Some of the other little souls are disappointed with me. Others are laughing.
I told you so... the little soul to the left communicates to me.
"No talking," say The Instructor. We make eye contact. Before I can defend myself, he looks to the little soul on my left and says, "that means all forms of talking, please."
And with that our lessons continue. We learn about the concept of individualism. How egos can extend from that. How sometimes when little souls go down to earth, they forget that they are all part of the same great being, and in their individual cloak; they become mean to others.
And they don't understand that being mean to others is actually being mean to themselves.
Earth is a complicated mission. Many souls don't come back. But I'm not scared...
"Really?" The Instructor says to me. He looks down at me with a great smile. I can see the heavens dancing in his eyes. Some of his feathers stroke my cheek as he walks through the aisles of the classroom.
Well, maybe I'm a little scared...
"Ahem," The Instructor clears his throat and I break my gaze, smile, and look towards the front of the classroom.
Today's lesson is on the concept of secularity. We have to be prepared for the disconnect and isolation we will feel when we go down to Earth.
"Can someone explain to me what they think 'individual' means?" The Instructor asks the room. My eyes wander again back towards the heavens -- watching the purple and pink lights dance above me. I don't know how any of the other little souls can pay attention when the lights are so magnificent...
"It's because we need to learn this," whispers a little soul that sits to the left of me.
"I know," I whisper back.
Just then, the glass ceiling above me begins to fog over, and the heavens and all their glory are blocked for the time being. The Instructor has pushed the button that we use sometimes when the heavens are too luminescent, and it is hard for us to see each other in this classroom. They weren't like that today -- but the seal still coats the glass because I wasn't paying attention.
Some of the other little souls are disappointed with me. Others are laughing.
I told you so... the little soul to the left communicates to me.
"No talking," say The Instructor. We make eye contact. Before I can defend myself, he looks to the little soul on my left and says, "that means all forms of talking, please."
And with that our lessons continue. We learn about the concept of individualism. How egos can extend from that. How sometimes when little souls go down to earth, they forget that they are all part of the same great being, and in their individual cloak; they become mean to others.
And they don't understand that being mean to others is actually being mean to themselves.
Earth is a complicated mission. Many souls don't come back. But I'm not scared...
"Really?" The Instructor says to me. He looks down at me with a great smile. I can see the heavens dancing in his eyes. Some of his feathers stroke my cheek as he walks through the aisles of the classroom.
Well, maybe I'm a little scared...
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!
The World is filled with idiots. Big idiots. Small idiots. Fat idiots. Short idiots. Bald idiots. Ugly idiots. Smelly idiots. Even stupid idiots.
And these idiots, will at some point in time, be your boss. A higher up who only got Cs in highschool and realized very early on that the road to success in life was to make sure that all those who are smarter than them (which, is the majority of the population) have one disadvantage: they have to bypass them or outshine them in order to move up.
And so, these idiots learned very quickly how to successfully stay on top of the game using slander and other types of sociopathic corporate killing sprees to keep those who should be ahead of the game, down. Way way down.
They've perfected the game, they've --
"MIA!"
Why does Consuela alway interupt me just when I'm on a roll?
"Yer isn't should be saying doze sings. Da people dey will read and den dey will really hate yer!!"
"Shut up!" I yell back at her. I have a point to make.
Now...where was I?
And these idiots, will at some point in time, be your boss. A higher up who only got Cs in highschool and realized very early on that the road to success in life was to make sure that all those who are smarter than them (which, is the majority of the population) have one disadvantage: they have to bypass them or outshine them in order to move up.
And so, these idiots learned very quickly how to successfully stay on top of the game using slander and other types of sociopathic corporate killing sprees to keep those who should be ahead of the game, down. Way way down.
They've perfected the game, they've --
"MIA!"
Why does Consuela alway interupt me just when I'm on a roll?
"Yer isn't should be saying doze sings. Da people dey will read and den dey will really hate yer!!"
"Shut up!" I yell back at her. I have a point to make.
Now...where was I?
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