Stuff that's not true (fiction)

Tuesday, November 06, 2007

A Peek Inside the Writer’s Guild and Producers’ Negotiations

Before the big meeting over the weekend, Ransom Note Typography minions managed to plant a couple high tech microphones on key members of the negotiating teams during the marathon sessions between the Writer’s Guild of America (representing the writers, duh) and the Alliance of Motion Picture & Television Producers (representing the blood sucking, money grubbing studios and producers).

We are not biased in the slightest here at RNT World Headquarters.

The following is a transcript of the tapes we got via FedEx late this afternoon.

Chairs rustling as people begin to sit

Voice 1 (Studio Boss, we presume): Everybody OK? Anyone need a Pellegrino? Latte? Diet Coke?

Voice 2 (writer, we guessed): Yeah, can I get a half-decaf mochachino venti, low foam and extra hot? Really hot. Hotter than the heat of a thousand suns hot, please. Thanks.

Voice 1: Sure thing, Bob. MARCI! Hey, Marci, listen, will you run to the Starbucks down the street and get Alan a cup of jo, with a shot of half and half or something.

Bob: Um, I really wanted half-decaf—

Alan: Bob, I am never going to remember all that crap. Marci, get him a cup of coffee and some of those creamers, will ya? And get me a boysenberry danish, the crumbly kind, three napkins, a fork and two plates, while you’re at it. And get my Blackberry out of my bag and call Jiilian and tell her to cancel the swim class tonight, my psoriasis is acting up this week and the chlorine really does a number on my skin.

Woman’s voice (presumably Marci): You want a coffee with that?

Alan: Oh, Lord, no, I’m already going to be up all night. And the acid just kills my stomach. But pop open one of those Pellegrinos and let it go flat for me. And throw some ice in a glass when you get back. Thanks, hon.

Much throat clearing

Alan: OK, look. We have a problem. You word guys are way too bent out of shape. Seems to us over at AMPTP like you fellows with the typewriters are being a little greedy, don’t you think?.

Bob: Alan, I think we are being more than fair and quite reasonable. Right now we only earn FOUR cents per DVD sold. Less than a nickel per $24.99 DVD! And zilch on internet stuff. We have to be fairly compensated, Alan. And, you also need to recognize that new media falls under our jurisdiction. We have to protect these young kids out there writing on the Internet and all this new media stuff.

Alan: Look, Bob, I understand your position, and I feel for you, but really, you gotta understand, we don’t need you guys as much anymore. You aren’t really in a position of strength here, my friend. Plus, no one is making any money off the Internet. Zippo. Bupkis. Bunch of smelly hippies, stealing our intellectual property is what the Internet is. Trust me, Bob, you don’t want any part of the Internet stuff. We can’t even get that fruity company, what’s their name, again? Marci!

Young woman’s voice: Marci left to get the danish, sir.

Alan (huge sigh): Fine. What’s your name, hon?

Young woman: Riva, sir.

Alan (rolls eyes): Whatever. What’s the name of the fruit company that sells those little pod-pud things? [sound of fingers snapping] We bought my niece one in pink, remember?

Bob: Apple. Alan, Apple sells the iPod and sells your shows on iTunes. Over the Internet.

Alan: Again. Whatever. Those fruity folks got all huffy and hot and bothered the other day. They don’t like our ideas about pricing. It’s nuts! All I’m saying is that the Internet is full of bandits, Bob. You don’t want any part of that. We don’t even want a part of that, but we have to do something, you know? Holy pants on a bamboo pole, look at the music business, poor bastards. The Internet stole EVERYTHING from them. We aren’t making a plug nickel off the Internet, Bob. You gotta believe me! So I don’t understand why you are making such a fuss about it. Look at this contract proposal of yours, you got a whole section in here called: “Revenue from Internet streaming.” What revenue?! Are you kidding me? I’m dying here with this Internet revenue stuff! Plus, there are thousands of people out there at home in their underwear in the day, writing, just like you clowns from the WGA. I just heard about this blagging stuff the other day. It’s crazy stuff! I had Marci start a blag thing for me. Livepress.com? Wordjournal? Anyway. A zillion and a half monkeys out there, I bet if we put it all in a hopper, some kind of Shakespeare will sift out. So what if it isn’t really the next Hamlet, people don’t really care about quality anymore. You know that! Hell, we just put Harold and Kumar 4 into pre-production. No, let’s stay away from an Internet talk, my friend, that’s rough and felonious territory. A veritable den of thieves.

Bob: Well, we are going to have to address revenue sharing for Internet downloads and streaming at some point. But I’d really like to discuss the criminally low residuals we receive from DVD sales. Now your public statements about the health of your business, combined with the latest 10-K from the SEC, in DVD sales alone, your company made over—

Alan: Bob, I’m going to stop you right there. We can’t really say exactly what we sold. We make a lot of plastic discs, sure, but how much money do we really make off ‘em? Who can say? We send trucks out to Wal-Mart, but it gets really complicated after that. Who knows how many those guys sell! And the financial statements! Come on! Think about it, Bob, you know how mushy and shady those financial statements are. Like Mick Jagger said, “I see a red door, and I want to paint it gray.” Hell, you write fiction for a living, we should get you to take a poke at those statements once in a while.

General laughter around the room.

Alan: Anyway, Bob, we are getting eaten alive by piracy. You’ve seen the news. Right here on our own channel they say it: Billions and billions of dollars of our property flying around the Internet right now and we aren’t seeing any of that action. Trillions, even! Hell, you walk down the street in Manchuria or over there in China and you trip over a stack of bad copies of Rush Hour 3 when you walk out the door. Though really, they were just there to keep the door propped open. What a stinker that was! Who wrote that again, Bob?

Bob (obviously annoyed and testy): I don’t think we are here to discuss the merits of any one movie or show in particular. The industry as a whole is the problem we are trying to address. We need to talk about revenue sharing and residuals and what we, the writers are rightfully owed.

Alan: I’m just asking. No need to get defensive, my boy. I’m sure it was all Ratner’s fault anyway.

Bob (very angry and his voice is squeaky and shaking): Yeah, sure. Fine. Whatever. You know for a fact that the script I delivered to him years ago was better than the drivel they filmed. My name isn’t even anywhere on that script anymore. And you know that.

Silence for a few moments. A couple of throats clear uncomfortably.

Bob: Anyway. We need to come to some conclusion on the matter of DVD sales. The WGA thinks a doubling of the compensatory fees for DVDs with over $1 million in gross sales is more than reasonable.

Alan: Your comedy skills have never been better, Bob. Very sharp! That’s a funny, isn’t it? We should put you on staff for this new Bob Saget vehicle we are throwing together.

Bob: We are totally serious. You are making a mint from DVD sales. We helped create that product. We have the numbers to back that up. We must be remunerated.

Alan: I don’t think you really understand the weak position you are in, Bob.

Bob: What are you talking about, Alan? I think our position has never been stronger. We create. You film and sell. We should get some of that money. Seems pretty simple and strong to me.

Alan: But I don’t think you understand. We don’t need you anymore! Look at what happened last time you keyboard jockeys got your panties in a wad. Remember that, back in the 80s? You were out for days! Weeks! Who missed you? No one, really. Sure, Letterman was annoyed, but he’s always pissed about something. Dave is Dave, nothing you can do about that. And what did we do while you guys were out there parading around L.A. with your signs and tinny megaphones, Bob? I’ll tell you what we did. We got smart. We went out and made reality shows. Reality! Non-fiction. No writers, baby! No made up stories, just real folks, eating worms and setting fire to their cousins on TV. Sure it’s crap, but it’s dirt cheap to make. Hire a couple snot-nosed camera crews, hell, Union people even. Hire a couple kids to follow that blonde bimbo, what her name? Annie Nicky Smith? The plump one, you know who I mean. Died a couple years ago. Marci! What was the blond’s name? Anyway, hire a few college kids to follow her around with a microphone and a Canon or put a bunch of cameras in Ozzy Milbourne’s house and you know what you have? A hit! H-I-T, hit, baby! You think we can’t keep doing that? The public eats that stuff for breakfast, Bob. Sure, we’ll throw you and the critics a bone once in a while and make The Wire and 24 and The Office and what not, but the future is Reality, Reality, Reality! Plus, the internet! It’s gonna be great! You ever see those YouTurn videos? Like that one with the dog and the skateboard? Stupid as hell, but people love to watch that crap. Marci! What’s the name of that one thing? That thing with the girl? HornyGirl12? LonelyChicken44? Whatever. That one thing with the girl. We bought that for a song. Marci! Where is she? That stuff doesn’t even need writers, my friend. It writes itself. MARCI!

Marci (running and panting): Sorry, sir, the boysenberry danishes weren’t very crumbly, so they are making a new batch. I got you a strawberry cruller. Here’s your cocoa, Mr. Johnson.

Bob: Cocoa? But I asked for coffee?

Marci: They were out. Sorry.

At that point in the tapes, the sound faded and we don’t really know what happened in the meeting. But we do know that the writers are probably getting screwed with their pants on.

Fight the Power.

Jon scribbled this mess on 11/06/07 at 12:29 AM, best we can tell it fits in the category of Stuff that's not true (fiction) Regular Post Favorite Entries. This many folks had something to say about that, The permanent home of this entry is here: Link

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

Letters from a Homeowner to His General Contractor

Friday, October 20

Dear Ron!

We are so thrilled that you have agreed to be our General Contractor! We really liked some of your ideas for the house! They are so very “thinking outside of the box” and we think it will be awesome to work with such a visionary!

Enclosed in this envelope, please find cash (as requested) equalling half of the bid. Your request that this be a “cash only deal” is a little odd, but you know this business better than I do, I’m sure.

According to the schedule you faxed over to us, demolition of the interior walls will begin Monday next. The fax is a little splotchy and hard to read, but are you sure we are starting then? I thought we weren’t starting until our family had a chance to arrange for other living quarters. Won’t the house be open to the elements for a while? Winter is coming on, you know!

Anyway, Ron, this is going to be great! We can’t wait to see the results!!

Tuesday, October 24

Dear Ron!

Wow, you guys sure did start off with a bang! It is so strange to see the outside world from the bathroom! Speaking of “bangs,” 6:20 A.M. seems a little early to start with the “explosions and banging and all that clatter.” At least that is what some of the neighbors are saying anyway. I know you explained to me that you like to get started early before it got hot, but our neighbor to the west is a dear, sweet man who just had some heart surgery and he says it’s bothering him.

Another quick thing, the next door neighbors say the placement of the porta-potty underneath their master bedroom window is less than optimal. Could you have someone move that soon? Anywhere off their property is fine.

Also, as you know, we haven’t been able to find a suitable rental unit yet while the work on the house is on-going. (I’m SO sorry, I know we must be in the way and underfoot A LOT!) Is there any way you could put up some plastic or something by our bedroom? My wife is a little self-conscious about getting dressed with your sub-contractors “staring at me in just a towel.” We’d just set up sheets or something for privacy, but pretty much everything we own is in a storage unit on the other side of town! Ha! Ha!

Looking great! Keep up the good work!

Wednesday, October 25

Dear Ron!

Wow, you guys really are making a LOT of progress on the demolition. I still haven’t seen a dumpster arrive yet. That’s coming soon, right? Surely all the remnants of the walls and the old carpeting won’t stay in the driveway and in the street, will they?

Quick question: I don’t remember the remodel plans calling for a skylight. I’m just a little curious about the hole in the roof over the living room.

Also, and I know you are totally swamped, but the neighbors are still asking about getting the porta-potty moved.

Oh! Before I forget, any luck with the plastic sheets? (The privacy thing. Again! Sorry!)

I’m sure that now that all the walls are totally off, real progress can begin!

Thursday, October 26

Dear Ron!

I totally understand how you could get called away on another job! I’m sure that sort of thing happens all the time. Just try to let us know next time!

The rain last night coming in through the “skylight” won’t hurt the sub-flooring, will it? I’m a little concerned about that. The corners got pretty wet and they are starting to curl up. You can fix that, right? (I hope!)

And we went ahead and got some plastic sheets for the Master Bedroom, so don’t even worry about that. Just get the other “little job” done so you can come back to us.

We are super excited for this project to really get going!

Friday, October 27

Dear Ron!

So we’ll see you next week, right, for sure? The little job you have will certainly be done by then, right?

Wow, snow before Halloween! That was unexpected! The kids are excited! They made a small snowman in the living room. You don’t think that will cause any MORE damage, do you?

The next door neighbors got a little frustrated and tipped the porta-potty over trying to move it themselves, and a lot of stuff spilled out. All that sludge is covered by snow now, but I bet it’s going to be rank come next spring! Pee-eeew!

Monday, November 6

Dear Ron,

I sort of wish you had told us you had a week long vacation planned for Halloween week. I don’t begrudge you a vacation, certainly everyone deserves a break! And heaven knows you and your crew have put in yeoman’s work tearing down all the house walls and cutting holes in the roof. (I didn’t know about the second skylight, but it’ll look great I’m sure, once it’s closed up!) But maybe in the future, you could let us know you are going to be unreachable for a whole week.

And due to our inability to find a rental apartment in this city (did you know there was a “housing crunch” in the city?! Wow! And rents are C-R-A-Z-Y expensive right now!), we are staying in a “Thrifty Neighbor” motel down the road. Lots of people complain about the smell from the paper plant next door, but you get used to it.

Wednesday, November 8

Dear Ron,

What a difference a couple days makes!

It’s so awesome to see the new framing up! I’m going to have to take a peek at the plans again, because I’m having a hard time picturing all those walls in the dining room. Are they really necessary? And how will a dining room table fit in there?

Also, I’m sorry the funeral procession for the old fellow next door interrupted your work the other day. And though his doctor is saying he died from stress and high blood pressure, I’m sure the hammering and yelling of your crew didn’t have anything to do with it, no matter what the neighbors say!

Oh, and I saw some of the bags that the “new” insulation came in. That material you said you got a great deal on? Are we sure we can use that asbestos stuff as insulation? I thought I remembered something on the news about asbestos being a problem. We should probably talk about that before the drywall goes up.

It is too early to start thinking about paint colors!? :-D

Friday, November 10

Dear Ron,

Wow, you and your crew really are making progress now! Looks like all the framing and walls are up!

Though I sort of remember that a structural engineer friend of ours specifically said that if we removed “that center load bearing wall” and “didn’t support it, the roof would eventually cave in.” He looked very serious when he said that. I know we talked about an “open floor plan,” but don’t we need some kind of support for the roof and second story? That broomstick sized post you have in the basement seems like it might snap in two any second! And as I look up at the ceiling, I swear I can see the roof sagging in a little bit. Probably just my imagination playing tricks on me.

Boy, these late fall/early winter snow storms sure are fun, huh? Not! Ha! Ha! I know you said you’d get to it, but we really didn’t feel comfortable with all the snow inside so we went ahead and put some plastic sheeting up to cover the skylight holes. It’s unfortunate that the plastic keeps falling down.

When do we pick out the kitchen cabinets? The tile colors? The fixtures? Etc.

Wednesday, November 15

Dear Ron:

Another mini-vacation! Wow, I think I should have gone into General Contracting! I had no idea you all got so many vacations and “mini-vacations” as you call them. That’s awesome. The “State Mandated Mini Vacations” was new on me!

Anyway, I’m glad to see that the rough plumbing and rough electrical has been done.

Also, enclosed is the next cash payment. I had no idea there could be so many “overages” already! I guess our original estimate was tad on the low side. I know you had to pay the subs to do the plumbing and electrical “stuff” (as you so eloquently put it), but isn’t hiring them and paying them your job? I’m just a little confused about why I had to pay both you and the “electrician” (who says he is related to you!) for the same work. Does that make sense to you?

Friday, November 17

Dear Ron:

First of all, I am SO sorry for barging in on your “private time” yesterday. You are right, I should have called before dropping in on my house like that. I didn’t know you ever had company on the job site! Though I think that woman should have been wearing more than just a hard hat! Quelle surprisé!

Speaking of calling, it seems to me that you might need a new cell phone. Every time I try to call, it says the number has been disconnected.

Anyway, enough with the “housekeeping” stuff.

The walls and drywall look pretty good. I’m sure we can work around the holes (we have lots of pictures!), but I am a teeny bit concerned about the “waviness” of them. And that odd rough texture, you’ll be checking up on that, right?

Oh! And I’m sure this is a totally minor thing and hopefully a cinch to fix, but when you flush the guest bathroom toilet, well, it’s hard to describe what happens as anything BUT a “fountain of shit.” I’m afraid it’s going to stain the tile in there permanently.

Wednesday, November 29

Ron,

Have a couple nagging little concerns I need to address:

First, what your guys do on their own time is their own business, of course, but maybe you could have a word with one or two of them. The neighbors are telling me that “all sorts of shady drug dealers looking thugs are coming by the house at all hours.” But you know how nosy neighbors can be, right? They aren’t still giving you a hard time about our dead neighbor, are they?

Second, I’m afraid I can’t give you the next cash payment quite yet. Turns out it is illegal to sell a kidney on ebay. And the guy at the bank won’t stop laughing when I walk in the door. But I’m working on it, I promise. You don’t have to call me every twenty minutes in the middle of the night to remind me.

Third, very creative work on the drywall “problems!” I would never have thought that just nailing another layer or two of drywall is what all the pros do. Awesome. Though the rooms are all a bit more skinny than we originally planned.

Fourth, I get a mild shock whenever I flip on an electrical switch. I sure do hope you are right and that “the wires just need time to get all settled and properly broken in” that will go away. Though it does wake you up in the morning! Anything we can do to speed up the “breaking in” process?

Happy Turkey Weekend!

Tuesday, December 12

Ron.

Do you think it would be at all possible to ask for a small variance on the “mini-vacation” law? I’m very concerned that we won’t be done in time. We are willing to help out with things like painting in order to get it all done before the Holidays. And you are going to have to explain to me again exactly why I still have to pay you for the painting, even though my wife, my two young daughters and I are doing the actual work.

And I know I should have brought this up much sooner, but I end up having a problem with the windows you installed. It just seems to me (I know, I know, I’m not an expert!) that they are kind of flimsy. As a matter of fact, one kind of fell out and it appears to my untrained eye that the edges of the window were nothing more than wire coat hangers, wrapped in aluminum foil. I’ll have to have you take a look.

And here is one more thing to add to your List: The TV only seems to get the local cable access channel. Could you look into that?

And another thing! Looks like you got around to fixing the “fountain” problem in the guest bath, which is GREAT and we are grateful just for the relief from the odor. However, we have one more little issue in there. Seems that the hot and cold are reversed on the sink taps. The wife scalded herself pretty badly the other morning. The E.R. docs say she’ll probably regain most of the use of her left hand, so no worries. Anywho, if you could look into that, that’d be swell.

And on the subject of plumbing, I know you said we could save money by using PVC pipe for everything instead of copper, but I’m not seeing that reflected in your most recent invoice. I’m sure that’s just an oversight and the next invoice will reflect the change.

Again, I don’t mean to be a nervous nelly about this, but were there Sheriff’s deputies on the property the other day? My neighbor said that your foreman was hauled off in cuffs for felony drug possession and dealing. (wow!) I’m sure she must have heard that wrong.

We do like the “dark auburn” color you chose for the bedrooms! I was amazed you could get that color just from mixing up leftover paint. I’m wondering if it’s really going to look OK to have ALL the rooms that color. Won’t it get monotonous?

Friday, December 22

Ron:

Well, we all pulled together and we got it all done! From the outside the house looks amazing. And it has that modern “lean” you were explaining to me the other day.

Though I wish you could have been there while our 6 year old was up on the ladder re-doing the ceiling fan wiring. Your expertise was sorely missed then!

This envelope has your cash final payment. It reflects all the “change-orders” we discussed the other day. I’m still wondering how all that wire you charged us for could even fit in the house! And again, I think you may want to clean your fax machine as it seems that a lot of the “work descriptions” fields were blurry and hard to read. And there were a lot of entries that even once I could read them, it seemed like they said “misc. exps. overs.” The dollars amounts are always pristine, though.

OH! And this is important! Have you seen the cat lately? I can hear her meow-ing, but I can’t find her.

Jon scribbled this mess on 08/15/07 at 12:02 AM, best we can tell it fits in the category of Stuff that's not true (fiction) Regular Post Favorite Entries. This many folks had something to say about that, The permanent home of this entry is here: Link

Monday, October 23, 2006

Flying Leap

Below I present a work of fiction. I’m more than a little a-scared about putting it up. It’s been up on the site for a while, though in a “closed” state, so only I could see it every time I logged on. Too chicken to let it go out into the world. Isn’t it weird, I’m more than willing to talk on-line about getting a vasectomy or publishing really embarrassing photos of myself, but this little short story I wrote a while ago, letting this out into the wild, scares the be-hoobies out of me. The story is called Flying Leap.

I am sitting two rows down and to the left of McKay. We’re in one of those arena-like classrooms. I think Professor Cromby likes the place because he can look up knowledgeably over the rims of his glasses at his students. Turning around and looking up at McKay I can see his lip quivering. He glances over to me and then down at his book.

“Mr. Berkeley, can you answer the question?”

McKay can not answer the question. This is obvious to me. He’s one of those sick types that always seems to be prepared on the days he is called on. Sure, Professor Cromby, Juris Doctor, Order of the Coif, is a jerk and always tries to nail his students unprepared, but something is wrong with McKay. His eyes lack rationality. They’re open just a little too wide. His Adam’s apple begins to bob. His mouth is open like it’s on hinges and uncontrolled, letting in his quick, shallow breaths. He is a deer caught in headlights. A deer with a Mets hat on.

He’s gonna throw up. Or pee right there in Kimball Hall in the Dr. and Mrs. Timothy James room.

Everyone in the room can feel it. It’s thick in there. Nothing moves except for a few of McKay’s body parts. I’m not even breathing anymore, I’m just waiting for a shoe to drop.

I steal a look at Cromby. He’s unfathomable. I can’t tell if he’s annoyed or dumbfounded. He’s staring at McKay. Oncoming headlights.

With every pupil in the room focused on him, McKay stands up. Too fast, his chair toppling over, bouncing once and then laying there motionless. McKay moves sideways behind the other student’s chairs to the end of the row. He walks quickly up the stairs of the arena and out the door. His open book and pack lay on the desk.

The door, one of those automatic jobs, closes behind him with a click. Cromby, the evil one incarnate, turns off the hi-beams and looks over the class and says, “Is anyone friends with Mr. Berkeley? If so, I think someone should go after him.”

Everyone looks at me. I mean, every head turns and looks at me. I’m his friend, of course. Hard to go to school with a guy for as long as we have and not be friends. I know, though, that I’m not equipped to handle whatever McKay is putting out here. Cromby looks over at me and asks if I know Mr. Berkeley well enough to go an make sure he is all right.

“Yes, he is my friend.”

Cromby is all compassion now. Like he’s doing his pro bono work for the month. “Please Mr. Johnson, be good enough to see that he is all right. I shall merely mark him absent for this class and disregard his lack of preparation.” The twit. He sounds like he’s been ready since the beginning of time for someone to stare blankly at him and walk out in the middle of class. Probably happens every semester. I get up and go out into the hall.

The corridor is long, but McKay has left me a trail. Pieces of his clothing are in regular heaps on the floor leading out into the courtyard.

I go outside and see him sitting there on the side of the fountain with nothing but his Mets cap on. He’s staring at the bouncing water.

“McKay? McKay, are you OK?” What an asinine question. The guy just walked out of Torts with his facial muscles twitching, took off his clothes in the hallway and is now sitting naked as a jay bird on a very public fountain.

He looks at me, his eyes no longer terribly open, “Yeah, I think I’m OK. It’s a little cold out here, but I think I’m OK.”

“McKay, what’s up?”

“Do you remember that time we hitched down to the city to see a game, only to realize that the only team playing was the Mets, but we went to the game anyway?”
Insanity. Public nudity, baseball games and insanity. That’s where this is leading, I can tell. “Yeah, I remember. You bought that hat you’re wearing. Which, by the way, is the only stitch of clothing you currently have on. It’s a nice hat, but it doesn’t go a long way in the modesty department.”

He smiled. For a second I thought he was giving me one of those crazy person smiles where the crazy guy grins just a little too wide and a little too long. “I’m going to get to that. Give me a second.”

“Sorry, look, do you want my sweater? It’s a little chilly out here.”

“In a minute. So anyway, that was a pretty good day, huh?”

“Yeah, we had a good time that day.”

“And those girls, do you remember those girls we met at that jazz club and they gave us a ride home because they were worried about us thumbing back?”

“Yes, of course I remember. They were nice. I’ve always said that pretty women giving rides to semi-strangers is partial proof of the existence of God. McKay, is there a point here? If there is, I think I’m missing it.”

“What I have done is a symbolic gesture, Cal.”

“A what?”

“A symbolic gesture. You know symbolism, don’t you?”

“We’ve met on occasion. So what is so symbolic about being naked on a fountain in the courtyard?”

“I’m leaving, Cal. This is a new beginning.”

“Leaving? Where are you going? What new beginning are we talking about? A career as a stripper?”

“Doubtful, I don’t think I could get the pasties to stay on.”

“So, what you are saying is that you are having some kind of return to the womb thing happening here?”

“Sort of. I’ve just decided that I’ve had enough and I’m not going to do what they expect of me anymore.”

“Well, this fountain trick will certainly catch Tom and Louise off guard. Don’t think they’ll see this one coming for miles.”

I remember that I am talking to a naked person in the courtyard. McKay is being very normal, almost like we are sitting here fully clothed remembering our weekend jaunts and hating his parents. I look up at the windows, expecting to dozens of eyes glued to the scene, but no one has noticed. I can see a few people staring out of our classroom, but Cromby must have resumed his grilling. I’m sure they will keep the rest of the class informed if anything truly weird happens out here.

“Hey, look, I’m over here having a epiphany and you are mocking me.”

“Oh, please, McKay, you are naked on a fountain in the courtyard of Kimball Hall in late October. This is hardly what I would call epiphany. Stupid. Insane. Loopy. These are words to describe this scene, not epiphany.”

“Don’t forget cold.”

“Do you want my sweater? Better yet, let me go get your pants and the rest of your clothes. They’ll go great with what you have on now. Plus I know they’ll fit you. No tailoring necessary.” I move to get up.

“No! Don’t you get it? I took off those clothes because of what they symbolize. I’m not putting them on again. Ever.”

“I’m afraid I don’t get it. Do you have something against the Levi Strauss Company and the cotton industry? Or are you being melodramatic for some point I am missing?”

“No, stupid. My parents bought me those clothes. And everything else I could ever call my own. Those clothes are a part of the person they want me to be, not the person I am, or want to be. I was sitting there in Cromby’s class thinking about how much I hated them and everything they represent. Then Cromby asked me that question and I realized how much I hated law school and being here and living a lie for my parents’ sake. I just about threw up. I had to get out of there.”

“I knew you were gonna puke. You can tell by the Adam’s apple.”

“To tell you the truth I don’t really remember leaving or taking off my clothes. Something sort of went ‘ping’ in my head and the next thing I knew I was out here in the buff.”

“Well, let’s not forget that you do have on your Mets cap.”

“See, that’s the point. It’s my Mets cap. I bought it. With my own money that I got tutoring that undergrad. It was my money. Not the money Dad sent me.”

He takes the cap off, waving it in the air, gesturing at it. “This is my little key to freedom. It represents my new beginning. Me, McKay J. Berkeley, independent person of the year. I’m going to start doing what I want to do. I’m an adult after all. I have a college degree. I can get a job on my own. I don’t need my Dad to get me one. And I can wear whatever I want. I don’t need my Mom to pick everything out for me. I may never take this here hat off.” He plops it back on his head.

“Look if you are not going to ever take it off, at least use it wisely and cover your more salient features.”

“Shut up. Can I have your sweater now? I’m about to freeze out here.”

We went back into Kimball Hall, gathered up his clothes and went into the bathroom. I gave him my clothes and I took his. His were way too small for me. He looked swallowed in mine.

We decided not to go back to Cromby’s class that day, but went to lunch instead. McKay practically bounced off the walls on the way to the cafeteria, talking about what he was going to do instead of law school and how he was going to tell his parents to go to hell and how he was going to wear the Mets cap while he was doing it, too, damned if he cared what they thought anymore. Why he might just show up on the door step nude and capped one day and tell them to shove it in front of the neighbors and wouldn’t I just die to see their faces?

I sat there the whole time eating and nodding at appropriate intervals, telling him to try and be a little reasonable in the lack of clothing department. I figured he was having some sort of post-stress, post-breakdown high and just needed to get it out of his system. I knew he’d eventually calm down.

Everything he said made perfect sense. Like a business plan on paper. He would drop out and get a job as far away as possible from Tom and Louise. He wouldn’t even tell them where he was going. Poof and he’d be gone. Out of the loop. Everything was going to be so great for him he thought. He would completely change his life. Become a new person. Rebirth. The bad karma of the past McKay was dead. To hear him talk, tulips were about to sprout in October.

I didn’t want to remind that the Mets lost more than a hundred games this year.

Jon scribbled this mess on 10/23/06 at 11:08 AM, best we can tell it fits in the category of Stuff that's not true (fiction). This many folks had something to say about that, The permanent home of this entry is here: Link

Stuff that's not true (fiction)

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