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Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts

Wednesday, July 10, 2013

TV Casuality




                                 

           
                                

                                                        
  As Seen on TV
((this is my original work and any attempt to reprint or copy needs my written permission))

“Bourge has another great product for you.  It will make your hair shinier and sexier”, says the alluring celebrity spokes model who holds the bottle of shampoo up to the camera.” You cannot live without this product, ladies.  I promise you, this new Vi-De Belle hair follicle, vitamin enriched scalp nourishment will change your life. Trust me.  I have the whole line of Vi-de Belle hair care products and I wouldn’t trust my scalp to anything else.”  The attractive celebrity winks at the camera and begins to massage the product into her hair. 

The celebrity spokes model, Venus Starr, is a light skinned black woman with long, straight hair that reaches her shoulder blades.  The hair looks like a wig, but in fact it is Venus’ own hair.  Venus used to have very curly hair that fanned out around her face when it was shorter.  But because of her contract with Vi-De Belle beauty products, she had to use what they had to offer.  And they didn’t sell any products for women with curly hair.  Curly hair was not deemed popular so all of the Vi-De Belle products catered to women with straight hair.  Hair that was straight as a pin.  Hair that you would have to iron to get so arrow straight.  Curly was out.  Straight was in.  That’s what life was like living in a straight world.  A world generated by Bourge Corps. 

Jeremy reflected on all of this as he watched the commercial.  He hated these ads and hated the celebrity spokes models even more. 

“God, I hate Venus Starr.  She’s in every damn commercial nowadays.  And she has that new talk show and apparently is the new face of Vi-de (VIDA) Belle.”

“Oh, I don’t know, she seems pretty smart.  And I think it’s cool that a child star can have so much success.  At least she’s not washing down pills with booze or injecting heroin between her toes like other former child stars.”

“Shit, Angela, just because she was the darling of ‘Our Hearts’ doesn’t give her entitlement to tell everyone what to buy and how to spend their hard earned money.  What was that stupid slogan?”

Angela imitates a television announcer.  “’Home is where Our Hearts live.  America’s most fetidly wholesome and infectiously loveable family.  The Heart family lives in all of our hearts.’ Jeremy, spare me your rant about celebrities being the balm of your existence.

“Angela, bane, not balm.  They have opposite meanings.  Bane is something that annoys the hell out of you.  Balm is something that makes you relax.  And did that theme song really say ‘fetid’ and ‘wholesome’ in the same breath?  Fetid is something that smells awful, like garbage.  But I guess that was before language started changing and up became down and vise versa.  Let’s see.  It all started with ‘Text Speak’ and now nothing has any original meaning anymore.  Language has been stripped of context and content.  Everything is ‘luv’ and ‘ick’ and ‘k?” 

“It takes too much time to spell everything out.  Text Speak makes it easier to communicate.  And anyway people don’t spend all their time reading yellowed Pulp like some people.  Why don’t you just get an EZ Speak Audio Biblio-Reader?  You don’t have to read anything yourself.  It’s all audio and you can pick which celebrity voice you want to hear.”

“That’s the reason I still have old books and newspapers around.  Don’t call it ‘pulp’.  That makes it sound worthless and unwanted.  Like pulp in juice.”

“I hate pulp in juice.  You can’t even buy it anymore.  They took a poll and people said they preferred no pulp so that’s all you can get now.  I like it better that way.”

“And that’s another thing.  Why is Bourge Corp taking all of these stupid polls?  If something is voted as being unpopular, it gets discarded like  yesterday’s hamburger wrapper.”

“I like the Bourge Corp polls.  Oh, they have a new one out today.  It asks you to name your favorite cola drink.  I like Zap Cola better than Bolt!  I hope Zap wins.”

“It probably will since Zap is made by Soife, which is another Bourge Corps company.  Bourge Corps tried to buy Bolt but Goody Cola wouldn’t budge.  So now Bourge Corps is trying to eliminate the competition.”

Angela was busy looking at herself in the mirror.  She especially critical about her hair.  Secretly, she wanted her hair to look as straight as Venus Starr’s.  Angela had been using a different shampoo and she made a note to switch.  As her mind was filled with these vapid thoughts, she tried to think of a way to keep the conversation with Jeremy from going flat. 

“I didn’t know all of that, Jeremy.  Are you sure Zap is a Bourge product?  I thought it was the other way around.  The Bolt commercials are a lot better.  And their jingle is catchier.”

“That’s why Bourge Corps wanted to buy out Goody Cola.  They knew that their product sold more units and made more money.  If you can’t buy ‘em, crush ‘em.  You know, that mentality started by what was it, Morbinta Inc?  They started this whole we kill and crush the competition mentality.  That or force them into bankruptcy if they won’t be bought out.  Then buy them out anyway without any sweet under the table deal.”
“Jeremy, you’re so paranoid.  If it weren’t for Morbinta, half the country would have starved during that severe drought.  They made sure that people still had fresh fruits, vegetables, and meat.”

            “You’re so brainwashed, Angela.  Morbinta caused that draught by making a deal with the water and electric companies to turn off generators and underground pumps for crops.  They took advantage of that summer where temperatures for most of the country were in the triple digits.  Only Morbinta farms were producing, and you know that what came out of those farms was not real food.”

“But Morbinta went out of business. If they ruled over everything with an iron thumb, then how come they aren’t around anymore.”

“Angela, that’s why I read as much as I do.  All of the answers are in the pulp that people don’t look at anymore.  Morbinta and Bourge Corps are one and the same.  Morbinta bought out as much as it could, pretended to go under, and then changed names and hands a few times to confuse people.”

“It sounds like science fiction to me, Jeremy.  There’s no way the good people of America would let all of that happen.”

“Well people only read what’s downloadable on their EZ-Speak.  If you can even call it reading anymore.  People listen to stories about the salacious tabloids and banal courtroom dramas.”

“Banal?  Salacious?  I don’t even know what that means!  Use English.”

“Angela, it is English!  Well, once it was English.  No one uses words that are more than two or three syllables.  Anything that is too complicated is just tossed aside.  Language has been redefined by the masses.  It’s too bad that the masses were never that smart to begin with.”

“You’re such a snob.  That’s why you don’t have any friends.  That and you don’t have a Bourge membership.  Oh, I forgot to tell you.  I just became Bourge Elite.  You know what that means, right?”

“Sure.  You get a 45% discount on all Bourge Corps products and a year’s supply of Vi-De Belle beauty products.”

“Yea, that and I can have my bank account linked to bourge.com.  I don’t have to do anything when I go shopping.  I just buy what I want without worrying about it.  The money comes straight out of my account.  All of my bank statements are prepared for me.  I don’t have to balance my own checkbook.  The rest of the money I don’t spend gets put into another account and I don’t have to pay interest or anything.  Plus, there’s this new automatic online banking buddy system.  I don’t even have to go in person anymore.  It’s all done for me.”

“It’s another beautiful way for Bourge Corps to do all of the thinking for you and put their hands deeper into your pocket.  And tell me, Angela, what happens if you run low on cash.  If you’re not checking into your account, how would you know?”

“That’s the great thing about being Bourge Elite!  Everything I buy in stores and online is connected to my account.  So, when I go out to eat or shop online, I am barred from buying anything that is too expensive and outside what my paycheck would allow me to buy.  I told you, the money is all figured out for me.”

“So wait a minute.  Let’s say you’re out to eat and you feel like a steak instead of a hamburger?”

             “The touch screen menu will block out the steak because it’s too expensive.  I’ll only be able to get the hamburger and other items that fit within my budget.”

            “Who determines what your budget is?”

            “I told you, being a Bourge Elite member has everything figured out for me.  Any day now, my Palm Tab should get a downloaded file explaining what happens with all of my money.  Let’s see, if I remember correctly, after bills are calculated, I’m allowed 25% for clothes and 35% for food.”

            “What about the other 40%?”

            “Some of that goes toward bills.  I think the rest goes into a rainy day account.  I’m not sure.  It’s all explained in the portfolio.  I’ll show it to you when it gets downloaded on my Palm Tab.  It will make sense when you see it all explained.”

            “I’m worried, Angela.  If you can’t explain it to me, it doesn’t sound like a very wise plan of action.”

            “Oh, Jeremy, you worry too much.  Why don’t you have a Go-Go Bar or a Mind Booster Shake?  You haven’t eaten anything since breakfast.”

            “I’ll just have a salad and some fresh juice.”

Jeremy gets up to look inside of the refrigerator.  He has all of his garden produce and natural food marked with neon green-yellow tape.  Anything unnatural, the things that Angela had been eating lately were marked with black electrical tape.  All of Angela’s food was set aside on a different shelf.  In fact, Jeremy mentioned getting a second refrigerator because he was so worried about the chemicals in Angela’s food.  Angela stopped thinking about the food she was eating after she started eating what Jeremy deemed poisonous junk. 

            “I don’t even know why you bother, Jeremy.  You’re like the only one in the neighborhood who has a garden.  It’s so much work.”

            “But at least I know where my food comes from.  I grow it myself and can control what goes into my body.  I don’t know what the hell is in that crap Bourge Corps puts in stores.  You could be eating cancer on a stick for all you know.”

            “Oh, Jeremy.  What am I going to do with you? “

Angela takes the remote control and changes the channel.  She focuses on the television and tunes out Jeremy’s conversation. 

            “Angela, we used to have intelligent conversations about these things.  But you
don’t remember.  It was your idea to start the garden and grow our own food.  But       you started getting fast food because it was cheaper.  You changed out your organic soap and shampoo for a Vi-de Belle membership. And you changed.  That’s when…”

“Shh..quiet down, my favorite show is coming on.”

“It’s a commercial, Angela.  Can’t we talk some more about this.  I’m worried about you.”

Angela squeals, “Oh Jeremy, I love this commercial.  The little boy is so adorable.   
She imitates a little boy’s voice.  ‘Can I have anuhduh (another)?’”

            “’Eat a Pow Burger.  They’re rich in vitamins and nutrients.  Another great product by Meaty Delights, a property of Bourge Corps.  Bourge Corps knows what America’s children prefer.’  A little boy eats a burger that looks like a cross between Spam and pulled pork.  He gets what looks like ketchup or barbeque sauce all over his mouth and smiles.  The little boy looks up past the camera and asks, “Mom, I’m  still hungry.  Can I have anuhduh?”   The phrase, “Can I have another” sticks out in big red letters while the jingle for Pow Burger plays in the background.  Angela hums along to the music.

            “I think I’m gonna go out and get a Pow Burger!  I’ll be right back.”

“Are you sure you don’t want some salad instead?  Angela, I think tonight I’ll make a vegetarian lasagna.  I’ll even make the pasta from scratch.  How about that instead?”

“I’m really in the mood for a Pow Burger and a Mind Booster Shake.  I can get one for you too.  I still have a full food quota.”

“Angela, I love you.  I want to make a baby with you.”

“Silly, you know we can’t have any more children.  We tried once and it didn’t work out.”  Angela gives Jeremy a kiss on the forehead and grabs her purse. “I think I’ll get some of that new Vi-De Belle shampoo too.”  Angela leaves Jeremy sitting on the couch by himself, unaware that anything is out of the ordinary.

Jeremy sat there in the mid-afternoon sunlight streaming through the window and thought about Angela.  They wanted children once.  But Angela’s body wasn’t able to make a baby without huge risks.  So the doctor put a black x over her medical file and that was that.  They could try to adopt but only if both of them were Bourge Corps members.  And Jeremy refused to get even a Bourge Basic Membership.  Angela joined partially out of a glimmering hope that Jeremy would join her and partly to save on finances in case they actually did end up being able to adopt.  Then it all changed.  Angela cared more about material things.  Then she bought that EZ-Speak.  And her language began to change.  Everything about her was different.  She looked more and more like the celebrity spokes models on TV than the woman he married.  Jeremy wondered what the future held for them, as a couple.

 Does he still love her?  Will he stay with her?

Tune in and find out what happens tonight on ‘Love Electric’, another original, smash series from Hunter Broadcasting, a Bourge Corps Production
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Tune on, tune in, drop out,
~R~

Thursday, March 1, 2012

Dude, I got a blog...



So I often ask myself, what is the point of having a stupid blog? Everyone and their grandmother has a blog. Literally! At a Passover Seder a couple of years ago, one of my former students and his grandmother talked about their blogging experiences. Not that I'm against older members of our society having blogs, but it seems pointless if it's a multi-generational experience. If senior citizens are filling cyberspace with blogs, then mine really does seem pointless. How can I compete with 'Cats n' Old Bats' or 'Sadie's Sex Tips' or 'How to Organically Clean Your Dentures'. I can't!

I mean, it used to be that if you wanted to write, you went into Journalism or you tried to get published or both. There was an avenue you took, and it was only for serious, SERIOUS writers. Nowadays, everyone thinks he/she is a WRITER! You can just become a 'writer' purely by doing a zine, blog, or other Internet centered activity. Everyone who updates their Facebook or Twitter status every half hour is a 'writer'. It was never this easy, but at the same time because there are so many voices out there, it's harder to shout and become heard. The only voices I can shout louder than are the ones in my own head.

What do I have to do in order to be interesting and unique? First, I have to ask myself the following: Doesn't everyone have a story to tell? Isn't what I have to say clever and distinct? But, what makes mine so different and unique? What defines unique? I start going in thought circles.

I have to think about all the outlandish episodes of my life. I mean, I could talk about all the drugs I did in college (ask me about the time I took toad venom and saw faeries dancing in the woods..go ahead, ask me). Then there's all the traveling I've done (and wish to do). Or, I could talk about my dysfunctional family and the Augusten Burroughs-like drama that ensued in my household growing up. No, my father didn't try to kill my mother. Nor did I have some love affair with a man (or woman) twice my age! Compared to the dysfunctional memoirs out there, my life is pretty normal actually. It's unconventionally conventional!

I haven't killed anyone (yet). I haven't smoked crack (yet). I have never snorted coke off of a prostitute's inner thigh (hrm..food for though). I haven't performed in the circus nor do I aspire to be a Donna Summer drag queen impersonator (not now anyway). I grew up in suburbia, went to a prep school, and majored in English. I have been an English teacher most of my life. YAWWN! Who the hell would want to read about that crap? It's not really a story. What makes a good story? What makes one person's story more fascinating than the next?

I have been told that I always have interesting stories and that crazy shit always happens to me. But I don't want to only write about crazy shit happening. My whole life is just one episode after another of crazy shit. I attract crazy shit like shit does flies. Shit. Flies. That could be a topic worth elaborating on, but I digress.

Back to me. What makes my voice so distinct? I like music. So do millions of other dopes out there. Well, I like a diverse variety of music from jazz to funk to punk to jam bands to indie. I've been to dozens..hundreds of different concerts that vary as much as Jelly Belly flavors. I have been to Ozzfest, Warp Tour, Bonnaroo, and other various festivals. I haven't, however, ever been to Burning Man or a Rainbow Family Gathering (a hippie festival in the woods where people always end up in the hospital for eating bad mushrooms). I've been invited to both, though. That counts for something. Right?

I don't really have a unique fashion sense. My wife tells me I have NO fashion sense. My musical taste isn't that indie, as at least someone has heard of the bands I listen to. I didn't grow up during the 1960's (but I wish I did) and participate in the Civil Rights Movement and Anti-Vietnam Movement. I consider myself an ACTIVIST but I haven't been to a real rally since graduate school. I just find myself too tired to attend those things anymore. I mean, since I've been unemployed since June, I could have done what other English and humanities majors did and go join/camp out at the Occupy Wall Street Movement. I just find camping out and protesting capitalism too cliche. Plus, why go to Occupy Wall Street when I'd miss too many episodes of Antiques Roadshow and History Detectives. See, my life really isn't that interesting!

I guess the real reason I write a blog, or write at all, is to use it as therapy. Writing is therapy. I don't have a therapist, despite my wife telling me that I've needed to go for one for over a year. I have a medical diagnosis of depression and anxiety, and I take meds for it. That nice little oblong blue pill. Mmm..wash it down with some seltzer..ahh! I also have ADD (I don't take anything for that; can't you tell?. But, these are also common problems. Many people have both depression and ADD. I DO need a therapist to help me through my issues. But, for now I use reading and writing to get me through the tough times.

On those days when I don't feel like getting out of bed, having a blog makes me get up and find something worth writing and ranting about. I get to silence the rapidly running newsreel in my head. For once, I get to just let words pour out in front of me and see where it leads. For once, I have to relinquish my control to a higher authority, my subconscious mind. Yes, I am in control of my thoughts, but at the same time I don't control where my own mind and thoughts take me.

So back to the original question: why write a blog when there are thousands of others just like this one out there? I guess like everyone else, I like to think that my perspective is unique and important. My voice is supposed to be heard by the masses. People want to hear what I have to say. I've always been told that my views are unabashedly candid and blunt. I don't hide what I'm really thinking and I'm usually honest and upfront. I have strong convictions and opinions on just about everything. If I disagree with something, you'll know. If something pisses me off, you'll know. If some hack has no talent and pretends to be the next great artiste, then I'll say 'what a fucking no-talent hack!'

I just want to be heard and noticed. My wife says it is because I come from a family where my father was always aloof and emotionally unavailable. My mother is narcissistic and emotionally unbalanced (aka CRAZY). My sister was always doted on more than me; she is blonde and cute after all. I'm not. So, my wife says, I'm like any other person wanting to be noticed. I come from a family where nothing is good enough and my point of view doesn't matter at all. Swear words were like saying hello in my household. I was called 'stupid', 'retarded', and 'psycho' on a regular basis. So, why not try to be heard when I'm used to being ignored and pushed to the side.

I'm not trying to throw a pity party, though I think it's too late for that. Now you see what I mean by needing therapy. Yea, unresolved issues here. I'm not ashamed of that though. There is nothing in my life that I'm embarrassed or ashamed by. I can admit that I was never picked for East Side West Side boy and girl skating hand in hand to C+C Music Factory. I can admit that I was unpopular and weird; I even tried to convince my classmates that I was a vampire and used to pierce myself during study hall. I have dyed my hair every color under the sun and have had my hair in dreadlocks and crust punk spikes. I used to have an eyebrow ring and even considered getting a tattoo (though I have none).

My story is unique because it's mine, damnit. And if that doesn't make it special than fuck it all! At the very least, I use this as a platform to work through my issues and relate to other human beings in the world. If someone reads one of my posts and learns something new or makes a connection, then mission accomplished.

This is my blog, and I'm sticking to it!

Signing off,

~R~