Wednesday, January 02, 2008

More Medea

Happy New Year, Blogito Ergo Sum-o-philes!

First up as the new year opens: the second part of the Mass Medea screenplay, so get out your turkey basters! Part one is here.

"Mass Media"
An Original Screenplay--Part 2

EXT. LOU’S PLACE - NIGHT
ESTABLISHING SHOT

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. LOU’S PLACE - NIGHT

Lou’s Place is the neighborhood pub where the Cool Gadgets staff gathers after hours. It is almost midnight. Brian and Jean are sitting at a table, drinking. George and Janice are sitting at an adjacent table. George has some sheets of paper (the New York Times Crossword Puzzles for the past week) in front of him and is filling them in sporadically. Janice sits close to him, shoulder to shoulder, ostensibly helping him. George does not mind in the slightest. Neal enters and sits down at Brian’s table.
NEAL
Well, Helen’s on her way to the service bureau with the last of the page files.
(to Jean)
Despite your best efforts to impede our progress, we got the issue out anyway.
Jean sticks her tongue out at him.
NEAL
Put that thing away unless you plan to use it.

BRIAN
(raises a bottle of beer)
To another issue in the can.
They all join him.
BRIAN
Carl left?

NEAL
He slunk off into the night to live his sordid and mysterious secret life.

BRIAN
It’s not that mysterious.

NEAL
Sordid?

BRIAN
Damn right.
Neal looks over at GEORGE and JANICE.
NEAL
What are they doing?

JEAN
(smiling knowingly)
They apparently found a common interest.

GEORGE
(reading a crossword clue)
Fifty-six across—“some staff openings...”

JANICE
“Some staff openings...” Hmm...

GEORGE
“Bass clefs.”

JANICE
“Bass clefs”?

GEORGE
Yeah. See? Because then fifty-seven down is “Fog.”
He writes it in the grid.
JANICE
Ah, I see. And that means that sixty-one across, “Comic Phillips,” is “Emo.”

GEORGE
Ah, yes, Emo Phillips. The world’s most famous comedian, according to the editor of the New York Times Crossword Puzzle.
Brian, Neal, and Jean are watching them amusedly.
NEAL
Could you ever get that excited over a crossword puzzle?

BRIAN
With the right company, you bet.

NEAL
Since the issue’s gone, would you mind if I knocked off at noon tomorrow?

BRIAN
No, that’d be fine.

NEAL
This weekend is my punishment for working 18 hours a day all week. We’re taking the kids up to Muir Woods. I’ll probably need to work another 18 hours a day next week just to recover.

JEAN
Oh, that should be fun. The weather’s supposed to be great.

JANICE
Sixteen down: “Build....”

NEAL
Other people have fun in Muir Woods. I just get eaten by bugs.

JANICE
(loudly)
“Erect”!
Neal, Jean, and Brian both snap their heads to look at her.
BRIAN
Excuse me?

GEORGE
A puzzle answer.

BRIAN
Thank God for that. You know, guys, it’s before midnight. This is the earliest we’ve finished an issue in a long time. Anyone want to venture a guess as to why?

JANICE
Because you had me helping out?

BRIAN
Good answer, but no.

GEORGE
Because we’re getting so damn efficient?

NEAL
(in jest...sort of)
Fuck no.

BRIAN
It’s because I gave Neal the ability to sign off on most of the pages without my needing to approve them.

NEAL
Or make your weedy last-minute changes.

JEAN
Hey, I always thought there was nothing like having two micromanagers in charge of the same project to kill any notion of productivity.

NEAL
I am not a micromanager!

BRIAN
(good-naturedly)
Neal, I admit that I’m a micromanager, but, let’s face it, you manage at the molecular level.

NEAL
I most certainly do not.

BRIAN
Let’s see: I still have vivid memories of the one-hour hyphen argument. Oh, and let’s not forget the infamous “state abbreviation” fight.

NEAL
That’s not micromanagement. All the issues I bring up are the normal stylistic issues that any copy editor would flag. Careful copy editing is not micromanagement.

BRIAN
There’s a difference between copy editing and “comma-chasing,” especially when we’re in a rush to get to the printer.

NEAL
“Comma-chasing”?

BRIAN
It’s a term I invented, yes. To refer to your micromanagement!

NEAL
Unlike some of the things you’ve brought up.

BRIAN
Such as?

NEAL
Three words: Claude Jackson’s tie.
Brian bursts into hysterical laughter, as does Neal.
GEORGE
Claude Jackson’s tie?
Brian and Neal are now both in hysterics.
NEAL
This was before your time, George, but we ran a big news story on Claude Jackson, who was the CEO of WirePro at the time. He had just won some techie award, and we ran a fairly large photo of him. Except...

BRIAN
I don’t know who let him out of the house dressed like that.

NEAL
He was wearing this little stub of a tie. He looked ridiculous.

BRIAN
He looked like Fred Flintstone.

NEAL
So Brian decided to open the picture in Photoshop and edit the image to make his tie longer.

BRIAN
Look, the guy’s an old friend, the award was a big deal, and I didn’t want him to look silly.

GEORGE
Because everyone else in the computer industry is known for their impeccable fashion sense.

NEAL
It was after midnight and you spent an hour fighting with that damn tie!

BRIAN
It had a weird pattern that was hard to clone.

NEAL
Helen was so pissed.

BRIAN
The irony is that Claude got pissed at me when he saw it. Apparently his seven-year-old daughter gave him that tie.

NEAL
There’s a lesson to be learned: don’t micromanage the wardrobe of people in the pictures we run!

BRIAN
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
Brian checks his watch and stands up.
BRIAN
Hey, guys, I’m gonna take off. George, Janice, if you want to come in late tomorrow, you’re welcome to do so. Or, if you want to come in at the usual time and leave early, you’re welcome to do that, too. Either way is fine with me.

NEAL
Yeah, same here. I think I’m going to take off now, too.
Neal stands up.
NEAL
Thanks, everyone, great job. I think the issue looks really good. Good work. Especially you, Janice, considering this was literally your first day on the job. Nothing like trial by fire! Good night.

BRIAN
Good night.

GEORGE & JANICE
(in unison)
Good night.
Neal and Brian exit.
JEAN
I’m off, too. Goodnight, guys.

GEORGE & JANICE
(in unison)
Good night, Jean.
Jean exits. George and Janice look at each other awkwardly for a moment.
GEORGE
Well, we’ve got a week’s worth of crossword puzzles.

JANICE
I barely had any lunch. Does this place have food?

GEORGE
Actually, I’m starving, too. I know a great cheap Italian place on Columbus.

JANICE
Is it open this late?

GEORGE
“Is it open this late,” she asks. This is San Francisco, the city that never sleeps.

JANICE
Actually, New York is the city that never sleeps.

GEORGE
Well, then we got a raw deal in the nickname department, because New York could only dream about getting as little sleep as this city.

JANICE
But since they never sleep they could never actually dream about it.

GEORGE
Good point. Actually, just between you and me, once in a while I do wish it would take a little nap.
They exit.
DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. MODERN ELECTRONICS’ OFFICE BUILDING - DAY
ESTABLISHING SHOT

Modern Electronics magazine is located in an office building in Midtown Manhattan.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. FLO’S OFFICE - DAY

FLO ESTRINE, 40, is sitting at her desk typing on the computer. IVAN VERDESCHI, 36, enters, holding a copy of Cool Gadgets. Ivan’s name is pronounced “EE-van.”
IVAN
Flo, have you seen this?
Flo looks up.
FLO
I don’t know. What is it?

IVAN
The latest issue of Cool Gadgets.

FLO
Do I want to?

IVAN
They got an interview with Camilla Dane.
Flo frustratedly whips off her reading glasses and tosses them across her desk. They slide across the surface and fly off the edge. Ivan darts over and catches them before they hit the floor.
FLO
Camilla Dane?

IVAN
Yeah.

FLO
We’ve been trying to score an interview with her for months. She won’t even return Anita’s calls. All we can get is Webcorp’s PR flak. Damn!

IVAN
That’s not all. Look at the ad they got for Cover 3.
He holds open the inside back cover and hands Flo her reading glasses. She puts them on, looks at the ad, and whips her glasses off again, tossing them to the desk. She glares up at Ivan.
FLO
I’m gonna get shit for this.

IVAN
No, I’m gonna get shit for this. I’m your boss—and you know I’m not going to give you shit. I’m the one who has to answer to Rick.

FLO
I’m sure I’ll get a nasty call all my own.

IVAN
You know, I’ve heard through the grapevine that Morse and his reps are notorious for ignoring the rate card.

FLO
Oh, come on, Ivan, who isn’t?

IVAN
I wouldn’t be surprised if they just ran it without an insertion order.

FLO
No, I believe they got it. It’s a good magazine. They’re beating us fair and square. What bugs the crap out of me is that they came out of nowhere! Modern Electronics has been the number one consumer electronics publication for 8 years. Cool Gadgets was seemingly torn from the thigh of Zeus less than three years ago and immediately shoots right past us.

IVAN
“Torn from the thigh of Zeus”?

FLO
Sorry. I had a meeting with Olympus this morning. I’ve been using Greek myth analogies all day.
Ivan saunters back around the desk and puts his arms around her.
IVAN
(suggestively)
Is that why you called me Hercules this morning?

FLO
“Heracles.” “Hercules” was the Roman name.

IVAN
Heracles. Sorry.

FLO
And all I meant was that watching you try to eat breakfast with my dogs around reminded me of Heracles battling the Hydra.

IVAN
The Harpies would have been a better comparison.

FLO
I know. I’m completely off my game today. Ivan, what am I doing here? I should have stayed a college professor.

IVAN
Didn’t you say you hated the politics of academia?

FLO
I did, didn’t I? So of course I came to Juno Mass Media because large publishing companies are completely free from any internal politics.

IVAN
It’s not politics, it’s just that if you don’t look out for your own interests you’re gonna get screwed. You didn’t keep Modern Electronics on top for all those years because you let Clive dick you around. And you can bet that if you sat by and let Clive always get his way he’d be publisher now.

FLO
Whatever. Anyway, when does Rick get back from Tokyo?

IVAN
Next Wednesday.

FLO
Here’s what I want. I’m going to set up a teleconference with all the sales reps this afternoon and I am going to impress upon them that before Wednesday, each rep will need to have at least two new high-profile accounts--12-month contracts or better—-or they’ll be fired, and out of a cannon, if necessary.

IVAN
(his passions becoming inflamed)
God, Flo, I love it when you start getting strict.
They fall back onto her desk.

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. COOL GADGETS OFFICE BUILDING - DAY
ESTABLISHING SHOT

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. NEWSROOM - DAY

The Cool Gadgets main editorial and production room, about 9:30. It is several weeks after the previous scene. Janice is sitting at her table, which now has a computer atop it; Neal, George, Helen, and Brian are in their respective offices. George is typing diligently on his computer, Helen is using a desktop scanner to scan a stack of photographs, and both Brian and Neal are on the phone. Janice is looking through a Post Office mail bin filled with press releases.

Carl enters.
CARL
Batten down the hatches. They just called from the car. They’re on 101 and just passed the airport. They’ll be here in about 15 minutes.

JANICE
Who?

CARL
Who? Neal didn’t tell you?

JANICE
Tell me what?

CARL
Vendor meeting.

JANICE
I don’t know what that means.

CARL
Vendor meeting. A meeting with a vendor.

JANICE
I figured as much. I still don’t know what it means.

CARL
All the companies that develop products send out teams of marketing lackeys, clueless PR flaks, and socially and hygienically inept technogeeks to try to convince unsuspecting magazine editors that they have developed the greatest thing since sliced bread.

JANICE
I take it they haven’t?

CARL
As overrated as sliced bread may be, the answer is: usually, no.
Janice takes a piece of paper out of the postal bin.
JANICE
Carl? I’m hunting for good new products for the New Products department. Is this anything?
She hands the paper to him. He reads it, then smiles.
CARL
I have no idea. What the hell is it? It says it’s a “system” of some kind, but I’m not entirely certain what it does.

JANICE
So I take it it’s not anything?

CARL
It’s a ploy to get their stock price up by announcing vaporware that does jack shit.

JANICE
Could you be more cynical?

CARL
You forget that I’ve been doing this a few years.

JANICE
(hands him another piece of paper)
What about this?
Carl takes it and reads it.
CARL
Ah, see, now this is useful. I could see why someone would want this. It’s a useful and practical way to transfer data from the removable media used by digital camera to a PC. In your search for newsworthy products, let “useful” and “practical” be words to guide you.

JANICE
Ah.

CARL
And anything that has a dot-com in its name should be ignored outright. Just what the world needs: another fucking IPO from a dot-com company to help hasten the next great economic collapse.

JANICE
I don’t think that will happen.

CARL
I’ll bet you a year’s severance pay.
Neal hangs up his phone and wanders out.
NEAL
Is NetSpider on their way?

CARL
Fifteen minutes.

NEAL
Cool.

CARL
You say that now.

JANICE
Carl doesn’t hold out a lot of hope that their product will be of any interest.

NEAL
I don’t even know what it is. They made me sign a non-disclosure agreement and wouldn’t tell me what I was agreeing to not disclose.

CARL
That’s always a sure sign that it’s going to suck. The other is if they have some useless, gimmicky toy that they give out right at the beginning of the meeting. There is a direct mathematical relationship between the speed at which they hand out cutesy promotional crapola and the utter uselessness of the product they’re promoting.

NEAL
Carl, have you ever heard of Herbert Spencer’s phrase “contempt prior to investigation”?

CARL
Of course. It’s my personal motto.

NEAL
Such negativity. Is the conference room set up?

CARL
Yes, I had Terri do it this morning.
Neal’s phone rings, and he walks into his office to answer it.
NEAL
(on phone)
Neal Mosley....Yes, great, send them up, thanks.
He hangs up and walks out of his office.
NEAL
(imitating girl from Poltergeist)
They’re he-e-e-re.

CARL
Let the carnage begin.

NEAL
Oh, Janice, could you do me a big favor? I hate to ask this of editorial staff, but could you bring a few cups of coffee to the conference room? I’d ask Terri but I’d like to have the option of fathering children again someday.

JANICE
Sure.

NEAL
Thanks. To the conference room.

CARL
If we’re not back in three days, send in the National Guard.
They all exit.

INT. CONFERENCE ROOM - DAY
The Cool Gadgets conference room contains a large table surrounded by about a half dozen chairs. Several copies of the magazine are fanned out on the table. On one wall is a large poster of a Cool Gadgets magazine cover. There is a white dry erase board on the far wall that has “Dot-Coms Suck” in large red letters. As Neal and Carl enter, Neal sees the lettering and rushes to erase it.
NEAL
Your doing, no doubt.

CARL
I’d prefer you leave it up there. Maybe it’ll ward them off like a talisman.
The NetSpider team enters: BOB, JENNY, and KEN.
NEAL
Welcome to Cool Gadgets. I’m the editor-in-chief Neal Mosley, and this is Carl Hogarth, our product guy.
They all begin shaking hands.
CARL
Hi, there.

JENNY
Mr. Mosley, I’m Jenny Kelly, director of publicity for NetSpider. This is Bob Bunnell, director of marketing for NetSpider, and this is Ken Kim, who is one of our product developers, and can help answer any technical questions you may have.

NEAL
Nice to meet you.
There is a mass exchange of business cards amongst all five people. Neal takes out a PalmPilot. The visitors follow suit, and there is a mass beaming of info back and forth. Carl looks on amusedly.
BOB
Do you have a PalmPilot? I can beam you my contact info.

CARL
I have five of them. But, no, thanks. I prefer printed business cards.

NEAL
Please, have a seat.
They all sit around the table, Neal and Carl on one side, Bob, Jenny, and Ken on the other. Ken removes a laptop computer from a satchel, places it on the table, and starts it up.
KEN
This’ll just take like a minute to boot up.

CARL
(looking at business card)
So you guys are based in L.A.

BOB
Right, in Torrance.

NEAL
I don’t know that I’ve ever been to Torrance.

JENNY
You’re not missing much.
(takes out a tote bag)
While Ken is starting up, let me hand out some press kits that will provide some details about what we’re going to show you today.
(takes out a stack of folders and hands one to CARL and one to NEAL)
And I do have to remind you that the embargo date is August third, so we do ask that you hold any editorial coverage until that date.

NEAL
That’s not a problem.

CARL
What with that being next week.
Bob takes out a bag and removes some T-shirts. He hands one to Neal and one to Carl.
BOB
And these are some promotional T-shirts we thought you’d enjoy.
Carl holds it up.
CARL
Am I allowed to wear it before August third?

BOB
(laughs)
Yes, I think so.
Bob also removes several large plastic spiders from his bag.
BOB
And these are our unofficial mascots, the “NetSpider” itself.

JENNY
Our logo and Web address are printed on its underside.
Carl picks one up and turns it over.
CARL
So they are. Look, Neal, giant toy spiders. Very interesting...
Neal shoots him a glare that implies “behave.” He places the spider on the edge of the table near the door.
JENNY
Now, our debut product, which we’re announcing on August third, is called StickyWeb, and is designed to empower the Internet-capable computer.

CARL
I see. And what specifically does that mean? In English.
At that point, Janice enters carrying several cups of coffee. She sees the spiders on the table and SCREAMS, losing control of the coffee cups, and they fall to floor, with a SPLASH. She stares at the carnage.
JANICE
(aghast)
I’m so sorry. Let me get some towels...
She runs from the room.

INT. NEWSROOM - CONTINUOUS

In the newsroom, Janice runs in, sits at her table, and starts to cry. George hears, and comes out of his cubicle. He puts his arm around her.
GEORGE
What happened?

JANICE
God, this is so unprofessional.

GEORGE
What happened?

JANICE
I spilled coffee all over the conference room floor. In front of guests. Important guests.

GEORGE
Important guests? Here?

JANICE
There were giant spiders on the table. I hate spiders. I’m terrified of spiders. I freaked out.

GEORGE
Why were there giant spiders on the conference room table? Oh, I get it...”NetSpider”...spiders. Jeez... Look, it’s perfectly all right. We all do embarrassing things, believe me.

JANICE
Neal is going to fire me.

GEORGE
Neal is not going to fire you.

JANICE
I embarrassed Neal. Carl. The magazine.

GEORGE
By spilling some coffee? Look, you do enough of these meetings, you’ll experience some real embarrassment! There have been meetings we’ve done in the middle of 18-hour production days and I’ve fallen asleep in the middle of them. There have been meetings during which Neal was stressed out and was cursing like a sailor the whole time. And Carl! Carl tends to be brusque even under the best of conditions. And even the people we’ve met with have had all sorts of problems. So spilling some coffee is nothing.

JANICE
Really?

GEORGE
Really. So go get some paper towels, clean up the mess, take a seat, and finish the meeting. And tonight, I’ll take you for the best sushi on the West Coast.

JANICE
The whole West Coast?

GEORGE
Ah, what the heck. The best sushi on the West or any coast.

JANICE
It’s a date.
George wipes away her residual tears, and gives her a kiss on the cheek. Janice exits. At that point Brian ambles out of his office.
BRIAN
Everything OK?

GEORGE
Everything is great.

BRIAN
I repeat the question.

GEORGE
Brian, I think I’m in love with Janice.

BRIAN
Then everything is great.

GEORGE
You’re telling me.
INT. CONFERENCE ROOM - DAY

Back in the conference room, Neal, Carl, Bob, Jenny, and Ken are sitting around the conference table.
JENNY
When you surf the Web and you want to save a particular page, what do you do?

CARL
Hit the Save command.

BOB
Right, but when you save it, you don’t know what format it’s going to be in. It could save it as text, or some other bizarre format, and very often it’ll be missing links and other elements.

JENNY
We did some user surveys and we found that average everyday computer users—

BOB
Especially inexperienced ones...

JENNY
Right, especially inexperienced computer users, really want to be able to save Web pages or even entire sites with the click of one button.

CARL
Well, they kind of can...

NEAL
(granting the premise)
True, sometimes it can be a little hit or miss...

JENNY
This is why we have developed a solution...
She reaches into her bag and takes out a black object that looks like a small disk drive with a parallel cable hanging off it.
JENNY
The NetSpider StickyWeb has two components: storage hardware which comes with the StickyWeb application preinstalled, and the application itself.

CARL
I see.
He picks it up and examines it. Janice returns with another batch of coffee.
JANICE
Sorry about the spill. I’m terrified of spiders.

CARL
I hear you.

NEAL
Thanks, Janice. Don’t worry about it.

JENNY
We were just introducing Neal and Carl to the NetSpider StickyWeb Web page saving solution.
Janice distributes the coffee to everyone in the room.
JANICE
Web page saving solution? What’s wrong with the Save command in Netscape?
Carl laughs.
BOB
Anyway, why don’t we give you a demo and show you how it works. Ken...

KEN
I got a bit of a problem here.

BOB
Oh?

KEN
I can’t get the laptop to boot. Give me a few minutes; let me try a few things.

NEAL
Do you smell smoke?
Indeed, wisps of smoke are emerging from the back of Ken’s computer. The smoke gets thicker.
CARL
Does it always do that?

KEN
I made some adjustments to the motherboard last night.

JENNY
(nervously)
Maybe you should just shut down. We don’t want to burn down the building.

CARL
You’d get some interesting coverage in our magazine.

NEAL
We’ve got a spare laptop, if you want to use that.

CARL
And it doesn’t burst into flames either.
Ken gives him a nasty glare.
BOB
Could we? That’d be a real help. We really don’t want to you miss out on this demo.

NEAL
Sure, it’s no problem. Janice, could you please run over to my office. There’s the spare laptop in a carrying case on the right side of my desk.

JANICE
Sure.
She gets up and leaves.

INT. NEWSROOM - CONTINUOUS
Janice walks briskly through the newsroom. George is in his office on the phone. Brian is standing by the server staring at it. He notices Janice.
BRIAN
How’s the meeting going?

JANICE
Their computer exploded.
Brian laughs. Janice ducks into Neal’s office, rummages around the desk, and grabs the satchel. She dashes back out. Brian returns his attention to the server. Terri enters carrying a heavy postal bin. She sets it down next to Janice’s table. Brian notices her.
BRIAN
Terri! What up?

TERRI
Man, you guys get a shitload of mail.

BRIAN
I know. But don’t worry; in a few years it’ll all be electronic.

TERRI
If I’m still delivering mail and answering phones in a few years I’m gonna jump off the Golden Gate Bridge

BRIAN
Fair point.
Terri turns to leave, then remembers something. She takes a pink phone slip from her pocket.
TERRI
Oh, while you were on the phone before you got a call from a Rick Schultz at Juno Mass Media. He said it was urgent and that you’d know what it was about.
Brian takes the slip.
BRIAN
Yeah, thanks. Hey, Terri—

TERRI
Yeah?

BRIAN
Are you happy here?

TERRI
Brian, I’m the secretary. It sucks. I’m just doing it until I finish school.

BRIAN
I know, it’s a sucky job, but I mean as far as sucky jobs go, are you happy here?

TERRI
(shrugs)
I suppose. I mean, you’re a pretty good boss and there aren’t too many assholes working here. Why—-are you firing me?

BRIAN
No, of course not. I’m just curious. That’s all. Anyway, forget I asked.

TERRI
(a tad confused)
OK.
Terri exits. Brian stares at the slip intently for a few moments.

INT. CONFERENCE ROOM - DAY

Neal’s laptop is in front of Bob, who is attaching the black NetSpider device to the back. Everyone watches. Ken looks on morosely.
BOB
OK, we’re ready to rock.
Neal, Carl, and Janice move to stand behind BOB.
BOB
Now, the way this works is, when the device is connected to the parallel port, it’s visible in Windows Explorer as would any external storage device. Now, you double-click to see the contents and there’s the StickyWeb application.

NEAL
OK.

BOB
Launch the application—
Everyone starts, as there is a bright flash on the screen.
JANICE
Whoa!

CARL
That’s not good.

BOB
That’s never happened before.

JENNY
What happened?

NEAL
That was the most dramatic system crash I think I’ve ever seen.

BOB
(rapidly clicking the mouse)
Yeah, we’re frozen pretty solid right now. Let me force a restart.
As the computer restarts, everyone takes five.
KEN
It’s, like, still in pre-beta, so there are still some problems.

CARL
You think?
There is an awkward moment of silence. Bob returns his attention to the computer.
BOB
OK, we’re back. Now, we’ll try this again. Open Explorer...double-click the application. Aha! So far so good. Now, to save a Web site, just enter the URL in this field here, set the number of levels—-or, in other words, how many layers of links you want to save, and then hit Save and—-yah!
There is a bright flash—-accompanied by an audible “POP”—-that reflects off Bob’s glasses. They all jump back.
NEAL
Holy shit!

JANICE
Oh, my God. I’ve never seen anything like that before.

BOB
O-o-o-o-kay-y-y-y... Um... I can’t seem to restart...

KEN
Let me have a look...
Bob slides the computer to Ken, who begins noodling with it.
CARL
I have to say, your product team has developed some novel ways of crashing a computer.

JENNY
(really irritated)
That really wasn’t our intention.

BOB
(sweating profusely)
Anyway, I think you get the idea of how our system works.

CARL
Oh, yeah.

NEAL
(to Ken)
Um, about my computer....

KEN
Yeah, look, I hate to say this but the hard drive is, like, gone.

NEAL
What do you mean “gone”?

KEN
(seems to find it funny)
It’s been totally wiped out. There’s like nothing here.

NEAL
Like what the fuck are you talking about?

KEN
It’s been erased. That’s pretty incredible.

NEAL
“Incredible”?

CARL
I’ll take care of it. I’ve got some tools that may be able to recover everything. Just leave it alone, I’ll take care of it.

BOB
I think we’ve taken up enough of your time this morning.

NEAL
(almost sincerely)
Well, thanks for coming in....
INT. NEWSROOM - DAY

A few moments later, Janice and Neal return to their respective desks/offices. Carl follows. Neal is extremely upset and punches his wall. George looks sheepishly at Neal, and approaches Janice.
GEORGE
Wow. What happened?

JANICE
Let’s just say that my spilling coffee was the highlight of the meeting.

CARL
What a terrifying thought. Just so you don’t get the wrong idea about vendor meetings, usually there’s far less physical destruction.
CUT TO:

To be continued...

Friday, December 21, 2007

Why Fi?

All the more reason to investigate graduate school in Syracuse (which is what I am, in fact, doing): the entire city appears to be Wi-Fi enabled, and I can use my iPhone anywhere in town, it appears. Which is cool, even though I get full-strength AT&T, too, something I never recall ever getting here with Verizon Wireless or Nextel.

Thursday Thousand

Today, I am blogging live from the bar at the Syracuse University Sheraton. This week's "Thursday Thousand" (a day late and a dollar short) is a more or less stream-of-consciousness short story (which needs help desperately, though I like the basic idea) inspired by another magazine writing contest. This time, the prompt was that the first line of the story had to be "The plane had landed, but." So I give you...
“Baggage Claim”

The plane had landed, but his stomach was still circling over Lake Michigan, the descent had been that abrupt. It still scared him a bit, even though over the years had had racked up enough frequent flyer miles to circumnavigate the Earth three times, all on the airlines’ collective dime, and then take a round trip to the Moon, should a major carrier add it to their route at some point.

“That was a hell of a descent,” he said to the person sitting next to him as the plane roared to a stop. “Waldo Pepper must be the pilot.”

His row-mate smiled humorlessly at him.

The plane had stopped and now was just sitting on the runway.

“We are waiting for a gate to open,” came the captain’s voice over the intercom, “so we’ll be sitting here for about 10 or 15 more minutes. We apologize for the delay.”

He sighed heavily. “You know, this happens every time. It’s like these arriving flights take airports by surprise. I’ve known about this flight for at least two months and yet it always seems like as far as the airports are concerned, a couple hundred strangers have just dropped in unannounced.”

He took the opportunity to turn on his cellphone and check voicemail.

His row-mate looked at him with an expression that seemed to say “I need to get an iPod.”

After the usual wait for a gate, the plane trundled over to the jetway, docked, and the passengers began the long endless exiting process. He trudged down the jetway and across the gate past the rows of vinyl settees, and into the terminal at O’Hare. He had a three-hour layover, and he always chose one particular airline for the sole reason that there was one bar in this one terminal he liked above all others. It was a tad out of the way (to the extent that anything can be out of the way in an airport terminal—save, of course for the gate for one’s connecting flight) and was always uncrowded. No mean feat in O’Hare Airport.

He sat at the bar and ordered his usual (Coors Light), took a deep, satisfying pull on the bottle, and checked his cellphone messages again.

The bar was indeed uncrowded—but then it was 10 a.m., so perhaps that wasn’t that surprising. True, in an airport, conventional measures of time have no meaning, as travelers from different time zones have utterly disoriented their biological clocks, but it seems most travelers seem to at least pay lip service to one’s normal circadian rhythms, especially when it comes to the liquids that pass through their lips (coffee in the morning, alcohol in the evening). Not so our guy, who was on his second Coors Light before he had even finished checking his voicemail messages. And it was Sunday morning.

A woman approached the bar. She was in her late 30s, attractive, he thought as he looked over at her, and dressed as if she had come from the East Coast (it was January). She caught the bartender’s eye.

“Yes, miss, what can I get you?”

“What do you have that’s blue?” she asked.

The bartender was somewhat taken aback, this not being the kind of question he was used to being asked.

“Blue?” he repeated.

“Yes.”

“Well,” he thought for a moment. “I could do you a Blue Hawaii.”

“Oh, like the Elvis song. What’s in it?”

“Let’s see...vodka, blue Curacao, creme de coconut, and pineapple juice.”

“That sounds lovely. I’ll give that a try. The night is young and so are we.”

He leaned over as the bartender mixed her drink.

“You’re an Elvis fan?”

“Well, who isn’t, really?” she said. “If one could rewind the tape of life and have it play again, keeping all of evolution and the development of human culture the same, with the sole exception being that there was no Elvis, I dare say the world would be completely different and the worse for it.” She paused for a moment. “But then one could quite easily think of examples of people who never existed to begin with that the world has missed.”

She paused.

“I’ve never been a big fan, no. I’m just in a blue mood.”

He tried to be sympathetic. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“No, I don’t mean ‘blue’ as in ‘sad.’ To me, ‘blue’ is inseparable from the azure blue off the ocean in the Caribbean. Or, indeed, Hawaii. I’ve come from the Northeast, so I’m definitely imagining ‘blue’ right now. I am constant in opal.”

“Where are you headed?” he asked.

“Somewhere near Los Angeles. My nephew is appearing in his school play so I’m on my way to see him.”

“Wow. You must be a close family if you’d fly three thousand miles to see your nephew in a school play.”

“We try to be.”

He gestured to the bartender to get another Coors Light.

“You’re in Chicago," she said. "How can you drink Coors Light? Goose Island is where it’s at. I insist.” She beckoned to the bartender. “Garçon, a Goose Island for monsieur.”

The bartender obliged and he took a sip. “Very bitter. And strong.”

“You’re probably not used to real beer.”

They sat in silence a while.

“I’m actually on my way to L.A.,” he said.

“Willingly?”

“Well, I live there.”

“Willingly?” she repeated.

“Well, yes, I suppose. Although, I travel so much I’m never actually there. I was in Boston for a week and I’ll get a whole two days at home before I have to go to Dallas, and then on to Orlando. I may never see home again.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I suppose it’s a job-dictated itinerary.”

“What else? I’m the national sales manager for the Shur-Grip Stapler Company.”

She looked at him blankly. “You sell staplers?”

“Yeah.”

“What needs to be sold about them at this point? Doesn’t, like, 99% of the human race know what a stapler does? Well, maybe with the exception of the Kalahari Bushmen, but I wouldn’t imagine they have all that many things to staple. Does there need to be any reason to actually kill yourself trying to sell them?”

“Well, you’d be surprised...”

“I have no doubt.”

He took no small amount of umbrage at her attitude. “Well, what do you do for a living?”

She shrugged. “Nothing, really. I’m a painter, but I make it a point not to make a living at it. Nothing destroys the idea of art more than trying to anticipate the needs of the market.”

“So, basically, you do nothing.”

She shrugged again. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“What would you say?” He was being defensive now.

She paused for a moment, then took a hefty swig of her blue drink. “I spent 10 years on the treadmill to oblivion. You say you spend most of your life traveling. Well, what do you think I did for a decade? I eventually became senior VP for a software company. I traveled all over the place, constantly. North America, Europe, Asia. You name it. The only thing close to a relationship I ever had was with lonely guys in hotel bars, same as me. I dedicated my entire life to one thing, and that was the company I worked for. And then, I heard that my mother had been diagnosed with ALS—amyotrophic lateral sclerosis. Lou Gehrig’s disease, basically. I tried to visit when I could, but that turned out to be fairly seldom. They don’t tell you that ALS can progress very fast. I thought I had all the time in the world; I kept thinking, if I can just make it to the next milestone, I’ll slow down and pay attention other things that are happening in the world.”

She took a sip of her drink.

“That doesn’t happen. It’s funny. When you drink too much or take drugs or even have sex too much—basically, anything fun—they tell you that you have an addiction and need to stop. But when you work too much, they tell you that you are an extremely productive member of society, that you are an inspiration, that you are what America is all about, even though your life can get just as wrecked, if not more so.” She paused again and took another drink. “I will never forget this. I was in a meeting. It wasn’t even a particularly important meeting. But my cellphone buzzed and I saw that it was from my father...and I sent it through to voicemail.” She paused again. “I sent it through to voicemail. When I checked my messages, I found out my mother had died. That was it. I missed her entire last years. You know, I was too wracked with guilt to even want to go to the funeral, but our CEO was a decent guy and he said, ‘Rachel, if you don’t go, you will regret it for the rest of your life.’ So I took a leave of absence...and never went back. I resolved at that point that the people in my life would be more important than anything, that enjoying life would take precedent over the pointless treadmill of accomplishing something. That I would pursue a dream rather than live a nightmare. So I moved in with my father, and we bonded in a way we never had before. I started to pursue my true love, painting, and when I need money I do some freelance illustration, or graphic design, or writing, and then stop when I’ve had enough.”

She took another sip of her blue drink as he watched her. “And here I am. I am on my way to see my nephew in a school play, I’m drinking something blue in an airport bar at 8:30 on a Sunday morning, and for the first time in my life, I can say, ‘Life is good.’”

She finished up her drink.

“Anyway, I have a connection soon, and I’m starving. It’s 8:30 in the morning, so I’m thinking...steak dinner.”

He smiled. “How would you like some company?”

“Sure.”

They left the bar. She looked back at the bar and stopped him.

“You forgot your cellphone on the bar,” she said.

“No, I didn’t.”

And they walked out into the terminal.

Wednesday, December 19, 2007

Mass Medea

One of the last shows I ever remember watching regularly (or as regularly as I can manage) in prime time was the late great "Sports Night" (1998-2000), created and almost entirely written by Aaron Sorkin, who later created "The West Wing" and, decidedly less successfully, "Studio 60 On the Sunset Strip." Anyway, I think he's a great screenwriter and at some point (after watching the "Sports Night" DVDs about 80 times) I started developing a low-rent version of his dialogue style, which isn't necessarily realistic, but I like it a lot.

At any rate, one of my experiments in this vein was a comedy-drama feature-length screenplay called Mass Medea, a tale of the rise and fall of a technology magazine during the Internet boom. Since it's 130 pages, I'll only post bits of it at a time so as to not give Blogger a nervous breakdown.

"Mass Medea"
An Original Screenplay

FADE IN:

EXT. SAN FRANCISCO - DAY

As TITLES run, various shots of the skyline of San Francisco. As TITLES end,

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. JANICE’S APARTMENT BUILDING - DAY
ESTABLISHING SHOT

DISSOLVE TO:
INT. JANICE’S LIVING ROOM - DAY

JANICE FRANKEN, 22, lives in a small, two-bedroom apartment. It has that certain appealingly disheveled just-graduated-from-college look to it. It is about 6 a.m. The TELEVISION is on, tuned to CNBC.
NEWSCASTER
(on TV)
...Could the Dow hit 20,000--or even higher—sometime during 1999? That’s the contention of a new book, Dow 36,000, co-written by James Glassman, economics columnist for the Washington Post.
Janice pads out of the bedroom wearing a ratty bathrobe and a pair of slippers. She has obviously not slept much of the night.
NEWSCASTER (CONT’D)
(on TV)
The basic argument of the book is that in this new economy, stocks are no riskier than bonds in the long term and should be priced accordingly...
As she passes the front door on her way to the kitchen, it opens and her roommate, CAROL, 22, enters. She is just getting home from work.
CAROL
Why is there half a mouse on the doormat?

JANICE
Another love offering from Chuck and Bob’s cat is my guess.

CAROL
Jesus, it’s nature red in tooth and claw in here.

JANICE
Are you just getting in?

CAROL
Whatever gave you that idea?
Carol shuts the door.
JANICE
Give me a break. I got exactly one hour of sleep last night.

CAROL
Why? Did Wild Kingdom out there keep you up?

JANICE
I’m starting a new job today.

CAROL
Really? I could never have guessed, especially given how you’ve been obsessing about it all week.

JANICE
Yeah, yeah, yeah. It took forever for me to get this job. I’m nervous about it.

CAROL
What magazine is it again? Dork Monthly?

JANICE
Bite me.

CAROL
We’re in the middle of the biggest economic boom in the history of this country, we’re living right in the epicenter of it, and leave it to you to be the only person in San Francisco who takes six months to find a job.

JANICE
Hey, that guy on Market Street last night didn’t have a job.

CAROL
Well, that’s because he couldn’t go five minutes without yelling at the top of his lungs about impending Armageddon. You didn’t do that on any of your job interviews, did you?

JANICE
Damn! That’s why the job hunt took so long.
DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. BAY BRIDGE - DAY
ESTABLISHING SHOT

Traffic is backed up and unmoving on the Bay Bridge. Among the traffic is a silver Lexus.

DISSOLVE TO:
INT. NEAL’S CAR - DAY

The driver of the silver Lexus is NEAL MOSLEY, 38. He is talking on a cellphone.
NEAL
(on phone)
Yes, I know I shouldn’t be talking while driving but I’m not driving. I’m sitting. A truck filled with garlic overturned. The Bay Bridge is blocked by five tons of garlic bulbs. It’s like an Emeril fantasy out here...I told you, I have to go to Oakland to pick up some scans. We have to get the issue to the printer today...if I ever get off this goddamn bridge!...No, honey, sorry. You know how I get when I’m stuck in traffic....No, that road rage incident was a complete fluke. Who knew that guy could read lips?....No, I won’t be home for dinner. I’ll probably be in the office until late. You know the drill.
(He cranes his neck to see up the road.)
Actually, it’s entirely possible I’ll be stuck on this bridge until late...
DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. GEORGE’S APARTMENT HOUSE - DAY
ESTABLISHING SHOT

George lives in a Tales of the City-like apartment house. Lots of stairs, lots of vegetation.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. GEORGE’S BEDROOM - DAY

The apartment is only slightly more upscale than Janice’s. The bedroom is that of a 20-something single male. GEORGE STEIN, 25, is sound asleep in bed, despite the fact that a boombox next to the bed is blaring LOUD MUSIC (Spock’s Beard’s “Day for Night.”) There is a THUD on the ceiling above him that is just barely audible above the music, but it wakes George nonetheless.
GEORGE
Not again...
He gets up and walks out to the kitchen.

INT. GEORGE’S KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS

There is a full pot of coffee already brewed on he counter. George pours himself a mug and stands at the kitchen sink staring into space blankly. He catches a glimpse of the clock, which says “8:27.” He starts and does a spit-take.
GEORGE
Shit!
DISSOLVE TO:

INT. CALTRAIN - DAY

CARL HOGARTH, 42, is sitting on a moderately crowded Caltrain train as it RUMBLES down the track. Next to him is a very-early-20-something man on a cellphone. Carl tries to read a book, but ANNOYING CELLPHONE MAN’s conversation keeps distracting him.
ANNOYING CELLPHONE MAN
(on phone)
What does Victor think? Can we get Pullman to kick in the VC money we need?...But that’s crazy...No, look, I want to IPO by...I don’t care how unreasonable you think that is, I think it makes perfect sense. The infrastructure is nearly in place, the servers are humming, and aside from that one software glitch, which Rohit fixed, we have no problems. The spinning logo looks great, the animation is dynamic, and the site design is top-notch. I think we’re cooking with Crisco here....
Carl, trying to read his book, has been growing ever more visibly frustrated. The “Crisco” comment elicits a bemused/confused expression.
ANNOYING CELLPHONE MAN (CONT’D)
(on phone)
What’s the latest on the UPS question?...Well, where is she? Why isn’t...This should have been resolved last week...I mean, if we’re going to get sofas-and-sleepers.com off the ground, I need to know how much UPS will charge us to ship a couch....
Carl is unable to stifle a laugh, which attracts the attention of Annoying Cellphone Man. Carl pretends it was something he read, despite the fact that the book he’s reading is “The Complete Techie’s Guide to Red Hat Linux.”

The train stops, and accepts and discharges a complement of passengers. One of the boarding passengers is a HOMELESS GUY, with long greasy grayish black hair and a thick beard. Annoying Cellphone Man dials a new number.
ANNOYING CELLPHONE MAN
(on phone—and loudly)
Carol! It’s Martin! Look I need the UPS question answered now!
Carl stands and offers Homeless Guy his seat. Homeless Man sits down. Annoying Cellphone Man wrinkles his nose, and looks over at Homeless Guy. Carl smiles mischievously as he walks to the other end of the train.

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. COOL GADGETS OFFICE BUILDING - DAY
ESTABLISHING SHOT

The Cool Gadgets building is a not especially new building in San Francisco’s SOMA district.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. BRIAN’S OFFICE - DAY

BRIAN MORSE, 44, is sitting at his desk. He is talking to ED over a speakerphone.
BRIAN
Ed, Brian.

ED
(O.C., on speakerphone)
Good morning, Brian. What’s new on the Left Coast?

BRIAN
Not much...yet. We’re shipping the issue to the printer tonight, so it’ll be a long day.

ED
(O.C., on speakerphone)
Thanks for reminding me. I’ll make it a point not to call Neal today.

BRIAN
That would be advisable. Ed, I just wanted to let you know that Katz Software is having a press event at the Hilton in Midtown. Once again, they forgot to put you on the list, but I cleared your credentials with Jackie. So if you just show up you’ll be fine.

ED
(O.C., on speakerphone)
Well, I’ve only been your East Coast editor for a year, and Katz’s PR guy is dumber than a bag full of hammers. What time?

BRIAN
2:00 your time.

ED
(O.C., on speakerphone)
I’ll be there. Katz always hires the best caterers.

BRIAN
Gracias.

ED
(O.C., on speakerphone)
By the way, I’m having e-mail problems this morning, so if you need me, the phone is the best option.

BRIAN
Gotcha.
(suddenly remembers something)
Oh, shit!

ED
(O.C., on speakerphone)
It’s not my fault. Blame Bell Atlantic.

BRIAN
No, I forgot to fix the server before Neal gets in. Gotta go.

ED
(O.C., on speakerphone)
I hear you. Ciao.
Brian clicks off the speakerphone and dashes out of his office.

INT. RECEPTION AREA - DAY

The Cool Gadgets reception area is opposite the elevator, which opens, and Janice exits. She is dressed formally. She walks through a set of glass doors to the reception area, which looks clean, sterile, and corporate. Behind the reception desk on the wall is a large framed poster of the debut issue of the magazine, and elsewhere on the walls are various framed magazine covers, interior pages, and so forth. On the reception desk are several loose copies of the latest issue. As Janice approaches the tall reception desk, she can’t see anyone behind it.
The phone rings and the as-yet-unseen Terri answers it. She is very polite, and her voice sounds like that of a professional receptionist.
TERRI
(O.C., on phone)
Good morning, Cool Gadgets....Circulation? One moment, please.
TERRI, 19, stands up. She has fluorescent pink hair, a variety of piercings (ear, nose, lip, and tongue), and wears a white tank top that shows off her many tattoos, the most prominent of which reads “Michelle” in a large heart. She startles Janice—in a variety of ways.
TERRI
(yelling off to her left)
Dave, dog! Line 1!
Terri looks at Janice.
TERRI
May I help you?

JANICE
Um, yes. I’m Janice Franken. I’m looking for Neal Mosley. I’m his new...

TERRI
Right...you’re the new meat.

JANICE
Sorry?
From the left comes DAVE, who looks to be the male counterpart of Terri—he is also in his late teens, but has vibrant blue hair. He has no piercings, but his cutoff shorts display an array of tattoos on his legs.
DAVE
That guy was pissed because his issue was a day late. Like I can control the fucking Post Office.

TERRI
Dave, this is Janice, Neal’s new victim. Janice, this is Dave, the circulation director.

DAVE
You’re working for Neal? Man, you have my sympathy.

TERRI
I’m Terri, by the way.

JANICE
Hi. Um, what happened to Neal’s previous assistant?

DAVE
Just cracked up. The guys in white coats had to come get him. Last I heard he’s in some nuthouse down the coast.
Janice begins to catch on that he’s joking and smiles nervously.
DAVE
Seriously, though, good luck.

JANICE
Thanks. Where is...

TERRI
(pointing to the left)
The newsroom? Head that way, take your first left and then the next left. You can’t miss it.

JANICE
Thanks.
Janice heads right.

INT. NEWSROOM - DAY

Cool Gadgets magazine’s main editorial and production newsroom is a large open room, the back of which is lined with three adjacent offices. There is a large round table in the center of the room, which at the moment, is piled high with papers, magazines, random pieces of computer hardware, and boxes of software. Off the left side of the newsroom is Brian’s office. On the far right is one of those Staples-like pre-fab computer desks atop which sits a computer—the company’s server. The newsroom is a bit shabby and run-down—“lived in” might be a better term—in contrast to the slick cleanliness of the reception area.

Brian’s legs protrude from under the server desk. His head and torso cannot be seen. He is noodling with cables.

Janice enters from the right and walks past Brian. No one else is around, and she looks around confusedly. She walks over to Brian’s office, pokes her head inside, sees no one, and walks back through the room. She spies Brian’s legs and stops.
JANICE
Excuse me…
Brian starts and loudly bumps his head on the underside of the computer table.
BRIAN
Shit! Ow!
Brian emerges and struggles to his feet, rubbing his head.
JANICE
(horrified)
Oh, Mr. Morse, I’m so sorry. This isn’t a very auspicious way to begin my first day.

BRIAN
The first thing I’m going to do is put a bell around your neck.
He goes straight to the computer and begins clicking the mouse.
BRIAN
Aha! The network is back. Neal will be so happy.
Janice watches him, unsure of what to do or say next.
BRIAN
(turning to her)
Janice, right?

JANICE
Yes, I-

BRIAN
You’re the new editorial assistant Neal just hired.

JANICE
(sheepishly)
Well, I don’t know for how much longer…

BRIAN
(rubbing his head)
Ah, don’t worry about that.
(He extends his hand.)
Brian Morse, publisher of Cool Gadgets magazine.

JANICE
(shaking his hand)
Janice Franken, editorial assistant.

BRIAN
Yes, I know.
(He turns back to the computer and starts clicking the mouse again. They speak as he works.)
Sorry for being so distracted, but if the network isn’t working by the time Neal gets in he’ll kill me.
(He clicks some more.)
So…are you new to San Francisco?

JANICE
Pretty new. I’m from Perth.

BRIAN
Perth? Australia?

JANICE
New York. It’s a very small town in upstate New York. Near Albany. I went to school in Albany.

BRIAN
I don’t know if I’ve ever been to Albany. I’ve been to—what’s that city that’s the capital of New York?

JANICE
That would be Albany.

BRIAN
(stops)
Really?

JANICE
Yes.

BRIAN
You’re sure about that?

JANICE
Extremely sure, yes.

BRIAN
Syracuse! I thought it was Syracuse.

JANICE
It’s not.

BRIAN
Really?

JANICE
The signs in Albany that say “Capital Buildings Next Exit” are a pretty good clue.

(Brian turns to face her and gives a faint smile.)

BRIAN
Sassing the publisher already, are you? And after you make him smack his head on a computer desk, too.

JANICE
(mortified)
I’m sorry, I didn’t…

BRIAN
Relax. You’ve got attitude—-you’ll need that around here. I don’t know that we’ve found you a desk yet. Here--
(He motions to the round table)
I guess we could put you here for the time being. I’ll just clear away some of this crap.
He begins stacking things under the table.

George enters. He trudges slowly and is not quite awake.
GEORGE
Today is not going to be a good day.

BRIAN
(mock-perkily)
Good morning, George.

GEORGE
Bite me hard.

BRIAN
Rough night?

GEORGE
I got exactly two hours of sleep, thanks to my horrible upstairs neighbors.

BRIAN
Ah, the Dutch couple.

JANICE
You have a Dutch couple living above you?

GEORGE
I assume they’re Dutch.

JANICE
You heard them speaking Dutch?

BRIAN
Oh, boy….

GEORGE
Wooden shoes!

BRIAN
(laughs)
What a great set up!

GEORGE
(not laughing)
Yeah, yeah, yeah.

JANICE
(a bit embarrassed, but amused nonetheless)
I take it they’re loud?

GEORGE
Not only are they, by the sound of it, world-champion clog dancers, but last night—all night—they were practicing for what I can only assume to be the finals in the large metallic orb dropping competition.

JANICE
(laughs)
Orb dropping?

GEORGE
It would have to be! I laid there for hours trying to think of what in the world they could possibly be doing, and that was all I could come up with.

BRIAN
Orb dropping.

GEORGE
Metallic orb dropping.

BRIAN
I see.

GEORGE
So today’s going to be a complete blow-off.

BRIAN
We do have to get the issue done by midnight. If I remember correctly, you still have that interview with Camilla Dane from Webcorp to get into Neal.

GEORGE
Shit, you’re right. Can I punt?

BRIAN
Hey, I’m happy to sell another ad and put it there, but Neal might have something to say about it. Unless I’m mistaken, he’s playing up the interview on the cover.

GEORGE
Yeah, it’s big juju. She never talks to anyone, preferring to live some kind of Howard Hughes-like existence. He might want me to finish it.

BRIAN
By the way, this is Janice. Neal’s new assistant.

GEORGE
Oh, right, glad to meet you. Welcome to the jungle.
(He shakes her hand, then turns and shambles over to his office.)
Is there coffee?

BRIAN
Is the Pope Catholic?

GEORGE
(dropping his backpack on his desk and returning to the center of the room)
That’s always been my assumption but I can’t say anything for certain at the moment.
George exits. Neal enters hurriedly.
NEAL
Sorry I’m late.

BRIAN
Neal, you were here until 1:30 last night. I’m going to complain because you come in at 9:20?
Neal darts into his office, drops his briefcase on his chair, and straightens his tie. He returns to the center of the room.
NEAL
I had to pick up a CD-ROM with some scans from a service bureau in Oakland and naturally traffic was backed up on the Bay Bridge.
(to Janice)
You must be Janice.

JANICE
Yes, um, good morning.

NEAL
Right. As soon as I get settled I’ll show you what I need you to do this morning. Brian, what’s the network situation? Do we have our DSL back up?

BRIAN
All systems go.

NEAL
Fine, thank you.
Neal disappears back into his office.
BRIAN
(to Janice)
I’ll leave you to it, then. Good luck.

JANICE
(somewhat nervously)
Thanks.
Brian retires to his office. Janice finishes clearing off the table that is to be her desk. George ambles back in holding a large mug of coffee.
GEORGE
Is this where Neal is putting you?

JANICE
I guess so. That’s what Brian said.

GEORGE
We’ll get you a real desk before long. This is a hectic time of month.

JANICE
That must explain why Neal seems so…

GEORGE
Psycho? Nah, he’s always like that.

JANICE
(now even more nervous)
That’s reassuring.

GEORGE
Don’t be nervous. Neal’s a good a guy. He just takes some getting used to.
Neal emerges from his office.
NEAL
We have got to get a new messenger service. I called them at 8:30 to pick this up and they said they couldn’t get out to Oakland until noon. That’s completely unacceptable.
HELEN RUTHERFORD, 57, enters.
HELEN
Oh, dear, has there been another problem with Quicksilver Messengers?

GEORGE
They’ve got mercury poisoning, apparently.

HELEN
Aren’t we the wit this morning?

NEAL
You’ve been complaining about the messenger service?

HELEN
If Jesus Christ were alive, he would complain about the messenger service. Now, I’m going to get final text for the Tech Update department by 10 o’clock, right?

NEAL
Yes.

HELEN
And are the scans for the PDA feature on the production server?

NEAL
I put them there last night. And you’ll also get first-pass pages back in 15 minutes.

HELEN
That’s what I like to hear.
Helen continues on to her office.
GEORGE
I like that. Quick, decisive action.

NEAL
Where’s my Webcorp story?

GEORGE
(spins toward his office)
On the editorial server in 20 minutes.
George heads to his desk.
NEAL
(points to Janice)
Now, Janice, what I’m going to have you do is proofread pages.

JANICE
OK.
Neal looks at the table that Janice had been clearing.
NEAL
Where did they go?

JANICE
Um—

NEAL
(starting to freak out)
They were on this table. Helen had printed them out last night. They were right here. Where did everything that was on this table go?

JANICE
Brian was clearing a place for me to sit.

NEAL
(sighs heavily)
Jesus fucking Christ, this place—Could people leave things where I put them. The more I try to keep things organized, the more chaotic it gets.
Janice is now completely terrified, and looks down at one of the piles that Brian had put on the floor. She picks them up.
JANICE
These look like page proofs.

NEAL
(grabbing them)
Ah, yes. Great.
(He puts them on the table in front of her.)
Now, these are pages from the issue were working on. Read through them and mark any typos, misspellings, punctuation errors, things like that When you’re done, please give them to Helen.

JANICE
Right.

NEAL
Oh, and they need to be done—

JANICE
In 15 minutes?

NEAL
Right. Thanks.
He heads to his office and sits at his computer, his back to the door. Janice sits down and looks at the pages in front of her. She seems confident and starts making marks.

INT. NEAL’S OFFICE - CONTINUOUS

JEAN ROSSI, 41, enters hurriedly. She is holding a sheet of paper. She KNOCKS on Neal’s door. Their exchange is mock-combative—with Neal a tad less mock than Jean.
JEAN
Neal...

NEAL
(spinning around)
Jean...Shit, don’t tell me...

JEAN
Don’t freak out...

NEAL
Don’t fucking tell me...

JEAN
I have a change to the run-up. Page 38--

NEAL
Not again.

JEAN
Page 38--

NEAL
Jean, the point of giving me a run-up a week before production begins is so that I know how many ad pages there are and how many editorial pages I can have.

JEAN
Yes, having been a managing editor for almost 10 years, I’m vaguely aware of how the magazine publishing process works.

NEAL
If you’re going to change the run-up less than 12 hours before we go to press, why do we bother with it in the first place?

JEAN
And why do people drive yellow cars?

NEAL
(shakes his head, bewildered)
What?

JEAN
There are many questions that defy easy answers. Anyway, page 38 now has a half-page horizontal ad.

NEAL
So I lose 500 words of Mark’s feature.

JEAN
Apparently, yes.

NEAL
And that page was done, too. I love doing the same thing 50 times.

JEAN
Just think how good you’ll be at it.

NEAL
You’re going to be no help at all today, are you?

JEAN
(smiles)
When am I ever?

NEAL
Good point. Let me go repair the damage you’ve inflicted.
Neal dashes out of his office and into George’s.

INT. GEORGE’S OFFICE - CONTINUOUS
NEAL
George, I need you to go into the Edited Text folder and cut 500 words from Mark’s feature. Let Helen know when you’re done.

GEORGE
Gotcha.
Neal dashes into Helen’s office. Jean follows him.

INT. HELEN’S OFFICE - CONTINUOUS
NEAL
Helen, page 38 is now a half page.

JEAN
FPO image is on the ad server. File is called “New Horizon.”

HELEN
Thanks.

NEAL
We’re going to be 500 words long on Mark’s feature. George is cutting it. Please add our “Web Extra” box at the end of the article. You can pick it up from page 56 of last month’s issue.

HELEN
No problem.

NEAL
Thanks.
(to JEAN)
See? You think you can screw up my magazine? Hah!
Jean sticks her tongue out at him.
HELEN
Can you people go away now?
They all disperse to their respective offices.

INT. NEWSROOM - CONTINIOUS

Carl enters and walks into Brian’s office.

INT. BRIAN’S OFFICE - CONTINUOUS

Carl sits own on a chair in front of Brian’s desk and watches Brian have a phone conversation. Carl is holding a camera. As Brian talks, Carl is playing with the camera, examining its features, etc.
BRIAN
(on phone)
What does the rate card say?... Well, then why are you…Did you point out that we have a circ of--?...I know exactly what Modern Electronics has, and we’re ahead of them…Yes, again, look at your rate card! That little pie chart that Helen spent two hours making? That tells you exactly who our readership is…. Tom! If you’re not going to bother looking at the sales materials we give you, I don’t know what else I can do.... We’ve had a very good relationship with MediaBus, and when I met Miriam at the HP party two months ago she said they would definitely sign in July. This is July…. Look, Tom, I’ve got Carl in my office right now. Just get MediaBus in the next issue, all right? One more full-page ad and we can go up to 104 pages in September…. Bye.
He SLAMS down the phone.
BRIAN
(to Carl)
This is getting ridiculous.

CARL
Tom Braxton?

BRIAN
You know what his biggest problem as a salesman is?

CARL
He can’t sell?

BRIAN
He can’t sell! The man couldn’t sell space heaters to Eskimos.

CARL
Well, that would be hard sell.

BRIAN
The man can’t sell!

CARL
You can’t put a space heater in an igloo.

BRIAN
Huh?

CARL
You can’t put a space heater in an igloo.

BRIAN
Why not?

CARL
You’d melt the igloo. And then you’d just have a bunch of homeless Eskimos. And no one wants that.

BRIAN
I don’t care about homeless Eskimos.

CARL
You heartless bastard.

BRIAN
What did you come in here for, anyway?

CARL
(holds up the camera)
The latest in digital photography.
Brian takes the camera and examines it.
BRIAN
We’re reviewing this?

CARL
Indeed we are. Six megapixels, SLR design, built-in histogram, uncompressed TIFF file format, 128 megabyte PC card, Carl Zeiss lens. I’m quite impressed.

BRIAN
How many stars?

CARL
Now, you know—

BRIAN
Carl...

CARL
You know I hate star ratings.

BRIAN
I know you do, but Neal loves them, the manufacturers love them, and the readers love them, so guess what? We use them. How many stars?

CARL
I find whole-star increments far too limiting. Even half-star increments I find very hard to work with.

BRIAN
I know you do. But I remember when you gave something 3 and 13/68ths of a star. I remember how Neal reacted, and none of us wants that again.

CARL
It’s impossible to sum up all the pluses and minuses of a product in a single rating. I mean, not all pluses are pluses for everyone, and—

BRIAN
Yes, yes, I get it. We’ve had this conversation more than a few times. Take it up with Neal.

CARL
You seem to be giving more and more of the decisions to Neal.

BRIAN
(shrugs)
Neal’s the editor. When he does things I disagree with, I let him know it, but Neal’s damn good at what he does. Unlike some other employees we’ve got.

CARL
Like Tom Braxton.

BRIAN
Like Tom Braxton.

CARL
Maybe you should fire him.

BRIAN
Why?

CARL
To coin a phrase, “he can’t sell.”

BRIAN
I can’t fire Tom.

CARL
I know you can’t.

BRIAN
Tom and I go way back, to Antares Systems days. I introduced him to his wife, for crying out loud. When Xerox let him go, I was the only one willing to hire him.

CARL
And now you know why.

BRIAN
I guess I just keep hoping he’ll turn around. I mean, MediaBus should be cake.

CARL
Oh, like Miriam is going to do anything to make your life easy after—

BRIAN
We did not end bitterly!

CARL
Any relationship that lasts in its entirety over the course of a week-long trade show can’t possibly not end bitterly.

BRIAN
Look, that was a long time ago…

CARL
What about asking Marv to go out on sales calls with Tom? Marv is a great sales guy; half the book are Marv’s accounts. Maybe he can teach Tom a thing or two.

BRIAN
It’s worth thinking about. Unfortunately, Marv is in New York and Tom is in L.A.

CARL
As an expert on modern technology, I should point out that they have airplanes now.

BRIAN
Shouldn’t you be working?

CARL
All my stuff is filed. I’m just waiting for either Helen or Neal to need me to help with production.

NEAL
(O.C., bellowing)
Carl!

BRIAN
His master’s voice.
Carl rises.
CARL
Think about the Marv and Tom thing. You can’t fire Tom.

BRIAN
I know. I will. Thanks.
INT. NEWSROOM - CONTINUOUS

Neal stands in the doorway to his office.
CARL
You bellowed?

NEAL
Yes. I put two technology reports in your folder on the editorial server. I need you to do a quick technical edit, and then put them in Helen’s production folder ASAP.

CARL
You got it.
Carl exits.
HELEN
(bellowing)
Neal!
Neal runs into Helen’s office.

INT. HELEN’S OFFICE - CONTINUOUS
NEAL
What is it?

HELEN
(holding up the pages Janice gave her)
What the hell is this?

NEAL
I don’t know, what the hell is that?

HELEN
Your new assistant decided to rewrite the page one stories rather than just proofread them. Please inform her that rewriting is not done at this stage, unless she thinks she has too much blood in her body.

NEAL
Sorry, she’s new.

HELEN
I know. That’s why I’m yelling at you.

NEAL
I’ll talk to her.
INT. NEWSROOM - CONTINUOUS

NEAL walks over to Janice’s table.
NEAL
Janice, about the pages...

JANICE
I know. I heard.

NEAL
You heard?

JANICE
This isn’t a very big office.

NEAL
Ah. Please go back through these pages and mark “stet” next to everything that isn’t a typo.

JANICE
Sure. Sorry.
George comes out of his office.
NEAL
George, Webcorp story?

GEORGE
Ready and waiting for you.

NEAL
Excellent. Thank you.
Neal dashes back into his office.
JANICE
(to George, pointing to the page proof with her pen)
I have a question. Should there be a capital letter right in the middle of a word?

GEORGE
Sadly, yes. It’s called “intercapping.” Computer companies like to strew capital letters randomly throughout company and product names. I think they do it to drive proofreaders nuts.

JANICE
That’s pretty weird.

GEORGE
They’re computer companies. They’re run by people who got beat up a lot in high school and this is part of their vengeance on the world.

JANICE
(laughs)
That would explain any computer program I’ve ever used.
They exchange warm smiles.
NEAL
(bellowing from his office)
George! Leave Janice alone!

GEORGE
Well, I’ll leave you to it, then.

JANICE
If you must.
George walks back to his office, Janice stares after him, pauses, lost in thought for a moment, then returns to rereading her pages.
DISSOLVE TO:
To be continued...

Tuesday, December 18, 2007

The Stories So Far

For my own reference as much as anyone's, here is a directory of the stuff I have posted in the past two weeks:
"Bossy," a stream-of-consciously-written short story about a talking cow.
"Don Boing: Beneath the Music," an anachronistic comic essay about one of the "legends" of modern music. or something.
Chapter 1 and Chapter 2 of a comic, pseudo-Tolkeinesque novel tentatively titled Jewel Box.
Part 1 and Part 2 (of three parts) of a serialized short story about death (a comedy) called "The Life of Death."
Chapter 1 and Chapter 2 of a science-fiction novel tentatively titled Living Ghost.
Tomorrow: a screenplay!

More Ghost

Here is Chapter 2 of the Philip K. Dick/insomnia-inspired/perspired novel tentatively titled Living Ghost. Chapter 1 is here.
2.

“Was that Graves?” asked Marv after Cliff had hung up the phone.

“Yeah,” said Cliff, still not quite sure what to make of the conversation he just had.

Marv dropped a spiral-bound set of printouts on Cliff’s desk.

“Did he get the revised Section 6 tables I e-mailed him?”

Cliff was still a bit distracted. “The what? No, I don’t think so. He’s been having some…problems. Computer problems. He thinks the earthquake did some damage.”

“That earthquake? What, does he live in a house made out of tissue paper?”
Marv sat down on an old torn faux leather chair in front of Cliff’s desk. He was breathing heavily.

Cliff looked at him. “If you’re going to have a heart attack, could it wait until this project is done?”

“We need an elevator. I’m getting too old for those stairs.”

“Think of how bad a shape you’d be in if you haven’t had to go up and down those stairs for the past 12 years.” Marv had been the primary data processor for the company for 15 years. They’ve only been in their current location for 12 years.

“Carol is going to want to see at least a preliminary draft of Section 3 by this afternoon,” said Marv.

“That’s what Carol said?”

“Cliff, come on. You know only Sally passes in or out of The Cocoon. It’s what Sally said.”

Carol Hendricks was the president and owner of Data Pros Inc. Most of the people who started working for the company were at first puzzled, then increasingly bemused by the fact that she had absolutely no contact with anyone but her administrative assistant. Even the oldest veterans of the company—like Marv—had really only met her once. Cliff, who had been with the company only a scant four years, had never met her at all. Some 10 years earlier, Marv had coined the term “The Cocoon” to refer to Carol’s impenetrable office—a term which stuck. No one knows if Carol had ever heard and/or was amused by it. Of course, in less charitable moments, Marv has been known to refer to Carol herself as “The Larva.” “Someday, she’s going to emerge from her chrysalis as a beautiful butterfly,” he once said, to which Cliff immediately added, “Or Mothra, the giant mutant moth creature that destroyed Tokyo.” Then again, most of the staff was quick to admit that it was the generally hands- and eyes-off approach of Carol that made Data Pros such a satisfying place to work. No meetings, no micromanagement, no B.S. Just an environment where work can get done and get done well. It was not lost on the staff that the fact that The Larva was taking such an involved role in the current project (well, involved for her) meant that the project was of no small consequence.

“Well, Section 3 is not going to be done today,” said Cliff. “I can’t fix Tom’s computer problems. Tell Sally we’re keeping to the schedule we had agreed on six months ago when this whole thing began.”

“You tell me,” came a voice from the doorway.

“How do you do that” asked Cliff.

“Do what?” asked Sally, adjusting the massive sheaf of papers she was carrying.

“Just appear like that. I never hear or see you coming. I just look up and you’re there.”

“I’m stealthy,” she said with a smile.

“Is that what they teach at those Ivy League schools, how to slink around offices wraithlike?” asked Marv.

“Is that what they teach at two-year junior colleges, how to incorporate words like ‘wraithlike’ into normal conversation?”

“You bet your ass.”

“Anyway, getting back to the original point,” Sally said, “I completely agree that we should keep to the original schedule, but you know The Lar— Carol is not going to be happy.”

Marv and Cliff laughed. “Whoo! We got you doing it!” said Cliff, high-fiving Marv.

Sally smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Anyway, I’ll deal with Carol, but that means there can be absolutely no slippage whatsoever from the schedule. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you this is a big project. It can make or break us, and the clients are getting antsy. And when the clients get antsy, we get antsy.”

“We understand,” said Cliff.

“I’m surprised this is even an issue. Tom is always early with stuff. I’m shocked he’s not now.”

“He’s having…computer problems,” said Cliff.

Sally shrugged. “I remember when his entire hard drive got corrupted at the same time he had to replace the logic board in his computer and he still delivered a 200-page report a day early.”

“Sometimes even the mighty fall,” said Marv.

“So we should go easy on him right now,” said Cliff. “He’s always come through, and I have no doubt he will this time.”

Sally looked at him quizzically. “I never said he wouldn’t come through. I just said I was surprised, is all. Is everything all right with Tom?”

“Everything’s fine. The earthquake just freaked him out.”

“He’s from the East Coast—you know how they are,” added Marv. “He still hasn’t gotten his ‘earthquake legs’ yet.”

“I wouldn’t worry about Tom,” said Cliff.

***

“I’m worried about Tom,” said Cliff.

Cliff carefully lifted a ring of onion with his fork and shifted it to the perimeter of his salad bowl, adding it to the collection of other onion slices he had been building.

“Why?” asked Ally, watching her husband's careful dissection of his salad.

Given both of their wacky work schedules, they very rarely got to have lunch in real restaurants—let alone with each other—and she was hoping they wouldn’t spend the whole time talking about Tom Graves.

“He called me this morning. He said he was in Syracuse.” He added a cherry tomato to the ring of onions.

“That’s a bit strange,” said Ally, “but nothing to worry about. Tom is a strange guy. We’ve known him for eight years and I still don’t know anything about him. Now, you: After we had been dating a week I felt like I knew everything there was to know about you.”

“Well, you kind of did.”

“That’s true. There’s not much to you. There’s the penis and the schoolboy insouciance, and that’s about it.”

“Hey!” He said, mock-insulted. “‘Insouciance.” I like that.”

“You have no idea what it means, do you?”

“Nope. And I like that I don’t. I can have it mean whatever I want it to mean and I don’t have to care if it was meant as an insult or not.”

She watched as he moved an olive to the outer edge of the salad bowl.

“Why don’t you just tell the waiter that you don’t like onions, tomatoes, or olives?” said Ally.

“I don’t like to seem picky.”

Cliff and Ally had been married for six-and-a-half years and his pickiness about food never ceased to amuse her. Ally would eat just about anything that was put in front of her, while Cliff was very particular, and every meal that he didn’t cook (which was damn nearly every meal he ate) involved the near-surgical removal of any or all of the following: mushrooms, tomatoes, onions, peppers, olives, chives, celery, and carrots. To him, the perfect salad was lettuce and chickpeas. “Even dressing is optional,” he once told Ally. “In fact, I’d prefer it if you didn’t dress for dinner, either,” he once said with a leer.

So for his 40th birthday, she had the owner of the local bakery (and a friend of hers) bake him a cake in the shape of a mushroom, covered with bits of colored frosting shaped into tomatoes, onions, peppers, etc. He laughed hysterically, but out of habit had picked them all off anyway.

“Getting back to Tom…”

“Do we have to?” she asked.

“You should hear the story he told me. Do you know how he said he got to Syracuse?”

“Stagecoach? Mule barge? Strapped to the wing of a Cessna?”

“Even stranger. He says he ‘appeared’ there.”

“Appeared there?”

“Yeah. He says he fell asleep in Redondo and woke up in some girl’s dorm room at SU.”

“Wow. That’s bizarre.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying,” said Cliff.

“I mean, to think that Tom would be in any girl’s room at all is pretty weird.”

“Ally, now cut that out. I’m sure he dates...or something.”

“Are you sure it’s women, though?”

“I am 99.999 percent sure that Tom is not gay. I even had my brother check him out and he insists he not, too.”

“Oh, like your brother could tell. His ‘gaydar’ is always picking up interference from weather balloons.”

Cliff scowled. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Anyway, about Tom’s ‘teleportation’ story…”

“I think he’s pulling your leg. Besides, he was in town yesterday. Why would he fly to Syracuse overnight—and then turn right around and come back? It’s not exactly a short hop. Even if it is some kind of romantic dalliance, he’d probably be too jetlagged to actually do anything.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised what the male body is capable of.”

“Yes, I frequently am. And often horrified, too. But are you sure he’s not just having a midlife crisis or a nervous breakdown or something?”

“I hadn’t thought about that, but it’s entirely possible. But I would have thought you’d have to have a life to have a mid-life crisis.”

“Jeez, Cliff. And you say I rag on Tom. He’s your best friend.

“He is, but he doesn’t always make it easy. It’s like Pink Floyd The Wall with him sometimes.”

“He doesn’t have copulating flowers in his garden, I hope.”

“I would seriously doubt that. I mean, he’s smart, he’s fun to hang out with, he’s always there when I need anything…like when my wife is driving me up the wall—”

“Bite me.”

“But you try to get close to him and you get to this point where it’s like he’s barricaded himself in his own head and there’s some kind of standoff with the FBI, who are about to start lobbing in tear gas.”

“That’s a pretty creative analogy for you,” she said.

“Actually, I stole it from Marv.”

He finished the last of what he had intended to eat of his salad.

“Maybe it’s just this camera project,” said Ally. “Wait till it’s over and you all can relax. Then sit down with Tom and make sure everything is OK.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

Ally looked down at his still mostly-full salad bowl. “You done with that?”

He handed it to her. “All yours.”

She started eating what he left behind. “What did you order for lunch?”

“Chicken cacciatore,” he said.

“That should take a while.”

Monday, December 17, 2007

More Death

Here is Part 2 of "The Life of Death" short story. Part 1 is here.
The Life of Death (Part 2 of 3)

I was sitting on the couch, thumbing through a magazine. The 11:00 news was on in the background, and I was half listening to it. Until one report caught my ear.

“Hospitals around the country are reporting what seems like the best news one could ever hear: there have been no recorded deaths in the last four days. For the story, we go live to Mary Feldstone at Mt. Sinai.”

“Here at Mt. Sinai,” said who I presume was Mary Feldstone, “doctors and patients alike are baffled yet cautiously elated by the sheer dearth of deaths. This hospital, which reports an average of 27 deaths a day, has literally had none in four days.”

The report went on to say that at every hospital polled, no one has died. Morgues and mortuaries have, for four days, been devoid of new business.

I didn’t quite know what to make of that. My first inclination was that it was a coincidence. Surely…no, it couldn’t be. These things just don’t happen.

The following day, things got even more surreal. I found a roach in my bathtub that morning and squished it with a magazine. Completely flattened, its guts strewn across the enamel, it nonetheless moved. In fact, it dashed down the drain of its own accord. This was not only odd, but defied all the known laws of biology. I may not be an expert in the life sciences, but I at least know that when an organism has the guts squashed out of it, it tends to slow down a bit.

That evening on the news, the lack-of-death count was expanded to report on the increasing roach, rat, and other vermin problems that were plaguing the city. It wasn’t just the humans; nothing was dying. Call it stubbornness on my part, but I still refused to believe that Dave’s “encounter” with “Death” had anything to do with it.

Until…


I was sitting on the couch watching Live at Five when my apartment door opened. In walked Dave, dressed in a black cloak and carrying a scythe. He threw the scythe noisily to the floor.

“I can’t do it,” he said. “I can’t kill things. Myself, yes. Other things, no.”

“Say what?” I asked, knowing I was going to regret it.

“Before Death vanished, he said that I was now ‘in charge.’”

“In charge of what?”

“Dying. The whole not living business.”

My head hurt.

“Haven’t you noticed that nothing is dying? That hospitals are reporting record numbers of non-deaths and that the city is overcome with vermin?”

“Yes, but I just assumed it was one of those freakish things…”

“Yes! Yes, it is one of those freakish things—only it’s far more freakish than you could have imagined! I just can’t kill things. It’s all my fault.…”

This is perhaps the first time I had ever heard of someone who was sorry that he couldn’t kill anything.

“Okay,” I said. “Assuming for the moment that I believe you, that Death bailed on his job and left you in charge of visiting final perdition on everyone and everything…but the roaches, Dave? Surely you could bring yourself to kill them.”

“You’d think that, wouldn’t you? But still, they’re living things.” He stared at me.

“You have to do it.”

“Say what?”

“You have to kill things.”

“Me? Are you high? I didn’t kill Death—”

“Or whatever.”

“Or whatever. I mean, this isn’t really my problem.”

“Oh, spoken like a true New Yorker.”

“You’re forgetting the essential point here, which is that I am not Death!”

“Fine, be that way.”

“What way?”

“Stubborn.”

I growled. “Well, where did Death go, anyway? Can we find him? He can’t have much money. I mean, would a preternatural entity have a nest egg of some kind? Surely he hasn’t gotten far.”

“Leave it to you to reduce the basic points of existence to money.”

“That’s because I live in the real world rather than exist in some metaphysical half-life. And call me a Philistine if you must, but at least I haven’t upset the basic laws of existence.”

“Fine, fine, fine,” said Dave, getting increasingly flustered. “What am I going to do?”

“Well, how specifically are you supposed to, um, kill? Just wave your scythe over them, or is it more ‘hands on’?”

“As Death explained it to me, when the signal comes in on the Mortaloscope— Oh, go ahead and say it…”

“‘Mortalosocope’?”

“There’s a more technical name for it, but Death actually does have a sense of humor. Essentially it’s a large crystal.”

He reached into the pocket of the cloak and withdrew a large green glowing rock. It was pulsating quite rapidly.

“And it’s pulsating so rapidly because I’m very behind.”

“Oh,” I said, “so it’s like an answering machine. The speed of the flashing indicates how many messages there are.”

“Exactly. What’s really annoying is that it also has a vibrate mode, which is getting quite painful.”

He rubbed his thigh.

“OK, so when someone or something dies, your rock starts flashing.”

“Yes, and then the scythe allows me to- what are you laughing at?”

“Nothing. Go on. Please.”

“And the scythe allows me to triangulate on the exact location of the deceased and
then, using the scythe, I am supposed to remove the life force from the deceadent.”

“‘Deceadent’?”

“That’s what they’re called, yes.”

“It all sounds amazingly organized.”

“What, do you think death just happens?” he asked me.

“Yes, I kind of thought it did.”

“Well, it doesn’t.”

I really didn’t know quite how much to believe him, but I swear I’ve never seen Dave this earnest—or this worked up about anything. So I decided: I’d do as he asked. After all, since I didn’t even know if it was true—and it likely wasn’t (I mean, who kills Death and then has to cover for him?)—what did I have to lose? So I put on the black cloak, grabbed the scythe, and felt like I was on my way to a Halloween party. I took his pulsating green rock.

“All right. How does this purportedly work?” I asked, feeling like a complete dork.

“Now, you’re probably going to be very busy for a while.”

“So I gathered.”

“Hold the Mortaloscope in your left hand,” he said, and I did. “Extend your left hand, and extend your right hand, which is holding the scythe.” Now I really felt like a complete snickerdoodle. “Now, slowly—slowly—bring the blade of the scythe into contact with the Mortaloscope.”

I did, and as the blade of the scythe touched the rock, the room went dark. I was suddenly not in my apartment anymore. I was—I wasn’t quite sure....

To be continued...