Uh oh. If I’m posting one of my infrequent blogs, it must mean I feel the need to insult, degrade, trash, and talk shit about stupid people. I’m kind of big on that. If there’s one thing that brightens up my day more than anything else, it’s sharing my observations on the sorts of people who believe the Space Needle is a huge needle used to inflate space. They exist. Stupid people, that is. Not huge space-inflating needles. But you already knew that. At least I hope you did. If you didn’t, stop what you’re doing right now and go leap to your death from the Gateway Arch. Just watch out for the big swinging gate on the way down. Oh, and be careful not to let your collar get snagged on one of the big hinges. We don’t need you sort of people hanging around.
So anyway, to begin with the old cliché, “just when I thought…” I have once again stumbled upon the improbable discovery of a person stupider than the previously perceived stupidest person alive. I didn’t think that was possible. I’m always dumbfounded and stupefied when I come across somebody who’s more dumb and stupid than reason would suggest. I mean, isn’t it reasonable to believe that a woman whose best idea for retrieving a Frisbee from a rooftop is to lasso it down, is indeed the stupidest person alive? You think I’m kidding, don’t you. I’m not. Her name was Jeannie McKelroy, and the lasso idea she conjured up amidst the swarm of gnats pin-balling inside her head seemed better to her than letting her son Brady use a ladder to retrieve said Frisbee. That’s a true story.
But that story took place back in the early 1980’s, and I can say with profound certitude that her ranking on the “All-Time Stupidest People” list, albeit still pretty high, has definitely dropped a few notches since then. As a matter of fact, it fell to a slightly lower slot just the other day, as I was the unfortunate (although somewhat entertained) witness of another person shifting the list. That’s something else I should mention, by the way. There’s definitely a two-edged sword affect going on when brainless nitwits boggle my intelligence. They piss me off AND make me laugh. I guess I should actually be commending stupid people, because they are quite possibly the only element in the universe capable of creating pleasurable anger. I believe these are the people who invented the term “oxymoron”. I’m just taking a feel-good stab at that one.
But getting back to the topic at hand, the latest entry on the “All-Time Stupidest People” list was a contestant on “Are You Smarter Than A 5th Grader?”. That right there should tip you off as to where I’m going with this. For the particular woman of whom inspired me to share this blog, the answer to that question is a resounding NO!!! I’m talking about NO. Not the run-of-the-mill, typical, casually plain-stated “no”, but NO! It was nothing short of brilliant stupidity, spelled with a capital “the lights are out and nobody is home”. It amazes me that this woman even achieved the educational level necessary to pass the 5th grade, let alone the opportunity to win $250,000 by proving how smart she isn’t.
So without procrastination, let’s recreate this particular episode of “Are You Smarter Than A 5th Grader?”, and answer each question on your own before reading on, just to see how your answers stack up to those provided by the contestant in question. Here we go.
4th Grade Earth Science:
Question: On which continent does the yak originate?
To be fair and completely objective, I’ll let you slide if you missed this one. Not everybody is familiar with the yak, unless of course you drink yourself into such a drunken stupor that you begin calling you buddy “mama” and ask him for a sip from his nipple. I think it’s fair to say that if you ever reach that point, you are definitely going to yak, and if that happens, it doesn’t matter which continent we’re talking about. But more specifically, I’m talking about Bos grunniens, or the mammal within the class of bovine. I’m sure you’ve seen one. It’s a large, muscular, wooly fucker that OBVIOULY needs to retain heat in order to survive the elements of its surroundings. Such an animal would NOT originate in the hot climate of Africa, but that was the contestant’s answer. If you’re like me (and most other people), you answered Asia correctly. Most of us have seen Tibetan and Mongolian yak-herders doing their thing in the Asian high-country on one nature documentary or another. But again, an incorrect answer here does not render the average person “stupid”, so you’re given a reprieve if you were wrong, but only this one time.
Let’s move on to the next question.
3rd Grade Chemistry:
Question: What is the name of the element “Zn”, commonly found in beef, poultry, and fish?
Hmm. That’s a toughie. “Zn”. What element on earth could possibly have the signature of Zn? Is it Zenith? It is Zion? No, it must be IRON!!! Well, that was the answer given by our intellectually gifted contestant. Apparently, since red meat is high in Iron, and chickens are on the same list (yes, she included chickens on the red meat list), then Iron must be the right answer. Isn’t it? I Zinc I’ll need to ponder that one for a while, but I’ll get back to you.
Moving along. Here’s where the dunce cap hits the floor.
2nd Grade Astronomy:
Question: Of all the planets, which one has the largest ring system?
Okay. Think about it for .004453 seconds. Question answered. A total no-brainer. Unless, of course, you’re the woman in question. I shit you NOT that this woman wrenched her brain for over a minute, trying to break things down, trying to visualize the solar system in her mind, trying to ignore the embarrassment of having just said that Zn was Iron, and finally “locked in” her answer with a complete guess when she had reached the end of her intellectual rope.
“I’ll say…oh geez…I really don’t know…umm…………Earth”. Insert the SLAM of the lock-in button, along with the certainty that this woman has etched her name upon the Wall Of Stupid Shame forever. Yes, she said, “Earth”. I don’t know about you, but I just love to sit out on my lawn every night with a drink in one hand, a stogie in the other, and gaze into the night sky at the beauty of Earth’s majestic rings. Don’t you? It’s such a glorious sight.
How in the HELL did this woman earn her way onto this game show? I wonder if the producers actually search for these people to serve as “comic relief”. I think they do. In fact, I’d be disappointed if they didn’t. You should feel that way, too. Who would want a bunch of really smart people to show up a bunch of 5th graders? That’s just wrong. We need to boost the confidence of our youth by surrounding them by really, REALLY dumb people, like the woman in question, in order to boost their egos and convince them that the stupid people of the world were meant to be laughed at. Face it. Stupid people make smart people smarter.
Like I said, stupid people can actually provide a certain level of education (and entertainment) to the rest of us. Hats off to the Jeannie McKelroys of the world. As much as they make me want to yak, they do serve a purpose.
C
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Weeds
FADE IN:
EXT. YARD - DAY
Sal, 60's, weeds a corner of his yard on hands and knees, hums a tune. Armed with gloves and a garden tool, the task is easy. The small, unearthed pests get tossed into a bucket.
Satisfied with completion, he gazes at the opposite end of the yard. More weeds. Sal stands, hums with tranquility, approaches his next cluster of victims.
EXT. YARD - LATER
Sal continues his musical amusement, digs away. The last weed gets plopped into the bucket. He brushes his gloves together, a puff of dust. He wipes his brow.
Sal stands, tool and bucket in hand. His happy hum ends when he...
...looks at the previous corner he weeded. The weeds have returned, and then some.
SAL
Huh?
Taken aback, Sal scuffs across his lawn, inspects the new infestation.
SAL (CONT'D)
Well I'll be.
Back to his hands and knees, Sal addresses his new task.
EXT. YARD - LATER
Sal tosses a final weed into his bucket. The plot clean once again, he stands, clears the sweat from his face.
Bucket in grasp, he steps away from the clean soil, hears a SOUND that emanates from the opposite corner of the yard. Sal takes focus. Where the soil was once clean...
...several tall weeds are engrossed in an orgy. They hump each other vigorously, moan and groan with explicit raunch.
SAL
You gotta be kidding me.
EXT. YARD - LATER
A hoe slips in and out of clean, moist soil. No more weeds. Sal rakes the dirt smooth, exhales in exhaustion.
SAL
There.
(beat)
That was the damnedest thing I ever did see.
A loud SQUAWK makes Sal shudder. He overcomes his fear to turn around. There, in the previously clean corner sits...
...a small rain forest. A MACAW is perched on a branch. Two nearby monkeys eat bananas. A banana peel is flung to the lawn.
Complete shock on Sal's face. The hoe discovers gravity with a THUMP to the ground.
EXT. YARD - LATER
Sal dons goggles, approaches the forest with a chainsaw. Poised and ready to fire it up, the Macaw tilts its head, eyes the chainsaw ominously. The monkeys take to higher ground, nervous screeches.
Sal relinquishes, arms fall neutral.
SAL
Ah hell.
(beat)
I couldn't hack down a rain forest even if I wanted to.
Sal turns to walk away, nearly falls down.
SAL (CONT'D)
What the...
Sal's feet stumble through ankle-high grass. Upon inspection, the entire lawn has morphed into an equally thick blanket.
SAL (CONT'D)
(perplexed)
What in Sam Hill...
Sal grunts in anger, trudges across his lawn.
EXT. YARD - LATER
Sal propels a lawnmower with strenuous diligence. The lawn carved to perfection, he comes to a halt in front of the rain forest, kills the engine. He caresses his lower back, stands tall with a sigh of relief.
The monkeys and Macaw gaze at him with curiosity.
SAL
What are you looking at?
And then...
...a sinister WHOOSH slaps the air. Sal JERKS his attention to the opposite side of the yard. Like dominoes in reverse, the lawn erupts into massive growth, ten feet high, a cascading wave of grass on the attack.
SAL (CONT'D)
JESUS H. CHRIST...
The monkeys and Macaw go ballistic. Sal screams as he's swallowed by the wave of grass, falls to his back. With every ounce of survival instinct, he SCREAMS, thrashes away, hellbent to escape the imposing death-grip. And then...
SHOCK CUT TO:
INT. BEDROOM - MORNING
Consumed by the sheets, Sal slashes away in bed during a violent nightmare.
SAL
NO! GET OFF ME!
A violent KICK tosses the sheets away. Sal comes to, gathers his bearings with deep gulps of air. He palms his face, breathes easier.
INT. HOUSE - MORNING
SERIES OF SHOTS:
1) Sal towel's off after a shower
2) Sal buttons up a blue-collar shirt
3) Sal grabs his keys and wallet from a table
EXT. HOUSE - MORNING
Sal slogs toward a van that reads "Sal's Lawn And Landscape".
SAL
Maybe it's time I start thinking about retirement. I've had enough of this monkey business.
CUT TO BLACK
EXT. YARD - DAY
Sal, 60's, weeds a corner of his yard on hands and knees, hums a tune. Armed with gloves and a garden tool, the task is easy. The small, unearthed pests get tossed into a bucket.
Satisfied with completion, he gazes at the opposite end of the yard. More weeds. Sal stands, hums with tranquility, approaches his next cluster of victims.
EXT. YARD - LATER
Sal continues his musical amusement, digs away. The last weed gets plopped into the bucket. He brushes his gloves together, a puff of dust. He wipes his brow.
Sal stands, tool and bucket in hand. His happy hum ends when he...
...looks at the previous corner he weeded. The weeds have returned, and then some.
SAL
Huh?
Taken aback, Sal scuffs across his lawn, inspects the new infestation.
SAL (CONT'D)
Well I'll be.
Back to his hands and knees, Sal addresses his new task.
EXT. YARD - LATER
Sal tosses a final weed into his bucket. The plot clean once again, he stands, clears the sweat from his face.
Bucket in grasp, he steps away from the clean soil, hears a SOUND that emanates from the opposite corner of the yard. Sal takes focus. Where the soil was once clean...
...several tall weeds are engrossed in an orgy. They hump each other vigorously, moan and groan with explicit raunch.
SAL
You gotta be kidding me.
EXT. YARD - LATER
A hoe slips in and out of clean, moist soil. No more weeds. Sal rakes the dirt smooth, exhales in exhaustion.
SAL
There.
(beat)
That was the damnedest thing I ever did see.
A loud SQUAWK makes Sal shudder. He overcomes his fear to turn around. There, in the previously clean corner sits...
...a small rain forest. A MACAW is perched on a branch. Two nearby monkeys eat bananas. A banana peel is flung to the lawn.
Complete shock on Sal's face. The hoe discovers gravity with a THUMP to the ground.
EXT. YARD - LATER
Sal dons goggles, approaches the forest with a chainsaw. Poised and ready to fire it up, the Macaw tilts its head, eyes the chainsaw ominously. The monkeys take to higher ground, nervous screeches.
Sal relinquishes, arms fall neutral.
SAL
Ah hell.
(beat)
I couldn't hack down a rain forest even if I wanted to.
Sal turns to walk away, nearly falls down.
SAL (CONT'D)
What the...
Sal's feet stumble through ankle-high grass. Upon inspection, the entire lawn has morphed into an equally thick blanket.
SAL (CONT'D)
(perplexed)
What in Sam Hill...
Sal grunts in anger, trudges across his lawn.
EXT. YARD - LATER
Sal propels a lawnmower with strenuous diligence. The lawn carved to perfection, he comes to a halt in front of the rain forest, kills the engine. He caresses his lower back, stands tall with a sigh of relief.
The monkeys and Macaw gaze at him with curiosity.
SAL
What are you looking at?
And then...
...a sinister WHOOSH slaps the air. Sal JERKS his attention to the opposite side of the yard. Like dominoes in reverse, the lawn erupts into massive growth, ten feet high, a cascading wave of grass on the attack.
SAL (CONT'D)
JESUS H. CHRIST...
The monkeys and Macaw go ballistic. Sal screams as he's swallowed by the wave of grass, falls to his back. With every ounce of survival instinct, he SCREAMS, thrashes away, hellbent to escape the imposing death-grip. And then...
SHOCK CUT TO:
INT. BEDROOM - MORNING
Consumed by the sheets, Sal slashes away in bed during a violent nightmare.
SAL
NO! GET OFF ME!
A violent KICK tosses the sheets away. Sal comes to, gathers his bearings with deep gulps of air. He palms his face, breathes easier.
INT. HOUSE - MORNING
SERIES OF SHOTS:
1) Sal towel's off after a shower
2) Sal buttons up a blue-collar shirt
3) Sal grabs his keys and wallet from a table
EXT. HOUSE - MORNING
Sal slogs toward a van that reads "Sal's Lawn And Landscape".
SAL
Maybe it's time I start thinking about retirement. I've had enough of this monkey business.
CUT TO BLACK
Friday, November 6, 2009
Grab your skates and camel. Let's go ice-fishing while we can!!!
Did you know that it’s illegal to tie your pet dog to the roof of your car in Alaska? I didn’t either. I was stunned when I found that out. Mind you, I don’t live in Alaska, but if I did, one of the first things that would occur to me would be the convenience of tying my Chihuahua Scooter to the roof of my car so I could free up my hands to fetch from the back seat the whale blubber I plan on eating for dinner that night.
Did you also know that it’s illegal to fish off a giraffe’s back in Idaho? Well, it is. Sorry about that. I know I’ve just crushed the hearts of many of Idaho’s most dedicated giraffe-mounting ice fishermen. But don’t despair, my friends. You can still fish from the back of a camel. That isn’t illegal. Yet.
How about this one? Did you have the slightest clue that it’s illegal to bite off another person’s leg in Rhode Island? Can you believe that? I just found out myself. I’m pissed off about it too, because I planned on going to the Providence Femur Festival next summer, but now I have to change all of my plans. I really don’t want to risk being taken down in a raid as I’m chomping through some screaming dude’s hamstring.
Has it ever occurred to anybody how utterly ridiculous some of the laws are in this country? Were you even aware of the fact that you can’t let your pig run free through the streets of Detroit unless it has a ring in its nose? I’m fairly sure that’s a new one to just about everybody, except for the fine people of Detroit, of course. But I digress. We are supposedly a nation full of intelligent, law making and law-abiding citizens. But when you chew a little fat off the femur, it should be blatantly obvious that “intelligent” is simply the wrong word to use when describing both the people who make these laws, and the people who exit the polls with a cute little “I Voted” sticker on their shirts.
Who makes this shit up, and why? If you haven’t figured that out yet, let me tell you. It’s a bunch of stupid people who sit around a conference table and try to figure out how to control other stupid people who are ready and willing to abide by stupid laws. It’s that simple. When one group of people in Kansas says it’s illegal to use mules to hunt ducks, and another group of people sell off all their German Longhaired Pointer mules at the announcement of said law, how can you NOT see how stupid some of the laws and people in this country can be?
Here’s something else to think about. Why is the legal age of adulthood in this country 18? Why isn’t it 17, or 16, or 19? Why is the legal age to drink 21, instead of 20, or 19, or 23? Is there something magical about the day I turned 18 that made my voting opinion more valid than it was 10 or 13 months earlier? Is there some mystifying energy in the universe that dictates I’m ready to drive a car on my own the day I turn 16, as opposed to the moment I reach the age of 19 years, 8 months, and 2 weeks?
The answer is an equivocal “of course not”. These numbers are nothing more that arbitrary figures that were made up by a group of stupid people. Somewhere down the road, these people got together and picked random numbers to tell me who I can be, and when. How ridiculous is that? According to these people, you can’t legally drink an alcoholic beverage until you’re 21, but you can vote on issues pertaining to alcohol when your 18. I find that to be nothing short of stupid, especially when you consider that a glass of wine at dinner is just as common in many European countries as a glass of water is in America, and many of those glasses of wine are put in front of 8 year old kids who will probably live to be 94.
Here’s something else about this whole “numbers thing” that has my wand in a knot. If the intelligent lawmaking people in this country are willing to allow a kid who isn’t quite 16 years-old drive a car…as long as he’s with a licensed adult…then why can’t a 16 year-old girl have sex with her 18 year-old boyfriend as long as they have sex under parental supervision? Seriously.
What is so special about these arbitrary numbers that have been chiseled into law? If an irresponsible and violent child at the age of 16 can be tried and convicted of murder as an adult, then why can’t a responsible and intelligent child of the same age be given the right to dip his or her toes into the world of adulthood if they feel they’re ready, especially if their upbringing has put them in a position to accept such a challenge?
This train of thought does not require a degree in “Smartology” people. All you have to do is open your eyes, and you will see. Give it a shot. You might be surprised by what you discover. Oh, and just in case you live in Oklahoma, you can’t go whaling, so put down the harpoon. You can, however, take a bath between October and March, which the intelligent lawmaking people of Indiana seem to frown upon.
Now that I think about it, EVERY day of the year lies somewhere between October and March. I think I’ll ditch my plans to attend the Mistletoe Extravaganza in French Lick this year. That would be me doing what few others do…being smart.
C
Did you also know that it’s illegal to fish off a giraffe’s back in Idaho? Well, it is. Sorry about that. I know I’ve just crushed the hearts of many of Idaho’s most dedicated giraffe-mounting ice fishermen. But don’t despair, my friends. You can still fish from the back of a camel. That isn’t illegal. Yet.
How about this one? Did you have the slightest clue that it’s illegal to bite off another person’s leg in Rhode Island? Can you believe that? I just found out myself. I’m pissed off about it too, because I planned on going to the Providence Femur Festival next summer, but now I have to change all of my plans. I really don’t want to risk being taken down in a raid as I’m chomping through some screaming dude’s hamstring.
Has it ever occurred to anybody how utterly ridiculous some of the laws are in this country? Were you even aware of the fact that you can’t let your pig run free through the streets of Detroit unless it has a ring in its nose? I’m fairly sure that’s a new one to just about everybody, except for the fine people of Detroit, of course. But I digress. We are supposedly a nation full of intelligent, law making and law-abiding citizens. But when you chew a little fat off the femur, it should be blatantly obvious that “intelligent” is simply the wrong word to use when describing both the people who make these laws, and the people who exit the polls with a cute little “I Voted” sticker on their shirts.
Who makes this shit up, and why? If you haven’t figured that out yet, let me tell you. It’s a bunch of stupid people who sit around a conference table and try to figure out how to control other stupid people who are ready and willing to abide by stupid laws. It’s that simple. When one group of people in Kansas says it’s illegal to use mules to hunt ducks, and another group of people sell off all their German Longhaired Pointer mules at the announcement of said law, how can you NOT see how stupid some of the laws and people in this country can be?
Here’s something else to think about. Why is the legal age of adulthood in this country 18? Why isn’t it 17, or 16, or 19? Why is the legal age to drink 21, instead of 20, or 19, or 23? Is there something magical about the day I turned 18 that made my voting opinion more valid than it was 10 or 13 months earlier? Is there some mystifying energy in the universe that dictates I’m ready to drive a car on my own the day I turn 16, as opposed to the moment I reach the age of 19 years, 8 months, and 2 weeks?
The answer is an equivocal “of course not”. These numbers are nothing more that arbitrary figures that were made up by a group of stupid people. Somewhere down the road, these people got together and picked random numbers to tell me who I can be, and when. How ridiculous is that? According to these people, you can’t legally drink an alcoholic beverage until you’re 21, but you can vote on issues pertaining to alcohol when your 18. I find that to be nothing short of stupid, especially when you consider that a glass of wine at dinner is just as common in many European countries as a glass of water is in America, and many of those glasses of wine are put in front of 8 year old kids who will probably live to be 94.
Here’s something else about this whole “numbers thing” that has my wand in a knot. If the intelligent lawmaking people in this country are willing to allow a kid who isn’t quite 16 years-old drive a car…as long as he’s with a licensed adult…then why can’t a 16 year-old girl have sex with her 18 year-old boyfriend as long as they have sex under parental supervision? Seriously.
What is so special about these arbitrary numbers that have been chiseled into law? If an irresponsible and violent child at the age of 16 can be tried and convicted of murder as an adult, then why can’t a responsible and intelligent child of the same age be given the right to dip his or her toes into the world of adulthood if they feel they’re ready, especially if their upbringing has put them in a position to accept such a challenge?
This train of thought does not require a degree in “Smartology” people. All you have to do is open your eyes, and you will see. Give it a shot. You might be surprised by what you discover. Oh, and just in case you live in Oklahoma, you can’t go whaling, so put down the harpoon. You can, however, take a bath between October and March, which the intelligent lawmaking people of Indiana seem to frown upon.
Now that I think about it, EVERY day of the year lies somewhere between October and March. I think I’ll ditch my plans to attend the Mistletoe Extravaganza in French Lick this year. That would be me doing what few others do…being smart.
C
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
It’s true what they say…smoking will kill you.
So anyway, I come to you today in somewhat of a daze. I’ve seen some things lately that have simply blown my mind and sent my brain spinning, namely stupid people doing stupid things as they tailgate at a baseball game. It never ceases to amaze me what stupid people do. I know I shouldn’t be too surprised. They are, after all, stupid people, and only stupid people would spend their pre-game festivities at a baseball game holding a beer in one hand and a tennis racket in the other, slopping beer all over themselves as they volley a PENN back and forth.
Yes…tennis…while tailgating at a baseball game. I shit you not.
What could possibly inspire a couple of retards to head out to a baseball game to play tennis to the radio cadence of the Cleveland Indians scouting report (other than the fact that they’re retards)? FUCKING TENNIS!!! It’s already bad enough that some guys will toss a football back and forth. I’ve seen this on several occasions. Who the hell tosses a football around at a baseball game? You don’t see tailgaters at Raider games playing catch with a baseball do you? First of all, you can’t have a mitt on one hand, a baseball in the other, and hold a beer (or a knife) all at the same time. It’s physically impossible. Oh sure, I suppose we could challenge the “physically impossible” theory and discuss all realms of possibility to debunk said claim, but I’d rather not go there. Second, it’s a football game lest you forget, and football venues play host to a completely different crowd altogether. Sticking with the example above, if a couple of morons were caught playing catch with a baseball at a Raider game, they would be killed on the spot most grievously by a conclave of other morons who feel it’s necessary to dress up for Halloween in December and cheer their team to an eventual season record of 3-13. These are the same people who yearn to quench their desire to stab somebody (hence the knife) before the day is done (most likely set on by the fact that their pitiful team is destined to finish the season with a record of 3-13). Can you imagine the carnage that would be left behind if a couple of dweebs decided to amp themselves up for a Raider game by playing tennis in the parking lot before the game? I shudder to conjure the scene.
So anyway, there I was walking through the parking lot of Angel Stadium recently, looking forward to watching my team rack up some runs, hits, and RBIs, and I see these two idiots trying to break Deuce with no net between them. It was pretty sad. So then I started thinking. Can tailgating possibly get any worse than a couple of guys playing tennis just minutes before a kid yells “PLAY BALL”? Perhaps. Imagine getting out of your car and heading for the gates. Off to your left you see a group of adults and kids decked out in the home-team colors, complete with foam fingers and banners. Straight ahead, you see a small contingent of tailgaters 4-cars wide, donning the colors of their favorite teams as they enjoy drinks and hot food right off the grill. To your right you see a couple of stupid fuckers playing jai alai off the side of a Winnebago.
Brace yourself for the utterly ridiculous sight of a couple of stupid fuckers playing jai alai off the side of a Winnebago while tailgating at a baseball game, because I’m convinced it’s bound to happen sooner or later.
So now I have to ask if it could get even more unconscionable. I mean, if it’s possible to see people playing tennis at the ballpark, would it be a surprise to anyone to see a group of liquored up pre-gamers standing on either side of a mocked-up net strung between two cars playing badminton? I don’t think so. After all, badminton and tennis are basically the same game in principal anyway, and we already know the tennis thing has been done.
What about a couple of dudes sitting on the ground with a chalk-circle between them shooting marbles? Wouldn’t that be fun to see? I can hear the 4th inning radio announcement now: “Hey fans, don’t forget that tomorrow is ‘Bring Your Steely To The Ballpark’ night. All tailgaters who successfully ‘Keepsies’ a Steely from an opponent will receive a coupon for Uncle Knuckle-Down Marble, good for 20% off your next purchase, valid at participating stores only. See the official rules for details as some restrictions do apply…here’s the 2-1 pitch to Hunter”.
Tennis. Jai Alai. Marbles. Badminton. These are not the activities you’d expect to see from intelligent sports fans at tailgate parties. This is the sort of brainless shit you’d expect to see from fans that go to a game wearing the jersey of their favorite player when that same player is now on a different team. You know the type. There he is, some dumb-ass who claims to be a huge Red Sox fan, wearing his old Manny Ramirez jersey to a home game at Fenway Park, as roid-soaked Ma’amRam strikes out 3,000 miles away in his Dodger blue. Hell, it doesn’t even have to be at a game. Whenever I see some dude gallivanting around the mall in his ridiculously gay open-toed sandals, cargo shorts, and San Francisco 49ers Terrell Owens jersey…some 6 years removed from the 49ers roster…I see somebody who needs to be shot in the badminton while holding onto his marbles with his tailgate between his legs.
I’d be first in line to pull the trigger too, and I would definitely aim as jai alai as possible in order to separate the incongruous New York Jets cap he’s wearing from the top of his empty head.
But let me get back to my original plight. When the hell did this mix-and-match epidemic in the world of sports take place (I bet it happened on a Tuesday, but I digress)? When did getting together to indulge in the joyous favors of friends, family, food, drinks, pre-game excitement, and the anticipation of a great baseball game become joined at the hip by a fraught game of croquet in front of Gate 3? I’m simply at a loss. I suppose it’s possible that I was actually there the day this all took hold, but I may have been distracted when I was forced to dive over a parking barrier in order to avoid being dismembered in turn 4 of that night’s Tailgate 500 NASCAR race.
I’ll probably never know (sigh).
I can’t stand the idea of accepting things as they are, but I guess I’ll just have to deal with it…tailgating has taken a turn for the surreal, and we’re all soaking in the same pot. So gather up your Frisbees, lawn darts, volleyballs, Jacks, chess sets, tetherball poles and squash paddles, and head on out to a baseball game to enjoy the uninhibited pleasures that only a tailgating party can offer. Oh, and one more thing…make sure you take the time between beers and bratwursts to have yourselves a paper airplane throwing contest. What would a tailgate party be without one of those bad boys!!!
C
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
"Young Radicals" (first 8 pages) an original screenplay by Ron Hooker Jr. ©2008
FADE IN:
INT. KODAK THEATER - LOS ANGELES - NIGHT
A buzz, not unlike the Academy Awards, electrifies the theater. Men and women dressed in elegant gowns and tuxedos fill the seats. Flash bulbs flicker from the balcony of this magical setting. Beautiful red carpet, somber lighting, music from an orchestra.
A glorious stage. Huge waves of scarlet red satin curtains trimmed in gold serve as the gorgeous backdrop to this magical altar of recognition. Two golden apples as big as cars flank the stage. Curtains part at the center of the stage to reveal an awesome, spiral staircase.
Actress JESSICA ALBA descends the staircase to applause, envelope in hand. Her silver gown, adorned with delicate sequins, glimmers like diamonds. Her long flowing hair and gorgeous smile own the moment. She sleeks across the stage seductively, yet professionally, with class.
INT. KODAK THEATER - CONTINUOUS
WALTER AVAGON, mid-40’s, slightly graying hair, sits in the audience. His tuxedo and bowtie are immaculate. He smiles and rubs his palms together.
WALTER
(to self)
This is it.
The applause fades. Jessica Alba steps up to a microphone that rises up through the stage on a long, slender pole. The orchestra falls silent and all is quiet throughout.
JESSICA ALBA
Teachers. They guide us. They protect us. They inspire us. They become our compass when we lose our way, our disciplinarians when we lose our focus, and our cheerleaders when we get discouraged
and lose confidence in our abilities.
Walter palms his chest with a sigh and a smile
JESSICA ALBA (cont.)
(O.S.)
They defy the possible when they stretch our imaginations, and laugh at the impossible as they strive to make our dreams come true.
WALTER
(to self)
Yes I do.
JESSICA ALBA
Most important of all, they become our heroes when we enter the real world and realize that nothing could be possible without them. (BEAT) The nominations for “Teacher Of The Year” are…
Walter closes his eyes with a smile and takes a deep breath.
WALTER
(to self)
Here we go.
JESSICA ALBA
Mrs. Steinakert.
A young woman in the audience sits with a group of children. All are dressed in casual clothing…a stark contrast to the tuxedos and gowns around them. The kids cheer at the announcement of her name. Walter smiles politely and applauds with the rest of the theater’s attendants.
JESSICA ALBA (cont.)
Mrs. Flint.
MRS. FLINT, a large black woman with a beautiful smile and blonde perm, raises her fists into the air. She and her close entourage of young children wear everyday clothing. She pumps her fists up and down.
MRS. FLINT
WOOF, WOOF, WOOF!
The children around her mimic her actions. They end their fun antics with laughter and applause to match the audience.
JESSICA ALBA
Mr. Beanblossom.
WILLY BEANBLOSSOM, slightly balding, middle-aged, sits rather calmly with a silly, oaf-like grin on his face. He wears shorts and a Spike The Wonderdog T-shirt. The children around him wear clothing similar to the other kids in the theater. They hoot and holler on his behalf. The audience applauds his nomination.
JESSICA ALBA (cont.)
And (BEAT) MR. AVAGON!
The Kodak Theater erupts into an Earth-shattering, chandelier rattling standing ovation. Silly-String, streamers, red and gold ribbons, balloons and confetti, shower down upon the crowd. Walter stands and takes a bow. He blows kisses to all, near and far. Jessica Alba cries happy tears. She wipes one gently from her cheek.
INT. KODAK THEATER - CONTINUOUS
The noise dies down, audience take their seats. Walter sits down and looks toward the stage with a huge smile. He gives his tux a confident tug. A stray, celebratory gold balloon floats by.
JESSICA ALBA (cont.)
And the TOTY goes to…
Jessica Alba winks at Walter. He blows her a kiss. She opens the envelope with a smile. Walter’s exited anticipation reveals itself in his wide eyes.
To Walter’s left, a young GIRL in denim shorts and a yellow shirt leans toward him.
GIRL
Mr. Avagon?
SHOCK CUT TO:
INT. SCHOOL AUDITORIUM - DAY
Walter, in a dark blue suit and tie, jumps out of his seat with his hands held high in the air.
WALTER
(shouting)
YEEEESSSS!!!
Hundreds of chairs SQUEAK as students and teachers turn to address the outburst that has interrupted the school assembly. The startled girl in denim shorts and yellow shirt stares at Walter oddly and leans as far away from him as possible.
The other “nominees” and their students, dressed and seated as they were in Walter’s fantasy, stare at Walter in utter confusion. Scattered giggles. Walter’s eyes dart left and right. Obviously embarrassed, he lowers his arms and smiles nervously as he sits down.
Jessica Alba is gone. In her place is a frumpy looking WOMAN with long, unkempt hair and coke bottle glasses. She wears light-gray sweats and holds a folded piece of paper. The stage décor resembles the Kodak Theater, but pales in grandeur. She clears her throat.
WOMAN
Yes, we’re all excited aren’t we?
Her pathetic laugh resembles a machine gun.
WOMAN (cont.)
Anyway, as I was about to announce, the winner of this year’s TOTY Award is…
She fumbles with the paper. It fights to be unfolded. She prevails.
WOMAN (cont.)
MR. BEANBLOSSOM!!!
Every seat empties in an uproar of cheers. Willy sits with the same silly, oaf-like smile on his face as he did in the Kodak Theater. His students erupt at the announcement of his name. They hug, pat, and otherwise mob him. Willy’s goofy demeanor never changes.
Walter is the only person in the auditorium who sits. He stares angrily and painfully into empty space, as his moment of glory eludes him.
COLLAGE:
-SUPER: “The Following Year”. Same auditorium. Same ceremony. Willy, in shorts and a Ren and Stimpy t-shirt, wins the TOTY again. Walter, in a brown suit and tie, squirms angrily in his chair when Willy’s name is announced. The ovation is deafening.
-SUPER: “And The Year After That”. Once again, this time in shorts and a Snoopy shirt, Willy wins the TOTY. The students erupt in an avalanche of cheers. Walter, in a gray suit, angrily yanks the silver tie from around his neck.
END COLLAGE
INT. SCHOOL HALLWAY - DAY
Walter, still in his gray suit, exits a classroom, closes the door angrily. He walks quickly, with purpose, briefcase and silver tie held in one hand. A man enters the far end of the hallway behind Walter. He sees Walter and begins to hustle toward him.
This is PRINCIPAL WARD, a man in his sixties with thick gray hair. He has the beard and moustache to match. His dark slacks and maroon polo shirt look quite comfortable.
PRINCIPAL WARD
Walter, wait up.
Walter stops dead in his tracks. He doesn’t turn. He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, stressfully. Principal Ward reaches Walter and greets him with a smile. Walter is bland, listless.
PRINCIPAL WARD
I’m glad I caught you before you left. I wanted to talk to you about a couple of things.
WALTER
Hmm.
PRINCIPAL WARD
(sigh)
Oh Walter, I’m sorry you didn’t win the TOTY. I know how much it means to you. All these years and you’re still trying to get your hands on the brass.
WALTER
(stale)
Thanks for reminding me.
PRINCIPAL WARD
You know, if it were totally up to me I’d give it to you right now. You deserve it.
Principal Ward becomes excited.
PRINCIPAL WARD (cont.)
But anyway, I wanted to talk to you about something else that just might cheer you up. I have good news.
WALTER
Good news?
PRINCIPAL WARD
The district is setting us up with the RAD program next year!
WALTER
Rad program?
PRINCIPAL WARD
The Rapid Aptitude Development program. It’s for really bright kids who are WAY ahead of the normal curriculum. These kids will probably be taking college courses in high school!
WALTER
And you’re telling me this because…
PRINCIPAL WARD
We have a small group of eight remarkable students committed to the program for next year. And “next year” is only three months away. I don’t want to hash this out over the summer. I want everything to be in place before the last day of school.
WALTER
In place?
PRINCIPAL WARD
Yes! I need to move a teacher into the RAD program!
Walter’s bland, stiff expression softens. He even cracks a small smile.
WALTER
Really!
PRINCIPAL WARD
This is the last week of school, and I really don’t want to spend the summer calling teachers, leaving messages, trying to set the staff, so on and so forth.
WALTER
Of course not!
PRINCIPAL WARD
Of course not!
Principal Ward begins to pace back and forth.
PRINCIPAL WARD (cont.)
I need a good teacher. A strong teacher. A teacher who knows the inner workings of the child’s mind like no one else.
Walter smiles and nods bashfully.
PRINCIPAL WARD (cont.)
I need somebody who can give these kids the wings to soar, yet keep them grounded and down to Earth at the same time. A teacher with the skills to tap into their potential every day and build a strong foundation for their futures.
Walter’s bashfulness intensifies. He giggles. Principal Ward stops pacing and addresses Walter with a smile.
PRINCIPAL WARD (cont.)
I need a man with a plan! Know what I mean?
Walter sighs with a huge smile. He nods.
WALTER
Yeah.
PRINCIPAL WARD
I knew you would. That’s why I’m asking you to take over Mr. Beanblossom’s sixth grade class next year. What do you say?
Walter stares intently at the man before him. The smile never leaves his face.
WALTER
What?
PRINCIPAL WARD
Willy has accepted to take the reigns over the RAD class, so I have a vacancy in sixth grade. It’s all yours! That is, if you want it.
Walter struggles to hold his smile.
WALTER
What?
Principal Ward chuckles and slaps Walter on the arm.
PRINCIPAL WARD
You crack me up Walter. I know a “yes” when I hear one. I can’t tell you how much this helps me out. Sixth grade will be in good hands next year.
One more slap to Walter’s shoulder sends Principal Ward away. Several moments pass. The smile on Walter’s face turns to an expression of excruciatingly painful anger. He wants to scream.
He moves back and forth across the hall very quickly. He turns the knobs of one locked door after another. Walter finds the unlocked door he’s been looking for. His face is red with rage.
INT. CLASSROOM - SAME
Inside the classroom, Walter spots a cardboard box labeled “lost and found”. He runs to the box and pulls out an article of clothing. He buries his face deep into the pink sweatshirt. He jerks violently up, down, and side to side. He screams as loud as he can.
END SCENE
INT. KODAK THEATER - LOS ANGELES - NIGHT
A buzz, not unlike the Academy Awards, electrifies the theater. Men and women dressed in elegant gowns and tuxedos fill the seats. Flash bulbs flicker from the balcony of this magical setting. Beautiful red carpet, somber lighting, music from an orchestra.
A glorious stage. Huge waves of scarlet red satin curtains trimmed in gold serve as the gorgeous backdrop to this magical altar of recognition. Two golden apples as big as cars flank the stage. Curtains part at the center of the stage to reveal an awesome, spiral staircase.
Actress JESSICA ALBA descends the staircase to applause, envelope in hand. Her silver gown, adorned with delicate sequins, glimmers like diamonds. Her long flowing hair and gorgeous smile own the moment. She sleeks across the stage seductively, yet professionally, with class.
INT. KODAK THEATER - CONTINUOUS
WALTER AVAGON, mid-40’s, slightly graying hair, sits in the audience. His tuxedo and bowtie are immaculate. He smiles and rubs his palms together.
WALTER
(to self)
This is it.
The applause fades. Jessica Alba steps up to a microphone that rises up through the stage on a long, slender pole. The orchestra falls silent and all is quiet throughout.
JESSICA ALBA
Teachers. They guide us. They protect us. They inspire us. They become our compass when we lose our way, our disciplinarians when we lose our focus, and our cheerleaders when we get discouraged
and lose confidence in our abilities.
Walter palms his chest with a sigh and a smile
JESSICA ALBA (cont.)
(O.S.)
They defy the possible when they stretch our imaginations, and laugh at the impossible as they strive to make our dreams come true.
WALTER
(to self)
Yes I do.
JESSICA ALBA
Most important of all, they become our heroes when we enter the real world and realize that nothing could be possible without them. (BEAT) The nominations for “Teacher Of The Year” are…
Walter closes his eyes with a smile and takes a deep breath.
WALTER
(to self)
Here we go.
JESSICA ALBA
Mrs. Steinakert.
A young woman in the audience sits with a group of children. All are dressed in casual clothing…a stark contrast to the tuxedos and gowns around them. The kids cheer at the announcement of her name. Walter smiles politely and applauds with the rest of the theater’s attendants.
JESSICA ALBA (cont.)
Mrs. Flint.
MRS. FLINT, a large black woman with a beautiful smile and blonde perm, raises her fists into the air. She and her close entourage of young children wear everyday clothing. She pumps her fists up and down.
MRS. FLINT
WOOF, WOOF, WOOF!
The children around her mimic her actions. They end their fun antics with laughter and applause to match the audience.
JESSICA ALBA
Mr. Beanblossom.
WILLY BEANBLOSSOM, slightly balding, middle-aged, sits rather calmly with a silly, oaf-like grin on his face. He wears shorts and a Spike The Wonderdog T-shirt. The children around him wear clothing similar to the other kids in the theater. They hoot and holler on his behalf. The audience applauds his nomination.
JESSICA ALBA (cont.)
And (BEAT) MR. AVAGON!
The Kodak Theater erupts into an Earth-shattering, chandelier rattling standing ovation. Silly-String, streamers, red and gold ribbons, balloons and confetti, shower down upon the crowd. Walter stands and takes a bow. He blows kisses to all, near and far. Jessica Alba cries happy tears. She wipes one gently from her cheek.
INT. KODAK THEATER - CONTINUOUS
The noise dies down, audience take their seats. Walter sits down and looks toward the stage with a huge smile. He gives his tux a confident tug. A stray, celebratory gold balloon floats by.
JESSICA ALBA (cont.)
And the TOTY goes to…
Jessica Alba winks at Walter. He blows her a kiss. She opens the envelope with a smile. Walter’s exited anticipation reveals itself in his wide eyes.
To Walter’s left, a young GIRL in denim shorts and a yellow shirt leans toward him.
GIRL
Mr. Avagon?
SHOCK CUT TO:
INT. SCHOOL AUDITORIUM - DAY
Walter, in a dark blue suit and tie, jumps out of his seat with his hands held high in the air.
WALTER
(shouting)
YEEEESSSS!!!
Hundreds of chairs SQUEAK as students and teachers turn to address the outburst that has interrupted the school assembly. The startled girl in denim shorts and yellow shirt stares at Walter oddly and leans as far away from him as possible.
The other “nominees” and their students, dressed and seated as they were in Walter’s fantasy, stare at Walter in utter confusion. Scattered giggles. Walter’s eyes dart left and right. Obviously embarrassed, he lowers his arms and smiles nervously as he sits down.
Jessica Alba is gone. In her place is a frumpy looking WOMAN with long, unkempt hair and coke bottle glasses. She wears light-gray sweats and holds a folded piece of paper. The stage décor resembles the Kodak Theater, but pales in grandeur. She clears her throat.
WOMAN
Yes, we’re all excited aren’t we?
Her pathetic laugh resembles a machine gun.
WOMAN (cont.)
Anyway, as I was about to announce, the winner of this year’s TOTY Award is…
She fumbles with the paper. It fights to be unfolded. She prevails.
WOMAN (cont.)
MR. BEANBLOSSOM!!!
Every seat empties in an uproar of cheers. Willy sits with the same silly, oaf-like smile on his face as he did in the Kodak Theater. His students erupt at the announcement of his name. They hug, pat, and otherwise mob him. Willy’s goofy demeanor never changes.
Walter is the only person in the auditorium who sits. He stares angrily and painfully into empty space, as his moment of glory eludes him.
COLLAGE:
-SUPER: “The Following Year”. Same auditorium. Same ceremony. Willy, in shorts and a Ren and Stimpy t-shirt, wins the TOTY again. Walter, in a brown suit and tie, squirms angrily in his chair when Willy’s name is announced. The ovation is deafening.
-SUPER: “And The Year After That”. Once again, this time in shorts and a Snoopy shirt, Willy wins the TOTY. The students erupt in an avalanche of cheers. Walter, in a gray suit, angrily yanks the silver tie from around his neck.
END COLLAGE
INT. SCHOOL HALLWAY - DAY
Walter, still in his gray suit, exits a classroom, closes the door angrily. He walks quickly, with purpose, briefcase and silver tie held in one hand. A man enters the far end of the hallway behind Walter. He sees Walter and begins to hustle toward him.
This is PRINCIPAL WARD, a man in his sixties with thick gray hair. He has the beard and moustache to match. His dark slacks and maroon polo shirt look quite comfortable.
PRINCIPAL WARD
Walter, wait up.
Walter stops dead in his tracks. He doesn’t turn. He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, stressfully. Principal Ward reaches Walter and greets him with a smile. Walter is bland, listless.
PRINCIPAL WARD
I’m glad I caught you before you left. I wanted to talk to you about a couple of things.
WALTER
Hmm.
PRINCIPAL WARD
(sigh)
Oh Walter, I’m sorry you didn’t win the TOTY. I know how much it means to you. All these years and you’re still trying to get your hands on the brass.
WALTER
(stale)
Thanks for reminding me.
PRINCIPAL WARD
You know, if it were totally up to me I’d give it to you right now. You deserve it.
Principal Ward becomes excited.
PRINCIPAL WARD (cont.)
But anyway, I wanted to talk to you about something else that just might cheer you up. I have good news.
WALTER
Good news?
PRINCIPAL WARD
The district is setting us up with the RAD program next year!
WALTER
Rad program?
PRINCIPAL WARD
The Rapid Aptitude Development program. It’s for really bright kids who are WAY ahead of the normal curriculum. These kids will probably be taking college courses in high school!
WALTER
And you’re telling me this because…
PRINCIPAL WARD
We have a small group of eight remarkable students committed to the program for next year. And “next year” is only three months away. I don’t want to hash this out over the summer. I want everything to be in place before the last day of school.
WALTER
In place?
PRINCIPAL WARD
Yes! I need to move a teacher into the RAD program!
Walter’s bland, stiff expression softens. He even cracks a small smile.
WALTER
Really!
PRINCIPAL WARD
This is the last week of school, and I really don’t want to spend the summer calling teachers, leaving messages, trying to set the staff, so on and so forth.
WALTER
Of course not!
PRINCIPAL WARD
Of course not!
Principal Ward begins to pace back and forth.
PRINCIPAL WARD (cont.)
I need a good teacher. A strong teacher. A teacher who knows the inner workings of the child’s mind like no one else.
Walter smiles and nods bashfully.
PRINCIPAL WARD (cont.)
I need somebody who can give these kids the wings to soar, yet keep them grounded and down to Earth at the same time. A teacher with the skills to tap into their potential every day and build a strong foundation for their futures.
Walter’s bashfulness intensifies. He giggles. Principal Ward stops pacing and addresses Walter with a smile.
PRINCIPAL WARD (cont.)
I need a man with a plan! Know what I mean?
Walter sighs with a huge smile. He nods.
WALTER
Yeah.
PRINCIPAL WARD
I knew you would. That’s why I’m asking you to take over Mr. Beanblossom’s sixth grade class next year. What do you say?
Walter stares intently at the man before him. The smile never leaves his face.
WALTER
What?
PRINCIPAL WARD
Willy has accepted to take the reigns over the RAD class, so I have a vacancy in sixth grade. It’s all yours! That is, if you want it.
Walter struggles to hold his smile.
WALTER
What?
Principal Ward chuckles and slaps Walter on the arm.
PRINCIPAL WARD
You crack me up Walter. I know a “yes” when I hear one. I can’t tell you how much this helps me out. Sixth grade will be in good hands next year.
One more slap to Walter’s shoulder sends Principal Ward away. Several moments pass. The smile on Walter’s face turns to an expression of excruciatingly painful anger. He wants to scream.
He moves back and forth across the hall very quickly. He turns the knobs of one locked door after another. Walter finds the unlocked door he’s been looking for. His face is red with rage.
INT. CLASSROOM - SAME
Inside the classroom, Walter spots a cardboard box labeled “lost and found”. He runs to the box and pulls out an article of clothing. He buries his face deep into the pink sweatshirt. He jerks violently up, down, and side to side. He screams as loud as he can.
END SCENE
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
"Here Comes The Pitch" an original short film by Ron Hooker Jr. ©2009
FADE IN:
EXT. PORCH - DAY
Two very old men, pushing 100 years of age, sit on a porch. They are WALTER, a bald white man with glasses, and CHARLIE, a black man with white hair and beard. A small table with a radio and two glasses of lemonade sits between them. The radio plays a baseball game as the men stare off at nothing in particular, intently listening to the action. Exciting plays send them into animated pleasure or disdain as a NARRATOR speaks.
NARRATOR (V.O.)
Meet Charlie and Walter, a couple of old-timers...and I mean OLD-timers. They've been best friends since they met at the age of 5 back in 1916. All their lives, they've shared a passion for baseball. Between the two of them, they've collected more autographs and memorabilia from the major leagues, the negro leagues, the minor leagues, and pretty much any other league there is, than just about the rest of the world combined. They've been to every ballpark, several World Series games, seen every famous baseball player over the past century take the field, and for the last 35 years...their golden years of retirement...they've religiously spent their time sitting right here, listening to as many games as they possibly can.
RADIO ANNOUNCER (V.O.)
Here's the 1-1 pitch to Mathis…right down the middle for a strike.
WALTER
(angrily)
Aw, come on you bum! Swing the pine!
CHARLIE
Ain't no surprise why his average is only .198 this year. All he do is watch d’ball go by.
WALTER
They need to send him back down. Send him back down, I say.
CHARLIE
Sho’ thing.
WALTER
He’s barely good enough to be the bat-boy.
CHARLIE
Know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout!
NARRATOR (V.O.)
Aw yes. Charlie and Walter know so much about baseball, you'd think they invented the game themselves. They have the solution to just about everything, and anybody who knows anything about baseball would be crazy not to listen to them. At least, that's what they'd tell you.
RADIO ANNOUNCER (V.O.)
Here’s the 1-2 pitch to Mathis…It’s BELTED HIGH AND DEEP.
Charlie and Walter react with excitement as the play is announced.
RADIO ANNOUNCER (cont, V.O.)
DAVIS AND DENORFIA RACE BACK TO THE WALL…THEY LOOK UP…IT’S GONE! MATHIS HAS HIT IT OUT!
Charlie and Walter join the radio’s audience in cheers and applause.
WALTER
I just KNEW he’d come through! What have I been saying about that boy!
CHARLIE
He be a natural.
WALTER
He's a shoe-in to make the all-star team!
CHARLIE
Know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout!
Charlie and Walter continue to cheer and applaud with excitement and laughter.
NARRATOR (V.O.)
That’s right. Charlie and Walter are verifiable encyclopedias when it comes to baseball, and nobody can tell them otherwise. They know everything there is to know about the game. Absolutely everything.
CUT TO BLACK
NARRATOR (cont., V.O.)
Except for one thing.
EXT. PORCH – DAY
It’s a new day. Charlie and Walter sit on the porch as they did before. An announcer calls a game over the radio that sits on the table between them.
RADIO ANNOUNCER (V.O.)
Here’s the 2-1 pitch to Varitek…high and outside, so the count goes to 3-1. Rory, getting back to what you were talking about a moment ago in regards to the Commissioner's…
Walter reaches over to the radio and turns down the volume. Charlie gives Walter a confusing look.
CHARLIE
What da hell you turn dat down for, man? I was listenin’.
WALTER
I want to ask you a question.
CHARLIE
What?
WALTER
Do you think there’s baseball in Heaven, Charlie?
CHARLIE
Whatchu talkin’ ‘bout?
WALTER
What do you think I’m talking about? Do you think there’s baseball in Heaven?
CHARLIE
We both gon be in Heaven 'fore we know who win dis game if you don’t turn it back up right now.
WALTER
Just answer the question, dag nabbit. Do you think there’s baseball in Heaven or not?
CHARLIE
How d’hell am I s'pposed to know? I ain't never been there befo'.
WALTER
I think there’s baseball in Heaven. There has to be.
CHARLIE
Howz you figgya?
WALTER
Nothing is as great as the game of baseball. It’s God’s greatest creation.
CHARLIE
Well I definitely ‘gree with you there. Now turn up the damn radio ‘fore we miss any mo’ of da game.
WALTER
You know what Charlie? You and I are working on borrowed time. We won’t be around much longer. One of us is fixin’ to kick the bucket sometime soon.
CHARLIE
(exasperated)
And I hope we can finish dis game ‘fore that happens.
WALTER
Here’s what I was thinking. Whichever one of us dies first will come back down to Earth and tell the other if there’s baseball in Heaven. What do you say?
Charlie gives in to Walter’s requests to finish the conversation. He’s even intrigued about Walter’s latest idea.
CHARLIE
You know what? Dat’s a great idea. Whoever go first come back to share da news.
WALTER
Agreed.
CHARLIE
Now will you please turn da game back on?
Walter turns the volume back up on the radio.
RADIO ANNOUNCER (V.O.)
One hit, no runs, no errors, and a man left on base. We go to the top of the 5th inning when we return. No score between the Angels and Red Sox. You're listening...
FADE TO BLACK
SUPER: 3 MONTHS LATER
EXT. PORCH – DAY
Walter sits by himself and listens to a baseball game. A glass of lemonade sits on the table beside the radio.
NARRATOR
As it turned out, Charlie passed away just two weeks after their discussion about baseball in heaven. Walter mourned the loss of this friend for a couple of months, spending most of his time reflecting on the past. But it wouldn’t be long before Walter was right back out there on that porch, sipping his lemonade and listening to a ballgame. He knew that’s exactly how Charlie would have wanted it to be.
Walter stares blankly, despite the exciting play being announced over the radio. His demeanor begins to change however, as a strange, ghostly premonition presents itself over the lawn in front of the porch. Walter watches it carefully.
The ghostly premonition gets larger and brighter. Walter’s curiosity grows.
CHARLIE (V.O.)
(slowly, ghostly)
Walterrrrrrrrr. Walterrrrrrrrr.
Walter sits up excitedly.
WALTER
Son of a one-eyed caterwauler! Charlie! Is that you?
The ghostly premonition turns into Charlie, who smiles ear to ear. He’s bright, dressed in white, and looks much younger than before.
CHARLIE
Yes my friend. It's me.
WALTER
Charlie, I can't believe my eyes! It really IS you! What are you doing here?
CHARLIE
Well Walter, I come back to answer yo’ question ‘bout baseball in Heaven, just like we ‘greed.
Walter jumps to his feet in an instant. He fidgets nervously, afraid to ask.
WALTER
And? Is there baseball in Heaven Charlie? Oh Betsey, tell me now before I burst!
CHARLIE
Walter, I got good news, and I got betta' news. Da good news is there’s baseball in Heaven, my friend. There is baseball in Heaven.
Walter laughs out loud. He begins to dance as if he were a teenager again. He claps his hands and slaps his knees the whole while. Charlie smiles at his friend’s elation.
WALTER
I knew it Charlie! I just knew it! I just knew there was baseball in Heaven!
CHARLIE
It gets even betta' my friend. It get's even betta'.
WALTER
It gets better? How could anything be better than baseball in Heaven?
CHARLIE
(excited)
Well, you da startin’ pitcha' tomorrow night!
Walter’s elation drops cold. He stares at his dead friend with deep concern.
WALTER
Say again?
CUT TO BLACK
EXT. PORCH - DAY
Two very old men, pushing 100 years of age, sit on a porch. They are WALTER, a bald white man with glasses, and CHARLIE, a black man with white hair and beard. A small table with a radio and two glasses of lemonade sits between them. The radio plays a baseball game as the men stare off at nothing in particular, intently listening to the action. Exciting plays send them into animated pleasure or disdain as a NARRATOR speaks.
NARRATOR (V.O.)
Meet Charlie and Walter, a couple of old-timers...and I mean OLD-timers. They've been best friends since they met at the age of 5 back in 1916. All their lives, they've shared a passion for baseball. Between the two of them, they've collected more autographs and memorabilia from the major leagues, the negro leagues, the minor leagues, and pretty much any other league there is, than just about the rest of the world combined. They've been to every ballpark, several World Series games, seen every famous baseball player over the past century take the field, and for the last 35 years...their golden years of retirement...they've religiously spent their time sitting right here, listening to as many games as they possibly can.
RADIO ANNOUNCER (V.O.)
Here's the 1-1 pitch to Mathis…right down the middle for a strike.
WALTER
(angrily)
Aw, come on you bum! Swing the pine!
CHARLIE
Ain't no surprise why his average is only .198 this year. All he do is watch d’ball go by.
WALTER
They need to send him back down. Send him back down, I say.
CHARLIE
Sho’ thing.
WALTER
He’s barely good enough to be the bat-boy.
CHARLIE
Know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout!
NARRATOR (V.O.)
Aw yes. Charlie and Walter know so much about baseball, you'd think they invented the game themselves. They have the solution to just about everything, and anybody who knows anything about baseball would be crazy not to listen to them. At least, that's what they'd tell you.
RADIO ANNOUNCER (V.O.)
Here’s the 1-2 pitch to Mathis…It’s BELTED HIGH AND DEEP.
Charlie and Walter react with excitement as the play is announced.
RADIO ANNOUNCER (cont, V.O.)
DAVIS AND DENORFIA RACE BACK TO THE WALL…THEY LOOK UP…IT’S GONE! MATHIS HAS HIT IT OUT!
Charlie and Walter join the radio’s audience in cheers and applause.
WALTER
I just KNEW he’d come through! What have I been saying about that boy!
CHARLIE
He be a natural.
WALTER
He's a shoe-in to make the all-star team!
CHARLIE
Know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout!
Charlie and Walter continue to cheer and applaud with excitement and laughter.
NARRATOR (V.O.)
That’s right. Charlie and Walter are verifiable encyclopedias when it comes to baseball, and nobody can tell them otherwise. They know everything there is to know about the game. Absolutely everything.
CUT TO BLACK
NARRATOR (cont., V.O.)
Except for one thing.
EXT. PORCH – DAY
It’s a new day. Charlie and Walter sit on the porch as they did before. An announcer calls a game over the radio that sits on the table between them.
RADIO ANNOUNCER (V.O.)
Here’s the 2-1 pitch to Varitek…high and outside, so the count goes to 3-1. Rory, getting back to what you were talking about a moment ago in regards to the Commissioner's…
Walter reaches over to the radio and turns down the volume. Charlie gives Walter a confusing look.
CHARLIE
What da hell you turn dat down for, man? I was listenin’.
WALTER
I want to ask you a question.
CHARLIE
What?
WALTER
Do you think there’s baseball in Heaven, Charlie?
CHARLIE
Whatchu talkin’ ‘bout?
WALTER
What do you think I’m talking about? Do you think there’s baseball in Heaven?
CHARLIE
We both gon be in Heaven 'fore we know who win dis game if you don’t turn it back up right now.
WALTER
Just answer the question, dag nabbit. Do you think there’s baseball in Heaven or not?
CHARLIE
How d’hell am I s'pposed to know? I ain't never been there befo'.
WALTER
I think there’s baseball in Heaven. There has to be.
CHARLIE
Howz you figgya?
WALTER
Nothing is as great as the game of baseball. It’s God’s greatest creation.
CHARLIE
Well I definitely ‘gree with you there. Now turn up the damn radio ‘fore we miss any mo’ of da game.
WALTER
You know what Charlie? You and I are working on borrowed time. We won’t be around much longer. One of us is fixin’ to kick the bucket sometime soon.
CHARLIE
(exasperated)
And I hope we can finish dis game ‘fore that happens.
WALTER
Here’s what I was thinking. Whichever one of us dies first will come back down to Earth and tell the other if there’s baseball in Heaven. What do you say?
Charlie gives in to Walter’s requests to finish the conversation. He’s even intrigued about Walter’s latest idea.
CHARLIE
You know what? Dat’s a great idea. Whoever go first come back to share da news.
WALTER
Agreed.
CHARLIE
Now will you please turn da game back on?
Walter turns the volume back up on the radio.
RADIO ANNOUNCER (V.O.)
One hit, no runs, no errors, and a man left on base. We go to the top of the 5th inning when we return. No score between the Angels and Red Sox. You're listening...
FADE TO BLACK
SUPER: 3 MONTHS LATER
EXT. PORCH – DAY
Walter sits by himself and listens to a baseball game. A glass of lemonade sits on the table beside the radio.
NARRATOR
As it turned out, Charlie passed away just two weeks after their discussion about baseball in heaven. Walter mourned the loss of this friend for a couple of months, spending most of his time reflecting on the past. But it wouldn’t be long before Walter was right back out there on that porch, sipping his lemonade and listening to a ballgame. He knew that’s exactly how Charlie would have wanted it to be.
Walter stares blankly, despite the exciting play being announced over the radio. His demeanor begins to change however, as a strange, ghostly premonition presents itself over the lawn in front of the porch. Walter watches it carefully.
The ghostly premonition gets larger and brighter. Walter’s curiosity grows.
CHARLIE (V.O.)
(slowly, ghostly)
Walterrrrrrrrr. Walterrrrrrrrr.
Walter sits up excitedly.
WALTER
Son of a one-eyed caterwauler! Charlie! Is that you?
The ghostly premonition turns into Charlie, who smiles ear to ear. He’s bright, dressed in white, and looks much younger than before.
CHARLIE
Yes my friend. It's me.
WALTER
Charlie, I can't believe my eyes! It really IS you! What are you doing here?
CHARLIE
Well Walter, I come back to answer yo’ question ‘bout baseball in Heaven, just like we ‘greed.
Walter jumps to his feet in an instant. He fidgets nervously, afraid to ask.
WALTER
And? Is there baseball in Heaven Charlie? Oh Betsey, tell me now before I burst!
CHARLIE
Walter, I got good news, and I got betta' news. Da good news is there’s baseball in Heaven, my friend. There is baseball in Heaven.
Walter laughs out loud. He begins to dance as if he were a teenager again. He claps his hands and slaps his knees the whole while. Charlie smiles at his friend’s elation.
WALTER
I knew it Charlie! I just knew it! I just knew there was baseball in Heaven!
CHARLIE
It gets even betta' my friend. It get's even betta'.
WALTER
It gets better? How could anything be better than baseball in Heaven?
CHARLIE
(excited)
Well, you da startin’ pitcha' tomorrow night!
Walter’s elation drops cold. He stares at his dead friend with deep concern.
WALTER
Say again?
CUT TO BLACK
Monday, February 23, 2009
"Colorblind" an original short film by Ron Hooker Jr. ©2009
FADE IN:
EXT. MARKETPLACE - DAY
The town square is abuzz with excitement. It feels like a party under the sun as merchants sell their goods to obliging customers and children frolic in the street.
All of these people have bright, colorful skin. Some people are yellow, others orange. Red, blue, green, purple, pink, and every other bright color imaginable is represented by the skin color of the happy people in this rainbow of festivities.
Balloons, streamers, banners, and decorations of similar colors abound. Music plays as a group of yellow, green, and blue performers dance on a stage in front of a group of applauding, multicolored children and adults. Booths for playing games are surrounded by colorful people.
A BLUE MAN selling apples catches the attention of a Yellow woman as she passes by. He holds up two large red apples.
BLUE MAN
Apples. Get your apples. (to lady) Try one of my apples miss. You won't be disappointed.
The Yellow woman takes a bite and smiles.
At a gaming booth, a Blue man throws a ball at a stack of bottles and knocks them down. His Red wife and Purple children cheer. A CRIMSON WOMAN in the booth hands him a large stuffed animal.
CRIMSON WOMAN
Congratulations sir.
Over a fiery grill, an ORANGE MAN flips burgers and hot dogs as PEOPLE of every color of the rainbow line up to place their orders. A Green lady beside the grill takes money as nearby people dress their food with condiments.
ORANGE MAN
Who wants a burger?
PEOPLE
“Over here.” “I’ll take one.” “I want a hotdog.”
The fun and festivities continue throughout the marketplace. Children laugh and sing. Customers, merchants and game players show off their colors as music plays and smoke from cooking stations billows into the sky.
EXT. MARKETPLACE – CONTINUOUS
A PINK WOMAN and a man of Sky Blue look into a jewelry case.
PINK WOMAN
(pointing)
That one’s beautiful.
She and the man beside her continue to gaze at the jewelry as the Lime-Green merchant smiles. The merchant slowly trains his eyes to something OFF SCREEN. His smile subsides slowly to an expression of grim concern. He’s not the only one who’s distracted.
COLLAGE:
-A Lavender merchant trains his angry eyes to a random point.
-A Yellow customer stops just before biting his hotdog to stare with surprise.
-A Red man on a stage stops talking into his microphone to observe something angrily.
-The colorful dancers stop dancing and fix their gazes over the heads of the audience. The audience slowly turns to see what they’re looking at.
-A Purple man steps out from a booth puffing his cigar with purpose.
END COLLAGE
The music stops playing. All eyes are fixed upon the same point OFF SCREEN. A concerned INDIGO WOMAN near a game booth grabs the hand of her GREEN CHILD and walks away with purpose.
INDIGO WOMAN
Let’s go.
GREEN CHILD
But mommy?
INDIGO WOMAN
I said we’re leaving.
The staring continues in stark silence. An ORANGE MAN standing in the crowd breaks the silence.
ORANGE MAN
The nerve of some people.
EXT. MARKETPLACE – CONTINUOUS
Standing in the middle of the street, hand in hand, are a WHITE MAN and BLACK WOMAN. They scan their surroundings slowly and deliberately. An uneasy ambience fills the air. Every eye in the marketplace is fixed upon the unwanted intruders.
BLACK WOMAN
I get the feeling we’re not welcome here.
WHITE MAN
So do I.
PAN OUT to reveal the lonely couple, as they stand motionless in the center of the silent marketplace being stared at by hundreds of colorful eyes. They are the only things black or white in the entire SHOT.
END
EXT. MARKETPLACE - DAY
The town square is abuzz with excitement. It feels like a party under the sun as merchants sell their goods to obliging customers and children frolic in the street.
All of these people have bright, colorful skin. Some people are yellow, others orange. Red, blue, green, purple, pink, and every other bright color imaginable is represented by the skin color of the happy people in this rainbow of festivities.
Balloons, streamers, banners, and decorations of similar colors abound. Music plays as a group of yellow, green, and blue performers dance on a stage in front of a group of applauding, multicolored children and adults. Booths for playing games are surrounded by colorful people.
A BLUE MAN selling apples catches the attention of a Yellow woman as she passes by. He holds up two large red apples.
BLUE MAN
Apples. Get your apples. (to lady) Try one of my apples miss. You won't be disappointed.
The Yellow woman takes a bite and smiles.
At a gaming booth, a Blue man throws a ball at a stack of bottles and knocks them down. His Red wife and Purple children cheer. A CRIMSON WOMAN in the booth hands him a large stuffed animal.
CRIMSON WOMAN
Congratulations sir.
Over a fiery grill, an ORANGE MAN flips burgers and hot dogs as PEOPLE of every color of the rainbow line up to place their orders. A Green lady beside the grill takes money as nearby people dress their food with condiments.
ORANGE MAN
Who wants a burger?
PEOPLE
“Over here.” “I’ll take one.” “I want a hotdog.”
The fun and festivities continue throughout the marketplace. Children laugh and sing. Customers, merchants and game players show off their colors as music plays and smoke from cooking stations billows into the sky.
EXT. MARKETPLACE – CONTINUOUS
A PINK WOMAN and a man of Sky Blue look into a jewelry case.
PINK WOMAN
(pointing)
That one’s beautiful.
She and the man beside her continue to gaze at the jewelry as the Lime-Green merchant smiles. The merchant slowly trains his eyes to something OFF SCREEN. His smile subsides slowly to an expression of grim concern. He’s not the only one who’s distracted.
COLLAGE:
-A Lavender merchant trains his angry eyes to a random point.
-A Yellow customer stops just before biting his hotdog to stare with surprise.
-A Red man on a stage stops talking into his microphone to observe something angrily.
-The colorful dancers stop dancing and fix their gazes over the heads of the audience. The audience slowly turns to see what they’re looking at.
-A Purple man steps out from a booth puffing his cigar with purpose.
END COLLAGE
The music stops playing. All eyes are fixed upon the same point OFF SCREEN. A concerned INDIGO WOMAN near a game booth grabs the hand of her GREEN CHILD and walks away with purpose.
INDIGO WOMAN
Let’s go.
GREEN CHILD
But mommy?
INDIGO WOMAN
I said we’re leaving.
The staring continues in stark silence. An ORANGE MAN standing in the crowd breaks the silence.
ORANGE MAN
The nerve of some people.
EXT. MARKETPLACE – CONTINUOUS
Standing in the middle of the street, hand in hand, are a WHITE MAN and BLACK WOMAN. They scan their surroundings slowly and deliberately. An uneasy ambience fills the air. Every eye in the marketplace is fixed upon the unwanted intruders.
BLACK WOMAN
I get the feeling we’re not welcome here.
WHITE MAN
So do I.
PAN OUT to reveal the lonely couple, as they stand motionless in the center of the silent marketplace being stared at by hundreds of colorful eyes. They are the only things black or white in the entire SHOT.
END
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