HINKLE IN HOLLYWOOD
12/28/10
theme: the net made me do it.
Genre: horror, noir, adventure, thriller, romance, family
a treatment
fade in...
EXT. NIGHT. LAX
United Air's plane lands, roaring over two drug dealers on "easy rider" motorcycles exchanging a sizable amount of white powder with a haggard guy in a dark limo.
Off the plane into the humid air steps DON HINKLE. He's an average American: tall, dark, full head of hair, broad-shouldered; a twinkle in his eyes is so pronounced it can be seen even through the dark sunglasses.
FEMALE FLIGHT ATTENDANT
Have a nice visit in LA, Mr. Hinkle. Hope all your dreams come true... whatever they are.
DON
...thanks, ma'am. You too. I mean, yours true. (flustered) Shucks, thanks! I'll just be glad to see the sights. I mean, I don't really expect to sell a script on my first visit.
FEMALE FLIGHT ATTENDANT
Well, this is Hollywood. You never can tell!
Behind, a large woman with a small poodle is trying to shush the dog's incessant yipping.
FEMALE FLIGHT ATTENDANT
Would you like me to have that dog put to sleep, Mrs. Gotbux?
LARGE WOMAN
No thank you. My husband the producer will attend to it as soon as he picks me up.
DON reaches out. The little dog gratefully LEAPS into his arms.
LARGE WOMAN
Sheba! Come back to Momma!
DON scratches the dog behind its ears. The dog purrs loudly.
They are descending the ramp.
LARGE WOMAN
Goodness. I've never seen Sheba behave this way!
DON at bottom of ramp, hands Sheba back.
DON
Just show her you love her. She'll be fine.
LARGE WOMAN
(to dog)
Is that true, Little Sheba? You know Momma loves you, don't you?
WOMAN AND DOG go off.
INT. TERMINAL BAGGAGE COUNTER (CONT)
Don watches bags rotate around.
He sees his battered duffle.
He starts to move through crowd to get it.
BUT a small blonde female dashes forward and grabs his duffle.
DON
Hey! Uh, miss!
BLONDE glances at his voice, turns aside, disappears in crowd.
Don rushes outside, sees Blonde get into taxi and speed off.
DON
Damn! That had my script in it!
DISSOLVE TO...
EXT. STREET.
Taxi stops in front of club.
Sign on front reads: "INT. WRITERS' HANGOUT. NIGHT".
Don pays cabbie and enters club.
INT. WRITERS' HANGOUT
Decor is mid-Forties Noir. Black-and-white with lots of shadows and highlights. Every face is seen in partial shadow. On walls are first pages of 80 years' worth of scripts.
In booths and at tables sit prominent writers. Some scribble on paper, most work at laptop computers, some just talk-- intensely, lackadaisacally, with or without brio, humor, anger, fear, disgust, etc.
Don moves through room, meeting various members. All are tall, casually-but-expensively dressed, well-haired and handsome and/or beautiful.
At one table in the back sit two men: one, MILIUS, is large, hulking; the other, QUENTIN, is skinny and pale. They are arm wrestling. Just to make the game interesting, two shiny blades stuck into the table threaten their bare arms: the loser will shed blood.
MILIUS
(straining, with effort)
Say it!
QUENTIN
(gasping)
Fuck you!
Milius forces harder and has Quentin's arm only centimeters from the sharp blade, then...
BLONDE slides into a spare seat between them, and drops Don's duffle onto the table, knocking the blades aside.
BLONDE
Here it is, you jerks.
Quentin and Milius both grab for the bag, unzip it, and pull out The Script.
Milius tugs it away and opens it.
CLOSEUP
shows the title page: "INHERIT THE SCREEN, an original screenplay by Don Hinkle"
MILIUS snorts, hands script to Quentin.
Quentin reads, slaps self on head.
QUENTIN
Shit! This is good shit! What are we gonna do?
MILIUS pulls dead-black automatic pistol from under his sweating armpit.
MILIUS
This town belongs to me. No fuckin outsider comes in and shows off his shit.
QUENTIN
Good fuckin' idea!
Quentin dislodges a sawed-off shotgun from beneath the table.
Both men turn and look across room at Don...
Don sips a cup of herbal tea, but some movement catches his eye.
He looks, sees the Blonde, then sees..
..his duffle, then sees...
...his script on the table, then sees...
...the guys and their guns.
DON slowly puts down his cup and turns to a lovely woman in black.
DON
Is there a back way outta here?
WOMAN points to rear of club.
SUDDENLY a commotion, strange sounds.
The Large Woman is sprawled across the table where Milius and Quentin sit. Her poodle strains at the leash, its teeth embedded in Milius' calf muscle.
LARGE WOMAN
Sheba! Stop that! Stop that right now! I love you!
Quentin threatens the dog with his shotgun, then points it at the Large Woman, then back to the dog. Indecision makes sweat pop out of his pale face.
MILIUS
(in agony)
Shoot! Shoot!
SUDDENLY, a distinguished-looking gentleman (AGENT) at the bar turns and shouts...
AGENT
Stop!
The noise stops.
AGENT waves the script.
AGENT
This is good! What am I bid?
PRODUCER
I'll take it, if you say it's good.
AGENT pulls out a contract, signals barkeep to open a bottle of Champagne, and he and PRODUCER huddle.
DON
separates poodle's teeth from Milius' calf.
Milius clasps Don's hand with both his paws.
MILIUS
Thank you! You came in here a nobody from the sticks...
QUENTIN
..and you're going out feet first!
His shotgun barrels are pushing Don's nose sideways.
SUDDENLY
Other writers rise and begin singing and dancing:
CHORUS
We got a dream,
A dream of the screen.
Fillum.
It's all about fillum.
We put our dreams on fillum.
It'ss on the screen.
IT's the MOVIES,
the MOVIES,
Movie dreamin on the LA side..
(etc.)
Quentin, Milius, the Blonde, the Large Woman, and Don join in and all sing as..
FADE OUT
THE END
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Gender Jedi, by Don Hinkle
WHEN a woman takes an animal into her bed in the fourth quarter of
the third moon of Mondor, I am assigned.
This is considered a normal assignment.
The New Republic Republic is governed by Senators who are allied
with the Church of the Force, Good Side. While the trade interests rule
the galaxy with unmitigated greed, now we knights of virtue must enforce
personal virtue in others.
It is an assignment I find distasteful. Nevertheless, because I am
a Jedi, I take ship to Mondor. My ship for this mission is an unarmed
personal issue Sitz--a 4-seater with Web controls built in.
My partner for this mission is HelPen Macnew. She is my third protege.
The woman met us at our landing site, just outside the village of
Hutsuoma. She is a member of the Ustoo? tribe, which translates (my
droid tells me) as “Are We not also people?” She bows, sweeping her
robes aside to show a nice pair of legs. I nod, with Jedi gravity.
“I am Hin Don Dilbar,” I say and gesture to my companion. “This is
my protege, HelPen.”
“Someday I too shall be a Jedi,” HelPen says. I frown. HelPen is
just learning the ways of the Force.
The woman breathes and colors emerge from her mouth, “I am tho
pleathed to welcome you. My monicker ith Lipo al Luvvlee.”
“We are informed that you sleep with an animal,” speaks out
HelPen.
I scowl and try to smooth it over. “My protege is sometimes too
forward. I realize that yours is a gracious culture.”
Lipo breathes again and the colors are darker. “I am aware of your
reathon for this vithit. Please--follow to my humble abode.”
The animal is hairy. Large and hairy. It moos at us as we enter
Lipo’s hut. It is taking its ease on a round mattress.
Lipo bows to the animal and breathes colors at it. “HelPen and Hin
Don are here,” Lipo says.
The animal moos again. It seems disinterested in our arrival.
Lipo turns to HelPen. “I have been tho alone for yearth. No member
of our tribe would couple with me.”
“Talk to Hin Don, he’s the Jedi Master,” HelPen says. “I’m just
along to observe.”
Lipo breaths again. “I athumed you would underthand becauth are
you not a female altho?”
HelPen draws near and whispers an aside to me, “When I am a Jedi
they will not treat me so.”
I stand straight. “Lipo, allow me to speak without embellishments.
The Republic Republic has new laws not generous to its citizens who
choose bedmates other than members of their own species.”
Lipo sighs. The colors of her breath are sad.
“But I am tho alone!”
I am led by the Force to glance to HelPen. I gesture her aside and
speak quietly. “You are, after all, of her gender. Perhaps you can
discuss this intimate issue more intimately.”
HelPen bows. “I shall attempt it, Master.”
I tell Lipo that we are in need of some items. I would shop for
them in the village.
Lipo breaths: “The village ith athleep, thir.”
“No shops are open?”
“You may make purchathes, thir, but be ware that everyone ith
athleep.”
Uh-huh, I think. Ah well. It’s a big universe. It takes all kinds.
The villagers bustle about through their marketplace. It is
extremely colorful with all of their talking. I move through rainbows of
sound. Soon caught up in the general enthusiasm, I find myself
bargaining for items that I do not need. A spare printer and fax
machine, a hyperspace modem that brews tea, a lovely lava lamp.
As I attempt to purchase an attractive undergarment for HelPen, I
realize that I have misplaced my other purchases. I look around the
shop. They are not there.
“Excuse me,” I interrupt the shopkeeper, who is demonstrating the
undergarment. “Did I enter here with some packages in my arms?”
Doubt colored the shopkeeper’s breath. “I...don’t..remember. Sorry.”
I hurry out and attempt to retrace my steps. The village has
changed its geography. The street seems strange to my eyes. I recognize
no landmarks. I am, it seems, lost! And now I cannot find the shop from
which I just exited!!
My cloak flapping, I hurry around the village-- much larger and
more complex than when I entered. In fact, I can no longer find my way
back to Lipo’s hut. Nor, indeed, do I know where I parked the Sitz.
I ask strangers on the street but they are curiously unhelpful,
pointing me in contrary directions or feigning ignorance. Faster and
faster I scurry. Ah! I enter a shop and there is my lava lamp. Someone
else has picked it up and is watching its slow melding.
“Excuse me, but that is mine,” I say. To emphasize the point, I
activate my lightsaber. It groans slightly, needing a recharge, but the
effect is instantaneous and I have the lava lamp.
Thus encouraged, I scurry to another shop. There is my printer,
still in its carrying bag.
Now I feel that I am late returning to Lipo and HelPen but, as I
hurry in search of the modem, I encounter HelPen.
I say. “You and Lipo have spoken and reached an agreement?”
HelPen bites her lip. “Lipo has agreed that the animal is hairy
and that she deserves better...”
“Good. Excellent! Now, if we can just find the--”
“I promised that you would couple with her,” HelPen says, backing
off a few steps.
My lightsaber groans and flashes, even tho I am encumbered with
purchases. “What!? Is this treachery?!”
HelPen activates her lightsaber and we assume the first posture of mutual respect.
Our sabers cross, sparks fly and catch fire on the awning of a nearby stall.
We silence our sabers and extinguish the fire.
After the commotion quiets, I realize that I have once again,
misplaced my purchases. This is frustrating. I begin to run in circles.
HelPen follows, “Master? Where is our Sitz?”
“Where is Lipo’s hut?” I demand.
HelPen seems puzzled. “Who is Lipo?” she asks.
I stop running. A brief moment of clarity penetrates the fog about
me. “We are caught in a dreamworld,” I whisper.
“How long have we been here?” HelPen inquires.
I shrug. “Let us move to the edge of the village.”
We find ourselves on a dusty path. In the distance I discern
Lipo’s lonely hut.
“I believe we have escaped the dreamworld, Master,” HelPen says.
“Yes, but my purchases--”
“Your what?”
“Never mind. Let us conclude our business with Lipo and return home.”
Lipo is at the door, sadly watching her hairy animal lope off to
some low hills in the distance. “It wath never really happy here with
me,” she sighs in dark colors. But she brightens. “Mathter!” she cries.
“Lipo, I am a Jedi Knight. I travel the galaxy to battle
corruption. There is no place I call home. I have no family, no human
entanglements.”
“But HelPen said...”
“HelPen speaks without authority. She is young in the Force.”
“But I am now without a companion! Alone! I will be captured by
thleep!”
We stride backward, facing her, as she weeps and moans, and step
into our Sitz. HelPen quickly activates the controls and lifts us off
the planet.
After a long silence, I conclude the adventure by telling HelPen:
“It is not always such an exciting life. Sometimes there is paperwork.”
the third moon of Mondor, I am assigned.
This is considered a normal assignment.
The New Republic Republic is governed by Senators who are allied
with the Church of the Force, Good Side. While the trade interests rule
the galaxy with unmitigated greed, now we knights of virtue must enforce
personal virtue in others.
It is an assignment I find distasteful. Nevertheless, because I am
a Jedi, I take ship to Mondor. My ship for this mission is an unarmed
personal issue Sitz--a 4-seater with Web controls built in.
My partner for this mission is HelPen Macnew. She is my third protege.
The woman met us at our landing site, just outside the village of
Hutsuoma. She is a member of the Ustoo? tribe, which translates (my
droid tells me) as “Are We not also people?” She bows, sweeping her
robes aside to show a nice pair of legs. I nod, with Jedi gravity.
“I am Hin Don Dilbar,” I say and gesture to my companion. “This is
my protege, HelPen.”
“Someday I too shall be a Jedi,” HelPen says. I frown. HelPen is
just learning the ways of the Force.
The woman breathes and colors emerge from her mouth, “I am tho
pleathed to welcome you. My monicker ith Lipo al Luvvlee.”
“We are informed that you sleep with an animal,” speaks out
HelPen.
I scowl and try to smooth it over. “My protege is sometimes too
forward. I realize that yours is a gracious culture.”
Lipo breathes again and the colors are darker. “I am aware of your
reathon for this vithit. Please--follow to my humble abode.”
The animal is hairy. Large and hairy. It moos at us as we enter
Lipo’s hut. It is taking its ease on a round mattress.
Lipo bows to the animal and breathes colors at it. “HelPen and Hin
Don are here,” Lipo says.
The animal moos again. It seems disinterested in our arrival.
Lipo turns to HelPen. “I have been tho alone for yearth. No member
of our tribe would couple with me.”
“Talk to Hin Don, he’s the Jedi Master,” HelPen says. “I’m just
along to observe.”
Lipo breaths again. “I athumed you would underthand becauth are
you not a female altho?”
HelPen draws near and whispers an aside to me, “When I am a Jedi
they will not treat me so.”
I stand straight. “Lipo, allow me to speak without embellishments.
The Republic Republic has new laws not generous to its citizens who
choose bedmates other than members of their own species.”
Lipo sighs. The colors of her breath are sad.
“But I am tho alone!”
I am led by the Force to glance to HelPen. I gesture her aside and
speak quietly. “You are, after all, of her gender. Perhaps you can
discuss this intimate issue more intimately.”
HelPen bows. “I shall attempt it, Master.”
I tell Lipo that we are in need of some items. I would shop for
them in the village.
Lipo breaths: “The village ith athleep, thir.”
“No shops are open?”
“You may make purchathes, thir, but be ware that everyone ith
athleep.”
Uh-huh, I think. Ah well. It’s a big universe. It takes all kinds.
The villagers bustle about through their marketplace. It is
extremely colorful with all of their talking. I move through rainbows of
sound. Soon caught up in the general enthusiasm, I find myself
bargaining for items that I do not need. A spare printer and fax
machine, a hyperspace modem that brews tea, a lovely lava lamp.
As I attempt to purchase an attractive undergarment for HelPen, I
realize that I have misplaced my other purchases. I look around the
shop. They are not there.
“Excuse me,” I interrupt the shopkeeper, who is demonstrating the
undergarment. “Did I enter here with some packages in my arms?”
Doubt colored the shopkeeper’s breath. “I...don’t..remember. Sorry.”
I hurry out and attempt to retrace my steps. The village has
changed its geography. The street seems strange to my eyes. I recognize
no landmarks. I am, it seems, lost! And now I cannot find the shop from
which I just exited!!
My cloak flapping, I hurry around the village-- much larger and
more complex than when I entered. In fact, I can no longer find my way
back to Lipo’s hut. Nor, indeed, do I know where I parked the Sitz.
I ask strangers on the street but they are curiously unhelpful,
pointing me in contrary directions or feigning ignorance. Faster and
faster I scurry. Ah! I enter a shop and there is my lava lamp. Someone
else has picked it up and is watching its slow melding.
“Excuse me, but that is mine,” I say. To emphasize the point, I
activate my lightsaber. It groans slightly, needing a recharge, but the
effect is instantaneous and I have the lava lamp.
Thus encouraged, I scurry to another shop. There is my printer,
still in its carrying bag.
Now I feel that I am late returning to Lipo and HelPen but, as I
hurry in search of the modem, I encounter HelPen.
I say. “You and Lipo have spoken and reached an agreement?”
HelPen bites her lip. “Lipo has agreed that the animal is hairy
and that she deserves better...”
“Good. Excellent! Now, if we can just find the--”
“I promised that you would couple with her,” HelPen says, backing
off a few steps.
My lightsaber groans and flashes, even tho I am encumbered with
purchases. “What!? Is this treachery?!”
HelPen activates her lightsaber and we assume the first posture of mutual respect.
Our sabers cross, sparks fly and catch fire on the awning of a nearby stall.
We silence our sabers and extinguish the fire.
After the commotion quiets, I realize that I have once again,
misplaced my purchases. This is frustrating. I begin to run in circles.
HelPen follows, “Master? Where is our Sitz?”
“Where is Lipo’s hut?” I demand.
HelPen seems puzzled. “Who is Lipo?” she asks.
I stop running. A brief moment of clarity penetrates the fog about
me. “We are caught in a dreamworld,” I whisper.
“How long have we been here?” HelPen inquires.
I shrug. “Let us move to the edge of the village.”
We find ourselves on a dusty path. In the distance I discern
Lipo’s lonely hut.
“I believe we have escaped the dreamworld, Master,” HelPen says.
“Yes, but my purchases--”
“Your what?”
“Never mind. Let us conclude our business with Lipo and return home.”
Lipo is at the door, sadly watching her hairy animal lope off to
some low hills in the distance. “It wath never really happy here with
me,” she sighs in dark colors. But she brightens. “Mathter!” she cries.
“Lipo, I am a Jedi Knight. I travel the galaxy to battle
corruption. There is no place I call home. I have no family, no human
entanglements.”
“But HelPen said...”
“HelPen speaks without authority. She is young in the Force.”
“But I am now without a companion! Alone! I will be captured by
thleep!”
We stride backward, facing her, as she weeps and moans, and step
into our Sitz. HelPen quickly activates the controls and lifts us off
the planet.
After a long silence, I conclude the adventure by telling HelPen:
“It is not always such an exciting life. Sometimes there is paperwork.”
Saturday, October 30, 2010
photography
I used to be a photographer--a real one, one who had three Nikons around his neck--all containing real film--and each with a different focal length lens on it. I shot a lot of film, and developed and printed it too. I have boxes full right now, stored in our attic where--this winter for sure!--I'll sort them out, scan the best and Photoshop them for eternity.
Back when I was beginning, in the Fifties and Sixties, my heroes were the Great Ones: guys named W. Eugene Smith, Bruce Davidson, Eisenstadt, etc.
These guys lived with 35mm cameras, and they shot Real Life without filters. I emulated them and discovered that I too was a good photojournalist.
But by that time, there seemed to be no demand for real photojournalism, that which could capture and depict real life.
My first boss in NYC, Bobbie Ashley, at This Week Magazine, for instance. She lectured me about being a photographer, because to her photographers were small guys named Marty who tried to get sneaky shots of celebrities--the guys who later became papparazzi. Bobbie was a sweetheart but she seemed to have no room in her life for my kind of photography. Neither did anyone else, as I discovered.
I made the baby-spy photo above in about 1964, soon after my oldest daughter, Deborah, was born in Brooklyn.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
NARROW escape!
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Jealousy
This must have occurred in the 10th or 11th grade high school. It came back to me today.
I had a small motorbike, an English James, that could barely hit 45 mph, and I loved it. Often would go out for rides just to enjoy the feeling.
And I was in Verian Chaney's drama group — which my mother had signed me up for because I was too shy to talk to girls. One day Ms. Chaney ordered spontaneous acting: we were divided into groups and given an assignment to act out. I was with Ed Turner and his then-girlfriend, and an older girl who was fulsomely built... stacked like an outhouse, as we almost said. She was a year older than me, but went along with the stunt with good humor.
Ed designed the skit: we were two couples in a car parked on a dirt road somewhere. I was in the "back seat" with, let's call her Patsy, she of the impressive build. Ed and his girl were in the "front seat". They pretended to be smooching. Patsy snuggled against me and put my arm around her shoulders.
Blushing, I stared at the ceiling of the auditorium and said, "Hey, there's the Big Dipper....and...and...the North Star," and grew increasingly embarrassed as Patsy snuggled more insistently and Ed and his girl made loud smooching noises.
When Ms. Chaney finally released us, I went outdoors to ride my 'cycle home and discovered it gone.
Patsy's boyfriend Charlie — also a year older and much larger — had taken it for a joyride.
My Dad drove me around until we found the 'cycle, abandoned in the middle of a suburban street, the motor smoking because I'd had it locked in first gear and he drove it til it froze up.
Dad insisted we go talk to Charlie's father. I resisted but he insisted. At the front door, the man said hello, didn't invite us in, and said we had no proof that his son was involved. We retreated.
It cost a few bucks to get the 'cycle repaired, and I made a point after that of not befriending girls who already had boyfriends.
I had a small motorbike, an English James, that could barely hit 45 mph, and I loved it. Often would go out for rides just to enjoy the feeling.
And I was in Verian Chaney's drama group — which my mother had signed me up for because I was too shy to talk to girls. One day Ms. Chaney ordered spontaneous acting: we were divided into groups and given an assignment to act out. I was with Ed Turner and his then-girlfriend, and an older girl who was fulsomely built... stacked like an outhouse, as we almost said. She was a year older than me, but went along with the stunt with good humor.
Ed designed the skit: we were two couples in a car parked on a dirt road somewhere. I was in the "back seat" with, let's call her Patsy, she of the impressive build. Ed and his girl were in the "front seat". They pretended to be smooching. Patsy snuggled against me and put my arm around her shoulders.
Blushing, I stared at the ceiling of the auditorium and said, "Hey, there's the Big Dipper....and...and...the North Star," and grew increasingly embarrassed as Patsy snuggled more insistently and Ed and his girl made loud smooching noises.
When Ms. Chaney finally released us, I went outdoors to ride my 'cycle home and discovered it gone.
Patsy's boyfriend Charlie — also a year older and much larger — had taken it for a joyride.
My Dad drove me around until we found the 'cycle, abandoned in the middle of a suburban street, the motor smoking because I'd had it locked in first gear and he drove it til it froze up.
Dad insisted we go talk to Charlie's father. I resisted but he insisted. At the front door, the man said hello, didn't invite us in, and said we had no proof that his son was involved. We retreated.
It cost a few bucks to get the 'cycle repaired, and I made a point after that of not befriending girls who already had boyfriends.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Work or Something Like It, part four
My first job out of undergrad college was in the public relations department of Gulf Coast Utilities, Co. Located in Beaumont, Texas. I moved there and got a $75/month apartment, and soon added an air conditioner, which got 24/7 use in that humid climate.
At first my job involved writing press releases that the local newspapers had to run because of the importance of the utilities co. to their existence. After about a year, the guy who was editing the company monthly magazine (i.e. "house organ") left to edit a weekly newspaper out West--that was nearly every journalist's dream in the Forties/Fifties, not mine, though. So I became editor. I had 32 pages to play with every month! Sheer bliss.
I taught myself photography and drawing, and did cartoons and photographs and wrote meaningful editorials and still what came out was mostly crap because it was a "house organ". I doubt if many employees actually read it. But I was having fun.
And I had a deep crush on a girl who worked in the same office, but I won't talk about that right now, because she was married.
Anyway, after a few years I got the mad idea that perhaps, because I was a photographer and a writer (I had sold a short story to a science fiction magazine and finished a novel and started another one), I should go to work in NYC for LOOk or LIFE magazine.
At first my job involved writing press releases that the local newspapers had to run because of the importance of the utilities co. to their existence. After about a year, the guy who was editing the company monthly magazine (i.e. "house organ") left to edit a weekly newspaper out West--that was nearly every journalist's dream in the Forties/Fifties, not mine, though. So I became editor. I had 32 pages to play with every month! Sheer bliss.
I taught myself photography and drawing, and did cartoons and photographs and wrote meaningful editorials and still what came out was mostly crap because it was a "house organ". I doubt if many employees actually read it. But I was having fun.
And I had a deep crush on a girl who worked in the same office, but I won't talk about that right now, because she was married.
Anyway, after a few years I got the mad idea that perhaps, because I was a photographer and a writer (I had sold a short story to a science fiction magazine and finished a novel and started another one), I should go to work in NYC for LOOk or LIFE magazine.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Work or Something Like It, part three
I'm working again, after years of carefree, free-lance life. And I'm actually working in journalism, having made that my degree pursuit, both in undergrad and post-grad work.
I'm copy editor at the Martha's Vineyard Times, a tabloid-sized weekly on Martha's Vineyard. It's the second weekly, the first being the venerable Gazette, which tried to follow in the tradition of Country Editor Henry Beetle Hough. A friend this last week characterized the Gazette as being for a different (higher) class of folks than the Times. The Times is delivered free to every post office box on the Vineyard, whereas the Gazette depends on subscriptions for its circulation.
It's interesting work and fun, although I'm drinking way too much coffee.
Last night, two friends-who-fish and their wives took me and my wife out on a picnic with fishing rods. Bill Moody loaned me a spinning rod 'n reel and a nice lure, and taught me how to cast my hopes out into the waves from South Beach. No bites from blues or bass, but it was fun nevertheless. Next step is probably to buy my own gear.
I'm copy editor at the Martha's Vineyard Times, a tabloid-sized weekly on Martha's Vineyard. It's the second weekly, the first being the venerable Gazette, which tried to follow in the tradition of Country Editor Henry Beetle Hough. A friend this last week characterized the Gazette as being for a different (higher) class of folks than the Times. The Times is delivered free to every post office box on the Vineyard, whereas the Gazette depends on subscriptions for its circulation.
It's interesting work and fun, although I'm drinking way too much coffee.
Last night, two friends-who-fish and their wives took me and my wife out on a picnic with fishing rods. Bill Moody loaned me a spinning rod 'n reel and a nice lure, and taught me how to cast my hopes out into the waves from South Beach. No bites from blues or bass, but it was fun nevertheless. Next step is probably to buy my own gear.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
FIrst Job in Oklahoma
(I almost cannot believe it's been MONTHS since I last entered here; wouldn't blame anyone for not dropping by if that's the best I can seem to do. Well, I'll TRY to do better, that's all!)
I was 11 or 12, riding a bicycle and in the summer, one of my uncles asked if I wanted a job in his little grocery store. Sure. I could earn $1 AN HOUR!
His grocery store was in a poorer section of town, older residents, not much activity. His store didn't have many active customers either, so he tried to thrive by taking orders on the phone and having me deliver. Sometimes, if he didn't have an item, I'd bike a few blocks to the bigger supermarket, buy it there and then he'd tack on an extra charge when I delivered it to the customer. If I helped myself to a soda pop from his box, he'd charge me for it (I don't/didn't blame him for that.)
One day he was cleaning behind the counter and using ammonia and offered me a sniff, which I took. Damn near took off the top of my head.
Anyway, there wasn't much business and he couldn't afford to keep me on. I think he sold out a while later.
Skip to many years later, a few years ago: he was dying of Parkinson's. In a hospital bed, and I went to visit; his wife and her twin sister were there too. He had been getting by with medicines, but now they had let him down. I didn't stay long, and when I got up to leave, he beckoned me over to his bedside, looked me in the eye and started to talk. I couldn't understand a word. Totally embarrassing, so I smiled and patted his head and said something, probably equally unintelligible, and left. Never saw him again, because he died a while later.
Mortality and disease suck. Nobody told me that would be what Life was about when I started, or I would (I think) have paid a lot more attention to EVERYTHING!
I was 11 or 12, riding a bicycle and in the summer, one of my uncles asked if I wanted a job in his little grocery store. Sure. I could earn $1 AN HOUR!
His grocery store was in a poorer section of town, older residents, not much activity. His store didn't have many active customers either, so he tried to thrive by taking orders on the phone and having me deliver. Sometimes, if he didn't have an item, I'd bike a few blocks to the bigger supermarket, buy it there and then he'd tack on an extra charge when I delivered it to the customer. If I helped myself to a soda pop from his box, he'd charge me for it (I don't/didn't blame him for that.)
One day he was cleaning behind the counter and using ammonia and offered me a sniff, which I took. Damn near took off the top of my head.
Anyway, there wasn't much business and he couldn't afford to keep me on. I think he sold out a while later.
Skip to many years later, a few years ago: he was dying of Parkinson's. In a hospital bed, and I went to visit; his wife and her twin sister were there too. He had been getting by with medicines, but now they had let him down. I didn't stay long, and when I got up to leave, he beckoned me over to his bedside, looked me in the eye and started to talk. I couldn't understand a word. Totally embarrassing, so I smiled and patted his head and said something, probably equally unintelligible, and left. Never saw him again, because he died a while later.
Mortality and disease suck. Nobody told me that would be what Life was about when I started, or I would (I think) have paid a lot more attention to EVERYTHING!
Thursday, April 29, 2010
The World as I see It
Everyone sees the world in her or his own way, from within her own particularity. So I make no apologies if my way of seeing the world differs in small or large ways from your insights--to use a well-worn phrase: it is what it is.
Weltanschauung, the Germanic phrase that defines it.
So if you have two witnesses for an event, you could easily get two different narratives about what happened. I can guarantee I would tell you a different story than what someone else would say.
For one thing, I'm contrary. When people try to suck me into a political discussion I can always easily assume the role of the opposition--if you speak Tea Party, I'll speak up for the liberal side of each issue. And vice versa. To me, both extremes are equally ridiculous in that both pretend that the other can't be a real person, cannot have a valid point of view. Is it possible that both sides can be equally right and wrong?
For the most part I use protective coloration. Like that chameleon, I can pretend to agree with you on most any issue. I just want to be quiet and agreeable because I've never won an argument because I'm not a true believer.
I do believe in a few things that few others do: that God exists and is all good and is love and will take care of me and those I love.
Weltanschauung, the Germanic phrase that defines it.
So if you have two witnesses for an event, you could easily get two different narratives about what happened. I can guarantee I would tell you a different story than what someone else would say.
For one thing, I'm contrary. When people try to suck me into a political discussion I can always easily assume the role of the opposition--if you speak Tea Party, I'll speak up for the liberal side of each issue. And vice versa. To me, both extremes are equally ridiculous in that both pretend that the other can't be a real person, cannot have a valid point of view. Is it possible that both sides can be equally right and wrong?
For the most part I use protective coloration. Like that chameleon, I can pretend to agree with you on most any issue. I just want to be quiet and agreeable because I've never won an argument because I'm not a true believer.
I do believe in a few things that few others do: that God exists and is all good and is love and will take care of me and those I love.
Friday, March 19, 2010
DIsney World!
My hope for years was to visit Disney WOrld. I read stories about the different venues.
When I really wanted to do was when Disney Animation was stationed there--if I went I could watch real animators do their thing. But now it's not there anymore.
But I still wanted to visit. And this Spring, while vacationing in Florida, it became possible for a 1-day visit. My dear wife Penny made my dream come true. (more later on this)
We drove to Orlando and entered the grounds--4 or 5 lanes of traffic going through gates where we paid $14. Then funneled into gigantic parking lots, we found our spot. Next we walked to admission gates where we stood in line for almost an hour, and finally paid $80 each (no discount for seniors). Then we took a ferry ride to the Magic Kingdom which was our destination for the day--I'd chosen it over the other offerings as having the most bang for the buck.
Finally we walked into the Kingdom. Noise and lots of kids--thousands of them. Dazzled, we walked along the historic reconstruction of an Early American small town. Then we saw the Castle and that focused our walk. We stopped a couple times along the way to see things and then were caught up in a Parade. Friends had told us not to miss the parades.
And it was fun and noisy. The song was something about Celebration--let's celebrate ourselves for all we are and do. A Feel Good song. And it was so upbeat, and the performers who sang and danced as if there were no tomorrow, really sold the idea. By the end, I had tears in my eyes from the sheer enjoyment of the event.
We went through two other parades, with different casts and characters but essentially the same message. In the last one were Mickey and Donald. I had worn a T-shirt with art of Donald on the front and this message: "Donald Duck has had the same fowl attitude since 1934", the year he was "born". I so wanted to dance with the Disney Donald and Penny finally got a photo of the two of us together, though all the action was so frenetic that it was tough.
Here we are:
When I really wanted to do was when Disney Animation was stationed there--if I went I could watch real animators do their thing. But now it's not there anymore.
But I still wanted to visit. And this Spring, while vacationing in Florida, it became possible for a 1-day visit. My dear wife Penny made my dream come true. (more later on this)
We drove to Orlando and entered the grounds--4 or 5 lanes of traffic going through gates where we paid $14. Then funneled into gigantic parking lots, we found our spot. Next we walked to admission gates where we stood in line for almost an hour, and finally paid $80 each (no discount for seniors). Then we took a ferry ride to the Magic Kingdom which was our destination for the day--I'd chosen it over the other offerings as having the most bang for the buck.
Finally we walked into the Kingdom. Noise and lots of kids--thousands of them. Dazzled, we walked along the historic reconstruction of an Early American small town. Then we saw the Castle and that focused our walk. We stopped a couple times along the way to see things and then were caught up in a Parade. Friends had told us not to miss the parades.
And it was fun and noisy. The song was something about Celebration--let's celebrate ourselves for all we are and do. A Feel Good song. And it was so upbeat, and the performers who sang and danced as if there were no tomorrow, really sold the idea. By the end, I had tears in my eyes from the sheer enjoyment of the event.
We went through two other parades, with different casts and characters but essentially the same message. In the last one were Mickey and Donald. I had worn a T-shirt with art of Donald on the front and this message: "Donald Duck has had the same fowl attitude since 1934", the year he was "born". I so wanted to dance with the Disney Donald and Penny finally got a photo of the two of us together, though all the action was so frenetic that it was tough.
Here we are:
Monday, March 8, 2010
Weather here
Penny, River (our dog) and I drove down to Nokomis, FL and arrived a week ago Tuesday, at a rental house provided for us by the same fellow who built our home on Martha's Vineyard.
Generally, the weather here is warmer than in Mass and NJ, but still gets cool enough that we are grateful for the forced air heating system in this very small cottage, as well as the gas fireplace.
The best thing is being 25 feet from a canal; our house has its own dock. Across the canal and on our side as well are small boats tied up. We can sit with our morning tea on the dock and watch fish swim by and cormorants and other water birds taking smaller fish for food. Plus, a pelican flies by every morning.
A few miles down the highway is a Dog Beach, provided by the town. We went there today and found many other dog owners and their pets having a grand time. We flung tennis balls for River and he enjoyed the entire scene. People along the edge of the water were seeking and finding shark's teeth. One woman showed us her catch; she had tiny black teeth from prehistoric sharks.
And we've found some friends from NJ who moved down here. Next week we're going to Disney World, a longtime hope for me. Penny feels she can enjoy it too.
Generally, the weather here is warmer than in Mass and NJ, but still gets cool enough that we are grateful for the forced air heating system in this very small cottage, as well as the gas fireplace.
The best thing is being 25 feet from a canal; our house has its own dock. Across the canal and on our side as well are small boats tied up. We can sit with our morning tea on the dock and watch fish swim by and cormorants and other water birds taking smaller fish for food. Plus, a pelican flies by every morning.
A few miles down the highway is a Dog Beach, provided by the town. We went there today and found many other dog owners and their pets having a grand time. We flung tennis balls for River and he enjoyed the entire scene. People along the edge of the water were seeking and finding shark's teeth. One woman showed us her catch; she had tiny black teeth from prehistoric sharks.
And we've found some friends from NJ who moved down here. Next week we're going to Disney World, a longtime hope for me. Penny feels she can enjoy it too.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Me, a Hero?
Many nights when I can't sleep, I run through a mental list of all my missteps, failures, stupid things I did. I know it's not healthy and so I hope to remember some good moments--and just the other day I did. The one time in my life when I acted as a hero and got a hero's reward.
It happened while I was at Oklahoma University, in a fraternity, Sigma Chi. One night a group of us gathered around the one TV set to watch the Dave Garroway Tonight show... and it focused on Mardi Gras, which was just getting started in New Orleans. Trumpeter Al Hirt celebrated the moment and four of us got inspired. We jumped into my '56 Chevy and headed South. It was an all night drive and we arrived at the Sigma Chi house in New Orleans, where we were assigned an empty room with mattresses on the floor. We slept until noon, then headed out to see the town.
By nightime we had already drunk a Hurricane or two and were enjoying the various jazz spots. Then, ahead, I saw this: two young women were hurrying along the street being followed and harassed by young males.
Without thinking, I quickly stepped up beside one of the women and said something like, "Hi, you waiting for me?" (Exact wording lost in the mists but the impression I hoped to create for benefit of the harassers was that I was her date.)
Gratefully she eyeballed me and grabbed my arm and together we walked. My girl teamed her friend up with another one of my frat bros and we spent the evening together, having a wonderful time. I wonder if I said anything the whole time I felt so fortunate to have such a pretty girl for a date. They were schoolteachers from somewhere, thus a few years older.
I had gained the gratitude of an "older woman" and she showed it later.
Ah, for the life of a hero. Pity that the lesson didn't stick enough to fix all my future opportunities for heroism.
It happened while I was at Oklahoma University, in a fraternity, Sigma Chi. One night a group of us gathered around the one TV set to watch the Dave Garroway Tonight show... and it focused on Mardi Gras, which was just getting started in New Orleans. Trumpeter Al Hirt celebrated the moment and four of us got inspired. We jumped into my '56 Chevy and headed South. It was an all night drive and we arrived at the Sigma Chi house in New Orleans, where we were assigned an empty room with mattresses on the floor. We slept until noon, then headed out to see the town.
By nightime we had already drunk a Hurricane or two and were enjoying the various jazz spots. Then, ahead, I saw this: two young women were hurrying along the street being followed and harassed by young males.
Without thinking, I quickly stepped up beside one of the women and said something like, "Hi, you waiting for me?" (Exact wording lost in the mists but the impression I hoped to create for benefit of the harassers was that I was her date.)
Gratefully she eyeballed me and grabbed my arm and together we walked. My girl teamed her friend up with another one of my frat bros and we spent the evening together, having a wonderful time. I wonder if I said anything the whole time I felt so fortunate to have such a pretty girl for a date. They were schoolteachers from somewhere, thus a few years older.
I had gained the gratitude of an "older woman" and she showed it later.
Ah, for the life of a hero. Pity that the lesson didn't stick enough to fix all my future opportunities for heroism.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
The Working Life, part 2
The Columbia Journalism School was a joy in many ways. I loved the sense of professionalism, of getting assignments and jumping on the subway and interviewing people on the phone, etc. By the end of the academic year I felt like a "New Yorker" from my knowledge of the subway system.
We rode the trains with a NYTimes, folded in the correct way for reading. We were supposed to read every thing in it, but that was far too confusing, so I glanced over a lot of it. I did notice at the time that the Times definitely had a liberal slant, but that was mostly noticable in the editorials, not in the news columns. And it seemed right to have a liberal flavor, since we'd just elected JFK as President.
During the year, however, my wife and I separated. I became deeply depressed and probably my schoolwork suffered. But I was graduated with honors. Just before graduation I got a job offer, from This Week Magazine. It was a Sunday supplement that appeared in NYC as part of the Herald Tribune, which had begun a very interesting new life, trying to be interesting without being tabloidy. Intellectually interesting. Writers like Tom Wolfe and Jimmy Breslin helped make it seem so, launching a New Journalism style of more personalized stories. Our school was on the cusp of this development--still preaching the old style of reportage but allowing newer ideas to seep in.
Anyway, despite the urging of my faculty advisor, Penn Kimball, to pass on the job offer, I took it because I was underfunded and felt financially desperate.
First thing I had to do, an order from Photo Editor Roberta Ashley, was go to the top men's clothing store and get some new clothes. My Texas wardrobe looked too much hayseed for a New York publisher. So I did: got a new gray suit and wore it for years, til I lost it in a bag after a baseball game.
After I took the job, my girlfriend and I moved to an apartment far out in Brooklyn, closer to Coney Island than the City, and I had a 45-minute commute by train each morning.
And, after I took the job, the Newspaper Guild called a major strike against the newspapers, and the Herald Trib no longer appeared on newstands. I had a call about taking a position with LIFE mag, which was going to put out a substitute newspaper, but I (kick self) turned it down. I thought I was settled, comfy, nice lunches with photographers, etc. But what happened was that NYC ad agencies, not seeing This Week any more, stopped placing ads in the mag. Income suffered, and I, as last hired, was first to be fired, just before our first child was born.
(I now realize I wrote about this last year...O well...)
So, I jumped to Time-Life Books, hoping to land a writing job but got stuck as a Researcher/Reporter. At same salary I made at This Week. So...new baby, new expenses, same available funds. In the week that JFK was assassinated.
We rode the trains with a NYTimes, folded in the correct way for reading. We were supposed to read every thing in it, but that was far too confusing, so I glanced over a lot of it. I did notice at the time that the Times definitely had a liberal slant, but that was mostly noticable in the editorials, not in the news columns. And it seemed right to have a liberal flavor, since we'd just elected JFK as President.
During the year, however, my wife and I separated. I became deeply depressed and probably my schoolwork suffered. But I was graduated with honors. Just before graduation I got a job offer, from This Week Magazine. It was a Sunday supplement that appeared in NYC as part of the Herald Tribune, which had begun a very interesting new life, trying to be interesting without being tabloidy. Intellectually interesting. Writers like Tom Wolfe and Jimmy Breslin helped make it seem so, launching a New Journalism style of more personalized stories. Our school was on the cusp of this development--still preaching the old style of reportage but allowing newer ideas to seep in.
Anyway, despite the urging of my faculty advisor, Penn Kimball, to pass on the job offer, I took it because I was underfunded and felt financially desperate.
First thing I had to do, an order from Photo Editor Roberta Ashley, was go to the top men's clothing store and get some new clothes. My Texas wardrobe looked too much hayseed for a New York publisher. So I did: got a new gray suit and wore it for years, til I lost it in a bag after a baseball game.
After I took the job, my girlfriend and I moved to an apartment far out in Brooklyn, closer to Coney Island than the City, and I had a 45-minute commute by train each morning.
And, after I took the job, the Newspaper Guild called a major strike against the newspapers, and the Herald Trib no longer appeared on newstands. I had a call about taking a position with LIFE mag, which was going to put out a substitute newspaper, but I (kick self) turned it down. I thought I was settled, comfy, nice lunches with photographers, etc. But what happened was that NYC ad agencies, not seeing This Week any more, stopped placing ads in the mag. Income suffered, and I, as last hired, was first to be fired, just before our first child was born.
(I now realize I wrote about this last year...O well...)
So, I jumped to Time-Life Books, hoping to land a writing job but got stuck as a Researcher/Reporter. At same salary I made at This Week. So...new baby, new expenses, same available funds. In the week that JFK was assassinated.
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