TTWA Assignment: A friend of yours at the NSA calls. She says that for just one hour, she will let you listen to the conversations of any two people in the world. You accept. Whose conversations do you listen to and what do they say? Transcribe the conversation.
Okay, I’m going to get my inner geek on and say George Lucas and Peter Jackson. Ironically enough, both created epic sci-fi and fantasy trilogies, beloved the world over, and both followed up these wonderful movies with prequels that heavily relied upon CGI instead of old-school props and set-design. These secondary trilogies are relatively less beloved.
I often wonder if the two men every phoned one another and compared notes.
PJ: CGI gophers, man? Seriously? Didn’t you learn anything from Jar Jar?
GL: Your one to talk. The Five Armies was basically one long Pixar film, man. Where’s the models? The orc costumes? Hell, I’d settle for a real horse.
Of late, the boys have started this group message thread to whittle away the hours while pretending to work and yet still reap the benefits of a real paycheck. Like all the best Seinfield, the thread is mostly about nothing: BSing each other and counting down the minutes until happy hour. Since my phone has sold its digital soul to the ‘robot devil’ (i.e. it broke), I could not read these messages or in truth comment on them. Luckily, last Easter I lost my cellphone down a storm-drain while stomping on it with my right heel. It will not be missed. My subsequent purchase of an iPhone opened a doorway to a whole new world of texting and communication. Moreover, I can now chat with my brothers while they work during these June days and I contemplate my next blog post in my PJs at home. Teaching does have its merits.
The following conversation delved into how my presence has affected the Groupchat (as they dub it) for better or for worse. If you, dear reader, find these conversations interesting, I might try to post a few more now and then.
“Am I some kind of condescending prick for feeling mildly embarrassed for these kids?”
“Well,” Kevin said after some consideration, “it’s a Sunday night in May and this IS a Walmart parking lot. You would think that there’d be some better way of spending your time . . .”
Kevin and I had parked our car and stared in wonder at the convocation of pick-ups and supped-up Hondas at the far end of the Walmart. Carroll County Maryland has never proven itself the most . . . urbane area in the state, but occasionally my neighbors go out of their way to check off every stereotype in the book.
Local teenagers leaned against the bumpers and sat on car roofs, watching some kid attempt to drop-kick a basketball at one of the parking lights. Occasionally, he’d routinely lose control, and their heads would turn with the syncopation of a Wimbledon crowd to gaze at kid and ball bouncing across the asphalt. Another weird feature: there was no music. Nothing audible at least. It seemed the kid and his basketball was the main event here.
“So what exactly are you saying?” Dasad asked, stirring the wasabi. “That Star Wars should be added to the New Testament? Some sort of sequel to Revelation?”
Murph gurgled some imperceptible response from his miso soup, inciting a sudden fit of coughing and drooling. Dasad sighed and returned his attention to the green lump dissolving in his soy sauce. Murphey had invited Dasad over the house for pizza and games earlier that week. Dasad had accepted the invitation but neglected the hour-old pizza already ripped to shreds by the fraternal horde, Murphey’s younger brothers and sisters. Sensing some internal struggle between hunger and disgust within his friend, Murph had suggested carry-out at the local sushi place. Lenten Fridays restricted most fast food without scales and fins — excluding Taco Bell whose mushy meat remains to this day a zoological enigma. Carting their repast home, Murph had suggested some minor alterations to 2010’s Holy Week. Continue reading
We had stood waiting for nearly two hours when the Chewbacca left with the Ewok. The family standing two places ahead had finished taking their pictures – Chewy headlocking the unkempt guy with the Family Guy T-shirt while Sis and Mom giggled at the cameraman – when a Disney attendant shouted across the warehouse that their time had ended. Tiff fumed.
“Nooooo,” she whined.“No, soo close.We almost had him.”
Pat simply sighed with fatigue and crumpled against the wall like a discarded straw wrapper.“Two and a half hours in line.”
Ryan and I sighed.The Sith Lords further down the line seemed ready to leave too.