My buddy Jeff went back to Germany today (he's probably on a plane right now), so I'm back at the library. And you will not be surprised to know that I have written zero words. Even so, I blogged a little bit, and at least got my document open to start to write. We're nearing the home stretch on the Lara Demming story . . . shoot, I've already forgotten what I'm calling it.
When You Need It Most? Was that right? Wow, that's not good at all. Why did I commit to it?*
The first sentence I wrote included the word that of all words, is hardest for me to spell: bueru. And it halted me in my tracks.
Beureu.
Bereu.
Boreau.
Okay, I looked it up, it's "bureau." Damn that word. It doesn't look right to me at all--no unrighter than the other versions I tried--except the spellcheck says this version is correct.
Sit-ups Today: 100
Sit-ups In July: 1925
I just barely started writing (the same sentence that included "bureau"), when a crazy dude came upstairs, and sat down directly next to me. I call him crazy because he was talking on a cellphone, up here where you're not supposed to, but when he turned and walked around his chair, I realized he had no cellphone. He's just talking to someone who isn't there.
And maybe it's just a ghost, which is cool--hey, I talk to myself all the time, and I don't know if I technically would be diagnosed as crazy, just eccentric or creative or a startling combination of both fat and skinny--but the muttering, somehow-angry way he's talking to himself makes me think it's not a ghost, unless the ghost is taunting him in a Bobcat Goldthwaite or Gilbert Godfried voice.**
Now he's cursing under his breath, and perhaps doing higher math equations, so he may well be the dude that inspired GOOD WILL HUNTING or A BEAUTIFUL MIND. So, I'll try to show him a little respect.
That does make me wonder, though, if a film is made about someone's life, and they are still alive, do they get any kind of royalty or have to allow permission? Let's say that Ted Bundy were still around, would he get any kind of benefit from all the stuff that's being made about him right now? He's not what's considered a public figure, is he, like a president or a movie star or whatever Kylie Jenner is?
But let's say I made a movie, where one of the characters worships the devil, and Kylie Jenner shows up with the contract for him to sign, but it's not really her, just played by, I dunno, Khloe Kardashian . . . could she sue me? Would she have a legal basis to try to shut down my movie or claim damages from it? How about a line about how Kylie Jenner routinely slurps mens' souls out through their nasal passages, to maintain her attractive figure . . . could I get away with a line like that?***
Push-ups Today: 197 (I'm really getting sick of these)
Push-ups In July: 2122
Boy, he's still talking to himself, and it shouldn't bother me--he's not loud, not really--but it's incredibly distracting. I think it's just the fact that he's a twitchy, bearded, hyperactive dude, and that makes me nervous, like he might attack me at any time. You know how it is, you've been on the subway or a bus with a crazy person before, right? I mean, unless you're Keanu Reeves, that stuff has to unsettle you, right?
I was getting into my writing, FINALLY, when the dude next to me said, "What the fuckin asshole?" at a volume that, well, probably only bothers me. Now I'm here, typing this again, instead of writing the Devon-meets-Lara's-fake-parents scene. Darn it.
It's funny how angry I'm getting at the dude now. He's up and pacing, grumbling and cursing softly under his breath, and I'm thinking I might get off the next time the bus pulls over, regardless of it not being my stop. He's got a long grey beard, messy short hair, and a frantic energy.
And maybe he's me. Maybe that's how I look to all these girls in the library that are horrified that I could exist, let alone that I see them as they study, surf the net, or fall asleep. Those poor, poor girls.
This guy has a gravely, gargling-with-rancid-peanut-butter voice, one that I would not be able to do on an audiobook without seriously damaging my precious vocal chords, and I only understand every third or fourth thing he says, but that's worse somehow--if he were only speaking gibberish (or a foreign language), I could block him out, but because I understand every other sentence, I keep paying attention. Damn. I might have to get up and go. Yeah, that's probably what I'll do, even though I am writing now, and have only gotten half of what I intended to get done.
Okay, he just said, and I quote, "The eternal hell, ooh, fire, fire. All around the world." That's fudgin' lovely. I need to use that in a story or Country song sometime. But yeah, I need to get going.
I shut down my system, put away my mouse, and then the dude said, "Black black black Book of Satan!" It was too late to write it down, but I got the hell out of Dodge. I called Big Anklevich to tell him about my experience, but he was at work and couldn't talk, so I simply said "Black black black book of Satan" on his voicemail, then hung up.
Words Today: 1088
Words In July: 15,000
*I already retitled the document that used to be called "Lara Demming meets teen warlock idea." It's not necessarily too late to turn back now, but I may be too lazy to turn back now.
**Or even worse, god, do you remember that little asshole named Fred that they'd watch on "I-Carly?" My niece used to watch it, and it made me totally homicidal, which I'm CERTAIN was the point of it. And hey, maybe the guy next to me was forced to watch that show a couple of times (not "I-Carly," but the other one), so I will try harder not to judge.
***I imagine it's something like the line in SCREAM where Rose McGowan said, "You can only hear that Richard Gere gerbil story so many times before you have to start believing it," and Wes Craven really wanted to drop the line, but was persuaded to leave it in. I don't imagine Gere had any legal leg to stand on if he wanted it removed, though I can't imagine he was happy about it.
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