Mine of a Liar

"A mine is a hole in the ground owned by a liar." --Mark Twain.

Hey Flip-philes. Back again with some more blog. At first, I thought about using this week's introduction to maybe inspire the masses and use this blog to instill some goodwill. However, instead of doing that, I'm going to ask you to click on this so I can get more ratings on youtube:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vZVAV1WDenQ&feature=related

Still here after that shameless attempt at cross-promotion? No? That's fine. Here is a short story I wrote this week. It is called "BBQ Apocalypse."

On the cusp of nuclear annihilation, Edwin held a barbecue in his apartment’s courtyard. It was an afternoon overflowing with good food, cold beer, and the warm companionship of old friends. The conversation was as fulfilling as ever, though the alarm sounds made the hearing a little difficult.

We were to meet over at Edwin’s at two o’ clock, a full three hours before projected estimates of our destruction. Hoping to arrive early, I climbed into my car, buckled my seat belt, and silenced the radio. Traffic was horrible, which came to me as a surprise. I’m not really sure where anyone thought they were going.

When I arrived, I found Murray already overcome by one of his many obsessions. Before he died, Murray was determined to perfect the art of the grilled frank. He wanted to achieve that elusive perfect wiener, the kind you see on Ball-park commercials with the four majestic grill marks running along the side. Murray had an awful habit of overcooking, frequently resulting in the frank residing in an ugly charred cocoon of an outer layer. This was a goal, however, he never quite achieved.

From the outset, Debbie and I resolved to talk only about inconsequential things. We had spent so much of our life discussing work and family that we never even bothered to ask the other about their opinion on subjects such as reality television, minor league baseball, and celebrity sex tapes. Nothing is important if everything is important. We realized this with just enough time left for us to make a foolish stab at course correction.

Our afternoon was interrupted twice. The second time you can probably guess, but the first was almost life-affirming in its simplicity…

“Damn! We‘re out of cheese!” yelled Murray.

“I can go get some!” offered Edwin, ever the gentleman.

“Can’t it wait?”

“No. It can’t. The store is only a couple of blocks away. I’ll be back in time!”

“Are you sure? It’s not that big of a deal!”

“That’s the thing. It is that big of a deal. I’m the host! I’m the host who forgot the cheese!” And with that, Edwin exited the courtyard and took off down to the local grocer. I can’t imagine what he saw while en route. In fact, I don’t much care to think about it at all. We never saw Edwin again.

Later, Murray burnt his hand on the grill. Rachel ran upstairs and grabbed an unused tube of Neosporin. She sat him down at one of the picnic tables and began rubbing the ointment over the burn. Rachel being an attractive girl, I’d imagine Murray found himself somewhat aroused by the situation. It was at this point, he discontinued his quest for the perfect hot dog and turned his attention full-time to Rachel.

After he had finished cooking, Murray placed the food on a picnic table. Remaining civil, we lined up and began building our burgers, letting the women and children go first (no one mentioned the lack of cheese). We each had several and soon found ourselves uncomfortably full. However, that did not stop us from having a little bit more upon Murray’s encouragement. As far as last meals go, this was as good as any.

“Have you ever read Cat’s Cradle?” asked Debra, our winding conversation about the unimportant things taking a turn for the worst.

“Never have. Didn’t seem like it would be my sort of thing.”

“‘Your sort of ‘thing?’ Well, if you ever get the chance, I highly recommend it. It reminds me a lot of you, reminds me a whole lot of us.”

Over the course of the afternoon, the details of that courtyard presented themselves to me with a renewed urgency. For the first time, I noticed the intoxicating, wavy patterns that occurred on the side of the building when the sunlight hit the swimming pool at a bent angle. I likewise took notice of Debbie’s coarse hands, the byproduct of ten years of hard living. She appeared more beautiful to me as a weathered soul than she did as an innocent one.

We were about to eat dessert when the sky turned a bright red. The sirens stopped and our courtyard began shaking. Still enraptured by Rachel, Murray was in the middle of a story about meeting a beautiful young woman when nuclear annihilation occurred. Despite the various warning signs, he continued that story right up until he was engulfed by that chaos. Rachel never did learn that the story was about her.

Debbie and I were about to shift our first meaningless conversation toward the subject of favorite vacation spots when it happened. I’d imagine that she would’ve told me about her parents’ cabin in Maine. In response, I would’ve told her about a beach I used to visit in my youth. The ocean was only bearable for two perfect weeks in late July. It was so immensely satisfying that it made up for the rest of the year, when the water was too frigid to swim.

In other news, Lost continues, and I am enjoying this season immensely. I know it has been pretty divisive, but I really think that's because there are only so many hours left of the show and we're getting anxious to see if Lost can wrap up satisfactorily. I believe, once this final season is over, we're (finally) going to see the show in it's full context and all of us can (finally!) pass a real judgement on the season and the series.

The last two episodes, "Lighthouse" and "Sundown," were really good, and I think the sixth season has found a nice rhythm. Don't go into each episode expecting EVERYTHING YOU EVER WANTED. This is a mystery show after all. The fun comes from discussion and theorizing. For me, that's as much apart of the Lost experience as anything. Not every one's cup of tea, definitely, but it is most assuredly my beverage of choice.

Last week, my friend Anthony Lombardo invited me to a Lost panel at Paley Fest in Beverly Hills. I went in knowing that all the writers were going to be in attendance, so I was already almost in nerd-overdrive (don't make fun... you're capable of doing it as well!). However, when Nestor Carbonell, Zuleikha Robinson, Michael Emerson, and Terry O'Quinn (the respective actors who play Richard, Illana, Ben, and Locke), the entire audience ERUPTED in cheers, loud enough to be heard for a good block or so. It was really quite something to see. All of us nerds are a powerful force when you can get us out of the basement. Want to find world peace? Tell a D&D meeting that there is a Star Wars holiday special videocassette out of it if they find a way to accomplish it.

Well, anyway, the panel was really extraordinary. Don't worry, no spoilers here. What was really great about the panel was getting the chance to see how creative professionals bounce ideas off one another and relate. These are some sharp, sharp people and I enjoyed the attitude. It was, at once, playful and serious, light-hearted and professional.

Anyway, here are a couple of videos I'm diggin' (no "g") this week. I'm going to try to do it without a preface this time to preserve some of the surprise!

1) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sqLaBO5IcjA&feature=related
2) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zol2MJf6XNE
3) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IY_sy6KQVQI

Okay, that's wraps it up this week! So, class, what have we learned? Nothing? Good.

Flippo