Deck and Amy and the Recommendations

The film’s final act came to a close.  Credits were ushered in by a loud boom that was meant to be the start of a song.  Amy woke up.

“Oh. My. Gosh! That movie gets better every viewing,” Carter said, clapping and laughing.

“That was quite a film! Action, adventure…plot.  I feel the characters really developed and learned a few things about love, but mostly about themselves.  Good stuff,” Deck said.  He had said this exact same phrase after watching The Love Guru with friends.

“I thought you’d love it!” Peggy said, joining her husband in a weird clap and laugh combo of joy.

“Totally agree,” Amy said, groggily joining the conversation, “when they finally worked it out, man. I tell you.”

“Well,” Deck said, standing up from the couch, “I hate to view and run, but it is super late and we have a thing in the morning.”

“Thank you for having us over,” Amy said.

“Thank you guys! This was fun.  We should plan for next week.  I know just the film!” Carter said.

“Sounds great!” Deck said, “we’ll see what we can do.”

Deck and Amy left the house for their car awaiting them in the driveway.

The engine roared to life, but the cab was silent for a long moment.  Amy stared out the windshield. Deck could not blink.  In unison, they both turned to face each other.

“That was absolute garbage,” Deck said.

“Just the worst. I think less of our friends now,” Amy said.

“I think less of us now,” Deck countered.

“I worry for the future of art,” Amy mumbled.

“They have a kid. They will teach another human that movie was okay,” Deck pondered.

“Let’s go home and put any literally any random movie from Netflix because it will be better than that monstrosity,” Amy suggested.

“Consider it done. We’re never coming back here.”



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They were watching Napoleon Dynamite

Tickets Optional

“This concert is going to be awesome!” Matt said.

“Concert!” The roomies echoed.  Their first major group event since moving in together was about to kick off in style.

“How are the shirts coming, Myk?” Matt asked.

Myk lifted an iron off a freshly pressed shirt. “Looking good. Should have all of them done in a moment.”

“Nice,” Maurice said.  He looked over his shirt.  “Who needs tickets when you have iron-on patches reading ‘Staff’?”

“Free concert!” The roomies shouted in unison.

“Do you guys really think this is going to work?” Matt questioned.

“Confidence!” The others chanted. “Confidence! Confidence!”

Scene from Upcoming Theatrical Production: 1997


Dinner rush.
September 24, 1997.
Olive Garden in the suburbs of Denver, Colorado.

Zoom to:

Table Seven.  A four top. All seats filled.  Family.  Dad, Uncle, two teenage children are devouring a salad topped with a mound of Parmesan cheese because the father figure thought it would be funny to not say ‘when’ at an appropriate time.  The chuckle elicited from the children did not warrant such an abuse of the cheese grater.  The waiter hated every moment of it.  Bread sticks were consumed well before the salad arrived.

All parties have ordered the ‘sampler platter’ because carbs aren’t yet vilified.

Sade plays in the background, but no one knows it.  Multiple guests think it is Bjork’s new album.  No one can look it up without first visiting a library with cheap or free internet access.  Even then, Netscape is a fickle beast.


Father: Kids. It is 1997. How do you all feel about that top 40 hit, Mmmbop by those Hanson brothers?

Child, oldest: It’s mmmm fine. I guess. Whatever. Don’t have a cow, man. Butt out. This is your brain on drugs.

Child, youngest: Other things a teenager would say.

Uncle: Where’s the beef? Badda bing! I cried at the end of Titanic.  


Waiter, inner dialogue: These guys must be walking on the sun if they think I’m bringing more bread sticks.



End Scene.



“So, Mrs. Caputo, what do you think of the opening scene of 1997?” Harvey Wince, playwright extraordinaire, asks of his editor, manager and all around connection maker Mrs. Wynonna Caputo.

Wynonna removes her reading glasses and places them gently on her desk, sitting between her iPhone and keyboard.  She is reading the scene from her iPad which she deliberately places before her.  She takes in a deep breath and feels a sense of relief as she returns to the world of 2017.

“O. M. G. Harvey. That transported back 20 years. It was like I could feel the hype machine around Good Will Hunting again.  I could smell the pogs, man. I was at once younger and wiser and terrified.  You’ll win awards for this and we’ll sell out Broadway for years to come.” Wynonna stood and extended her hand to shake Harvey’s.

“Thank you, Mrs. Caputo.   Thank you,” Harvey held back tears.

“This is culture. Art. Who needs new stuff when the old stuff is so comfortable?!” Mrs. Caputo began to cry.

“Furbies will have to appear in Act Three,” Harvey noted.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”


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Proposals by Profession

How different professions propose marriage. I suppose:

Plumber: Take the plunge with me!

Baker: Let’s get cookin’

Drug dealer: Let’s get cookin’

Doctor: I’m giving you a prescription… for life long partnership.

Barber – Let’s cut to the chase and marry!

Dog trainer: *offers a treat* Marry me?

Salesperson: You’re the deal of a lifetime!

Photographer: In a flash, our lives will change. Something about an aperture.

Technical writer: Step 1: View ring.  Step 2: Respond to question Step 3: If answer to question is Yes, proceed to life time together. If no, accept end user agreement and review subscription requirements.

Brewmaster: We should hop to it.

Prison guard: We’ll cell-ebrate a lifetime together.

Spy: — … — . —….. – . -. — … —-

Dance instructor: Let’s get cookin’ (said with jazz hands flailing about)


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Passing the ‘We Are’ Test

Part of me has always wanted to front a punk band.  Sounds like bunches of fun.  I imagine a lot of writers want to be musicians. Musicians want to be poets and poets want to be professors.  Something like that.

My musical tastes were forged during a time when bands went completely overboard with their names.  I think that’s the part that most attracts to band-ing? Bands like Planes Mistaken for StarsThese Arms are Snakes, Sunny Day Real Estate, Texas is the Reason, And You Will Know Us By The Trail of Dead, heck even Unprovoked Moose Attack was out there.

I’m well outside popular music’s reach these days, but from what I know, these sort of names don’t exist any more.  I know Fun.  21 pilots? That sounds like way too many people to pay for writer’s credit, but 21 it is.  I can’t even guess what a Major Lazer does.

Had I the opportunity to name a band? Oh golly, I couldn’t resist the allure of all the words that are great ways to follow up two fantastic words at every concert: We are…  We are The Beatles? Lame.  We are Devo? Okay.  We are Dexy’s Midnight Runners? Boom. goes. the. dynamite.  If you can’t follow the band introductory phrase ‘we are’ with something that will blow away the live audience’s minds why even try?

Here now, band names that pass the ‘we are’ test:

We are… Continue reading

In the Weeds

“You know we live our lives according to other people’s schedules?  Boss. Neighbor. In-laws. Cars in traffic.  There’s no control.  No freedom.  That sound out there? That’s just using what little time we have available to meet the demands of someone else.  Demands that that other person has no idea they are making, but society dictates we match this pretty little suburban ideal of what we show each other,” Calder said from his recliner.

“You have to mow, Cal.” Camilla said.

“Only if I can put the anarchy symbol in the grass.”

“So long as it’s short and mosquito free.”

Principal Clark and the Science Fair


Principal Clark hated the science fair.  Not for lack of caring about the science or expanding the minds of youngsters, but for the simple fact that baking soda and vinegar volcanoes smelled terrible.  It was a stench that haunted his dreams.  As he entered the school’s auditorium to being judging this year’s event, he took a brief pause to ready for next hour and a half.

The doors swung open and he reviewed the scene.  Volcanoes everywhere.

Crap he thought.

Then his eye captured an image of hope.  In the far corner of the open space, set up on a table without a tablecloth (and surely the control freak Mr. Osborne was freaking out about that detail) was an honest to goodness experiment.  No display of a wildly popular chemical reaction, but a tri-fold display board dedicated to circles and wheels.  A student was learning.

Principal Clark raced to the exhibit and soaked in every word of the presentation.

“Tell me everything,” Principal Clark demanded of the student at the table.

“Certainly, Principal Clark.  When I went to decide on this year’s research project I wanted to see just how innovative the first big piece of technology really was.  Second, I wanted to *circle* back to something I remember you saying long ago,” the student explained.

Clark was intrigued.  “What did I say long ago?”

“Well, I know you’re *tired*, but you’re *wheeley* going to like this,” the student said, snickering.

Principal Clark knew what was happening.  “I said I could always be won over by a solid pun. Dang it. The one time you kids listen to me.  Congratulations, you’ve won the science fair.”



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