ELMER: That was a pretty good take.
BUGS: (sipping coffee) Eh.
ELMER: You don’t think that went well.
BUGS: The director’s an idiot.
ELMER: Mel?
BUGS: He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He wouldn’t know an augmented lens from a hole in the ground.
ELMER: He’s a nice guy.
BUGS: If you haven’t noticed, he’s got the IQ of a trained seal.
ELMER: He seems nice.
BUGS: And while we’re on the subject, you mind not stepping on half my lines like you always do?
ELMER: Well, I didn’t mean to, but—
BUGS: What is this, Amateur Hour? Bring Your Functionally Retarded Daughter to Work Day?
ELMER: C’mon, Bugs, we’re doing the best we can.
BUGS: I’m trying to make a career for myself, if I knew a bunch of chimps would be dragging me down, I wouldn’t be here.
ELMER: The pay’s nice.
BUGS: Listen. I know you think you’re making a name for yourself out there, stuttering and spitting like a jackass. But acting is not a job. It’s a craft. Are you with me?
ELMER: I guess. I’m more of a comedian, I think.
BUGS: Yeah. You think.
Saturday, July 22, 2006
Monday, July 17, 2006
Anecdote
The other day, I was operating the Fantasy Carousel in Kiddie Land (I'll pause here to allow you time to laugh at that sentence). At some point in the early afternoon, I saw someone who I believe to be Rachel Motta from my class at Lewis Mills High School holding a small Hispanic looking boy on the ride. I hadn't noticed her getting on the ride because I had just switched over after operating the Kiddie Swings (laugh again here). But there she was, spinning around, holding this small Hispanic looking boy on a horse.
Now, I say that I believe her to be Rachel Motta not because she is either Rachel Motta or someone who looks a lot like her. This is definitely some girl I graduated with, I'm just not sure I got the name right. I'm pretty sure it's Rachel Motta though, I'd put it at 80-90%. No matter what her name is, the only interaction of any kind I had with this girl in high school took place one day in the cafeteria. While stretching, my arms reached into the aisle. Unbeknownst to me, she was walking past our table at the time and I accidentally bumped into her with my arms. I turned to apologize, but she punched me in the shoulder or the back of the head or something (I like to think it was the back of my head, but I might be exaggerating this point) and kept walking away without turning around.
So anyway, some however many years later, there she was with a Hispanic looking boy on the Carousel. Partially because I have a naturally optimistic bent when it comes people I don't know, I think, and partially because I've been going through a desperate quarter-life crisis since more or less my twentieth birthday (who knew Jesse was right--and it's probably more the second than the first, by the way), I figured it was a nephew or something. As the ride continued, she said to the child "There's your Daddy!" I looked to see where she was pointing, and it was at a Hispanic man in a wheelchair.
Now, this is in no way definitive proof that Rachel Motta had a child with a Hispanic man in a wheelchair. It's not even definitive proof she knows a Hispanic man in a wheelchair. Perhaps he only twisted his ankle. But a guy can dream, can't he?
And the story has a happy ending for everyone, I think. Sure I might seem cruel glorying--or at best, being amused by the strange situation of a girl I didn't know in high school had a child with a Hispanic man in a wheelchair. But the story has a happy ending for everyone. I'm sure if she remembered me at all, she's telling an equally hilarious story about me operating the Fantasy Carousel at Kiddie Land at an amusement park. It's a beautiful world.
Now, I say that I believe her to be Rachel Motta not because she is either Rachel Motta or someone who looks a lot like her. This is definitely some girl I graduated with, I'm just not sure I got the name right. I'm pretty sure it's Rachel Motta though, I'd put it at 80-90%. No matter what her name is, the only interaction of any kind I had with this girl in high school took place one day in the cafeteria. While stretching, my arms reached into the aisle. Unbeknownst to me, she was walking past our table at the time and I accidentally bumped into her with my arms. I turned to apologize, but she punched me in the shoulder or the back of the head or something (I like to think it was the back of my head, but I might be exaggerating this point) and kept walking away without turning around.
So anyway, some however many years later, there she was with a Hispanic looking boy on the Carousel. Partially because I have a naturally optimistic bent when it comes people I don't know, I think, and partially because I've been going through a desperate quarter-life crisis since more or less my twentieth birthday (who knew Jesse was right--and it's probably more the second than the first, by the way), I figured it was a nephew or something. As the ride continued, she said to the child "There's your Daddy!" I looked to see where she was pointing, and it was at a Hispanic man in a wheelchair.
Now, this is in no way definitive proof that Rachel Motta had a child with a Hispanic man in a wheelchair. It's not even definitive proof she knows a Hispanic man in a wheelchair. Perhaps he only twisted his ankle. But a guy can dream, can't he?
And the story has a happy ending for everyone, I think. Sure I might seem cruel glorying--or at best, being amused by the strange situation of a girl I didn't know in high school had a child with a Hispanic man in a wheelchair. But the story has a happy ending for everyone. I'm sure if she remembered me at all, she's telling an equally hilarious story about me operating the Fantasy Carousel at Kiddie Land at an amusement park. It's a beautiful world.
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