Smart

People are too smart.
The educated elite
is a thing long past.

Pavement

What’s funnier than
a cute baby bird lying
dead on the pavement?

Frost

Frost turned to wet dew.
The boys could still smell burnt flesh,
though the field slept now.

30 Rock - The Elite

The link at the bottom of this post will lead you to the 30 Rock script I submitted to this fellowship.

I wrote it last spring, so the characters and story are consistent with the end of last season. Note that this is a "spec" script, short for speculative. Essentially this means I wasn't hired to write it. (And no, it wasn't purchased or produced - I wrote it as a writing sample.)

I love the show and it was a blast to spec. Now to pick one for this year...


30 Rock - The Elite

Seasons

Good thing seasons change.
People are very fickle.
We’d get bored quickly.

ELR Fan Mail #5

I wish I could put this strange encounter behind me, but journalistic integrity compels me to post the following letter.


Dear Esoteric Literary POSER [sic],

I can't believe you posted a semi-dramatized version of the verbal beat-up I administered to you last week. (I say 'beat-up' because everyone else would say 'beat-down', and I am different from and therefore better than everyone else.) Actually I can believe you posted it, because you're the biggest poser I've ever met.

Even your faux-obscure blog title reveals how big of a poser you are. Esoteric? No, you poser, you are not esoteric. You wish. You are, in fact, exoteric. Everyone understands your blog because it's run-of-the-mill, just like you are. And anyone who looks at your snaps knows it.

When you think about it (which you won't, because your mind is too mainstream to begin to conceive of things the way I do), I should be the one with an esoteric blog. I am esoteric. And believe me, you poser, when I say that if I had a blog I would post the most random and mind-boggling content you had ever seen. Except you wouldn't see it, because my blog would actually be esoteric, so that only about six people in the entire world would be able to appreciate it. But even they wouldn't read it, because they'd be too real to lower themselves to read something as ubiquitous and pedestrian as a blog. Plus, I'm too busy being deliberately contrarian to ever start a blog (which from now on I will call a 'bleeg'. Only I can use this word).

I don't expect you to write back to this letter and/or post it on your bleeg. But if you do, I bet it will be in the least original way possible, like in a plural third person. As if anyone else but poser you maintains this (un-ironic) joke of a site.

If I were you, I'd kill myself...except I wouldn't, because suicide is so poser...except I would, because I'd be you and you're a poser. Go watch Avatar and drink a Coke, you plebeian.


Authentically,

"Bearded Gaffing Hipster"
(a.k.a. Ripley LaDouche - my real, genuine, unique name)


Dear Mr. LaDouche,

We at Esoteric Literary Reference appreciate all feedback we receive about the site. Thank you for your correspondence!

We don't know how you found the blog. Nor do we know how you found Steve the other day when you were so randomly but purposefully cruel. But we do know that you read the blog, and for that we applaud you!

We're so glad that something we posted resonated with you. We're sure you'll be happy to learn that you're not alone. In fact, we've received hundreds of letters from other people who enjoyed the very same post you enjoyed. After all, that's our goal: connecting on a personal level with as many people as possible.

In our twenty-nine year history, we've discovered that there are certain fundamental truths about the human condition that people need and want to see displayed and uncovered in various artistic media over and over again. The post you connected with spoke to the need for individual identity within the context of a conforming society. Pressure to be like everyone else in our socio-economic circles can be overwhelming at times, but it's important to strike a balance between maintaining our selfhood and retreating from culture entirely.

Hopefully the post gave you some food for thought, LaDouche.

Try not to suck all the time,
Esoteric Literary Reference Letter Reply Dept.
(Steve)


P.S. - You used the word 'bleeg'. We don't know what that means.

A Funny Thing Happened On the Way to the Drug Store

I have owned a skateboard for about two years. It is styled by the manufacturer as a mini-longboard, which basically means it has big wheels like a longboard but it's short. This skateboard is a handy mode of transportation around my neighborhood. I use it to go to the store, the post office, and anywhere nearby. It's faster than walking. This is the reason I use it.

I do not use it for recreation. I no more consider myself a skateboarder than a casual cyclist considers himself Lance Armstrong or a mom in a Volvo considers herself [insert name of famous NASCAR driver here].

I suppose that's why I was so surprised the other day by the tongue-lashing I received from a stranger on my way to the drug store.

Here's the scene:

I'm walking to the Duane Reade in my neighborhood, carrying my mini-longboard. (I have been skateboarding, but feel like walking for the last block.) As I approach Starbucks, I spot a Bearded Hipster holding a standard longboard. Comes up to about his waist. He is heavyset and has a backpack with a roll of red gaffer tape hanging from it.

I approach and overtake him. I think about complimenting his board, but decide against it; he probably doesn't want to be bothered. Then he spots me.

Bearded Gaffing Hipster: Nice toy.

I turn, smiling. He's looking at my skateboard.

Bearded Gaffing Hipster: Do you know how to ride it or do you need someone to give you lessons?

Note: His tone indicates that he is not altruistically offering to give me lessons; rather he is mocking me because he (correctly) assumes based on my choice of skateboard that I am but a boarding dilettante.

Me: Yeah, actually, I don't know how to ride it.

(Laughing. Ha-ha, self-deprecating.) I turn and keep walking. He shuffles faster and catches up to me. Then he says something like:

Bearded Gaffing Hipster: I see you have your snaps all done like a poser.

Me: I don't know what that means.

Bearded Gaffing Hipster: Of course you don't.

(And I still don't.) We walk side by side.

Me: Why are you being a jerk, man?

Bearded Gaffing Hipster: Oh, I'm like this to everybody. It's nothing personal.

Me: (emphatic) No. It is personal. You're a person and I'm a person. It's personal.

Bearded Gaffing Hipster: Oo, are we gonna throw down?

I reach Duane Reade and head to the door. Now a double stroller and a short woman (mom or nanny?) stand between us. I shout over the stroller and woman.

Me: You don't have to be a [redacted] to everybody!

Bearded Gaffing Hipster: Yes, I do!

I enter Duane Reade alone and without closure.


This happened. I make up a bunch of stuff, but this anecdote is not one of those things. I still toss and turn at night, wrestling with one question: why? Why did he choose to berate me so? I felt like a kicked puppy, the victim of senseless random violence, guilty only of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. (And of being cute/carrying a skateboard.)

I wonder where the Bearded Gaffing Hipster is now? Probably verbally assaulting a little old lady because she doesn't realize her Cadillac "still has the lame factory rims". What a poser she surely is.

Focus

My eye can focus
because my brain tells it to.
How can I do that?