Leafstorm
03-10-2008, 07:21 AM
TMI!
My friend Gill has a tenuous, on-again/off-again relationship with reality. Over the years I’ve watched it evolve from haughty disdain to something like mutual distrust, or tender malice. I suppose that’s why I like Gill and agreed to help him finish his film, entitled "The Dandy". He asked me to provide some sound effects, as he knew I could do a good street cleaner falling into a swimming pool, at night, with sirens, crickets, and sitars – and that was just what he needed.
While we were recording the doorbell rang. Gill answered the door while I practiced making my burning violin sound. By coincidence all the members of a wedding party had arrived at Gill’s house rather than the church. A gracious host, Gill greeted them at the door and told each of them that he had one enlarged testicle that is colored blue. Each guest replied “TMI” as they entered.
Gill got excited because he assumed that these people were all employees of a film production company named TMI, and that they had all come to view his film. I tried to explain to him what they meant but he wouldn’t listen.
One guest that Gill welcomed wanted to know what hue of blue.
“Ultramarine?” asked the man. He was dressed in a crisp purple uniform festooned with epaulets and gold galloon. Three rows of colorful medals were pinned on his chest. Standing stiffly with a severe expression on his face, he looked altogether rather grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous.
“I was in the Navy,” said Gill.
“Well, that explains it,” said the man. “I think I can help you.”
“Are you a doctor?” asked Gill.
“No,” replied the man as he entered the house. “I’m a Navy Chaplain. I believe you’re suffering from a spiritual malaise known as bluebells. Let’s talk.” Gill nodded and ushered the Chaplain into the house with the other guests.
When all the guests were seated in the living room Gill introduced his two sisters. His sisters were suspicious and refused to give their names – they referred to themselves only as Two Irish Sisters.
“You’re Irish?” asked one of the guests.
“No,” said the sisters together, and they went into the kitchen to make some borscht for the visitors.
“Gill and I,” said Gill to the seated guests, “would like to thank you all for coming.” He made quotation mark gestures with his fingers when he said his name, indicating that he meant “Gill” the character in his film – the Dandy – rather than himself. He then directed their attention to his television.
“Lemal. If you would please.”
I hit the play button on the remote and “The Dandy” began to play.
In the film the Dandy was dressed in a white suit with bright green stripes, and he wore a similarly colored boots, spats, top hat, and gloves. The frames of his sunglasses, however, were bright orange. In each scene the Dandy manipulated pieces of thin, unpainted particle board – the kind with holes in it – to make recognizable objects: a chair, a washing machine, a Maseratti, the Eiffel Tower, etc. The Dandy then pranced and careened in a circle around the particle board replica, while a metallic version of “The Blue Danube” played – that had been my suggestion.
“The central object, the core, changes,” explained Gill enthusiastically, “but the orbiting ejecta, the Dandy, is immutable, implacable, and inscrotumable.”
“Divine?” offered the Navy Chaplain.
“Yes!” replied Gill. “The part coming up – The London Bridge scene – is especially moving and resonant with allusions to famous chain-smokers.”
“Bold!” said the Navy Chaplain.
The Two Irish Sisters returned with a terribly failed version of borscht, which annoyed most of the guests, but not the Two Irish Sisters.
“Please sir,” said a skinny boy to one of the Two Irish Sisters, “may I have some more?” He held up his bowl of ruined borscht, and a tear trickled down his cheek. Immediately his mother started to wail and beat her breast.
“What is wrong?” asked the Chaplain.
“I told him never to say that!” cried the distraught woman.
“What? “May I have some more?”?” asked the Chaplain, which caused the woman to
wail even louder.
“Yes!” she replied. “For those are the words that killed his father!” The Chaplain thought about this for a moment.
“I see,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Well, the one is dead and the other is hungry, so I suggest you just get over it, hm? Besides, your crying is more appropriate for a funeral than a wedding – or a film screening, for God’s sake!”
The woman nodded upon hearing the Chaplain’s wise and comforting words, and she made an effort to calm herself, though sobs continued to bubble up. She eventually quieted down and dried her tears. Her son happily slurped up the extra bitter burnt borscht he’d been given. The Chaplain patted him on the head.
“We’re bored!” announced the bride.
“As hell!” extrapolated the groom.
Gill was noticeably upset by this announcement. I felt bad for him because I knew that what he regarded as the climactic scene of his film – The Titanic – with the Dandy prancing around a particle board ship prow as it sinks into an inflated wading pool – was about to start.
“Grade A plywood would have been more interesting,” said the groom. He made a vicious thumbs-down sign. Gill gasped and placed a hand on his breast.
“Yeah,” said the bride. “Holy particle board is like so cliché noire.” She thrust two thumbs downward. Gill staggered and placed the back of his other hand upon his forehead, acting – with aplomb, I might add – as if he were about to feint.
“We’re going to the backyard to have sex on the lawn,” said the bride to everyone as she stood up. “This whole marriage thing was his idea, not ours,” she said, while jerking her thumbs in the direction of the Chaplain. She stuck her tongue out at him as well. The Chaplain sneered back at her and thrust his middle finger in the air. The groom then flipped both his pinkies back at the Chaplain. A vicious exchange of finger gesture curses then commenced between the young couple and the Chaplain.
“Oh dear!” said Gill. “Are you getting this?”
“Yes!” I replied. I had grabbed a camera and was filming the dispute.
The Chaplain glanced at Gill and made a gesture that Gill understood to mean “Don't worry, they are either atheists or papists, and despite the voids at the centers of their souls, they really do want to get married and collect linen, microwaves, houseplants, and power tools, and, further more, they are Philistines that cannot appreciate the aesthetic complexity and Sturm und Drang beauty of your film, which, as all can see, is a grand allegory and satire on the current states of cinema, the theatre, literature, and marquetry, all of them on their death beds and in need of an infusion of Élan Vital, which is precisely what your ‘Dandy’ is, mon cheri; though I would make one suggestion: change the score to Van Morrison's ‘Moondance’ sung by a choir of cherubic prepubescent boys.”
That really annoyed me, but I kept on filming, as it wasn’t my place to intervene in a drama of nature.
Gill made a dubious gesture in reply, intending to reply “I'm really not sure what you're about.”
The Chaplain made a cryptic movement which Gill took to mean “Whatever unsettles you.”
The bride and groom headed out to the backyard, tearing their clothing off as they went. A discussion ensued amongst the guests concerning whether or not they should join them.
“It's an important day for them,” said one of the Two Irish Sisters. “We'll make surströmming with jam,” said the other. Recalling the borscht, the guests quickly moved to the backyard, and, divided into the bride's section and the groom's section, respectfully watched the ceremony of holy matrimonial love making.
“Honey?” said the bride, as they untangled limbs and retangled them in a different way. Gill glanced at me.
“Got it,” I said, camera running.
“Yes, dear?” said the groom.
“I'd like you to do something.”
“What's that?”
The guests all pressed in close to hear the reply. When she told him what it was she wanted him to do, which had something to do with jam or borscht, the guests began to shout “TMI!”
Gill, thinking this was the film production company's rally chant, joined his comrades.
“TMI!” he began shouting rhythmically, while punching his fist up into the air. “TMI! TMI! TMI!”
The guests were infused by his sprit-de-corps and took up the chant. The Chaplain danced in a circle around them all, clapping his hands above his head, his eyeballs rolling up into his head as he fell into a trance.
“TMI! TMI! TMI! TMI!”
Above the cacophony floated my best imitation of a mourning dove. <?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p>
My friend Gill has a tenuous, on-again/off-again relationship with reality. Over the years I’ve watched it evolve from haughty disdain to something like mutual distrust, or tender malice. I suppose that’s why I like Gill and agreed to help him finish his film, entitled "The Dandy". He asked me to provide some sound effects, as he knew I could do a good street cleaner falling into a swimming pool, at night, with sirens, crickets, and sitars – and that was just what he needed.
While we were recording the doorbell rang. Gill answered the door while I practiced making my burning violin sound. By coincidence all the members of a wedding party had arrived at Gill’s house rather than the church. A gracious host, Gill greeted them at the door and told each of them that he had one enlarged testicle that is colored blue. Each guest replied “TMI” as they entered.
Gill got excited because he assumed that these people were all employees of a film production company named TMI, and that they had all come to view his film. I tried to explain to him what they meant but he wouldn’t listen.
One guest that Gill welcomed wanted to know what hue of blue.
“Ultramarine?” asked the man. He was dressed in a crisp purple uniform festooned with epaulets and gold galloon. Three rows of colorful medals were pinned on his chest. Standing stiffly with a severe expression on his face, he looked altogether rather grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous.
“I was in the Navy,” said Gill.
“Well, that explains it,” said the man. “I think I can help you.”
“Are you a doctor?” asked Gill.
“No,” replied the man as he entered the house. “I’m a Navy Chaplain. I believe you’re suffering from a spiritual malaise known as bluebells. Let’s talk.” Gill nodded and ushered the Chaplain into the house with the other guests.
When all the guests were seated in the living room Gill introduced his two sisters. His sisters were suspicious and refused to give their names – they referred to themselves only as Two Irish Sisters.
“You’re Irish?” asked one of the guests.
“No,” said the sisters together, and they went into the kitchen to make some borscht for the visitors.
“Gill and I,” said Gill to the seated guests, “would like to thank you all for coming.” He made quotation mark gestures with his fingers when he said his name, indicating that he meant “Gill” the character in his film – the Dandy – rather than himself. He then directed their attention to his television.
“Lemal. If you would please.”
I hit the play button on the remote and “The Dandy” began to play.
In the film the Dandy was dressed in a white suit with bright green stripes, and he wore a similarly colored boots, spats, top hat, and gloves. The frames of his sunglasses, however, were bright orange. In each scene the Dandy manipulated pieces of thin, unpainted particle board – the kind with holes in it – to make recognizable objects: a chair, a washing machine, a Maseratti, the Eiffel Tower, etc. The Dandy then pranced and careened in a circle around the particle board replica, while a metallic version of “The Blue Danube” played – that had been my suggestion.
“The central object, the core, changes,” explained Gill enthusiastically, “but the orbiting ejecta, the Dandy, is immutable, implacable, and inscrotumable.”
“Divine?” offered the Navy Chaplain.
“Yes!” replied Gill. “The part coming up – The London Bridge scene – is especially moving and resonant with allusions to famous chain-smokers.”
“Bold!” said the Navy Chaplain.
The Two Irish Sisters returned with a terribly failed version of borscht, which annoyed most of the guests, but not the Two Irish Sisters.
“Please sir,” said a skinny boy to one of the Two Irish Sisters, “may I have some more?” He held up his bowl of ruined borscht, and a tear trickled down his cheek. Immediately his mother started to wail and beat her breast.
“What is wrong?” asked the Chaplain.
“I told him never to say that!” cried the distraught woman.
“What? “May I have some more?”?” asked the Chaplain, which caused the woman to
wail even louder.
“Yes!” she replied. “For those are the words that killed his father!” The Chaplain thought about this for a moment.
“I see,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Well, the one is dead and the other is hungry, so I suggest you just get over it, hm? Besides, your crying is more appropriate for a funeral than a wedding – or a film screening, for God’s sake!”
The woman nodded upon hearing the Chaplain’s wise and comforting words, and she made an effort to calm herself, though sobs continued to bubble up. She eventually quieted down and dried her tears. Her son happily slurped up the extra bitter burnt borscht he’d been given. The Chaplain patted him on the head.
“We’re bored!” announced the bride.
“As hell!” extrapolated the groom.
Gill was noticeably upset by this announcement. I felt bad for him because I knew that what he regarded as the climactic scene of his film – The Titanic – with the Dandy prancing around a particle board ship prow as it sinks into an inflated wading pool – was about to start.
“Grade A plywood would have been more interesting,” said the groom. He made a vicious thumbs-down sign. Gill gasped and placed a hand on his breast.
“Yeah,” said the bride. “Holy particle board is like so cliché noire.” She thrust two thumbs downward. Gill staggered and placed the back of his other hand upon his forehead, acting – with aplomb, I might add – as if he were about to feint.
“We’re going to the backyard to have sex on the lawn,” said the bride to everyone as she stood up. “This whole marriage thing was his idea, not ours,” she said, while jerking her thumbs in the direction of the Chaplain. She stuck her tongue out at him as well. The Chaplain sneered back at her and thrust his middle finger in the air. The groom then flipped both his pinkies back at the Chaplain. A vicious exchange of finger gesture curses then commenced between the young couple and the Chaplain.
“Oh dear!” said Gill. “Are you getting this?”
“Yes!” I replied. I had grabbed a camera and was filming the dispute.
The Chaplain glanced at Gill and made a gesture that Gill understood to mean “Don't worry, they are either atheists or papists, and despite the voids at the centers of their souls, they really do want to get married and collect linen, microwaves, houseplants, and power tools, and, further more, they are Philistines that cannot appreciate the aesthetic complexity and Sturm und Drang beauty of your film, which, as all can see, is a grand allegory and satire on the current states of cinema, the theatre, literature, and marquetry, all of them on their death beds and in need of an infusion of Élan Vital, which is precisely what your ‘Dandy’ is, mon cheri; though I would make one suggestion: change the score to Van Morrison's ‘Moondance’ sung by a choir of cherubic prepubescent boys.”
That really annoyed me, but I kept on filming, as it wasn’t my place to intervene in a drama of nature.
Gill made a dubious gesture in reply, intending to reply “I'm really not sure what you're about.”
The Chaplain made a cryptic movement which Gill took to mean “Whatever unsettles you.”
The bride and groom headed out to the backyard, tearing their clothing off as they went. A discussion ensued amongst the guests concerning whether or not they should join them.
“It's an important day for them,” said one of the Two Irish Sisters. “We'll make surströmming with jam,” said the other. Recalling the borscht, the guests quickly moved to the backyard, and, divided into the bride's section and the groom's section, respectfully watched the ceremony of holy matrimonial love making.
“Honey?” said the bride, as they untangled limbs and retangled them in a different way. Gill glanced at me.
“Got it,” I said, camera running.
“Yes, dear?” said the groom.
“I'd like you to do something.”
“What's that?”
The guests all pressed in close to hear the reply. When she told him what it was she wanted him to do, which had something to do with jam or borscht, the guests began to shout “TMI!”
Gill, thinking this was the film production company's rally chant, joined his comrades.
“TMI!” he began shouting rhythmically, while punching his fist up into the air. “TMI! TMI! TMI!”
The guests were infused by his sprit-de-corps and took up the chant. The Chaplain danced in a circle around them all, clapping his hands above his head, his eyeballs rolling up into his head as he fell into a trance.
“TMI! TMI! TMI! TMI!”
Above the cacophony floated my best imitation of a mourning dove. <?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p>