INT. JOB'S APARTMENT - DAY
JOB, (early 30's) sits at his computer, his head propped up
by his left hand.
He stares blankly at the screen.
He types everything you just read.
Then he types this.
Then he sighs.
JOB
(to camera)
I have an earache.
(beat)
I've never had an earache before. I
mean, this is going on one week.
And the last two days it's been
especially bad.
(beat)
It makes writing a blog especially
challenging, because the pain is
distracting me. Plus, pain is not
funny... usually.
He squints in pain.
He cracks his neck.
He looks over at his black cat, FANGS, who is hunting a wild
housefly in the middle of the room.
He is listening to a mix he's made for his boyfriend.
Currently playing is a track from the Mirah remix album,
Joyride; an album he enjoys, though he maintains there's no
real room for improvement on her original recordings, his
favorites being her first two efforts, "You Think It's Like
This But Really It's Like This" and "Advisory Committee",
which included the neo-wall-of-sound wonder-working of Phil
Elvrum...
JOB (CONT'D)
(correcting)
Elverum.
...whatever.
JOB (CONT'D)
Allow me to add, also, that I've
loved every one of Mirah's albums;
each one contains at least one
jewel of a song that absolutely
sends me. No small feat, I've I've
mentioned in previous blogs...
Uh... so I guess I was done speaking?
JOB (CONT'D)
I'm sorry. Did I interrupt you?
Yes.
JOB (CONT'D)
Oh. Sorry. Go ahead.
Thank you. Eh-hem... Job stops speaking and waits for the
directive comments in the script to have their say...
JOB (CONT'D)
Is that what they're called?
Huh?
JOB (CONT'D)
Is that what those parts of a film
script are called? 'Directive
comments'?
Um...
Beat.
Beat.
Beat.
JOB (CONT'D)
You don't know, do you?
Shut up.
JOB (CONT'D)
Hey! It's cool. I mean, I don't
care. I mean, I obviously don't
know myself, otherwise I'd have
typed that, right?
It's embarrassing.
JOB (CONT'D)
Don't be embarrassed! It's not your
fault...
I know, but I don't even know what I'm called!
JOB (CONT'D)
Dude, chill out. I'm not stressing
about it and I'm the dumb-ass who's
writing you!
I know.
JOB (CONT'D)
So relax.
Okay.
JOB (CONT'D)
Good. Now, go on with what you were
saying.
Beat.
I don't remember.
JOB (CONT'D)
You were talking about how much I
love Mirah, who's music can be
found in the rock/pop section at
Amoeba Music.
Uh-huh...
Beat.
Beat.
I don't remember what else I was going to say.
JOB (CONT'D)
Hm. Well, tell you what, I'm gonna
start getting ready for work, so
you can detail that. Okay?
Okay.
Job scratches the side of his head and worries that LA has
given him dandruff.
He takes a sip of water.
He turns up the music, which is now playing a ridiculous
cover of "Tainted Love" as sung by Rupert Everett, which is
featured on the soundtrack for "Hearts of Fire", a
collector's item which can occasionally be found at Amoeba
Music and which features songs by one of its cast members,
Bob Dylan, making the kind of embarrassing music that was
made in the dark times of the 1980's.
JOB (CONT'D)
If I could go back in time I'd pay
for John Hinckley to get target
practice lessons...
That's not funny.
JOB (CONT'D)
Neither were the 1980's.
Remember what happened when you time travelled to Tudor
England? Besides, you're interrupting me again.
JOB (CONT'D)
Sorry.
Job cracks his knuckles and enters the restroom, where he
brushes his teeth for a ridiculously long time.
He puts on some clothes.
EXT. SUNSET BOULEVARD - DAY
He walks to Amoeba Music Hollywood.
He reminds himself to use both legs when walking.
JOB
Ah, yes... that's much easier.
INT. AMOEBA MUSIC HOLLYWOOD - MOMENTS LATER
Job clocks-in, hugs Karen, walks back to the soundtrack
section.
CUSTOMER
What does a green price-tag mean?
JOB
(to camera)
You might as well stop here.
Good idea.
END
Relevant Tags
Cats, Mirah, Phil Elvrum, Rupert Everett, Bob Dylan, Gays, Soundtracks, Amoeba Music HollywoodComments
Attn: C$ Your comment made me barf with laughter. -Ed.
As a cat with celiac disease, I don't think you are one bit funny, Mister Tall.
In addition: meowmeowmeowmeowmeow meowmeow meow meowmeow meowmeowmeowmeowmeow
Remember when Salem had an earache she would stuff what seemed like an entire grocery stores worth of garlic cloves in her ear. I would start to heave a little when she walked into the room because it would smell so bad....
This blog is like the return of Spring, the blossoming of violets too early for a crisp blue dawn, and the smell of baby lambs, like fresh soap, suddenly heard, mewing softly from beneath a canopy of golden wheat.
It makes me want to kneel down, scoop them into my arms, and hold them to my face, their downy softness wiping away any wettness from tears....
And then to snap their necks, one at a time, and drag their still, lifeless body back to my kitchen for the butchery.