Another Media Show

... (by yours truly) (except for the belches) (yours truly only wishes).

Snarktionary of the day

A helpful definition to accompany the previous entry:

duane reade n. (various upside-down letters to indicate that it is pronounced "Duane Reade") a drugstore located approximately every .0000000003 block (1.576 telegrams) in New York, with 305 new arboreal locations opening up this summer to Better Serve You, if You are a squirrel.*  This makes it the fourth-most populous establishment in The City, narrowly edged by Chase and Capital One banks and things now featuring the name "Trump," as in "Trump-O-Let."

*Not that I am suggesting you are personally.

A-bum bum bum: I've got a little list

Overheard on 86th Street and Broadway:

BUM (holding out a banana): Hey, ladies. Want a banana?
TWO GIRLS: (briskly keep on walking)
BUM (sympathetically): Yeh. You can't be too careful.

This pretty much vaulted him to the top of my list of Favorite Bums Ever, narrowly edging out the bearded behemoth who once sought out my company at Zabar's by asking me, in a tone of great loin activity, if I were lactose-intolerant. That was the same day I received, unasked, the companionship of an elderly woman in a fur coat roughly the shade of yellow Play-Doh. I don't even want to think about how many Pikachu had to die so she could wear that thing.

And on that note:

THE TOP 10 VERY REAL FEARS YOU WILL FACE IN THE CITY 

1. Someone might offer you a banana.

2. Someone might pee on you.

3. Someone might offer you a banana while peeing on you.

4. You might find a giant mutant death bug in your bathroom.

5. The giant mutant death bug might be reading issues of Time Out New York.

6. You might find issues of Time Out New York in your bathroom.

7. Your bathroom might get turned into a Duane Reade.  This might even happen while you are engaged in flagrant bathroom activities.*

8. You might set someone's loins a-roilin' by saying you're lactose-intolerant.

9. You might set his loins a-roilin' by saying you're not.

10. "Loins" is funny.

(source: 2009 Zagat survey)

* There is nothing in the city legislature that prohibits this.  In fact, it specifically states, "the flagranter, the better."

©2009, Nicola McEldowney

The Snark Ascending

Budgate

Tonight, I present you: proof that it is BAD to be creative at work. Creativity and work do not mesh, like oil and water or academia and thought. (NOTE TO THOUGHTFUL ACADEMICS: I'm just kidding! Please keep regaling me with The Latest on how certain genders are different from other genders, thereby stimulating me to the point of thought-gasm!) (NOTE TO EVERYONE ELSE: I actually meant what I said.) (NOTE TO THOUGHTFUL ACADEMICS: Love ya! Don't ever change! Let's do lunch!)

So anyway, I was at my place of employment, hereinafter The Food Place, writing a musical (coincidentally that mysterious major project, which, actually, I just finished) in which a character sings of a past life in the following words:

I USED TO BE A SIX-FOOT-SEVEN TRUCKER, NAME OF BUD.

Naturally I turned the notebook page just before writing these very words on an otherwise blank sheet. And naturally I left this sheet, quite by accident, on my boss's desk. And naturally the boss walked in shortly thereafter to see this enigmatic statement. In my handwriting. I discreetly closed the book as soon as I found a graceful opportunity, and while we did not discuss this matter, we later exchanged significant glances. I think.

However, later that same afternoon -- this is true -- famed news anchor Paula Zahn paid a visit to The Food Place. This cannot have been a coincidence. So this post is just to say, whatever wild rumors you may or may not have heard about me are not true. To my knowledge. But just in case, I'm avoiding all outlets of news.

I figure Bud would have done as much.







©2009, Nicola McEldowney
The Snark Ascending

Apologies

Sorry the promised Snark never materialized. One is still in the offing, I swear. Fortunately, I have a good excuse: a comparatively humongous project, which I have been working on, in one form or another (these include thinking about working on it, thinking about thinking about working on it, not working on it, going out for Thai food, etc.) for over a year, is suddenly on the verge of completion. Once it's done -- which will be within the week -- I intend to return to the snarkery with abandon. And, if I can help it, regularity.

Meanwhile, I'll be traveling for the next few days, but see you after that. Promise.

NM

The original script

THE MEDIA SHOW: WHAT'S IN A FLAME?
(©2009, Nicola McEldowney)

(Erna, typing at the computer, Weena nearby. Suddenly, a DRAMATIC CHORD.)
Erna: Ye gads!!!
Weena: What, what is it?!
Erna: Someone – on a message board – is – WRONG!
Weena: Whaddeesaywhaddeesaywhaddeesay??!
Erna (with difficulty): He says Trillian from the original BBC Hitchhiker’s Guide** is an incandescent talent!
Weena: Foul blasphemer!
Erna: What can be done? – I know! We must correct him, and, so doing, save mankind! (She taps a few keys.) Done!
Weena: (Beat.) – Look! He wrote you back already!
Erna: Why, I think I’ll open it!
(Click. Beat. Computer makes a HIDEOUS NOISE hereafter meant to indicate “flame.” E. and W. react in horror.)
Both: AAAHHHH! WE’VE BEEN FLAMED!
(In the following line, an “AA-OO-GAH!” occurs every time there is a “---" in the text.)
Erna: Would you LOOK at the things he SAID to me?! He called me a (---)! He told me to go (---) myself! He said I could take my opinions and stick them up my (---)! I don’t even think I have a (---)! (Wounded.) I wasn’t trying to be mean!
Weena: I know, but on the Internet, nobody can know for sure what you’re trying to be. It’s easy to take offense at something innocent. Say you write, “That’s a great idea.” Who’s to say whether it means - (Melodious “happy music.) - “that’s a great idea,” or, (Music from hell. Synthesized evil mega-voice a la monster truck announcer.) – “THAT’S A GREAT IDEA”?
Erna: You’re right. I now see the error of my ways. How can I put this right? – I know! Everyone knows two wrongs make a right – I’ll flame his flaming butt right back! (She attacks the computer.)
Weena: No, Erna, Erna, stop! Don’t start a flame war! It’s the road to ruin! Don’t you realize what hideous destiny will be yours?
Erna: The angels will kill me?
Weena: Even worse: you’ll be the subject of an AFTER-SCHOOL SPECIAL, CIRCA 1973!
(Even more dramatic chord than the previous one / tight shot on Erna’s face.)
Erna: NOOOOOO…
(The scene turns into an after-school special promo/public service announcement hybrid, starring Erna and Weena, with hideous ‘70s hair styles. After-school special music.)
Narrator (always hyperdramatic): Heather and Cookie thought they’d be best friends forever…
Erna (in character): Gee Cookie, do you think we’ll be best friends forever?
Weena (in character): Heck yes, Heather, as long as unsightly bangs are in style!
Narrator: …until FLAME WARS threatened to tear them apart.
(Weena at a computer. The computer makes the aforementioned hideous noise. The following text appears across the screen: ur a loser)
(Erna at a computer. Hideous noise. Text on screen: its circa 1973 and theres no such thing as flame wars so ur a bigger loser)
(The next two lines occurring as though in separate “clips.”)
Weena (bad acting): I hate you.
Erna (bad acting): I wish I was dead.
Narrator: Can Heather and Cookie ever repair their friendship?
(The next two lines occurring in a single “clip.”)
Erna: Look, Cookie, I’m telling you as a friend, one day something called “Wikipedia” will define flaming as “a hostile and insulting interaction between Internet users,” and a flamer as “an individual who believes he or she carries the only valid opinion,” which “leads him to personally attack those who disagree.” I just – don’t – want – to see you get hurt!
Weena: You so don’t get me – you never got me!
Narrator: So remember, kids: don’t shoot up and/or reproduce while getting in cars with perverts unfamiliar to you. Because divorce is never your fault.
Erna (to the narrator): What about flame wars?
Narrator: Oh, right. Flame wars are bad. Ba-a-a-a-ad. So, kids: don’t be a flame-war starting Flamey McFlame flaming flamer flamemeister flamey flame-butt. Or the angels will kill you.
Weena (to the narrator): Well, that seems a little harsh.
Narrator: Okay, well. (Beat.) Kids: don’t start a flame war, because you won’t just start one flame war. Before you know it, you’ll need to start flame wars every day. Soon you won’t be able to control your urge to flame, and you’ll be starting MULTIPLE flame wars SEVERAL TIMES a day, and you’ll GROW HAIRY PALMS.
Erna (showing her paws to camera, and weeping): It happened to meeeeeeee!!!
Weena (in “character” again): Now forgotten actor Jeff Conaway*** will never take you to the prom!
Erna (in “character” again): I hate my liiiiife.
Weena (to audience): Don’t start flame wars.
Narrator (extremely fast): This program has been sponsored by the Anti-flame war-starting Flamey McFlame flaming flamer flamemeister flamey flame-butt Council of America. Batteriesnotincluded.

The End






* Shut up.
** I can say without hyperbole that this performance is the cause of everything bad.
*** It is a scientifically proven health benefit to use the phrase "forgotten actor Jeff Conaway" as frequently as possible. See, watch this: forgotten actor Jeff Conaway. Ahhh! Hangnail awwww gone.




©2009, Nicola McEldowney
The Snark Ascending

What's in a Flame?

More bloggy goodness anon. Je vous promets!* Meanwhile, meet The Media Show, esteemed brainchild of my esteemed peeps at AfterEd TV in New York. Here is a script I wrote for them earlier this year. (All is mine excepting a couple interpolations by the AfterEd folks, such as the reference to "G.I. Jem," a craptastic nugget of '80s pop culture which, sadly, I was born just a couple years too late to savor. Dang, you know?)

...and in fact, I am hard at work on the snarkery, so stay tuned.








* French, meaning, "Especially if I feel like it."


©2009, Nicola McEldowney
The Snark Ascending