“My Cat Is Depressed,” And 99 Other Reasons I Didn’t Write A Blog Post Today

I’m writing a novel, I’m writing a blog, I have a life, and I like to keep up to date with books, movies and music.  I’m only one person and I only have 24 hours in a day, so I’ve been delegating editing work to my cat.  I know what you’re going to say, “Jim, just hire a human editor to proof-read your work.”  I’m sorry I can’t afford that right now.  Everything I write has to go by my cat before it gets published.  Subsequently, my cat is depressed and is feeling extra lethargic.  He’s still working through what I wrote for him two days ago and his mood is not picking up.  As you can imagine, with my editor D.I.A. (depressed in action), it’s impossible to get any work done which is why I haven’t written a blog post in the last few days.

I’m going to the store later tonight to buy some catnip in hopes that will brighten his mood and get him back on track so that I can finish a blog post in (hopefully) the next day or two.  But, of course, I don’t want my cat to be reliant on elicit substances in order to function.  So I’ll just start by micro-dosing the catnip – not me of course, my cat.  I mean, why would I micro-dose catnip, that would be pointless, I’m a human.  It’s that kind of thinking that makes me need a cat-editor in the first place.

Look at me.  My cat doesn’t edit a single post and the entire blog falls to shit.  I can’t even write one blog post without my cat fixing my blunders and making sense of it.  I guess I’ll never be a real writer.  Not until my cat is feeling better, that is.  Now you know the truth of how my sad little sausage is made.  I write barely-comprehendible garbage and my cat edits it down to something easily digestible, unlike whatever he’s currently throwing up on my rug.

So, I apologize for this blog post, hopefully my cat is feeling better soon and gets back to editing my long-winded dribble, so that I can return to publishing quality blog posts regularly.

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Book Review: The Hike by Drew Magary

The Hike by Drew Magary is a cynical mindfuck of a page-turner, which begs the question: Is it possible to have a more complete understanding of a person after being separated for more than a decade?

The book opens with Ben who, upon a whim, decides to take a hike in the Poconos and somehow gets lost in a parallel universe, or a dream, or a coma; part of the intrigue of the story is the mystery surrounding what precise circumstance has Ben experiencing this metaphysical world.  As he gets more lost, we delve deeper into who he is as person and the memories past, which have shaped him, and in fact, have shaped his current predicament.

The novel presents a complete adventure, from start to finish, which takes Ben across an ever-changing landscape of trials, each one more mind-bending than the last.  The inertia of the narrative is constantly on edge; not just pulling the reader through the story, but doing so at such a rapid speed that you’ll quickly lose track of page numbers.  This is the kind of book where once you read those fated two words, “THE END,” you don’t stare at them and ponder what they entail; instead you slam the book closed, because you know in your heart that everything that needs to be said has been said.

Ben is the perfect character for the reader to discover themselves as: imperfect, lazy, cynical, crude, and deeply hilarious.  He is an unwitting imbecile being prodded forward by fate, quick to notice his own suffering and loud at expressing it.  Much of the humor comes from him trying to pinpoint exactly who is responsible for his situation, God or otherwise, and his feeble attempts to express his outrage.  Ben has limited control; he’s being taken on a journey – just like the reader – and through his experience we get a more profound understanding of what really matters to him, and in turn, what matters to us.  I am he as you are me, and we are Crab together.

As we experience Ben’s predicament, we ponder what it means to our own lives.  For example, being lost in a parallel universe can be very similar to living with depression; people don’t know how to reach you, you feel dead to the world, you trudge along a predetermined path hoping it will lead to happiness.  Then long enough on that path, years maybe, you can look back and see the progress you’ve made as a person, building yourself back up like a castle.  It is in this way that Ben’s psychological experience is transformed from profound to personal, as his pain mirrors our own.

With full force you will be compelled to the end of this novel and (just for the sake of outdoing violent metaphors on the book cover) the ending will bulldoze your face with a spiked baseball bat, leaving your decimated jaw agape in silent wonder.

“Home Movies” Spec Script – “To Write Or Not To Write?” – Scene 5

INT. STROMBOLI OLIE’S – NIGHT

Coach McGuirk sits at a table across from Clara.

CLARA

Thanks for inviting me to dinner, John.  It’s so great to be able to sit down with other writers and talk about writing.

COACH MCGUIRK

Yeah, you know me, I love writing so much, I can hardly stand it.

CLARA

I’m so fascinated by your novel.  It’s so sexy when a man can come up with good ideas and turn them into words on a page.

COACH MCGUIRK

That’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about, Clara.  You see, I’m not the person you think I am from my novel.

CLARA

What, do you think I’m stupid?

COACH MCGUIRK

No, I…

CLARA

I know you’re not a secret double agent, John, I know it’s just a book.  You’ve never killed a whale with your bare hands, you probably don’t have a yacht, and there’s no such thing as marshmallow volcano lava.

COACH MCGUIRK

What?  Of course there is.  It’s not that, Clara.  The truth is, I’m not a real writer.  What I submitted was the most I’ve ever written in my entire life and I plan to keep it that way.

CLARA

I see.  That certainly changes things.

COACH MCGUIRK

It does?

CLARA

Big time.  Unfortunately, I’m only attracted to writers, so if that’s not you, I may have gotten my hopes up.

COACH MCGUIRK

There’s gotta be another way.  I like you so much, there has to be a way we can make this work.

CLARA

Well, truth be told, I haven’t been honest with you either, John.

COACH MCGUIRK

You haven’t?

CLARA

Yes, I’m an aspiring author, but I’m also a prostitute, John.

COACH MCGUIRK

Uhh, wait, what?

CLARA

I’m a prostitute, John.  So you can have me if you can afford me.

COACH MCGUIRK

And how much is that?

Clara leans over the table and whispers in his ear.

COACH MCGUIRK

Oh.  Is there any chance you would accept 20%-off coupons to Bogurt’s Yogurt?

CLARA

That’s a confirmed no on the yacht, huh?

COACH MCGUIRK

Wait a minute.  I did write what I submitted.  You’re telling me, all I have to do is keep writing and you’ll be my girlfriend?

Clara smiles.

FADE TO BLACK.

Continue to: “To Write Or Not To Write?” – Scene 6

“Home Movies” Spec Script – “To Write Or Not To Write?” – Scene 4

EXT. SOCCER FIELD – DAY

Brendon sits on the soccer field alone with a pen, pad of paper, a copy of Coach McGuirk’s printed novel, and an empty ice cream bowl.  He flips through McGurik’s manuscript.

BRENDON

I just can’t follow Double Agent John McGuirk’s character arc.  He starts on a whaling ship, then the ninja assassins come out of no where, and somehow the Russian spy sub can pass through the marshmallow lava.  This source material is garbage!  I can’t work with this.

Brendon throws the manuscript a few feet away.  SHANNON walks over and picks it up and begins to read it.

SHANNON

After snapping the neck of the last ninja with a swift high kick, Double Agent John McGuirk grabbed Clara for one last kiss before he dove into the marshmallow lava.  Did you write this crap, Brendon?

BRENDON

No, I didn’t write it, Coach McGuirk did.  He paid me to finish writing it for him.

SHANNON

Oh, so you’re a prostitute.

BRENDON

A what?

SHANNON

A prostitute.  You’re a prostitute, Brendon.  You sell yourself to men so they can get off.

BRENDON

Is that what I’m doing?

SHANNON

How much did he pay you?

BRENDON

Twenty dollars.

SHANNON

Oh, so you’re a cheap prostitute.

BRENDON

I don’t think you’re using that word correctly.

SHANNON

Oh, I’m using it correctly.  You think you’re the only one Coach asked to write for him?  He practically begged the entire basketball team.  You’re the only pretty woman who said yes to him.

BRENDON

I really don’t appreciate that reference.

SHANNON

How does it feel to know that you’re helping an old desperate man get his rocks off?

Shannon picks up Brendon’s empty ice cream container.

SHANNON

And what’s this?  Ike Dream’s Ice Cream and a receipt for exactly $20 in ice cream?  How did it feel, Brendon, going down your throat?  Did it feel like guilt?

BRENDON

Ok, Shannon, I’ve had enough of this conversation.  Unless you can help me write this, you’re wasting my time.

SHANNON

Unlike you, Brendon, I’m not a prostitute.  So, no, I can’t help you write McGuirk’s jizzfest.  But what I can do is give you advice.

BRENDON

Advice?

SHANNON

Don’t write it.

BRENDON

But Coach McGuirk already paid me.

SHANNON

You’d think he would have learned by now not to pay a hooker until after she’s finished.

BRENDON

So you’re saying I shouldn’t write it?  I’d have to feign my death, grow a mustache, learn French and move to Canada.

SHANNON

You’d really go through all that?  What’s the worst he could do to you?  He’s just a soccer coach.

BRENDON

Yeah, but he gets that look where his eyes go all black, like a shark about to strike, but instead of rows of teeth, it’s smells of vodka.

SHANNON

He’s not a shark, Brendon, he’s a whale.  Didn’t you see the title?  Moby McGuirk.  He’s a big fat white whale.

BRENDON

I don’t think I want to anger that whale.

FADE TO BLACK.

Continue to: “To Write Or Not To Write?” – Scene 5

“Home Movies” Spec Script – “To Write Or Not To Write?” – Scene 2

EXT. SOCCER FIELD – DAY

Brendon walks up to the bench where Coach McGuirk is sitting.

COACH MCGUIRK

Brendon, I’m glad you’re here.  Listen, buddy, I need your help on something – and you know what, all your little friends can help out, too.

BRENDON

You’re not going to make us put lotion on your varicose veins again, are you?

COACH MCGUIRK

No, Brendon, this is serious.  I have a girlfriend now.  I’m the happiest I’ve ever been in my entire life and it’s killing me inside, because soon Clara’s going to figure out that I’m not a real writer.

BRENDON

But didn’t you write that submission to the writer’s group?

COACH MCGUIRK

I did, Brendon, and it wore me out.  I’m like that chick who toured with The Rolling Stones and then afterward, her voice didn’t work anymore.  I’m spent, Brendon.  I’m a fraud.

BRENDON

So what do you want me to do?

COACH MCGUIRK

You’re a creative.  Your brain is still young and ambitious with the imagination that only comes from being really small; like the smile of a child, or something.

BRENDON

Coach, what are you talking about?

COACH MCGUIRK

You see? I can’t even form sentences anymore, my brain is cooked.  I need you to finish my novel, so I can submit it to the writer’s group, so Clara won’t dump me.

BRENDON

No, I don’t care if Clara dumps you.

COACH MCGUIRK

Please, Brendon, I hate writing so much.  I can’t do it anymore.

BRENDON

I hate writing even more.  Just ask Mr. Lynch how I do in English.

COACH MCGUIRK

I don’t need to talk to that guy.  I’ve seen your movie collection, Brendon.  You write scripts all the time.  You’ve written more in your short life than I’ve ever written in mine.

BRENDON

I’m in the fourth grade.

COACH MCGUIRK

I’m going to tell you something you might not know about me, Brendon.  I dropped out of school in fourth grade, so my writing level is probably on par with yours.  You could just finish where I left off and no one will know the difference.

BRENDON

Why did you drop out of school?

COACH MCGUIRK

My father was an alcoholic and couldn’t hold down a job.  He was abusive and made me drop out to work in a textiles factory.

BRENDON

In the fourth grade?

COACH MCGUIRK

Luckily, I’ve always been freakishly large, so no one knew I was only thirteen.

BRENDON

You were thirteen in fourth grade?

COACH MCGUIRK

Cut me some slack, Brendon, I need your help on this.  I have the spirit and testosterone of James Bond, in the body of Jabba the Hutt, with the intellect of a fourth grader.  Have the pity on me my father never had.

BRENDON

I really don’t want to.  I already have too much homework.

COACH MCGUIRK

I’ll pay you.

BRENDON

How much?

COACH MCGUIRK

I have a whole stack of 20%-off coupons to Bogurt’s Frozen Yogurt.  That’s all I can afford right now.

BRENDON

I hate frozen yogurt.  It’s like, hey, yogurt, have you ever heard of ice cream?  It’s only better in every way.

COACH MCGUIRK

Fine, twenty dollars.

BRENDON

Sold!  But I’m not splitting it with Jason and Melissa.  You’ll have to bribe them separately.

COACH MCGUIRK

I’m already regretting this.

FADE TO BLACK.

Continue to: “To Write Or Not To Write?” – Scene 3

“Home Movies” Spec Script – “To Write Or Not To Write?” – Scene 1

INT. CLASSROOM – DAY

Brendon sits in the back of the classroom drawing, while Mr. Lynch teaches at the front.  Brendon is drawing a picture of Mr. Lynch being usurped by the students in dramatic revolutionary-war style.

MR. LYNCH

Brendon?  Brendon?  Brendon!

BRENDON

The answer is 1776, the revolution began.

MR. LYNCH

No, I asked you to read the freewrite you’ve been working on the entire class period.

BRENDON

This isn’t history class?

MR. LYNCH

No, Brendon, this is English class.

BRENDON

Oh, that explains a lot.

MR. LYNCH

Brendon, I’m starting to get the impression that you’re not enthused about writing.

BRENDON

You’re just getting that impression now?

MR. LYNCH

That’s it, Brendon.  I’m mandating that you submit to this year’s writing competition.

BRENDON

What?  That nerd-o read-a-thon with all the kids that wear glasses?

MR. LYNCH

Hmm, I guess they do all wear glasses.

BRENDON

I just wouldn’t fit in with that crowd.  We come from different worlds, them with glasses, me without glasses.

MR. LYNCH

You’re doing it, Brendon.

BRENDON

No no no, what do you call this?  Extracurricular activity?  No thank you.  Keep that extra because all my school activities are strictly curricular.

MR. LYNCH

Not anymore.  Your participation grade is non-existent, so if you don’t participate in the writing competition, I’m failing you.

BRENDON

What?  When is the deadline?

MR. LYNCH

Next Friday.

BRENDON

That is not nearly enough time for me to sit down and write something.

MR. LYNCH

That is not my problem.  It’s just a twenty page minimum to submit.  I know you can handle that.

BRENDON

And what if I can’t handle it?  Do you really want that on your conscience?

MR. LYNCH

I think I’ll manage.

FADE TO BLACK.

Continue to: “To Write Or Not To Write?” – Scene 2

“Home Movies” Spec Script – “Moby McGuirk” – Scene 6

(Original picture source: Adult Swim)

INT. MEETING ROOM – NIGHT

Coach McGuirk opens the door and walks in.  Three other men sit at the table in the room.

COACH MCGUIRK

Is this the writer’s group?

DEVIN

Yup, this is the Super Fun Writer’s Club!

COACH MCGUIRK

That’s what you call it?

DEVIN

What’s wrong with the name?

COACH MCGUIRK

Well, writing isn’t fun or super, so everything.  What about The Honey Pot-tential Authors?  That’s more relevant, huh?

DEVIN

What are you talking about?

COACH MCGUIRK

I guess you wouldn’t get it.  Hey, I was expecting a female to be here, her name is Clara.

DEVIN

Clara isn’t here yet, but I’m Devin, and this is Greg and Mark.  And you are?

COACH MCGUIRK

I’m John McGuirk.

GREG

John McGuirk?  So you named the main character after yourself, huh?

Greg and Mark laugh.  Coach McGuirk sits down.

COACH MCGUIRK

Um.

DEVIN

Alright guys, we haven’t started the review yet.  First, some ground rules.  Rule number one, you’re not allowed to speak while the group reviews you.  Rule number two is have fun.

COACH MCGUIRK

Oh Jesus Christ.

DEVIN

And I’m a stickler for the rules, John.  So, let’s get started on your piece.  Greg, what did you think of John’s piece titled, Moby McGuirk?

GREG

I just have a question real quick.  Were you aiming for a crappier version of Moby Dick or is that just what you landed on?

COACH MCGUIRK

What kind of question is that?

GREG

Look, I just mean-

COACH MCGUIRK

You’re lucky Clara isn’t here yet, buddy.  If you talk to me like that when she’s here-

DEVIN

John, you can’t speak.

COACH MCGUIRK

I will follow you to your car, stalk you home, watch you for a few days or a week, until I figure out what you love most, by the looks of you, probably a cat.

GREG

Mr. Pickles.

DEVIN

John, I just want to remind you that you can’t speak during the review.

COACH MCGUIRK

He asked me a question.  So, yeah, don’t make me finish that sentence when — Clara you’re here!

Clara walks into the room and sits down.

CLARA

Sorry I’m late.  I’m so glad you could make it, John.

GREG

So glad.  We were just reviewing his novel.

COACH MCGUIRK

Let’s hear what the lady has to say, okay buddy, you had your chance.

DEVIN

John, remember, you can’t speak.

COACH MCGUIRK

I got it.

CLARA

Well at first, when I was reading it, I was confused.

GREG

See, that’s what I’m saying.

CLARA

But then I realized the genius behind it, how all great artists steal, and you have weaved the artists in your life into a beautiful mesh of raw passion.

Coach McGuirk and Clara move closer to each other.

COACH MCGUIRK

What else do you like about it, baby?

DEVIN

John, I want to remind you that-

COACH MCGUIRK

I heard you!  Can it already!

CLARA

When Double Agent John McGuirk erupts out of the marshmallow volcano, my breath was taken.

COACH MCGUIRK

I knew you’d like that.

CLARA

And I realized that whoever wrote this manuscript should be the father of my children.

GREG

Come again?

COACH MCGUIRK

Did you?

CLARA

And again.

COACH MCGUIRK

Kiss me.

Coach McGuirk and Clara start making out.

DEVIN

John, I just want to remind you that you’re not allowed to talk.

Coach McGuirk and Clara ignore him and keep making out.

DEVIN

John?  Clara?  Well what did everyone else think?

GREG

I honestly thought it was written by a fourth grader.

FADE TO BLACK.

CREDITS.

Continue to Episode 2: “To Write Or Not To Write?” – Scene 1

“Home Movies” Spec Script – “Moby McGuirk” – Scene 3

INT. JOHN MCGUIRK’S HOUSE – NIGHT

Coach McGuirk sits on the floor, talking on the phone, his laptop propped up on a box.

COACH MCGUIRK

So, Clara, when will I see you again?

CLARA

You’re still coming to the writing group on Wednesday, right?

COACH MCGUIRK

Yeah, of course.

CLARA

Great, I’ll see you then.  You’re submitting part of your novel, right?

COACH MCGUIRK

Yeah, definitely.

CLARA

Great, just email it to me by Friday, so the group has enough time to read it.

COACH MCGUIRK

Friday?  That’s tomorrow.

CLARA

Is that a problem?

COACH MCGUIRK

Not at all, since I already wrote it.

CLARA

Great!  I’ll talk to you tomorrow then.

COACH MCGUIRK

Great.

Clara hangs up the phone and Coach McGuirk sighs heavily.

COACH MCGUIRK

Okay, John, you got this.  Just read Moby Dick and copy down the good stuff and change anything you don’t like.  McGuirk it up a little.

Coach McGuirk opens the book Moby Dick, typing in his laptop as he goes.

COACH MCGUIRK

Let’s see here.  Chapter one.  Call me Ishmael.  Well that sucks.  Let’s change that to: Call me Coach McGuirk.  Wait, no.  Call me McGuirk, comma, John McGuirk.  Yeah, like James Bond did it; and look how much action he got.  Moving on.  Some years ago–never mind how precisely–having little or no money in my purse.  Purse?!  No, McGuirk doesn’t own a purse.  When does it get to the part about the boat?

Coach McGuirk flips through the book.

COACH MCGUIRK

Here we go.  The whaling voyage was welcome; the great flood-gates of the wonder-world swung open. Oh, that’s good.  That’ll swing open her flood gates.  I don’t even know what it means, but it’s good.  Let’s see, crap, I keep losing my place.  Here it is.  And in the wild conceits that swayed me to my purpose, two and two there floated into my inmost soul, endless processions of the whale.  Oh, yeah, that’ll get her wet.  She’ll be begging for the endless processions of my whale.  Mid most of them all, one grand hooded phantom – that sounds dope – like a snow hill in the air.  Hmm.  Okay, dial it down, Shakespeare.  We’ll change that to: like my private yacht, which I use to go on whaling expeditions.

Coach McGuirk turns the page.

COACH MCGUIRK

Alright, chapter two.

FADE TO BLACK.

Continue to: “Moby McGuirk” – Scene 4