Low Key – March 28, 2010
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The Imperfect Pushup
Dear Perfect Pushup Manufacturer,
I am writing to complain that you have sold a defective product, and I demand my money back.
Seven months ago, walking past a GNC store, I saw your exercise device—The Perfect Pushup—and I purchased said device. This morning, when I finally opened the box and attempted one of these so-called “perfect pushups,” I found it incredibly difficult impossible. How, in good conscience, can you sell an exercise product too difficult to use by those most in need of exercise?
The Perfect Pushup is simply unworkable. I have tried everything in the last fifteen minutes—using both hands, girl pushups, taking frequent breaks—and none of it has made your product easy or effortless. I am still grossly overweight.
I called GNC to exchange the defective merchandise, but they refuse to accept any return now covered in cat hair and bits of cereal. Therefore, I am emailing you directly.
I insist on a refund of the full purchase price of $39.99 for the Perfect Pushup, which I assure you I paid, not the sale price of $14.99 listed on my receipt. Also, an apology for wasting my morning. If I do not hear back from you within ten business days, I will be seeking legal counsel from my downstairs neighbor, Larry.
Sincerely,
Andrew Ross
Southern Lawyer
Alright then, a bit about little ol' me.
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[Text of the above audio. Best read in a deep, Southern Gentleman accent.]
Now, I’m just an old-time southern lawyer. I don’t cotton much to the fancy things in life. If I had my way, I’d spend my days sittin’ on an old porch swing, sippin’ on a nice, cool ginger beer or lemonade, watchin’ the moss grow on Miss Bessie’s willow trees and reminiscin’ on a nice game of golf I saw when I was a young boy.
Maybe run my thumbs under my suspenders—a new maroon pair every Christmas from my wife, Adelaide—and ponder a life lesson or two imparted onto me by a mystical colored fella I met after the war. Sit there hearin’ his soothin’ voice in my head replayin’ gentle words of wisdom about takin’ it easy and enjoyin’ life as it comes along.
Instead, I’m here in my offices, tryin’ to sync my Blackberry calendar to my Google calendar. But, our IT manager has uploaded a new Linux-based OS to our client server, which he claimed would ease some of the bounce back we were getting’ durin’ our batch processin’ of large data dumps for our class action clients.
Every time I boot up the shared drive, I’m gettin’ these Windows registry errors, and I tried to log in as the network administrator and look at some of the lines of code to see if I could recognize any common glitches in the information architecture. But, it seems to be havin’ problems authenticatin’ passwords, so I’ll just ask my assistant, Jeffrey, to do it when I return home from my trip to Dubai on Wednesday.
My Notes On Your Script
Okay, first, I think your script is terrific. Thank you so much for asking my opinions on it. For the most part, I think everything is in place, but I do have a few ideas. So here goes:
- I think the opening scenes are nice—very visual, snappy dialogue—but, the screenplay really starts rolling on page 78 with the dining hall scene. So, I think you should just start there and cut everything up to page 77.
- I like your sense of place in the script. You paint a very good picture of a claustrophobic space station. It gave me chills.
- I like the character of you. I know you named her Jessica Striker, but it’s pretty much your personality in an astronaut’s body. And, I think that’s great. It’s good to have a hero with flaws.
- One thing I didn’t like was the villain. He seemed a bit too monstrous and cruel. The audience needs a credible bad guy, so that the danger feels real. Also, I don’t know why he wears my brown sweatshirt and has my beard. How is that appropriate in space?
- (By the way, you left your lap desk and a couple skirts behind at the apartment. I’ll be away at 1pm on Thursday if you want to get them. You can leave your key on the kitchen table.)
- I thought your ending was really cute. It showed a fresh innocence about how the world works. I’m sure a lot of little girls out there will really connect with the idea that one character can be completely wrong and the other completely right.
- When the heroine finds a great new boyfriend, you fail to address how he’ll react to the heroine being a lying skank.
- On page 112, when you have the heroine disintegrate the villain with her space laser, maybe you could have her slowly crush him with her nagging instead.
Other than those notes, I think your script is in really good shape. You might want to run spellcheck in a few places, but nothing big. Oh, and I don’t think it’s customary to have casting suggestions at the front, so you might want to cut that. Also, Cameron Diaz? Really? Are you sure you don’t mean someone fatter?
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[Author's note: Blog readers, it's probably confusing that I talk about my wife in one post and then about having an imaginary girlfriend/breakup in the next. There's a simple answer. Laziness.]
Today’s Inspirational Thought
Inside every soap bubble, there is an entire rainbow. And, at the end of every rainbow, there is a pot of gold.
And, in every pot of gold there is one Canadian penny. And, on every Canadian penny there is a maple leaf. And, within every maple leaf, there is a million years of evolution.
And, in a million years, there has never been anyone who enjoyed Cool Ranch Doritos as much as me. And, in every serving of Cool Ranch Doritos, there is 4% of your recommended daily fiber. And, in every fiber of her being, my wife hates the smell of Doritos on my breath.
And, in every breath, there is life. And, in every life, some rain must fall. And, every fall, we carve pumpkins. And, inside every pumpkin, there are seeds for more pumpkins. Which I always pretend are the pumpkin’s brains.
It really makes you think.
Alright, On Three…
Alright, calm down. It’s gonna be okay. I know you’re scared, but you can do this. We can do this. I promise. We’re going to have to deliver your baby inside this elevator.
No no no, I understand. You’re upset. You wanted to have your baby in a hospital or maybe at home like a hippie. But, we’re trapped inside this stalled elevator, and your baby says it’s time to come out. So, I’m going to need you to breathe, and when I say so, I want you to push as hard as you can.
Shhh, it’s okay. Don’t fight it. It’s Mother Nature. Women have been having babies for centuries. Maybe longer. Just go with your instincts. Now, I don’t have any towels or boiling water with me, but I do have this suede jacket a bottle of Aquafina—
What? You’re not in labor? But, you’re sweating and breathing so hard. Yeah, I guess you were running to make the elevator before the doors closed. That would explain it.
Wait a minute, you are pregnant though, right? Good! Phew! Good, ‘cause if you weren’t nine months pregnant, this would have been way more embarrassing. Two months? Oh. Well, congratulations on twins. No? Just a big lady. Okay.
Wow, I hope they get this elevator moving soon …
Sorry I didn’t hear you earlier when you asked me to hold the doors. iPod …
Have you thought about any names? Right, I’ll be quiet.
Rumors of Roid Rage
I’ve called this press conference today to state definitively that I, Andy Ross comedy writer, am not on steroids. I have not now, nor have I ever taken steroids. Despite all evidence pointing towards me being on steroids.
First off, my testicles have always been this small. My mother says that small testicles run in our family. But, she did let me spend all day, every day on a rocking horse until I was 10. There might be something there.
Secondly, the hair growth in odd patches in odd places. That one’s weird. I admit that. But, my hope is that hair growth is simply part of the aging process, and I am plucking wherever I can reach.
Thirdly, I admit to a disturbing increase in forehead acne, which points towards steroid abuse. However, this one has a straightforward explanation. I recently found that unsalted butter is the only thing that makes my bangs stand up the way I like. There’s nothing more to it that plain ol’ butter bangs.
Finally, the fits of seeming "roid rage." Okay, I know that I got pretty upset earlier, but it’s just that I couldn’t find any postage stamps in the apartment. Even though I just bought a whole entire goddamn package of stamps last FUCKING TUESDAY! AND, THERE’S NO GODDAMN WAY WE COULD HAVE USED THAT MANY STAMPS BY NOW! … Sorry. I’m sorry. Pardon the, uh, outburst. I just— this stamp thing is one of my buttons, y’know?
So, in conclusion, I swear to you in the press and to my fans that I am not now, nor have I ever been under the effect of steroids. The added body mass is just because we got an ice cream maker for Christmas. I will not be taking any questions. Thank you, and God bless America.
Low Key – March 21, 2010
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How to Choose Vegetables
Another in the "How Do...?" instructional video series. In this installment, we discus tips on how to choose the freshest, healthiest vegetables.
Belly of the Beast
You know how in cartoons, they show the belly of a whale as empty and cavernous? It’s not like that at all. It’s actually very cramped. And wet. There’s a musky dampness to it, even with a dehumidifier running full blast. I’ve heard that the economy makes now a good time to move. All my friends are switching places, but I guess I’m torn.
Because, after a while, you get used to living in a tight space. Proud even. There’s comfort in all the little systems and workarounds. For instance, if I need the blender, I simply slide the desk chair over to the counter and pull a bin down from above the cabinets. Or, I move the hamper out of the way to get to the folding chairs in the back of the closet. And, I know my umbrella is always tucked into the baleen next to the trashcan.
Sure, I could break my lease and probably find more room for less rent, but would moving so soon be worth all the work I put into this whale? Laying furniture out was a huge process. I was literally on my hands and knees measuring the tongue to make everything fit. Forget feng shui; just getting it all in was a hassle. I had to take the legs off the bed to fit it through the mouth. The kitchen table is this ugly IKEA thing, but it folds down into a compact sideboard. Ultimately, I had to sell my tall bookcase, because it kept tipping over whenever we dived.
All that’s not to say I don’t like my place. Everybody who comes over finds it really charming, especially my college friends who commute in from McMansions. There’s a romanticism to it--the pink, fleshy walls, the thick shag taste buds, the constant undulation. I’ll tell you this, a whale is not a bad place to bring back a date. It’s right on the water, and the songs at night are so soothing compared to my last apartment above a fire station. I do wish it got a little more natural light, since the blowhole only opens for a few seconds every ten minutes or so. The trick was to angle mirrors on the mantle to bounce light up towards the large, dangling uvula.
I don’t know, maybe I should just bite the bullet and look for a new place. Every summer, the whale migrates north to gorge on krill, and thousands of the little things flood through the living room. I don’t mind the stains on the curtains, since they’re secondhand, but I have to keep my magazines in Ziplock bags. And, forget about suede shoes. Plus, it’s cold. If you see wall-to-wall blubber in a listing, take that with a grain of salt, because Arctic sea water is freezing. I would rather have a hissing radiator than blubber. Honestly.
So, I guess I’ve made my decision. I’m calling my landlord. Maybe. I’m eighty percent sure. The belly of the whale was my first place without a roommate, so maybe that’s what I’m in love with. I guess I could try for a studio in Morningside Heights. Sigh. I’ll probably just end up staying through the mating season.