tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26859309282746567152024-03-13T22:03:28.904-07:00It's Always FridayBill Fridayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17833926896774325447noreply@blogger.comBlogger114125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2685930928274656715.post-25808405899659626412012-12-29T13:49:00.000-08:002012-12-29T13:49:01.451-08:00Spoken<br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Too many ideas and my brain won’t quit... </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">so much in my
head that my dreams won’t sit </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">well when I wake and try to remember what they
said... </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">coffee at noon to chase wine in the moonlight </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">and I can’t keep it
straight in my head... </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">no shit... </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">there’s no rest in peace in my bed... </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">there’s
no rest... </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">there’s no peace... </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">there’s no bed... </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I type with fingers that fail
when words are said... </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">fingers that bled </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">when they spoke for the thoughts
unsaid... </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">so many times that I quit in my head... </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">no one will miss one bit... </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">not spoken... </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">not thought... </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">not read.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Too many ideas.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">©
Copyright 2012 Bill Friday</span></span></div>
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Bill Fridayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17833926896774325447noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2685930928274656715.post-23986989338283638052012-10-19T11:24:00.000-07:002012-10-19T11:24:42.982-07:00Haiku For The Academy<br />
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Oh pretentiousness</div>
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Thy name, academia</div>
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Fuck all you and yours</div>
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Copyright © 2012 Bill Friday </div>
Bill Fridayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17833926896774325447noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2685930928274656715.post-15509438981412944622012-10-06T14:35:00.000-07:002012-10-06T14:35:23.816-07:00Advil and Alcohol Cures Everything<br />
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Will you please come to me in my dreams, after three and
before four, when the pain is less and sleep comes best to my sleepless brain?</div>
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The pain in my mouth has almost
gone with the sunrise. A root canal on
the horizon, like the dawn. Three Advil
after clammy night sweats, and sleep tries to claim me again.</div>
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Will you please come to me in my dreams, after four and
before five, when my thoughts express my hopelessness, and my soul needs its rest?</div>
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The pain came back in crashing
waves as the sun appeared without warning.
Gray-pink light from the fetal position, and there is no fucking way...
no fucking way.</div>
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Will you please come to me in my dreams, after six and
before seven, when the sun is raw as an exposed and dying nerve? </div>
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The pain isn't all in my body, or
in my hanging head. It’s closer to my
soul. And like anyone could tell you, my
soul is dead. </div>
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Will you please come to me in my dreams, if I have them,
after eight or nine or ten? When the sun
hangs low and the night comes back, and I’m too tired to feel.</div>
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The pain is no more. It has gone the way of my soul. Rest is inevitable, if rest is what it should
be called. Maybe just a break between
struggles... with what’s real.</div>
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Will you please come to me in my dreams, when my dreams are
the truth, and my open eyes look at what can’t be so?</div>
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A new
pain. What is real. Above the lies.</div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Copyright © 2012 Bill Friday</span></div>
Bill Fridayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17833926896774325447noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2685930928274656715.post-85153611384302402702012-07-30T08:00:00.002-07:002012-07-30T08:00:00.187-07:00Shadowboxing<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghbuZPYL269dC3wKeqU5GPKaJI475oNSgrIsOeOQYbm36QOFctHe8vGvo17OpawCFWVvYXacyD6FWQTpg2tE3w1FDgvwiQOEbc3PbMZh6OZ7iNUB9ZOiYp3wpDzkZHhSkCX43xdCO-y4o/s1600/shadowboxing3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghbuZPYL269dC3wKeqU5GPKaJI475oNSgrIsOeOQYbm36QOFctHe8vGvo17OpawCFWVvYXacyD6FWQTpg2tE3w1FDgvwiQOEbc3PbMZh6OZ7iNUB9ZOiYp3wpDzkZHhSkCX43xdCO-y4o/s1600/shadowboxing3.jpg" /></a></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">I never hit her, although once she took a swing at me.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">I put my arms up, and she bruised herself on one more bony than she.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">I never left her, until the day that she left me.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">I had patience. The kind that lasts a lifetime. Till there was no more we.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">I never loved her, but I thought so when I was too young to see.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">Only blinded till I wasn’t any longer. It was just stupidity.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">Copyright <span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">©</span> 2012 Bill Friday</div>Bill Fridayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17833926896774325447noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2685930928274656715.post-59293234384162203632012-07-27T16:38:00.002-07:002012-08-24T00:37:06.212-07:00Be<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiUoOSPsnRZlcAgaQ-sCJGuHyq_Ns-vN9qxB0csdHjkcrNjj-Xjbz4qvS57KtLfW0i4TEMDmvU9-9JBcFqJ7MCTdVbf8V5D_ZMKWeRNCdaOmqSH-njKBn_eGj3M0rVpwFehUVc_WSByTI/s1600/old-people-holding-hands3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiUoOSPsnRZlcAgaQ-sCJGuHyq_Ns-vN9qxB0csdHjkcrNjj-Xjbz4qvS57KtLfW0i4TEMDmvU9-9JBcFqJ7MCTdVbf8V5D_ZMKWeRNCdaOmqSH-njKBn_eGj3M0rVpwFehUVc_WSByTI/s640/old-people-holding-hands3.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: center;">I don’t want to be right now, if being means I care. </div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: center;">If caring means I need to be today.</div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: center;">A future with no past I can bear, or at least look forward to. </div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: center;">Not the need to cease to be today.</div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: center;">I see another day to be, not this one, but somewhere. </div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: center;">To live my deepest need to be someday.</div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: center;">A time of then and there, with you. </div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: center;">Nothing left to be or do, but we. </div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: center;">Or another thing to say. </div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">Copyright <span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">©</span> 2012 Bill Friday</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">(and follow Bill at Expats Post) </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://expatspost.com/?p=103992">http://expatspost.com/?p=103992</a></div>Bill Fridayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17833926896774325447noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2685930928274656715.post-18682810676426303292012-07-22T13:41:00.001-07:002012-07-22T14:46:28.825-07:00The Screenplay Diary: "Between Love and Orgasms"... Based on a True Story?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSYSK3USJtul1H3vSRiWPfPz-sUi544cI4SYqq1h2kS6T4v0Zu3ZIjFr4pwhfYTziJNMbw2RCraVu9ARF0LRtHVwZ1LmUAIGG-u-8Cgw5ySxdozL-mL1YHgEsuptvxoAE3Q759GP3Sl4s/s1600/elcapitan1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSYSK3USJtul1H3vSRiWPfPz-sUi544cI4SYqq1h2kS6T4v0Zu3ZIjFr4pwhfYTziJNMbw2RCraVu9ARF0LRtHVwZ1LmUAIGG-u-8Cgw5ySxdozL-mL1YHgEsuptvxoAE3Q759GP3Sl4s/s400/elcapitan1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing"><a href="http://www.cracked.com/article_16478_7-movies-based-true-story-that-are-complete-bullshit.html">What do you do when a screen story gets too close to real life?</a></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">Every writer, no matter the genre, will eventually run into (or run <i>over</i> and <i>fall</i> into) that giant sucking sinkhole of creative quicksand... alliterative pun full intended... the, “how close is too close?” question. Mulling this over for a solid five minutes before I began writing today’s entry in The Screenplay Diary, it got me to thinking about something you see in the super short TV trailers for films about to be released (or released straight to DVD). </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">Something I now call, “the source tag”.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">“A true story”… “Based on a true story”... “Inspired by true events”... “From an original concept developed by”... “Stolen from the intellectual property of”... Seriously, where does it end? And where does a writer have to draw the hard line between life <i>informing</i> fiction, and autobiography? </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">You tell me when <i>you</i> figure it out, because I have no idea.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">As with pretty much anything I’ve ever written that has ended up read in public places, the crafting of personal words usually find their way into the light because of very personal experiences. Personal, that is, unless they are the very personal words of some other “character” in the story. And sometimes, a story that’s <i>too close</i> can take on an unanticipated (at least for the viewer) element of extreme <i><a href="http://www.jstor.org/discover/10.2307/1224885?uid=3739560&uid=2129&uid=2&uid=70&uid=4&uid=3739256&sid=21100917513071">Cinema verite</a></i>. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">For the sake of once such character, this Screenplay Diary marks the end of one in particular which has dominated the last several of entries. For all who have been regular readers here, it’s time for you to say goodbye (for now) to the character of Buddy.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">INT. WAREHOUSE – Late Afternoon</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">Buddy sits at his computer in the dispatch office. Robbie enters, and flops into a spare office chair, never looking up from texting. Buddy’s desk phone rings.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> BUDDY (on phone)</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> Yes? Sure... be right there.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> (mutters, half in Tagalog)</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> <i>Ina</i> fucker.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> ROBBIE</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> Who’s that?</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> BUDDY</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> Randall.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> ROBBIE</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> The big boss? What’s he want?</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> BUDDY</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> He’s going to fire me. </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> ROBBIE</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> He can’t do that!</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> BUDDY</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> He thinks he can.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> ROBBIE</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> What are you going to do?</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> BUDDY</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> I’ve got peek-chures. <i>Sa aking</i> lock-air.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> ROBBIE</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> In your locker? Pictures of what?</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> BUDDY</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> Peek-chures of Randall giving me my job back.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> And maybe a raise.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> ROBBIE</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> No really. Pictures of what?</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> BUDDY</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> <i>Ang pinakamahusay na hindi mo alam</i>. </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: 1.0in; text-indent: .5in;"> Best you don’t know.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">Robbie stops texting.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> ROBBIE</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> Seriously, why?</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> BUDDY</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> Because then, I would have to kill you...</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> and the goat.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">The desk phone rings again. Buddy answers it.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> BUDDY</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> I'll be right there... <i>Randall</i>.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">See you later Buddy. And see you all later too. <a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=based+on+a+true+story">Next time... a love story</a>.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">Copyright <b><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">©</span></b> 2012 Bill Friday<b style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"> </b></div></div>Bill Fridayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17833926896774325447noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2685930928274656715.post-13865627718469210032012-06-23T21:11:00.002-07:002012-07-07T13:06:57.441-07:00The Screenplay Diary: "Between Love and Orgasms"... The Resident<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjguJ4SnxDSel8nz15tE8mpHN0abM1fOygtUMVIsQzLyb6t-T99hozSoENxR6h7mFySumhG1Kn8SivNG3ZtxO1_qeI_ATx7aVdJDtHdYI07L20JzB5SyoOgRMrXPYcIcCaXfzeiVASYTvM/s1600/16candles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjguJ4SnxDSel8nz15tE8mpHN0abM1fOygtUMVIsQzLyb6t-T99hozSoENxR6h7mFySumhG1Kn8SivNG3ZtxO1_qeI_ATx7aVdJDtHdYI07L20JzB5SyoOgRMrXPYcIcCaXfzeiVASYTvM/s400/16candles.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">The <i>secondary</i> character in a film can do one (or several) thing(s) to help a screen story come to life... or pull the plug on a story’s failing life-support... quicker than that brilliant soliloquy you’ve already written 100 pages in advance, for your lead character to monologue during the great, big, <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0796117/bio">Shyamalanesque</a>, didn’t-see-it-coming reveal at the end of the final scene. The secondary character can <i>inform</i> the plot, move the story along in both actions and words... especially when the lead characters are stuck hip-deep in some kind of lead character, existential quicksand (like all lead characters tend to be). </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The right kind of secondary character, good guy or bad guy, lights the fire... or kicks the ass... of the leads. And a great secondary character, whether it’s <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0005132/bio">Heath Ledger’s The Joker in The Dark Knight</a>, or <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0421822/bio">Ken Jeong’s Leslie Chow inthe Hangover</a>, or even <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0001309/bio">Anthony Michael Hall’s Farmer Ted in Sixteen Candles</a>, the best secondary character is usually a scene stealer.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In The Screenplay Diary, I have introduced one particular secondary character, Buddy. In this entry, Buddy’s last for a while, this secondary character is introduced (with the audience) to his own secondary character. The supporting actor’s “supporting actor”. Kind of like <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000131/bio">John Cusack’s Bryce</a>... standing side by side with Farmer Ted... in Sixteen Candles.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In “Between Love and Orgasms”, the secondary character of Buddy, best friend and messenger company boss to the script’s main character, Robbie, encounters own best-supporting nemesis in a character known as “The Resident”.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">INT. Office – NIGHT. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Robbie and Buddy sit in swivel chairs... Buddy working the dispatch computer, Robbie on his iPhone. The clock on the wall reads “11:49”. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Out of the frame, the loud sound of a large office access door, opening and closing. </div><div class="MsoNormal">A MAN... Black, early thirties, wearing horn rimmed glasses and a cardigan... enters, without speaking. He walks through the frame, straight to the MEN’S ROOM. </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> ROBBIE</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> (texting)</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> Who’s that?</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> BUDDY</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> (half in Tagalog)</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> Ang aking bagong kasama. My new roommate.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> ROBBIE</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> (not looking up)</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> Where’d ya find him?</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> BUDDY</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> He works days... here... in customer service.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">At the edge of the frame, the men’s room door squeaks open. The man walks through again. He makes no eye contact with Robbie or Buddy. Out of the frame again, break room kitchen noise is heard... dishes, microwave, a can falling from a soda vending machine.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> ROBBIE</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> (still texting)</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> Then why is he here... now?</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">The kitchen sounds go silent. The man carries a bowl of popcorn and a can of soda into the main office area. He gives a blank look at Buddy and Robbie, and then heads to his office cubicle. He sits at the desk, and begins to watch a movie from Netflix on his desktop company computer. </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> BUDDY</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> He lives here... now.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">The man giggles at something while watching his movie.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> ROBBIE</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> For how long now?</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> BUDDY</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> Ng ilang araw... sa isang lingo. About a week.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> ROBBIE</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> When is he leaving?</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> BUDDY</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> I didn’t ask.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> ROBBIE</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> Every night?</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> BUDDY</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> Every night.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">LOUD BELLY LAUGHTER booms from the cubicle.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> ROBBIE</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> So he’s a resident.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">Robbie gets up to leave.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> BUDDY</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> Don’t go.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> ROBBIE</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> Why?</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> BUDDY</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> Siya ay mabaliw. </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> ROBBY</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> (tilts head)</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> Hmm?</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> BUDDY</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> (whispers)</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> He’s cray-see.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">The man appears, seemingly from nowhere, staring blankly at Buddy and Robbie.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> THE RESIDENT</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> Anyone want popcorn?</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">The man heads back to the break room without waiting for an answer.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> ROBBIE</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> I’m outta here.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">And I’m outta here... till next time. </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">Copyright <span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">©</span> 2012 Bill Friday</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px;"><br />
</span></span></div>Bill Fridayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17833926896774325447noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2685930928274656715.post-66515072860804098122012-05-29T13:05:00.005-07:002012-05-31T00:28:22.674-07:00The Screenplay Diary: "Between Love and Orgasms"... Just Keep Writing<div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtwoLG7CMPZh91f3RgvtTnxql03aqPM-to66tQ9osBcIxG9B0UANPIfmHFzJNFkxCJ9bQxUY00f8ljLVF-fjHRaaRr9_xGQywygpDhM24I1c5gzEMmehXKy_UTd32XU8qmTSEJe3MST4s/s1600/ken+jeong.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtwoLG7CMPZh91f3RgvtTnxql03aqPM-to66tQ9osBcIxG9B0UANPIfmHFzJNFkxCJ9bQxUY00f8ljLVF-fjHRaaRr9_xGQywygpDhM24I1c5gzEMmehXKy_UTd32XU8qmTSEJe3MST4s/s320/ken+jeong.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A couple of days ago, I got an exceptionally nice mention in <a data-mce-href="http://sipsofjenandtonic.com/2012/05/25/the-notebook/" href="http://sipsofjenandtonic.com/2012/05/25/the-notebook/">a blog post written by a very dear friend</a>, in which she mentioned my ongoing efforts at writing a screenplay. After reading the post (and spending another day mulling over the idea that sometimes people recognize you as much for your attempted accomplishments as they do for the ones that you have actually accomplished), I realized that it had be months since I posted my own article on where I am in the process of taking an idea, and turning it into a finished, 100 plus page manifestation of the original spark inside my dimly lit writer’s mind.</span></div><div style="line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">My conclusion (after the day of mulling) is that, while life can be life’s own biggest ball and chain, there comes a time in the writer’s life when he just has to take the advice of his 9<sup>th</sup> grade typing teacher and (thank you Mr. Wanous), “Just keep typing”. There will never be a better time for putting your story on the (computer) screen, than the moments you have right the hell now. It doesn't matter if it’s a few words out of a character’s mouth, scribbled in the margin of a work report from the night job you blame for keeping you from writing in the first place... it doesn't matter if it’s an illegally thumb-typed (remember that <a data-mce-href="http://dmv.ca.gov/cellularphonelaws/" href="http://dmv.ca.gov/cellularphonelaws/">texting to yourself while driving</a> is also a finable offense in California) memo on the notepad app on your cell phone. And it sure as hell doesn’t matter if it’s one brilliant plot twist that you have on a wallpaper post-it on your laptop. Script is script. And writing is writing, even when it doesn’t feel anymore like writing than Cheetos feels like food.</span></div><div style="line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Just keep typing”.</span></div><div style="line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As always, I will leave you with a small portion of the unfinished script of <em>Between Love and Orgasms</em>. In this scene, between Robbie, the main character, and his best Tagalog-speaking, Filipino work friend Buddy (a character I always see being played by the one and only <a data-mce-href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0421822/" href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0421822/">Ken Jeong</a>), Buddy is attempting to explain why the only thing worse than sex with your next-door neighbor’s Russian wife is sex on the internet.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> BUDDY</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> <em>Paano ko ito sinasabi?</em> It's kinda like bragging</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> about a 3 inch penis in a roomful of porn stars,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> and getting away with it... until you decide to</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> meet for real, and then <em>Ikaw ay fucked sa</em><em> </em></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><em> pamamagitan ng hindi pa fucked</em>.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> ROBBIE</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Google translate that one for me please.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> BUDDY</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> You get fucked by not getting fucked.</span></div><div style="line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">So, I'll keep typing... and see you next time.</span></div><div style="line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Copyright <span style="line-height: 115%;">©</span> 2012 Bill Friday</span></div>Bill Fridayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17833926896774325447noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2685930928274656715.post-56519814071236971352012-05-05T20:17:00.000-07:002012-05-05T20:17:43.932-07:00Bill Friday To Be Inaugural Guest On Expats Radio<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-a3DT6qXTp86O2EKkVYpIep62gfQAmWJv3CNIji9R5pnQBTu_gDOC8B04R2qrq6nD-jnUH3YF3eJp3a060q3y2YHKN9aeRBor_G2J3IONTaACjMB7EGDSMustUC9VYmitzmQiekCoxjw/s1600/EP-Double-Border-sl.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-a3DT6qXTp86O2EKkVYpIep62gfQAmWJv3CNIji9R5pnQBTu_gDOC8B04R2qrq6nD-jnUH3YF3eJp3a060q3y2YHKN9aeRBor_G2J3IONTaACjMB7EGDSMustUC9VYmitzmQiekCoxjw/s1600/EP-Double-Border-sl.png" /></a></div><b>(BIG PRESS RELEASE KIND OF ANNOUNCEMENT!!!) </b><div><br />
</div><div><i><b><a href="http://www.facebook.com/thatmanfriday">It's Always Friday</a></b></i>, in cooperation with <b><i><a href="http://expatsmedia.com/expats-media/expats-media-presentsexpats-radio-talks-with-bill-friday/">Expats Media</a></i></b> and <b><i><a href="http://www.blogtalkradio.com/expats-media-presents-news/2012/05/11/expats-radio-talks-with-bill-friday">BlogTalkRadio</a></i></b>, presents... <b>"Expats Radio talks with Bill Friday". </b>Hosted by writer and activist and Publisher of Expats Post, <a href="http://expatspost.com/authors-2/dean-walker/">Dean Walker</a>, Expats Radio will feature authors and artists seen on the pages of <a href="http://expatspost.com/">Expats Post</a>.</div><div><br />
</div><div>This <b>Friday, May 11, at 3 p.m. Pacific Time</b>, It's Always Friday's own Bill Friday will appear as the first guest on the inaugural broadcast of Expats Radio, live on BlogTalkRadio. The show will also be taking your phone calls live for Dean and Bill by calling 1 (646) 200-4691 or <b>1 (646) 200-GO 91</b>. </div><div><br />
</div><div>The program will also be available to hear 24 hours a day at BlogTalkRadio's <b><a href="http://www.blogtalkradio.com/expats-media-presents-news">Expats Media - News and Entertainment</a> </b>page, where you can find links to all things Expats, including Twitter, Facebook, RSS subscription, and how to get Expats Radio for your iPhone from the iTunes store. </div><div><br />
</div><div>See you then.</div>Bill Fridayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17833926896774325447noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2685930928274656715.post-86207848221662097462012-04-21T18:35:00.007-07:002012-04-21T22:48:48.547-07:00(the) Philosophy Of Shit<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhNFarv6fUYU_kssaqtU6kOrQtKVbFfNdRR_fn2QHU6mu9mDN2h3PKotWRuk3MY68rg7Rc_V44i7ZC2cxdZRvUJElqeCR0VvDil2xH8qdJqK6V958kqlq5EHIpk3CAxkWBdXqRPBjJtbY/s1600/PhilosophyOfShit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhNFarv6fUYU_kssaqtU6kOrQtKVbFfNdRR_fn2QHU6mu9mDN2h3PKotWRuk3MY68rg7Rc_V44i7ZC2cxdZRvUJElqeCR0VvDil2xH8qdJqK6V958kqlq5EHIpk3CAxkWBdXqRPBjJtbY/s1600/PhilosophyOfShit.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Think... or get off the pot.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNoSpacing">I wrote the following words this past week, and posted them on <a href="http://www.facebook.com/thatmanfriday/posts/397863840246675">Facebook</a>, during a time of emotional upheaval... </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><b><br />
</b><br />
<b>Philosophy of Shit.</b><b><o:p> </o:p></b><br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
<b>“Taking shit from somebody indicates a felt need for more shit in one’s life…</b><b> Giving a shit indicates a history of needlessly taking shit from others…</b><b> </b><br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
<b>To say that I no longer give a shit, or take shit, from anyone, anymore, about anything, indicates that my personal shit levels are finally right where they should be…</b><b><o:p> </o:p></b><br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
<b>No shit.”</b><br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">...which led to more upheaval. So, this begins a semi-regular feature for<i> <b>It’s Always Friday</b></i> (it may even get its own space at the top of the front page), where life becomes its own philosophy, not the other way around. I’m hoping that, in the future, they will be funnier than this one... but for now, feel free to utilize this “Philosophy of Shit” everyday in your own life, just as I have.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">Hell, maybe one day, and entire branch of philosophy named after me (think, <b>“<i>Shit My Friday Says</i>”</b>, or <b>“<i>Same Friday—Different Day</i>”</b>). If I’m really lucky, I can just make sure none of it runs over 140 characters, and Tweet my shit. Or... there’s a blank billboard on Crenshaw Blvd. under the glide path for Torrance Airport that has needed some words on it for the better part of the last decade...</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">Just sayin’.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>© 2012 Bill Friday</b></div></div>Bill Fridayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17833926896774325447noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2685930928274656715.post-32169249603031416822012-04-09T13:54:00.002-07:002012-04-21T22:49:42.008-07:00Sometimes Love Can't Shut Up<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>A spoken word reflection on love...</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj63oht_deqLiaovYhE5xAq9btFBbZEgynssGmYtCdQnklZvnVOcEG0JsZ4cE_NYjVBmvouOS1bpUfwbhUcYg_bON2YWqIPuBUPyS8tPbrqdeN23RgwB-vtCStJNNeSDxfAJeApSk2RgqY/s1600/be_quiet_please__by_girl_loves_guitar-d36rx8xSECONDSIZEleft.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj63oht_deqLiaovYhE5xAq9btFBbZEgynssGmYtCdQnklZvnVOcEG0JsZ4cE_NYjVBmvouOS1bpUfwbhUcYg_bON2YWqIPuBUPyS8tPbrqdeN23RgwB-vtCStJNNeSDxfAJeApSk2RgqY/s400/be_quiet_please__by_girl_loves_guitar-d36rx8xSECONDSIZEleft.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 1in; margin-right: 1in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">Sometimes love can’t shut up. It’s a bad habit that love can’t seem to break... not that it ever tried. Love always seems to talk at the worst possible times. Like when other much more deserving emotions wish to say their peace, and walk away. I swear there are times that love, if it was smarter, would save itself the ass-whuppin’, and just move along.<br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 1in; margin-right: 1in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">Sometimes love can’t shut up. It opens its mouth, not out of a selfish need to be heard, or to hear its own voice, but because love feels pain in the presence of another in pain. And because love hurts when it feels pain in another, love risks… love dares. Which may make love stupid, but love doesn’t care. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 1in; margin-right: 1in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">Sometimes love can’t shut up. And it is mysteriously rewarded for its foolishness. With silliness, and laughter, and sentences finished by another... and broken phrases that end in breathless sighs. In these times, love loses its ability to remember anything but the moment, and the color of the eyes before it... and the hope of another day just like this one, because love looks for its own in the return of love.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 1in; margin-right: 1in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">Sometimes love can’t shut up. Because love knows that if it does, it will disappear. And while love may be bold and brave, and stupid and silly, and many things besides... love knows its own end. Love knows the fear of becoming the one thing that love must not be... alone. Because no matter how much love knows it should be complete within itself, love also knows that without the chance to give itself away, love dies.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 1in; margin-right: 1in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">Sometimes love can’t shut up. If only for the reason that love knows it is right, and would rather say something than nothing, when saying nothing lets wrong go on. Even if what love says falls on deaf ears. Because love believes that even deaf ears may one day hear. And if deaf ears can hear, then one day... dead hearts can beat.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 1in; margin-right: 1in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">So, sometimes… <br />
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<b>(and now, the YouTube video of "Sometimes Love Can't Shut Up")</b><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/Nb4Q6RMfPag?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">Copyright © 2012 Bill Friday</span> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 1in; margin-right: 1in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div>Bill Fridayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17833926896774325447noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2685930928274656715.post-47468374264893307012012-02-26T20:42:00.003-08:002012-04-21T22:47:55.275-07:00The Screenplay Diary: "Between Love and Orgasms"... Taking a Turn for the Words<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmUTkN3nRdJITSFGqppmlU8V99GRib1DV1qUNAUdS1wtG9LMhyphenhyphenjdM_fOZFvanNez4HUqDDcA54xJeQtiumR9c7Y89H3-puUOynfNu-mtxhyt2NAo2UHAsOZyOupdXRMmSSl3fthfxbB6w/s1600/Sideways+Poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmUTkN3nRdJITSFGqppmlU8V99GRib1DV1qUNAUdS1wtG9LMhyphenhyphenjdM_fOZFvanNez4HUqDDcA54xJeQtiumR9c7Y89H3-puUOynfNu-mtxhyt2NAo2UHAsOZyOupdXRMmSSl3fthfxbB6w/s320/Sideways+Poster.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">My favorite story (out of many) about the bringing of story to screen is the story of the 2005 <a data-mce-href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0375063/" href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0375063/">Academy Award nominated film <em>Sideways</em></a>.</span></div><div style="line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The film was an adaptation of the novel of the same name, written by a relative failure by Hollywood standards (author Rex Pickett), ironically about a man who is a failure as novelist. The story also mirrors Pickett’s life as a quasi-alcoholic in search of success in mid-life, after years of failed attempts to break through to mainstream industry acceptance.</span></div><div style="line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Sometimes lost in the story of the making of <em>Sideways</em> is the tucked-away fact that Pickett’s novel was still unpublished at the time it was being turned into the surprise hit of 2004. Director Alexander Payne “discovered” the story, reading the novel in waiting on a flight from Edinburgh to Los Angeles. But for me, the part of the “lost in the story” story that influences me the most is that a finished, but unsold, story served as an industry “calling card” to get the story of <em>Sideways</em> in the hands of the right person to make Rex Pickett’s words make it to the big screen. Which led me to this conclusion...</span><br />
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</span></div><div style="line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">What’s wrong with a novelization of my story <em>Between Love and Orgasms</em> before it becomes a screenplay?</span></div><div style="line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This past week, I had a nice conversation with one of the founding members of Expats Post about turning <em>Between Love and Orgasms</em> into a novella... if for nothing else than for the potential optioning of the story for screen. Call it an extended “treatment”... something with the potential to be both literary, and commercial, all at the same time.</span></div><div style="line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So this week, I began the novelization of <em>Between Love and Orgasms</em>. Call it my 120 page calling card to the industry. Call it taking a turn for the words. This is a big shift for me, but one that I think is the right thing to do at the right time in my progress as a writer. And somehow, I think all this may actually be a way of playing to my strengths as a writer.</span></div><div style="line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I'll leave you this time with the words of <a data-mce-href="http://www.screenplayers.net/rexpickett.html" href="http://www.screenplayers.net/rexpickett.html">Rex Pickett, in an interview</a> granted around the time <em>Sideways</em> was being shaped into the Best Picture nominee it would become. It sums up how I've come to view the whole process of writing for paid publication I have finally found myself on.</span></div><blockquote style="line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"Sometimes you get lucky. It's not about fate, it's about luck, and having the goods when luck beckons. Most everyone will one day get their chance. But they have to have the goods."</span></blockquote></blockquote><div style="line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And of course, if you’re reading this, and you know anyone in desperate need of a script doctor to punch up some really boring dialogue... I’m still your guy.</span></div><div style="line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And, as always, I’ll keep you posted.</span></div><div style="line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Next time... exploring the idea of working with a co-writer.</span></div><div style="line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Bill Friday can also be read on the website <a href="http://expatspost.com/entertainment/the-screenplay-diary-between-love-and-orgasms-taking-a-turn-for-the-words/"><i>Expats Post</i></a>.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: inherit; text-align: left;">Copyright © 2012 Bill Friday</span> </div>Bill Fridayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17833926896774325447noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2685930928274656715.post-54140819740423414522012-02-21T17:27:00.001-08:002012-04-21T22:50:38.224-07:00Muth Labben<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsnQ0jAkOix-yuznRddh5TsnsBA0jSeumDT2R6WHaoZ1CTh_MLuHjtrFtWa0MXqjnabdJqFqgOrmbZ-kUaLl0JNKFa7ogJgGbRPC24YY4ELtITAfZiVg3d7Zm3gYN8XJ_MXgKM5xfvCqY/s1600/benjaminandrewsegelkenBLANK.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="169" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsnQ0jAkOix-yuznRddh5TsnsBA0jSeumDT2R6WHaoZ1CTh_MLuHjtrFtWa0MXqjnabdJqFqgOrmbZ-kUaLl0JNKFa7ogJgGbRPC24YY4ELtITAfZiVg3d7Zm3gYN8XJ_MXgKM5xfvCqY/s320/benjaminandrewsegelkenBLANK.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">Today is for counting my wasted yesterdays<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">Each one neatly lined up, row on dusty row<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">Every year the same...<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">Today is for remembering your unborn tomorrows<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">And the time I sit, because walking is too slow<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">There is no blame... <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">Today is for pretending to make sense of the past<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">From a life ended, with nothing to show<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">When I speak your name...<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">Today is for thinking that memories last<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">But all they do is fade, until they go...<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">Like every unfinished song to be sung...<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">About the death of a son.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">Copyright © 2012 Bill Friday</span> </div>Bill Fridayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17833926896774325447noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2685930928274656715.post-43192535813008223762012-02-04T14:21:00.001-08:002012-04-21T22:51:18.561-07:00I Am Fucked No More<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi4q2rlalruhKhBSzKMlcmpf1-hDz56A15Ii55VMPU6lqReDuXqLYxtN183yH4YYQT5AVMXwyAPYQRMyO8R73aFLJlhhXcwSIJXDxLMWgdGJXJMSKznmW4HmLdkCOneOBWwbkQG_JovnY/s1600/iamfuckednomore.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi4q2rlalruhKhBSzKMlcmpf1-hDz56A15Ii55VMPU6lqReDuXqLYxtN183yH4YYQT5AVMXwyAPYQRMyO8R73aFLJlhhXcwSIJXDxLMWgdGJXJMSKznmW4HmLdkCOneOBWwbkQG_JovnY/s320/iamfuckednomore.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>A little <b>FRIDAY REWIND</b>. <br />
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A reissue of my final column for a soon-to-be deceased internet venue. Please follow the link to the beautiful, new <b><a href="http://expatspost.com/">Expats Post</a></b>, the new home of <b><a href="http://expatspost.com/category/columns/friday-on-friday/">Friday On Friday</a></b>, and a whole lineup of talented writers.<br />
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For now, here is <b>"<a href="http://expatspost.com/creative/i-am-fucked-no-more/">I Am Fucked No More</a>"</b>. <b> </b><br />
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Epiphany in my time of greatest need<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">that the shit on which I feed no longer satisfies my empty beggars gut</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">as it once did </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">I am whole within myself</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">and no sorry-ass opinion of my well-chronicled condition</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">matters now or in the future</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">as it once did</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">like before</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">I’m telling all</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">from now on</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">broken gone</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">I am fucked no more.<br />
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</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">Guarantee of time is a cruel lie</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">a hate crime against the stupid and the desperate</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">against me</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">against yourself </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">There is now and there is now</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">yesterday is dead</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">tomorrow deader</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">move or be consumed</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">buried and exhumed and killed again</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">like before</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">I’m holding nothing back</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">from now on</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">broken gone</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">I am fucked no more.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">To see my end as a beginning</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">like the blind see darkness clearer in the gray</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">never once did</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">till today</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">No peace no tears no closure</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">no release from guilt or shame</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">only what is built on bones that stand</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">and do not crumble</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">like before</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">I’m letting go</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">from now on</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">broken gone</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">I am fucked no more.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">Story done and over but unfinished</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">most or more than that</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">left unsaid</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">as it should be</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">till accounts are closed</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">till I’m dead</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">Till then unsatisfied</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">my fulfillment never closer</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">never clearer</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">one day said</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">Victory won</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">from now on</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">broken gone</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">I am fucked no more.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">Copyright © 2011-2012 Bill Friday </div>Bill Fridayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17833926896774325447noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2685930928274656715.post-75241236776238729942012-02-01T12:58:00.003-08:002012-05-13T20:34:42.415-07:00Out of a Crowd<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT6XVFFFGQnGyZnGVpsY7mD5sKp191C8_7ZTokUc227eDzmIDCsmeXjZqSo21nHtv6OKIV_1i0mJ320TB1XI8oSRwU7ConFnw7QCFTICozRxY9lRF3kOcQGmP4KhODJHdSFQDJuqSbaUI/s1600/alone-in-a-crowd+Way+Station+One+2005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT6XVFFFGQnGyZnGVpsY7mD5sKp191C8_7ZTokUc227eDzmIDCsmeXjZqSo21nHtv6OKIV_1i0mJ320TB1XI8oSRwU7ConFnw7QCFTICozRxY9lRF3kOcQGmP4KhODJHdSFQDJuqSbaUI/s400/alone-in-a-crowd+Way+Station+One+2005.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">I wouldn’t choose you today if I had to.</div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;">Out of a crowd, or all alone.</div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: right;"><div style="text-align: right;"><b>this makes me want to die</b></div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;">Maybe only to save you from some something. </div></div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;">Not for the old, not for the new if I had to.</div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: right;"><div style="text-align: right;"><b>this teaches me to lie </b></div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;">It’s sad and it’s true.</div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;">Good for <a href="http://itsalwaysfriday.blogspot.com/search?updated-min=2011-04-01T00:00:00-07:00&updated-max=2011-05-01T00:00:00-07:00&max-results=3">a chronicle or two</a>.</div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: right;"><div style="text-align: right;"><b>but only to get by </b></div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;">Because there’s not much else to do.</div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: right;"><div style="text-align: right;"><b>no more asking why</b></div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;">With you.</div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
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<o:p>Copyright © 2012 Bill Friday </o:p><br />
<o:p>content originally appeared on the website <b><a href="http://expatspost.com/creative/out-of-a-crowd/">Expats Post</a></b></o:p></div>Bill Fridayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17833926896774325447noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2685930928274656715.post-69941028076328834072012-01-21T14:07:00.001-08:002012-04-21T22:53:41.404-07:00Amicus<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1MeYnTvJGCiHzVxXkbcEN7E98iPQAUSvmKufauKSrKHrMJWO3EhPvdqpmu419NfsQA9MLxWpL1d6MfyehScojXnT_zygghjg2QQ1oQYr92_xO5Zta1XoqVWljBGXPO4J1RENhWreBZlo/s1600/OCVocaloidDEVIANTARTdotCOM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1MeYnTvJGCiHzVxXkbcEN7E98iPQAUSvmKufauKSrKHrMJWO3EhPvdqpmu419NfsQA9MLxWpL1d6MfyehScojXnT_zygghjg2QQ1oQYr92_xO5Zta1XoqVWljBGXPO4J1RENhWreBZlo/s1600/OCVocaloidDEVIANTARTdotCOM.jpg" /></a></div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">I have seen the way I see you, forever.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">In the now and then, the same</div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">Never worse, only better,</div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">In honesty, not shame…</div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">I have seen the way I see you, forever.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">Not your lover, not your brother, in name.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">Without end, or beginning, </div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">Only right now today…</div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">As I see you.<br />
<a name='more'></a></div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">You should see the way I see you, forever.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">In the shadow and the light, unchanged</div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">Nothing will come between you and me, </div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">Only the truth on display...</div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">You should see the way I see you, forever.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">In the mirror, and my eyes, the same </div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">You will know in your heart </div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">What I know in mine...</div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">Like I see you.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">Will you see the way I see you, forever?</div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">Not my only, just my best friend, to stay</div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">Never knowing if you’ll know</div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">I’ll remain, as I feel…</div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">Will you see the way I see you, forever?</div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">At the end of your doubt and disdain</div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">Receiving unending acceptance</div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">No other manner, just in this way... </div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">I now see you.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">I will love the way I love you, forever.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">With nothing to lose or gain</div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">Lacking in understanding </div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">Or capacity to explain…</div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">I will love the way I love you, forever.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">Till the end of my life to say</div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">Dearest friend you are true</div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">For the rest of my days…</div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">As I see you.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://expatspost.com/creative/amicus/">Article originally appeared in Expats Post</a>.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: georgia, 'palatino linotype', palatino, 'times new roman', times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">Copyright © 2012 Bill Friday</span> </div>Bill Fridayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17833926896774325447noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2685930928274656715.post-69131724123179885372012-01-18T12:17:00.000-08:002012-01-21T13:28:53.955-08:00SOPA (and PIPA)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Bill Fridayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17833926896774325447noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2685930928274656715.post-29892650023559506002011-12-25T12:02:00.001-08:002012-04-21T22:54:33.619-07:00Coffee Mandatory<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wm7TIuDk2gk/TveAPV_-ltI/AAAAAAAABbM/yQlmQZ5dTZM/s1600/Nejat-Talas-Photography-starbucks-sexy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="281" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wm7TIuDk2gk/TveAPV_-ltI/AAAAAAAABbM/yQlmQZ5dTZM/s400/Nejat-Talas-Photography-starbucks-sexy.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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<b>A small example of the stuff that was Friday On Friday (old school). Originally published on a website that shall not be named, here are a few thoughts on coffee, writing, and (if you have a dirty mind) sex. Follow the link buried in the headline to <a href="http://expatspost.com/">find the coolest new writer's site</a> on the interwebz...</b>Bill Fridayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17833926896774325447noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2685930928274656715.post-13354399582167006242011-12-15T22:17:00.001-08:002012-04-21T22:55:03.384-07:00The Screenplay Diary: "Between Love and Orgasms"... How to Write a Movie in 21 Days<div class="MsoNormal"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyZIhw4eli4JVP1voDXYxw37fDr6-je1BskEUl5SNQqNUOuTCnxKOpQEo7-eyjXUrH30ctPE7VsMu0ip2NsnAeGTt0HdeMoba3Xy_LC0YptD_gJyqygFd1wG_TGpV0h4_a6HUYV5tZ914/s1600/21write.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyZIhw4eli4JVP1voDXYxw37fDr6-je1BskEUl5SNQqNUOuTCnxKOpQEo7-eyjXUrH30ctPE7VsMu0ip2NsnAeGTt0HdeMoba3Xy_LC0YptD_gJyqygFd1wG_TGpV0h4_a6HUYV5tZ914/s320/21write.jpg" width="209" /></a></div>“The you who started the script is different from the you who finishes it.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
Viki King</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">While I’m not in favor of gimmicks, I am in favor of the idea of freeing my mind from the things that slow me down in the creative process... like thinking. If I’ve already done my thinking... and on this story, I have... then maybe just letting go, like <a href="http://www.raybradbury.com/about.html">author Ray Bradbury</a> often suggested, so the characters can do the talking, is the exact, right thing to do.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So when I found screen story writer <a href="http://www.vikiking.com/">Vicki King’s book, “How to Write a Movie in 21 Days: The Inner Movie Method”</a>, in a stack of um... lightly read... paperbacks, I decided to give it another look. The essence of the author’s instruction is simple.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Don’t over think.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And since I’m still closer to the beginning of this (Lord, I hate the word) journey, I figured it wasn’t too late for a little light, and often profound, reading along the way.<br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">One of the recurring themes in the story of <a href="http://expatspost.com/category/columns/friday-on-friday/">“Between Love and Orgasms”</a> is that of <i>perception</i> of everyday racism. Not the kind that you see in the black and white photography of the early 1960’s; of white-hooded men marching in parades, or of water cannons fired into crowds of the civilly disobedient. Rather, the <i>mis</i>conception of what is, and what is not racially motivated. Having said that, I will do what will be a regular part of these entries, a portion of the script in progress. This is an exchange between a Filipino named Buddy, and his white, racially-sensitive co-worker, Robbie.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> ROBBIE</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> That’s fucking racist.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> BUDDY</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> You get used to it.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> ROBBIE</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> You do?</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> BUDDY</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> We are all Asians.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> ROBBIE</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> I’m not.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> BUDDY</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> Sure you are. You are Cauc-Asian.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> ROBBIE</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> Fuck. </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="text-align: left;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="text-align: left;">Till next time.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: georgia, 'palatino linotype', palatino, 'times new roman', times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">Copyright © 2011 Bill Friday</span></div>Bill Fridayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17833926896774325447noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2685930928274656715.post-88711270987443627862011-12-01T14:38:00.001-08:002012-04-21T22:55:50.867-07:00The Screenplay Diary: "Between Love and Orgasms"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM4QzCYUtmChwtm6yUuHv3NL6cNtaT-2FMU6WexiH4cyMxd0ADxsQCikhpJVx-FlxtBR5rZBrlQI9bqpf2dIWhPZpVVtK3oGHP5Zk0e4PH9Szl6SSRv1_4zOUecBnwK96rMrt9UxSG-0I/s1600/screenplay.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM4QzCYUtmChwtm6yUuHv3NL6cNtaT-2FMU6WexiH4cyMxd0ADxsQCikhpJVx-FlxtBR5rZBrlQI9bqpf2dIWhPZpVVtK3oGHP5Zk0e4PH9Szl6SSRv1_4zOUecBnwK96rMrt9UxSG-0I/s1600/screenplay.jpg" /></a></div>This is a new feature, and for me, a new project. <br />
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After a very intense creative period this past spring and summer, writing a regular weekly column on<a href="http://sipsofjenandtonic.com/2011/10/05/open-letter-broo/"> a website I had written for since January of 2007</a>... and having left that long-term situation rather suddenly... I found my writing, and my blog, absolutely dead in the water. My greatest creative outlet had dwindled to participating in comment threads on Facebook, and starting and stopping maybe three dozen failed "somethings" of a page or less... in a lot of cases much less... in a folder on my laptop. <br />
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One idea would come, and another would crowd it out just as fast, and nothing worth posting or publishing. And sometimes, the best thing that can happen to a writer is writer's block.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
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So here I am.<br />
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About a year back, I had an idea for a screen story. One that, after kicking the main ideas around with a few friends, seemed to get the most positive feedback... and the sternest warnings that there could be a genuine shit storm of unrest caused by the story's implications regarding the nature of love... and other things (after all, you did see the working title at the top of this page... right?). Oh, and it had to be funny. Yeah, good luck with that. Then the real bright idea that came along with wanting to revisit this project... the idea that, since I only seem to thrive under pressure... and nothing says pressure like telling people what you're writing <b>while you're writing it</b>.<br />
<br />
So here I am... with you.<br />
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I have no idea how often I'll post these Screenplay Diary updates, anymore than I have any idea if I'll even finish this screen story. But one thing I do know is that, at the end of every update, I will leave you with a portion of the script as I've written it. And since you know the one of the implications of the story, the first quote I'm leaving you with should make sense. I don't know who is going to be saying it yet, or to whom, or even when in the story... but it will be there. Here you go,<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">"...and there's even going to come a day when I won't be able to be friends with *you* anymore. Because one day, I'm going to wake up, knowing that I'm in love with you. And everything, from that moment on, will be ruined. Because of me." </blockquote><br />
Wish me luck, and see you next time.<br />
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Copyright © 2011 Bill FridayBill Fridayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17833926896774325447noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2685930928274656715.post-29001589123172230322011-11-18T17:41:00.000-08:002011-11-18T17:46:33.817-08:00BlogCatalog Owners Silencing Writers With Threats Of Lawsuits<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgev-jI2cSMWJijG2bVk1PMcrJvM5P9Iph43pTcIUE_bnRMB2viL1z4hDR59Pg1urzGNFcFbwv9RQZaQEOheKvVOq5p16Zt21DBW2dk-EDfpXv1QAHG_gpfaZcnFpgHkfW9zNCzojcVj9Q/s1600/berkmanTinyTony.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgev-jI2cSMWJijG2bVk1PMcrJvM5P9Iph43pTcIUE_bnRMB2viL1z4hDR59Pg1urzGNFcFbwv9RQZaQEOheKvVOq5p16Zt21DBW2dk-EDfpXv1QAHG_gpfaZcnFpgHkfW9zNCzojcVj9Q/s200/berkmanTinyTony.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>An article to be read and re-posted, written by former Broowaha writer Garry Crystal.<br />
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Click on the title at the top of this post to go to read the full article.Bill Fridayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17833926896774325447noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2685930928274656715.post-46860266565965185382011-10-31T11:18:00.000-07:002011-12-01T14:22:21.123-08:00I Am Fucked No More<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjh4oeqJJp1LGJj-cfiNObGw5ELba-Xfar4MTHW8sYMes-IOuF274XTrOPds6Cb7NpJhVvrgTSRmtHdVr7qyJbWBaoOt8Rg8AJv-52N12IEpDSW5RXWSO5vipSjUyI25p8bbXkHoseG58/s1600/fridayonfriday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="64" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjh4oeqJJp1LGJj-cfiNObGw5ELba-Xfar4MTHW8sYMes-IOuF274XTrOPds6Cb7NpJhVvrgTSRmtHdVr7qyJbWBaoOt8Rg8AJv-52N12IEpDSW5RXWSO5vipSjUyI25p8bbXkHoseG58/s320/fridayonfriday.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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Epiphany in my time of greatest need</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">that the shit on which I feed no longer satisfies my empty beggars gut</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">as it once did </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">I am whole within myself</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">and no sorry-ass opinion of my well-chronicled condition<br />
matters now or in the future</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">as it once did</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">like before</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">I’m telling all</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">from now on</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">broken gone</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">I am fucked no more.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">Guarantee of time is a cruel lie</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">a hate crime against the stupid and the desperate</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">against me</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">against yourself </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">There is now and there is now</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">yesterday is dead</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">tomorrow deader</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">move or be consumed</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">buried and exhumed and killed again</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">like before</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">I’m holding nothing back</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">from now on</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">broken gone</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">I am fucked no more.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">To see my end as a beginning</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">like the blind see darkness clearer in the gray</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">never once did</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">till today</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">No peace no tears no closure</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">no release from guilt or shame</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">only what is built on bones that stand</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">and do not crumble</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">like before</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">I’m letting go</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">from now on</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>broken gone</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">I am fucked no more.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">Story done and over but unfinished</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">most or more than that</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">left unsaid</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">as it should be</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">till accounts are closed</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">till I’m dead</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">Till then unsatisfied</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">my fulfillment never closer</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">never clearer</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">one day said</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">Victory won</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">from now on</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">broken gone</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">I am fucked no more.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"></div><div class="clearAll" id="copyright_info"><img align="bottom" src="http://www.broowaha.com/assets/img/square.gif" /><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Copyright © 2011 Bill Friday</span></div>Bill Fridayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17833926896774325447noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2685930928274656715.post-44892848229029528892011-09-24T21:14:00.000-07:002012-01-19T17:09:54.267-08:00Friday On Friday - "Friday Rewind"<div id="headline"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitMortEf-5mNKtcKieejmXh5U3rManxkL2-eiKJKfa2oHwHlWNq_ScP6DlASqPZ5Ejvr4mpwWFvwFjLw2hIjHz7YbOYeCKkwRrlmpMbFEhhTlAmWCpqgBRidg5tBVjTCzcR0xsZe2yVnk/s1600/deathmatch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitMortEf-5mNKtcKieejmXh5U3rManxkL2-eiKJKfa2oHwHlWNq_ScP6DlASqPZ5Ejvr4mpwWFvwFjLw2hIjHz7YbOYeCKkwRrlmpMbFEhhTlAmWCpqgBRidg5tBVjTCzcR0xsZe2yVnk/s320/deathmatch.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Celebrity Deathmatch... Viacom/MTV 2</td></tr>
</tbody></table><b>Friday On Friday recounts the humble beginings of a historical Broowaha landmark (and a whole lot of inside jokes).</b></div><div id="articleContent"><br />
One last blast from Friday’s past, this one the recounting of the classic Broowaha Deathmatch competition of 2008. Follow the links to find the buried treasure of what all us old writers talk about from our rocking chairs on the front porch of the Broo Café.<br />
<br />
Next week, part three of<a href="http://www.broowaha.com/articles/10602/friday-on-friday-year-zero-part-2"> the series within a series</a>, “Year Zero”.<br />
<br />
Overcoming impossible odds, superior talent, and a roster of incomparable competition, Bill Friday takes the 2008 Broowawa Deathmatch crown.<br />
<br />
(<em>Gets handshake from Quentin Tarantino... A lingering hug from <a href="http://www.google.com/search?q=jessica+biel&hl=en&rlz=1G1GGLQ_ENUS314&biw=1366&bih=494&prmd=imvnsuol&tbm=isch&tbo=u&source=univ&sa=X&ei=4958Tv2WDKjniAK3hZGlDg&ved=0CDEQsAQ">Jessica Biel</a></em>)<br />
<br />
"I'd like to thank the Academy... Katrina and Rob, my Starbucks' managers... the California Department of Unemployment..."<br />
<br />
(<em>CUE MUSIC</em>)<br />
<br />
"... If I forgot anyone... I... um... uh..."<br />
<br />
(<em>CUE PETER COYOTE</em>)<br />
<br />
(<em>Holds trophy aloft</em>)<br />
<br />
"Thank you!"<br />
<em><br />
</em><br />
<em>AND COMMERCIAL IN THREE... TWO... ONE...</em><br />
<br />
Wait... wait for it...<br />
<br />
Right there. My dream moment. After three weeks of blood, sweat, toil and tears, the ultimate prize. Victory in the first-annual Broowaha Brackets Deathmatch. Short of winning Jim Rome's annual Smack-Off <a href="http://www.smackoff.net/">http://www.smackoff.net/</a>, nothing can compare to the glory, the honor, the swag, that comes with winning the Broo in 2008.<br />
<br />
As a student of history, I understand the significance of the underdog overcoming all odds to win the big one - Jimmy Chitwood's <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0091217/">Hickory Huskers</a>, <a href="http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/vault/article/magazine/MAG1031532/index.htm">Villanova over Georgetown</a>, the Duchy of <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0053084/">Grand Fenwick over the United States</a> - all touching in their own special way. But nothing could have made this championship run any sweeter than defeating who I believe is the finest pure writer in all of Broowaha, the legend, El G., who summed up his experience in this competition with these now-famous words:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.broowaha.com/articles/3414/a-broo-deathmatch-champion-for-the-ages">“The only thing that could make this moment better is my impending, well-earned bowel movement.”</a><br />
<br />
And the only thing that could make this moment better for me is to share it with my friends. So, I would like to thank:<br />
<ul><li>Glenn T, whose idea this Deathmatch was (wait, the idea for the Deathmatch was... mine. Sorry...). Oh, and our amazingly similar good taste in women, including the jaw-droppingly inspirational Connie Britton. </li>
<li>Joe Mael, who skillfully played both ends of friendship against the middle and bet the Bill Friday money line, raking in countless tens of dollars at the expense of his friendship with the G.</li>
<li>Ariel Vardi and Digidave Cohn, for allowing this competition to continue in spite of their better journalistic judgment. Guys, I tip Oscar Madison's cap to both of you.</li>
<li>El G, for not caving into the horrible pressures of this competition, never compromising your beliefs for the quick brown-nose, and always, always knowing in your writers' heart that when you win that Academy Award for Best Original Screenplay, you will justifiably, completely snub all Broo staff (or at best tell the watching world, "This is for all the Douche-bags...you know who you are!").</li>
</ul>and finally,<br />
<ul><li>and Jen and Tonic, friend, competitor, muse, the only woman I know who could ever use the words, "Donkey Punch", "Dutch Oven" or "Shocker" in a sentence, and still sound like a lady.</li>
</ul>Now we can all get back to the serious business of running a first-class Citizen Newspaper. And I can repair all the damage to <a href="http://itsalwaysfriday.blogspot.com/">my own website</a> after turning it into a Clipper blog for the past three weeks. It's <em>PURPLE AND GOLD</em> from here on in baby!<br />
<br />
And to all the competitors who made the last year of Broowaha so special, Steven Lane, Ed Attanasio, V, D.E.C., Chris Jones, Morgana, D.L., and the rest of my 153 friends (you know who you are)...<br />
<br />
See you next year.<br />
<br />
(original content April 9, 2008)</div><div class="clearAll" id="copyright_info"><br />
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</div><div class="clearAll" id="copyright_info">Copyright © 2011 Bill Friday</div>Bill Fridayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17833926896774325447noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2685930928274656715.post-41764964813154727672011-09-16T15:25:00.000-07:002011-09-16T15:25:48.498-07:00Friday On Friday - "John Edwards: The Fool Waha Interview"<div id="headline"> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCdyN4zC1wZl7PPUslfca38AahjMj8Dg5T6hihlpvXHJRjHgnrr01f1VkQkBwMowjYRU0xd8GBbWRP4Lh1Z2yd0Z_KgY42dCRBE7S3vTuKpqx9CMmae_Q-v0mMwBAo9YkGhg7-BDqnOek/s1600/John+Edwards.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCdyN4zC1wZl7PPUslfca38AahjMj8Dg5T6hihlpvXHJRjHgnrr01f1VkQkBwMowjYRU0xd8GBbWRP4Lh1Z2yd0Z_KgY42dCRBE7S3vTuKpqx9CMmae_Q-v0mMwBAo9YkGhg7-BDqnOek/s320/John+Edwards.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><b>The former Democratic Presidential candidate did not, under any circumstances, not even for a moment, sit down for this exclusive interview with BrooWaha's Bill Friday. </b></div><div id="articleContent"> <br />
(The following is a reprint of an article published on August 11, 2008. A post-script follows at the end of the article)<br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong><br />
</strong><br />
<strong>John Edwards, so glad you could be here today.</strong><br />
<br />
For the moment, let me say thank you for having me here today. I am here right now, aren’t I?<br />
<strong><br />
</strong><br />
<strong>Not as far as I know. First, let me tell you how much I’ve enjoyed the tour of your home. Just how many square feet is it?</strong><br />
<br />
28,200 on 102 acres.<br />
<strong><br />
</strong><br />
<strong>Wow. I guess it’s true what they say about the size of a man’s carbon footprint.</strong><br />
<br />
It even has a 600 square foot guest bedroom over the guest garage.<br />
<strong><br />
</strong><br />
<strong>You don’t say?</strong><br />
<br />
Yeah, well… lately I do.<br />
<strong><br />
</strong><br />
<strong>Right, so… first question…</strong><br />
<br />
If you don’t mind Mr. Friday, before we begin, I’d like to read from a prepared statement if I may?<br />
<strong><br />
</strong><br />
<strong>Well, I can’t say I was prepared for that but…</strong><br />
<br />
(<em>Edwards clears his throat… whispers to Bill Friday</em>)<br />
<br />
Do I have time to fix my hair?<br />
<strong><br />
</strong><br />
<strong>There are no cameras sir.</strong><br />
<br />
Hmm. Alright then. Here we go. It is inadequate to say to the people who believed in me that I am sorry, as it is inadequate to say to the people who love me that I am…<br />
<strong><br />
</strong><br />
<strong>Senator?</strong><br />
<br />
…sorry. In the course of several campaigns, I started to believe that I was special and became increasingly egocentric and narcissistic…<br />
<strong><br />
</strong><br />
<strong>Senator Edwards!</strong><br />
<br />
If you want to beat me up - feel free…<br />
<strong><br />
</strong><br />
<strong>I’m thinking about it…</strong><br />
<br />
Mr. Friday, you cannot beat me up more than I have already beaten up myself.<br />
<strong><br />
</strong><br />
<strong>Have you ever considered witness protection?</strong><br />
<br />
More and more every day.<br />
<strong><br />
</strong><br />
<strong>Getting back to the questions… Mr. Edwards, in light of recent events… the allegations about this affair, your wife’s cancer… how do you respond to statements like this from your former campaign manager, David Bonior, who told the Associated Press that your supporters had, “been betrayed by [your] action[s].”</strong><br />
<br />
Mostly by ignoring them, Bill.<br />
<br />
(<em>laughs</em>)<br />
<br />
Seriously Bill, what I’ve found recently is that the best way to move forward is to never look back, because someone might be gaining on you.<br />
<strong><br />
</strong><br />
<strong>Wasn’t that Satchel Paige?</strong><br />
<br />
Of course it was, of course it was! I’m glad you noticed that. Thank you, Bill.<br />
<strong><br />
</strong><br />
<strong>Mr. Edwards, let’s get to the reason for this interview… on July 21st you were in Los Angeles for a press conference with L.A. Mayor Antonio Villaraigosa. At 2:40 the next morning, a reporter and staff photographer from the National Enquirer identified you coming out of a room at the Beverly Hills Hotel…</strong><br />
<br />
<strong></strong>Aw c’mon now, Bill…<br />
<strong><br />
</strong><br />
<strong>…who followed you into a restroom where, according to reports, you waited for fifteen minutes in one of the stalls until hotel security came and escorted you out of the hotel. What exactly were you doing in a public restroom for fifteen minutes?</strong><br />
<br />
I was on a conference call with Senator Larry Craig. It took a bit longer than I expected.<br />
<strong><br />
</strong><br />
<strong>It seems as though you and the Mayor Villaraigosa have much in common. During your stay in L.A., did the Mayor have any words of advice for you in your time of personal disclosure?</strong><br />
<br />
He said, “Do your best to keep your mother-in-law away from the media.”<br />
<strong><br />
</strong><br />
<strong>Mr. Edwards, you told ABC News that you </strong><em><strong>personally</strong></em><strong> never paid Rielle Hunter, yet Fred Baron, your former finance chairman, admitted on Friday that he made "regular payments" to Rielle Hunter, and that though unemployed, she lives in a $3 million home in Santa Barbara.</strong><br />
<br />
Like I have told everyone who will listen, I have never <em>knowingly</em> compensated this woman for anything, nor will I ever <em>knowingly</em> admit to such.<br />
<strong><br />
</strong><br />
<strong>But you do admit to paying $114,000 to Ms. Hunter for her work on various campaign videos?</strong><strong> </strong><br />
<br />
No, I do not! That’s just another Tabloid accusation, Bill. If Ms. Hunter was paid for services rendered to my campaign I will continue to maintain that I have no recollection of that until proven otherwise.<br />
<strong><br />
</strong><br />
<strong>The question of a paternity test has been the subject of much speculation. Has a date been set yet for any such paternity test?</strong><br />
<br />
August, sometime between the 25th and the 28th.<br />
<strong><br />
</strong><br />
<strong>During the Democratic National Convention?</strong><br />
<br />
I'm afraid so.<br />
<strong><br />
</strong><br />
<strong>Is that a factor in why you’ll not be attending the convention?</strong><br />
<br />
That, and the Cabinet post I'll be receiving in exchange for my non-participation. The test is set for the Cayman Islands. Andrew Young and I had already made plans to be there at that time anyway… company time share, already booked. My people say if I don’t go, we’ll have to forfeit the deposit, you know. Anyway, I’m sure I’ll be able to make good use of the situation.<br />
<strong><br />
</strong><br />
<strong>Staying on the subject of paternity, the birth certificate of the child…</strong><br />
<em><br />
</em><br />
<em>Frances</em>.<br />
<strong><br />
</strong><br />
<strong>Right, um… <em>Frances</em>. The</strong> <strong>birth certificate lists no name for the father. Mr. Edwards, do <em>you</em> know who the father is?</strong><br />
<br />
Not yet.<br />
<strong><br />
</strong><br />
<strong>Given the age of the child…</strong><br />
<em><br />
</em><br />
<em>Frances</em>.<br />
<strong><br />
</strong><br />
<strong>Given the age of Frances, it would appear that you and Mr. Young were <em>seeing</em> Rielle Hunter at about the same time.</strong><br />
<br />
Bill, were you ever in a… fraternity?<br />
<strong><br />
</strong><br />
<strong>But couldn’t you…</strong><br />
<br />
Mirthala Salinas was busy.<br />
<strong><br />
</strong><br />
<strong>Senator…</strong><br />
<br />
Bill, please… call me “John.”<br />
<strong><br />
</strong><br />
<strong>Alright then… John, doctors now say that your wife Elizabeth’s cancer is terminal - she is dying. Mr. Edwards…</strong><br />
<br />
John…<br />
<strong><br />
</strong><br />
<strong>John… your wife is dying. What do you think her <em>dying</em> thought of you will be?</strong><br />
<br />
(<em>silence</em>).<br />
<br />
Bill, may I finish reading from my prepared statement?<br />
<strong><br />
</strong><br />
<strong>Sure.</strong><br />
<br />
“… I have been stripped bare and will now work with everything I have to help my family and others who need my help.”<br />
<br />
(<em>crumples paper</em>)<br />
<strong><br />
</strong><br />
<strong>John Edwards… thank you.</strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
(Post-script: On December 7, 2010, Elizabeth Edwards died from the effects of cancer, at the age of 61. She was surrounded by her family and friends, but not her husband. On June 3, 2011, John Edwards was indicted on six Federal charges, including collecting illegal campaign contributions and conspiracy. Trial is set for early 2012. Rielle Hunter and daughter Frances currently reside in North Carolina. And as always, don't mess with the National Enquirer)<br />
<strong><br />
</strong><br />
<strong>Look for more "Fool Waha Interviews" coming in the very near future with Friday On Friday.</strong></div><div class="clearAll" id="copyright_info"><img align="bottom" src="http://www.broowaha.com/assets/img/square.gif" /><br />
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</div><div class="clearAll" id="copyright_info">Copyright © 2011 Bill Friday</div>Bill Fridayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17833926896774325447noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2685930928274656715.post-86792872957064903812011-09-09T14:43:00.000-07:002011-09-09T14:43:11.491-07:00Friday On Friday - "Friendly Friday"<div id="headline"> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMqzqIxBIbnuuNKIgqQYaQCGNK3S-G9u4yzNdy4-XkjKlkk6d_EEZDIljed_x6fZKjrufH7N3DzboEH-2c4QnBfjuCOWyfxBcYZurPI36fGSyeei9e61nnteh_nfHm5L4WrcuK55R73II/s1600/job-surrender-barbara-lardinais.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMqzqIxBIbnuuNKIgqQYaQCGNK3S-G9u4yzNdy4-XkjKlkk6d_EEZDIljed_x6fZKjrufH7N3DzboEH-2c4QnBfjuCOWyfxBcYZurPI36fGSyeei9e61nnteh_nfHm5L4WrcuK55R73II/s320/job-surrender-barbara-lardinais.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><b>When by their silence, they scream... “Please, just leave me alone!!!”</b><br />
<b><br />
</b></div><div id="articleContent"> A "through the looking-glass" reply to the article <a href="http://www.broowaha.com/articles/9275/the-white-paint-chronicles-0002-">The White Paint Chronicles (#0002), "Friday Friendlies"</a>.<br />
<br />
“And [Job’s comforters] sat with him on the ground seven days and seven nights, and no one spoke a word to him, for they saw that his suffering was very great.” (The Book of Job, Chapter 2, verse 13 - English Standard Version)<br />
<br />
What do you do when someone you care about is in pain? When by their silence, they scream... “Please, just leave me alone!!!”<br />
<br />
Without a word, they send a message so loud it knocks you down. It removes all reason. It makes you want to walk away, want to forget, want to remember the past without the present. But the present is where the pain is... and they don’t want to share, even if there’s plenty to go around. So instead of just sitting in the dirt, surrounded by fools like some post-modern Job, they hide themselves from fools, and the words of comforters. They hide themselves... from you.<br />
<br />
What do you do when their pain becomes your pain? When in your silence, you scream... “Please, just let me in!!!”<br />
<br />
Without a word, you send a message so loud it sits you down. It gives you a reason not to walk away, not to forget, needing to remember the past in the present. Because the past is really where the pain is, and you’ve been there, but they won’t let you share... because they are smarter than that. Smart enough to not give you the chance to speak, for fear that your words, no matter how wise, might just make the pain hurt worse. Because that’s what words... the stupid, best-intentioned words of comforters, most often do... they hurt.<br />
<br />
But because of the past that they live in the present, they can’t hear, in your silence, that all you want to do is sit with them... in the dirt.<br />
<br />
In the silence.</div><div class="clearAll" id="copyright_info"><br />
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</div><div class="clearAll" id="copyright_info">Copyright © 2011 Bill Friday</div>Bill Fridayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17833926896774325447noreply@blogger.com3