I’ve visited New York a number of times in my life, and each time I am amazed when I leave without witnessing someone’s horrible death just by crossing the street. Pedestrians, cyclists, motorists, cops, you name it, none of them pay any attention to the traffic signals. It’s almost admirable the way they defiantly and angrily coexist. Here’s a video of the action taking place at just one of the intersections in Manhattan. You tell me how no one dies.
Dear, Bradley Cooper
On behalf of married men let me just say, OMG, dude, what in the hell were you thinking? Isn’t it enough that you have money and fame and looks? Now you’re throwing in mastery of a romantic language. Fluent French? Really? Did you have to go there?
You’re killing me and every other husband trying to hold onto that last microscopic sliver of sex appeal that our wives saw in us. You don’t know what it’s like. We’re fat and bald and hygiene challenged. Speaking full, coherent sentences is a chore for us. In fact, we try to find ways so we don’t have to speak. It’s not that we don’t want to speak to our wives. It’s just that “For the rest of your life” is a long time, Bradley. We’re trying to ration our words so they will last for the next 50 years. We had a system. It’s not perfect, but we all agreed to it when we said “I do.”
And then you come along. We did a good job of ignoring that spark in our wives’ eyes whenever you were on screen. We bit our lips when she perked up every time we passed the magazine aisle in the grocery store and there you were on some cover looking impossibly handsome. Oh sure, we may have muttered “Damn you, Bradley Cooper,” under our breath, but we let her have her fantasies because that’s what married couples do. We allow it. Otherwise, she may become overwhelmed by regret and sorrow. She needs to know that there’s hope out there. That not all men look like they think burping and farting is charming. She’s like a prisoner serving a life sentence and you’re the DNA evidence that she’s been waiting for her to set her free… Okay, maybe that wasn’t the best analogy, but you know what I mean.
The point is we’ve survived all that, Bradley Cooper. We’ve hung in there even though the odds are against us. We’ve managed to trick our wives into finding us attractive despite the onslaught of your image all over the place. But then what happens? You get on some French language television program and break out the fluent French. Wives everywhere swooned. Swooned, damn it! How do you expect us to recover from that? You were so freakin’ eloquent that I can’t possibly blame my wife for finding you attractive because even I got a little tingly. It’s not fair, Dude! I’m begging you to tone it down. Maybe choose a role that requires you to put on 40 or 50 pounds. Or, better yet, say something sexist in your next interview. I’m talking Archie Bunker type stuff. Just be rude and insensitive and totally hateful. It shouldn’t be that hard because you already know French. Just act like a French guy.
Look, all I’m asking is that you do some of the work here – not all of it, just some of it. I’ll make an effort to clean myself up and pay more attention to my wife so she doesn’t think I’m taking her for granted, or whatever, but you’ve got to be less Bradley Cooperish. You’re raising the bar way too high, bro. I’m totally begging you, NO MORE FREAKIN’ FRENCH!!!
A concerned husband,
I am a huge Planet of the Apes geek. When I was a kid, I made an Urko helmet out of paper mache. I don’t even think it was Halloween. I just made it to wear like most kids wear a cowboy hat. For those of you who don’t know who Urko is, he’s the ape version of Darth Vader.
I say all that to say this. I can’t wait for the Rise of the Planet of the Apes. I unabashedly declare that it looks awesome. Here’s the newest trailer.
Well, it’s out of my hands now. I sent the synopsis and manuscript for The Man Who Saved Two Notch to my agent a couple of days ago. It’s not a young adult novel and that’s the original genre his agency signed me up for, so I have no idea if he’ll want to represent it. It’s not an automatic just because he’s my agent. I like it, but that doesn’t mean that it’s marketable. I don’t have the brand name recognition to carry a book through the vagaries and pitfalls of the market unless it is a primo property. Publishing a book is a huge risk for traditional publishers. It kind of parallels the big studio film industry. I once got feedback from someone in the film industry about The Takers that went something like this, “It’s better than 95% of the stuff that comes across my desk, but I’m looking for something that’s in the top two percent.” And, I can’t blame him for that. The publishing industry is in the same position. So, unless it’s in the top two percent, you’d be a fool to take the risk.
That’s not to say that I won’t self-publish if he says no. Thanks to Createspace it won’t cost me a dime up front. I have a strangely strong gut feeling about this book that I’ve never felt before. I’m not talking about the quality of the writing or my abilities as a storyteller. My ego’s not that out of control. It’s more like a feeling of total immersion whenever I even think about the story. That suggests to me that I found “the zone” with this book when I was writing it. You more or less don’t write in the zone. You simply record what you’re witnessing.
Anyway, I’m adding a new song to The Man Who Saved Two Notch virtual CD. This is nothing more than a collection of songs that remind me of the story. Today’s selection is Old Devils by William Elliott Whitmore. BTW – If you enjoy on any of this songs, I encourage you to let your friends know. Help an artist out and spread the word.