I’ll try not to give anything away, but if you have any intention of seeing “The Village,” please do not read this post until after you’ve seen it.

I think that maybe the reason I loved the first three M. Night Shyamalan movies is the exact same reason that I didn’t love the fourth one. The reason; he and I think alike.

I don’t know how else I could explain that I could predict what was going to happen with an eerie accuracy. Even the signature Shyamalan twist was no mystery to me this time around. With very little indication of what was going to happen, I just knew. When I thought about it afterwards, it just seemed to me that I knew because that’s what I would have done, given the basic plot structure, and knowing that there had to be some kind of shocker.

Maybe if some of you have seen the film, let me know if you thought it was too predictable.

Chris said it best when he said that Shyamalan needs to make a straightforward movie, something where everyone isn’t expecting his usual shocking twist. I tend to agree, although I think his original screenplays are some of the best in Hollywood, I’d like to see him apply his skills to an adaptation or a remake.

Though it was a bit of a disappointment, this did not sink the movie alone.

Another problem was the acting. We had a collection of A-List actors giving C-List performances. All of Shyamalan’s previous films have been A-List actors giving A-List performances, I don’t understand what changed here. I guess everyone was trying too hard to emulate the old fashioned dialogue and just sounding ridiculous in the process.

And the final culprit? The theater. The movie theater seriously hampered the enjoyment of my film. The temperature was ice cold, making me long for the warm cloaks and crackling fire places on screen. The sound too was off kilter. The commercials were so loud they nearly shattered my glasses, but the dialogue in the film was barely audible. Things like these can make even a good movie a bad experience.

Wednesday at work I had to proof read a menu. It was a gourmet menu too, so it had strange words I’ve never heard before, like “compote” and “chutney.” When I finally got to a misspelled word I didn’t even know it. They had misspelled “spinach,” and I was honestly sitting there going, “What the hell is a “Spiach?”

Catch you later, Spi-ach-es!

"Dames and Bullets"
A Jack Marlowe Adventure I Started Writing Because it Was a Slow Day at Work
(working title)

Chapter 1:

Jack looked up from his newspaper when he heard the sound outside his door.  It was the unmistakable click of a woman in heels.  But, something wasn’t right, it was out of place somehow.  Then it hit him; this was the men’s room, wasn’t it?

Panic raced through him like wildfire.  Had he absentmindedly walked into the wrong restroom?  It wouldn’t be the first time.  Hell, it wouldn’t be the first time this month.  But he was almost certain he was in the right room.  Wasn’t he?
               
“Mr. Marlowe,” came a sultry voice from the outside the stall. “I have a job for you.”
               
 Jack shifted uncomfortably on the seat.  “Um… I’m a little busy.  Can’t this wait?”
               
“I’m afraid I don’t have any more time.” She responded.  “You have to meet me at the warehouse by the pier tonight at 8 o’clock.  Please don’t be late.”
               
Jack was stunned to silence.  There was a slight pause, and then the click of heels again.  The ancient restroom door squealed open and moaned as it slowly closed behind her.
               
Silence filled the room again.

“Wait!” yelled Jack from the crapper.  “Which pier?”

I’m glad the temp job ended when it did, I was starting to exhibit that strange behavior that I’m prone to when I have a basic office job.

For example, I had become a kind of paperclip elitist. It was one of those things when you deal with paper clips all day and you wind up with a drawer full of them and you think, “Gee, I should really thin out these paper clips.” I would spend occasional moments sifting through my growing mountain of paperclips, weeding out the small ones, the ones that were bent out of shape, or those crappy plastic ones I didn’t like. Those who didn’t make the cut were dumped into the massive box of paperclips in the utility closet. Those who stayed served me well.

Soon, I was an evil paperclip dictator, ruling with an iron fist over my hand picked super-army of paperclips. It wasn’t long before the ranks had swelled to sufficient numbers and we were ready to siege the adjacent desk (uninhabited by anyone, but still a worthy conquest).

At that moment, before my paperclips and I laid claim to the land given to us by destiny, I looked over my empire and thought, “Shit, I really need to get out of this job.”

Fortunately, that was my last day. The adjacent desk would be left unconquered; it remained the sole property of the staple remover and rubber finger thingy that sat proudly in the left hand drawer.

I would live to fight another day.

Last week I got a new job and Lyme Disease. I don’t think one had anything to do with the other, but now I’m being extra cautious.

I was actually a bit reluctant to give up my temp job for this new graphic design gig. I know how crazy that sounds. But, the temp people had given me a desk and everything. I’ve never had a real desk. It was kind of sweet.

Of course, after two seconds of thinking like this, my brain kicked in. Even though the pay was the same, the new job was better in every other way. I would have a desk. I would also have medical and dental benefits. Paid vacation. Sick days. This was a better job. Simple as that. Rock beats scissors.

That struck me as kind of funny, getting the same pay. We’re talking about a professional design job that pays the same salary as a temp job that could be done by a trained ferret. I must be at some weird crossroad between a low paying professional job and a high paying temp job. I can’t complain though.

And as for Lyme Disease; my mother, the nurse, was very interested in a suspicious rash on my arm that wasn’t going away. She did a little research and suggested that it could be, among other things, Lyme Disease. That really made my day.

Rather than wait it out, we decided that I should show the doctor. But on the holiday weekend, that would have been impossible. Rather than make an appointment during the week and miss more work, I decided to go to the ER.

I had the impression that I would be rushed through the ER while doctors and nurses circled around me yelling things like “STAT!” and “50cc’s!” In actuality, it was a slow and boring process. I signed in and waited. I filled out the insurance form and waited. I saw one nurse and waited. I saw another nurse and waited, and waited, and waited. Apparently after seeing that last nurse, they had to retrieve the tools for a blood test from the same place where they get my car parts.

When it was all said and done I was given some antibiotics and told to call in on Friday for the results of my test. So, no, I’m not actually certain I have Lyme Disease. But everyone, even the ER nurses, seem to think it’s a strong possibility. It’s just not the kind of thing you ignore, even if it’s only a possibility.

It’s little funny moments that make me love my mom even more.

The other night, for example. While driving with my mom and my dad down route 3 in Merrimack, we passed a certain gentleman’s club. My mom pointed to the sign and said, “Look, Jon, that’s a comedy place, it says they have amateur night every Wednesday! You could do your act there!”

“Um… mom… it’s not that kind of amateur…”

I think if she had read the whole thing, she would have wondered why stand-up comedians would do “Shower Shows.”

The first thing I felt as I walked into the funeral parlor was not sadness or regret, but bitter familiarity. How many wakes and funerals had I been to in the past few years? It seemed like we were in a constant state of losing someone dear to us. My uncle two years ago, my grandfather the year before that, my grandmother the year before that.

It was my uncle this time, my mother’s other brother. Like his brother Tom before him, Uncle Bill was stricken with cancer. It was an arduous and painful descent and, in a way, I’m glad it’s over. I’m glad that he’s not suffering any more.

We were close, but not as close as I wish we were. I wish I could have done more for him, especially as his health deteriorated. He was such a strong, proud man. I felt helpless, and always at a loss for words. I could barely talk to him near the end. I just didn't know what to say.

Now all I can do is remember him, and keep him in my heart. That's something I know I can do.

My Uncle Bill; the artist, the craftsman, the sharpshooter, the husband, father, and brother.

May the Road rise up to meet you,
May the wind always be at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
And the rain fall soft upon your fields.
Until we meet again,
May you be held
In the hollow of God’s Hand!

Today at work I discovered, in a process I can’t go into much detail about, this fun little fact.

The Girl Scout organization in Erlanger, KY is called, and I quote, “The Girl Scout Council of Licking Valley.”

Granted, I have a dirty mind, but there are just some places that you shouldn’t establish a Girl Scout council. Licking Valley is very high on that list.

Don't believe me?

This will go down in history as the week that I almost became a used car salesman. Yea, let that sink in a little. Used car salesman.

When you’re unemployed and eating rejection for breakfast, some of the craziest things start to make sense. After a month of job hunting I was willing to accept any graphic design job no matter what the pay. After two months I was willing to accept any job at all, no matter what the pay. After three months I actually started thinking, “Gee, those car salesmen must make good money.”

Things were getting desperate. I was spending 10 hours each day following leads, cold calling companies in the phone book, and sending resumes to anything with a pulse. The next logical move would have been to sit out on a street corner with a cardboard sign that said, “Will Work For Work.”

As fate would have it, I stumbled two ads in the Sunday Help Wanted section. Both promised and generous benefits (something I’ve been lacking), and excellent income (also something I’ve been lacking). One was a Toyota dealership, the other a Ford. If I knew anything about cars I might have preferred one over the other; but the sad fact is that I know nothing. I’d be lucky if I managed to properly pronounce Toyota (“Why yes, I’m here to sell “Too-oota” cars!”).

I went to both dealerships, on Monday and Tuesday respectively. It was apparently a slow week for car sales. I remember the sensation I got at both dealerships. It was the odd feeling of being watched from the moment I pulled into the parking lot. It was the salespeople, acting casual but otherwise crowding at the window like puppies at a pet store. You want to see heartbreak, walk into a car dealership and tell them you’re not there to buy a car. Wow.

The rest is kind of hazy. I remember filling out the usual work history and background check forms, speaking to people with various English speaking skills, and walking away thinking, “Oh God, what the bloody hell am I doing?” In both cases I had left on the same premise. The job was actually offered to me right then and there, and I said, “Um, just give me one day to think about it.”

I didn’t call either dealership back on Tuesday night, like I said I would. I was hesitating, but at the same time I was ready to sell cars. There simply wasn’t any other option.

I got three calls the next morning. All three temp agencies that I had signed up with had a job ready for me… after one to three months of nothing, all three suddenly had work. That kind of blew my mind. I had to think for a few minutes. Dull office job for meager pay, or selling cars as if my entire salary depended on it… I called back the temp agency that offered the most pay and told them I was the man they were looking for.

P.S. I was just joking before. I know how to pronounce Toyota.

I haven’t had much to say lately. My life has become a death race to find a job. I have been searching, posting and mailing in all categories, not just graphic design. Once again I find myself copiously reaffirmed that no one wants me… for anything. It’s like I’m trying to get a date, but there’s an evil head growing out of my neck that tries to bite anyone who comes near. I can’t even get the jobs I’d settle for.
(“Dear Sir, with unveiled excitement I look forward to starting my fast-paced career as a file clerk.”)

Honestly though, there still are a handful of jobs I won’t do, including telemarketing and that job where you have to stick your hand up a cow’s ass (you know, from that movie). I guess I can’t be picky. But if those were my last two options and I had to choose one, I certainly would have no problem spending all day elbow deep in cow.