Firemen Get The Most Ass

Years ago, before I was too old and bitter to think of myself as anything but the old and bitter person I had became, I told whoever would listen that I would grow up to be a fireman. I was around three at the time, dreaming of axes, donning helmets, rushing to disasters in a mad dash with sirens wailing and dalmatians howling.

I hoped to climb extended ladders up to tall buildings and smash the hell out of the glass windows to save whoever was inside, it wouldn’t matter who. I would be a firefighter and firefighters saved the lives of those in peril no matter their age, sex, or creed. All you had to do was act heroically.

This memory came back to when I was visiting my parents a few months ago and a little black cat got himself stuck in the mulberry tree in front of their house. My niece and nephew were there as well, and when I went out front and saw the kitten up in the tree and my little nephew at the base of it looking up concerned I said: “Don’t worry about him, he’s a cat. He’ll come down.”

We went inside, thinking our presence was what was keeping the little cat in his perch. Over an hour later we returned to the tree and there he still sat, silent and black and unmoving.

This perplexed me. I went to the garage and dragged my father’s old rickety ladder to the front yard so I could have a closer look. The ground around the tree was rooted and uneven and I found myself swaying a bit as I climbed the ladder, from both my clumsy placing of the ladder’s legs and the three or four beers I had drunk that afternoon.  

“Come here buddy. Come on down, let’s go. Easy enough,” I said to the cat.

I reached up, extending myself out from the tip top of the ladder, one hand stretched up towards the little black thing above me, the other gripping a mulberry limb.

“You alright buddy? You okay?”

The cat stared down at me, silent, completely still.

“What’s wrong, huh? What’s the problem?”

The little wet eyes just stared, wide and unblinking. I was sweating and I could feel my nephew looking up at us.

“Come on you little asshole, let’s go. Let’s get out of the God damned tree huh? What’s the problem?”

It was then that I got close enough to see that there indeed was a problem. The cat wasn’t simply holding onto a limb scared out of his wits, but had somehow got himself stuck between two limbs. He was completely wedged, furry undercarriage and one little paw hanging below the two tree limbs, the rest of him above.

I climbed down the ladder and explained the situation to my four year old nephew.

“Maybe we should call a fireman,” he said.

The little boy looked up at me and I realized this kid thought his uncle was some sorry ass who couldn’t come through when a little kitten’s life was on the line. How God damned embarrassing would it be to have a group of fireman drive up in the red truck and save a kitty in a tree?

I had known someone working to be a firefighter, a friend of a friend, and I hadn’t really warmed up to him. I thought it was interesting that he was getting into the field and had asked him about it at a bar one night.

“There’s hella school but firemen get the most ass,” he said and sipped his Redbull and vodka

I remember thinking it was probably true. Kids love firefighters, animals love firefighters, why not attractive women as well? Some six months later that same guy got into a situation where a cab driver accused him of attacking and beating him up. True or not the guy was denied the right to become a firefighter due to his record and is probably right now searching out an alternative means to “get the most ass”.

If a douche like that could almost become a firefighter than I could at least act like one. All it took was guts. I told my nephew there would be no need to call the fire department which made him look as sad and dejected as the cat 20 feet above us, then I went and dug some gloves up out of the garage.

I climbed the ladder and stretched out again from the tip top, reaching as far as I could. The cat stared down, silent and still as ever. Even fully extended I could barely touch him. I gripped a limb, reminding myself that I wanted my nephew’s respect for at least five more years, and leaned out into the air so I could push up into the little cat’s belly.

I gave him two firm pokes and he barely budged. He had so firmly wedged his tiny cat body between the limbs it would take a real shove. I leaned out again and thought about the fact that I could very well fall and break my neck and how that would affect my nephew.

I shoved a couple times and the suction between the limbs began to let go allowing the little furry body to begin to pop loose. I noticed the little bastard was starting to dig into the tree with his claws. If he wasn’t scared before he was absolutely terrified now.

“I’m worried he’s going to fall,” I yelled down to my nephew.

“He’ll land on his feet,” the boy said.

I wasn’t so sure. I started pushing and didn’t stop until I had forced the cat’s whole body from between the limbs. It was just his claws keeping him in the tree now but I wasn’t going to let up and give him a chance to fall back in the wedge. I reached out into space, trying to get a firm grip on him. He batted at me then jumped free, flying wild through the air. He slashed at three or four limbs on his way down, somersaulting through space until bang, like a shot he was on the ground running to the safety of the orchard across the road.

I climbed down, drenched with sweat and shaking a bit.

“He landed on his feet,” my nephew said.

“Yeah, I told you we didn’t need a fireman. We can handle it.”

The boy nodded absently before turning and entering the house, off to find his toy fire truck.

-November 20, 2012

Cloud Atlas, a Review

A few things I learned from tonight’s screening of Cloud Atlas, the new film by Tom Tykwer and the Wachowski siblings:

1) oil companies are even worse than the nuclear power industry,

2) Hugh Grant can’t do an American accent to save his life,

3) making up an Asian person in prosthetics to look Caucasian looks strange but not as ridiculous as the reverse, and

4) Hugo Weaving always plays every role as Agent Smith from the Matrix even when playing a woman. It gets old.

As you may or may not know the film (based on the novel by David Mitchell) follows six separate narratives and connects them by featuring the same actors throughout playing different characters by covering them in lavish makeup and prosthetics. One follows a man who builds a relationship with an escaped slave stowaway on a ship while dying of an illness in the late 1800’s, another follows a young composer in I believe the 1920’s, another, the exploits of a journalist in 1970’s San Francisco trying to scoop a nuclear power plant’s secrets, another in the present where an old man schemes to escape the old person’s home he’s been exiled to by his brother, another in the distant future where a replicant fights for her right to exist, and finally, another in an even more distant future where a sheep farmer helps a scientist find a means to communicate with someone off planet in hopes of escaping Earth (at least I think that’s what was happening there).

I was excited to see this film and while I have not read the novel it was based on I did read the New Yorker feature about the Wachowski’s which described the details of the sibling’s struggles to get the film made and piqued my interest before I had seen the previews. From what I picked up the film seemed to be different, maybe something not seen before, and damn ambitious. While ambitious (this is the most expensive independent film ever made) it is also mostly an unoriginal piece of work, infact almost a completely patched together recycling of other, better movies edited into one. Not that I’m saying you shouldn’t see it. If you have to go out to the movies then this has got to be the best thing out right now (besides The Master) and although that may be not saying much based on the current releases, I stand by that comment.

Here’s the thing: If you liked the Mad Max Trilogy then you’ll like this movie because both The Road Warrior and Beyond Thunderdome are in this one. If you liked Michael Clayton then you’ll like this one as well with Halle Berry as a less interesting stand in for the Clooney character. If you liked The Matrix then you’ll really dig the part about that replicant, which even features the actor Jim Sturgess made up to look like Keanu Reeves and he even does some Neo moves in the real world (which doesn’t make much sense).

That section of the movie, titled “An Orison of Sonmi-451” was my least favorite part of the film due to it’s Matrix like qualities: futuristic video game like nonsense violence, cardboard characters, false sentiment, shallow revolution, etc. The Korean actress Bae Doona made it tolerable due to her doing one of the few interesting and nuanced performances in the film.

My favorite section of the movie by far is the story entitled “The Ghastly Ordeal of Timothy Cavendish” which had the whole theater laughing and applauding with joy. The story about a gang of senior citizens escaping an old person’s home was by far the most interesting and original threads of the movie and also featured the most un-Tom Hanks Tom Hanks performance as a blood thirsty cockney thug (by the way, in case I don’t get a chance to mention it, Tom Hanks is still the shit and acts the hell out of all 55 parts that he plays in this movie. PS: Halle Berry is still drop dead gorgeous too).

Overall, this movie comes very close to being good before getting blocked by a few too many desperate grabs at the emotions. If these directors are going to portray a suicide then they’re not going to just have the sound of a shot and loved one running towards the door, they’re going to have said loved one hold the dead body and cry hysterically while stroking the blown out skull cavity and covering themselves in blood. If someone says goodbye to another character then they are going to look at each other at least six times and single tear is going to roll down one of their cheeks. Personally, I feel you can tell the story of the human spirit’s resilience over the course of hundreds years and still employ subtlety.

That’s just one man’s opinion.

11-4-12

Why This Election Was like Game of Thrones

For those not familiar with George R.R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire novels or the tv show they inspired called “Game of Thrones” I will do my best to give a brief summary of the first few books so I can then make my point of why the 2012 presidential election is a direct mirror of their plots and themes. The books are the story of the kingdom of Westeros, which is at peace for maybe the first 200 pages of the first novel before everything spirals into constant bloody warfare. Two forces battle for the power to rule over the future of the realm; one side is the rich, sinisterly attractive, and chronically incestious Lannister family and the other is the North led by the earthy, dead serious, and in some ways incredibly incompetent Stark family. While the Lannisters mostly lie, cheat, and betray to get their way, the Starks battle on stubbornly behind the fading causes of honor and loyalty, usually ending up on the sharp end of the sword.
While the war rages and consumes the lives of Westeros’s citizens, far up in the North sits a long wall of ice protecting the realm from the dark forces of Martin’s fantasy world: giants, wild men, snow demons, giant elk, and zombies (yes zombies, one of the reasons these books are kicking so much ass). This wall of ice has kept the forces of evil out of the realm for centuries to the point where the zombies and giants are no longer even considered real. Men deny they ever existed, calling them myths. The only people of the realm that warn against the ancient evils are the learned one’s, the scholars and what Martin calls maesters which are the Westero accivilant of scientists.
What many of Westero’s citizens are unaware of is that the ice wall protecting them from the north is starting to give. The wall is poorly defended by a rag tag collection of misfits with little training. Zombies are starting to pop up all over and Wild Men are being sighted on the southern side of the wall. The dark forces are attacking in record numbers and the Giants are riding mammoths!

Things are not looking good for the realm’s future, yet nobody gives a shit. The Lannister leaders are too concerned about their gold and their command and winning the war. The North is too caught up in revenge and killing the Lannisters. The regular citizens are too concerned with not getting brutally murdered in the crossfire and just making a living in the meantime. The very existence of the kingdom is at stake at the wall in the north but nobody wants to talk about it. Everyone is busy sweating and struggling and battling over their little piece of Westeros, thinking about surviving today and not concerned with tomorrow.

Now, let’s fantasy flash into the surreal world full of bizarre creatures and intrigue that we call the United States of America. We have two sides battling over the “realm” arguing over the economy, the definition of socialism, and whether pregnancy makes rape consensual. On one side we have a political party that’s rather earthy, serious, and in some ways  incredibly incompetent (that would be the Democrats). On the other we have Washington’s Lannisters, AKA the Republicans: rich, sinisterly attractive, and chronnically incestious (besides the attractive part, that nails it). Both sides are locked in battle, slashing with the economy, thrusting with taxes, and letting their archers (spin doctors) let fly their sharp pointed bolts of spin, lies, and misdirection. All the while our own wall is breaking and the dark forces are charging through.

Climate change is making its presence known with more and more impressive displays of natural havoc. First it’s a little melting up north. Then it’s a drier season in some country you’ve never heard of. Then mile long chunks of the ice caps are breaking off and whole sections of the country you never heard of’s population are starving to death. We used to at least talk about this.

Climate change was not mentioned once in the three lame ass presidential debates that took place last month, the first time those two words haven’t appeared in that arena in a generation. It’s a little insane that the one issue that could very well define the future of humankind on Earth was not mentioned by either Barack Obama, nor Mitt Romney, nor any of the the three moderators that resided over the debates. Not that the citizens watching and listening cared or really noticed either. Nobody might have noticed until a superstorm named Sandy came along and beat the shit out of the east coast. That was our real world version of a giant riding a mammoth.

11-3-12

14: Crime SuspenStory

OUR STORY SO FAR: Everything would have gone fine if the McCarthy mob hadn’t told Oscar Rayne to kill a stripper for being pregnant with Leo McCarthy’s child. Or if that stripper hadn’t been a police informant.
For the full saga go to the February folder on this blog and start with Part One of Crime SuspenStory.

Based on true events.
He should have kept himself calm and the girl calm so he could figure out what the hell was going on, but instead Leo had lost his temper. It had just been too much in too short a time, shock after shock in just a few seconds, and the rage and the fear had broken free like a stupid animal. But it couldn’t be helped. All he could do now was minimize the damage.
He opened the door to the office and took a sweep of the bar. More people had shown up, Beagley and his mistress and a couple of firefighters in their uniforms, already drunk. The music was still playing, people laughing between sips. Leo motioned to Charlie and the old man stepped inside.
“We got a problem,” Leo said, closing the door behind them. “Something happened with that girl, the young one. She just called.”
“She called?”
White Charlie stood up straighter.
“She said Oscar shot the guy from out of town.”
“What?”
“That’s what she said.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You think I do? The crazy fucking tart was babbling all over the place about the police and and a bunch of-.”
“The cops?” The wrinkles in Charlie’s face had come together, forming one large frown. “She want money? Why she call you?”
“The hell should I know?”

Leo gripped his wedding ring with his right hand and turned in on his finger anxiously.

“Where was she?” Charlie asked.

“She didn’t say,” Leo went into his coat for his phone as he spoke. “She seemed to think Vaughn was acting on his own and that’s why Oscar shot him. I don’t know what she meant about the cops.”

“What are you doing?”

“Calling the kid, what do you think?”

“He’s here,” Charlie said.

Leo put the phone back in his sports coat and looked towards the door. After losing it on the phone with Judy time was of the essence, not a minute to spare for wavering or wondering, only clear thinking and exact action. He was determined to stay calm.

“What did he say?” Leo muttered.

“Nothing. He was getting a drink with Pat.”

“He didn’t ask for me? Didn’t seem worried?”

“Not that I could tell.”

Leo swallowed what was left in his glass and leaned back against the desk that was shoved into the corner of the office. He was confused and nothing made him more angry. That little piece of ass Judy was out there doing God knows what talking to God knows who-

He stopped himself. The brain had a tendency to run off when panicked and he refused to let that happen. He had been betrayed in his time; people double crossing him, threatening him, pointing guns at him; but he had never panicked. It was how he had got to where he was and he would take care of this situation like he had others; step by step, point by point, until all loose ends were tied up.

“Are you heavy?” he asked Charlie.

“Yeah.”

“Who else?”

The old man smoothed out his mustache with his fingers.

“There’s a couple behind the bar. I know Ken got a scatter gun back there and pistol probably. Dick should be too.”

Leo rubbed his temples. What the girl had said didn’t make sense, it was insane. He wanted to send Charlie right out to grab Oscar and they could sort it out. But the girl had mentioned the cops and it was best to go with caution. Step by step. The facts were this: the girl was alive but Oscar was in the bar, acting like all was good.

Leo put his hand on his friend’s shoulder and looked him in the eye.

“I want you to go out there and talk to the kid,” he said.

****

“Tina! Hey there. You got a fresh one coming.”

Claudia watched Pat approach her with the drinks, speaking her dead sister’s name. She had given it out of desperation, realizing she hadn’t thought things through to the point of even coming up with one when he asked. Tina came off her lips and then she was going through other answers in case they came up: where she was from, where she danced. It was distracting her from playing the role. She gripped the purse and tried to keep the grin on her face.

The nephew was already on her, pushing the drink forward. She was sipping and discarding, it was no good to get liquored up and start slipping. The whole night was surreal; all these men surrounding her who’s files she had studied for hours, men she knew pimped, pushed drugs, hurt and killed people.

“Tina, this is my buddy Oscar,” Pat slurred at her and Claudia found herself nodding at Oscar Rayne with the straw of her drink lazily hanging from her mouth. Rayne nodded back, barely acknowledging her. She hadn’t seen him come in and she made an effort to tilt the eye of the purse towards him, getting a clear shot.

“Jesus, why don’t you take it easy. Stay a minute why don’t you,” Pat said and he was pulling the purse up over Claudia’s head with a grin across his face, much too familiar. She fought the nearly overpowering reflex to snatch it back and thrust a knee into his groin. He grinned at her, shaking his head, and placed the purse on the wooden outcrop that protruded from the bar’s wall.

“Somebody’s gonna steal it,” she said flatly.

“Trust me, nobody here is gonna steal your little purse. You're making me nervous holding onto it like that. Plus, the cops are here.”

Claudia looked in the direction he was nodding and sure enough there were two uniformed police at the bar, laughing with Murph as the bartender brought them and the firemen drinks. They were young, probably rookies, she didn’t recognize them and she hoped to God they didn’t recognize her. They must have been men from the local precinct, possibly on McCarthy’s payroll, who knew? She looked over at the purse and saw it was turned towards the bar. Hopefully Alex were getting a good image from that far away.

“You ever work at any of the clubs in town?” Pat asked her.

“Once or twice. I mostly work down in San Jose. They just call me to fill in for people,” she said.

“You gotta let me know when you’re working up here. Me and Oscar’ll come by and see you dance,” he nodded back at his friend who took no notice. “I got a lot of admiration for the work you ladies do. A lot of people think dancing is some kind’a easy gig but I know you work at it. Some of the shit is amazing, hanging off the pole, all that. You gotta work out to keep your body good. You work out regular?”

Claudia nodded, noticing White Charlie making his way towards them.

“Sure,” she said, and stepped closer to the wall, making room for the old man pushing his way passed her and stepping between Pat and Oscar.

“I thought so,” Pat said. “I could tell, I mean don’t take this as too forward Tina but Jesus, you got a body. I’m sure you’re pulling down money wherever you're working at.”

She gave him a wide grin and Pat elbowed White Charlie who looked over, annoyed.

“Don’t she have a great body?” Pat said.

“Yeah, real nice,” the old man replied. The shark eyes didn’t seem to even take her in as he turned his head towards Oscar Rayne. She heard Charlie say: “Everything go okay? With the thing?”

Claudia stepped closer to Pat, looking him right in the eye, and she saw the drunken grin lengthen across his face. She put her face close to his and she could hear Rayne reply to the old man: “Yeah, everything’s good.”

“And our friend? From out of town?” White Charlie said.

“On a plane.”

Claudia realized she was too close to Pat, it was odd whether he was drunk or not.

“You smell good,” she lied.

“Yeah?”

He kissed her hard on the lips.

“Hey! Everybody listen up, I got something to say!”

A man had climbed up on the bar and was holding his glass up in the air. Everyone near the bar looked up at him and Claudia took the opportunity to pull away from Pat, giving herself a good four feet.

“I want to thank McCarthy Paints for having us all here. One night away from the wife right?” A few people laughed. Most weren’t paying attention. “Where is Leo? Leo? Where is that old bastard? Well, I just wanted to say thank you to Leo and everything he does for the union and everything he does for a lot of people. What he does for this city damn it. Right? Let’s hear it!”

Ten or twelve people clapped, more might have but the jukebox was still playing music and it was hard to make out what the man was saying. Claudia noticed the cops had left, which was a relief,  then she noticed Ron Harvey approaching her. The lawyer’s thin lips pulled up into what was supposed to look friendly.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Fine, thank you.”

Harvey nodded and rocked on his heels a bit. He smelled strong of cologne and booze and Claudia had a hard time keeping her grin in place. She hated the man. She had read the court summaries of his cases, had traced the lies and manipulation he used to push things his way, protecting his number one client with underhanded trick he could pull. She had never met him before and had always imagined that she would punch his face if she did.
“You here with someone?” he asked her.
“No.”
“You came with the other girls? The one’s from the club?”
“Yes.”
Harvey nodded knowling.
“Well, I got to say, you don’t really seem like one of them.”
“What’s that mean?” she asked. It was making her sick being so close to him and she wanted the purse back in her hands.
“I just mean that you carry yourself differently. Not like a, you know, a working girl.”
Claudia nodded, forcing herself to be pleasant, and Harvey smiled sly and hungry.
“You want to get out of here?” he asked. “I got an apartment downtown. It looks out over the whole city, got a real nice view of the bay. I could open some champagne and you could tell me about yourself. I bet it’ll be real cozy up there with the rain and everything. Does that sound good?”
Claudia wanted to gag but she forced herself to keep the smile and pushed her bare shoulders up.
“It does sound nice but I don’t think I can.”
“Come on. I’m good friends with your boss. You’ll like it up there.”
“It’s so early though.”
“More time for us to get to know each other don’t you think?”
The lawyer smiled, his eyes squinting and the tanned orange skin around them stretched.
“Thanks Mr. Harvey but I really can’t right now.”
The smile drooped.
“You know my name?” he said. Claudia’s breath caught in her throat.
“One of them told me your name. They said you're a lawyer or something?”
He looked at her, the eyes squinting, the smile erased. How could she have been so careless?
“Ron boy, we’re moving the party now,” a voice said.
Dick Fagin had crept up behind them. His face was stern, staring at the lawyer and ignoring Claudia.
“Moving the party? What are you talking about?” Harvey snapped.
Claudia looked around and noticed most of the crowd was being herded towards the door by various members of the crew. The girls from the van were gathered near the bar, watching perplexed as the party was dispersed.
“That’s right, we’re all moving out to Sam’s.”
“Sam’s?” Harvey was irritated and the orange skin tightened on his face as he scowled. “That fucking dive? Dick, what’s going on? Why don’t we just stay here?”
“You heard me Ron. The party’s moving. There’ll be a couple taxis outside if you aint for driving.”
“But some of my guys are supposed to be stopping by here. Tommy and Burn and them.”
Dick Fagin’s face burned redder.
“Bleed’n Christ Ron, you heard me. The party’s moving.”
Claudia watched as Murph helped one of the drunker fireman towards the door. Supervisor Pernivo was shaking hands with a couple of other men as he stepped out with an umbrella in one hand and his other arm around the redhead from the van. The party was breaking up before her and Claudia felt the trap closing in. One of the cops must of made her. That had to be it.
A shadow crossed over her and she looked up into the round black face of the giant Cabbagepatch.
“Let’s go girl,” he said. The enormous head jerked towards a door leading to another room.  Bobby Flores was coaxing the remaining girls into the room as well. Claudia didn’t budge.
“Why?” she said.
Cabbagepatch looked down at her, really noticing her for the first time.
“What do you mean why? Move your ass girl.”
Pat McCarthy stepped forward, placing his hand on Cabbagepatch’s broad shoulder.
“I got this one,” he said.
“We’re shutting the party down Pat. Your Uncle want to see you in the office in back right away.”
Pat was lighting a cigarette while the big man spoke and stopped short, glancing at Claudia before staggering towards the back of the bar. Cabbagepatch swung his wide head back towards Claudia and pointed towards the room with the other girls. Claudia stepped away from him, one step,  two. The purse was sitting almost ten feet away, if she could just get in front of it, throw some sort of signal, give herself a chance at least.
Before she could make a move the sound of glass smashing filled the bar and Claudia looked towards the bar where Murph and Dick Fagin were struggling with Oscar Rayne. Murph had Rayne’s arms and Rayne had kicked out wildly with his legs, knocking drinks off one of the tables. Claudia watched as Fagin grabbed one of Rayne’s feet with one hand while going in his coat with the other, yanking a chrome revolver from a shoulder holster. He shoved it against Rayne’s cheek.
The scene whipped away when Cabbagepatch snatched Claudia’s wrist, dragging her towards the storage room where the other girls were gathered. He threw her inside, hard, and slammed the door. She heard the lock snap. She brushed the hair from her face and then turned, looking at her companions. There were four girls left, confused, surrounded by bottles of liquor and beer on shelves, paper towels, dirty mops.
One of them, a voluptuous woman with a grape vine tattoo between her breasts, tossed her hair back and said: “Well, there goes our fucking tips.”