Archive for ifiik
Meanwhile, across from Ulster Bank HQ in Dublin
Posted by: | Comments
Via pingulette
“A man just lay down behind a stationary, parked, steamroller, had a bit of a shout then walked off. I love Dublin”
You’d have to love the Dublin wit and the propensity for random acts of nonsense 
It’s the way I tell ‘em . #joke
Posted by: | CommentsTo the gentleman in the fast food restaurant
Posted by: | CommentsYou looked so respectable sitting there on the stool drinking your tea and reading the Irish Independent. I’m guessing you are stalwart of the rural community you live in. You might even be that most revered of local figures – the bank manager. Yes, you have the look of a bank manager. You probably do the collections at mass on Sunday as well. Genuflecting at the altar of God must be a relief for you after prostrating yourself before Mammon from Monday to Friday. What a way to make a living. No. Not a bank manager now that I look at you again. You’re just a regular old gentleman.
A man who has had a life but who is only defined now by age. Now I think you might be in the restaurant spending a long time over that cup of tea so you don’t have to go back to an empty home. A home you once shared with a loving wife who made the most wonderful apple tart. The restaurant apple tart isn’t a tart at all. It’s just a pocket. A pocketful of apple with the faint taste of what used to be. It’s something to go with the tea, so you make do. I wonder how you can concentrate and read so intently with all the noise around you. You must be hard of hearing.
A lifetime of working in a factory probably did that to you. You’ve left the wife at the supermarket to do the weekly shop as you can’t stand shopping. And now it’s time to collect her. Up you get to go to the loo before heading off. You come back too soon though. No man your age can relieve themselves so quickly, not with a golf ball sized prostate.
I see you have a jacket on now and you’re holding your left arm close to your side. It’s the newspaper you have hidden inside your jacket. It’s the way you’d carry a newspaper if you were shielding it from rain. It’s not raining today though. You’re shielding it from… I don’t know who exactly, but you clearly think it’s a big crime. Nobody would have noticed if you brazenly walked out of the restaurant with the paper in full view. You could have riverdanced your way out the door singing “I took one of the customer newspapers” to the tune of God save the Queen and people still wouldn’t have looked up from their happy trays of food.
I noticed though. That must mean I’m weird.
Box office flops from the inside
Posted by: | Comments
The question was asked on Quora:
“What’s it like to have your film flop at the box office?”
One of the answers came from Sean Hood (professional screenwriter and director) who describes what it’s like with particular reference to his work on Conan the Barbarian 3D.
I think we can all identify with the emotions he talks about. That feeling of being totally invested in a project or cause and seeing hard work not pay off. The creeping self doubt. The self talk to keep spirits up. The “what do I do now” question.
It really is a fascinating insight. I absolutely loved the story he told about his father and I’m putting it here as it’s so good.
“My father is a retired trumpet player. I remember, when I was a boy, watching him spend months preparing for an audition with a famous philharmonic. Trumpet positions in major orchestras only become available once every few years. Hundreds of world class players will fly in to try out for these positions from all over the world. I remember my dad coming home from this competition, one that he desperately wanted to win, one that he desperately needed to win because work was so hard to come by. Out of hundreds of candidates and days of auditions and callbacks, my father came in….second.
It was devastating for him. He looked completely numb. To come that close and lose tore out his heart. But the next morning, at 6:00 AM, the same way he had done every morning since the age of 12, he did his mouthpiece drills. He did his warm ups. He practiced his usual routines, the same ones he tells his students they need to play every single day. He didn’t take the morning off. He just went on. He was and is a trumpet player and that’s what trumpet players do, come success or failure.
Less than a year later, he went on to win a position with the Los Angeles Philharmonic, where he played for three decades. Good thing he kept practicing.
So with my father’s example in mind, here I sit, coffee cup steaming in its mug and dog asleep at my feet, starting my work for the day, revising yet another script, working out yet another pitch, thinking of the future (the next project, the next election) because I’m a screenwriter, and that’s just what screenwriters do.
In the words of Ed Wood, “My next one will be BETTER!”
