I recently wrote about "self-absorption" in a blog.  In it, I pondered whether or not looking at my own image, or simply putting it forth, was a sign of over self-involvement.  In a nutshell was it tacky of me to do that?  Was it wrong?  I mean, we're a pretty visual culture.  And vain.  We invented something called the "selfie-stick."  Am I some kind of vain, narcissistic poseur who can't get enough of their own reflection?  Let's examine this... 

The gentleman in the above photo is Koo-Koo Boy.
Koo-Koo boy is the alter ego of my friend, Scott Coblio.  He assumed this alter-ego as the front man of his band, also called Koo-Koo Boy.  They were based in Rochester, NY back in the 90's. You can find his music online.  Scott is one of the kindest, funniest, most generous, most artistic people I know.  His creativity knows no bounds.  And he loves photography.  And one of his favorite photographic subjects is himself.  He tells me he has thousands of pictures of himself from throughout his life.  He more or less photo-documented it, particularly during the Koo-Koo period.  Do I consider this an act of thoughtless vanity?  No. I think of him as an archaeologist/anthropologist of his own life. After all, artists have been fascinated by their own visages since the pencil and mirror were invented.  The artistic self-portrait is something that pretty much every artist comes around to producing, often more than once.  And I understand why.

The title of the above painting, by Paul Gauguin from 1897, is: Where Do We Come From? What Are We? Where Are We Going?
Some very good questions.  I wondered if Gauguin had done any self-portraits.  I couldn't think of any.  Sure enough:

Just one of many.
So, why do artists feel so compelled to self-portraitize themselves through whatever medium?  I think it's because artists are blessed/cursed with a larger helping of curiosity about the questions most of us want to avoid.  Gauguin couldn't have put it better: Where do we come from? What are we? Where are we going?  (That painting is in the Boston Museum of Fine Arts and I've had the pleasure of standing in front of it more than once).  Also, I think, artists kind of marvel at their own creativity.  Not necessarily with braggadoccio; but a kind of awe.  Like, why did God decide to give me these talents?  Where did I come from?  Why does my mind seem to work in a way that other people's don't?  For example.  I have never seen my dad so much as doodle on a scrap of paper.  I have no idea if he has any skill at drawing; for I've never seen him draw anything.  That's not to say he's not artistic in some way.  And he loves the Arts.  I wonder if I put a pencil and paper in front of him and asked him to draw himself what the result would be.  How would he respond to the request?  I might try it next time I see him.  My mother too.  She has a very artistic bent; but I've never seen her draw anything.  Here's an interesting "fact."  All children draw.  Like ALL.  Some continue on and some simply stop.  Why?  I'm thinking it's because they reach a point where some critic tells them they're no good, so, shamed; they stop.
Which brings us to me.  ME ME ME!
Anyhow...
This is not a self-portrait.  It's a picture taken of me when I was seventeen.  It was for a play I did in high school: Peter Shaffer's The Private Ear​.

Not the best picture.  To me, I seem unformed.  Still a boy, not yet a man.  Haven't grown into my looks yet.  My teeth look too big for my head.  In any event, this picture pops up on BING if you do a search for me.  One of the neat things about BING is that it pulls up dozens of photos that it thinks are similar to others.  So, you can look (now this may be a bit narcissistic) at what the algorithm or A.I. (or whatever) thinks matches your image.  It's fun.  You can get a totally objective opinion on who you think you look like; or people who people have told you you look like.  I used to get Tom Hanks a lot.  And sure enough, the computer had no less than five pictures of him in the lineup:

​In fact, I got several "celebrity" hits (see if you can name them):

Don't look at me...a computer picked them!  Also these "non-celebs."

I definitely skewed with Latino looks, for whatever reason.  I mean, I couldn't be more Irish.
​Have I done any self-portraits you ask?
Yes.  Exactly two.  The first, done some twenty years ago, is still unfinished.  And I wouldn't consider it a true self-portrait, as it was based on a photograph, taken by someone else.
My first true self-portrait was done quite recently.  I took a class at the Y for painting.  I did not know that it was going to be a class in "alla prima"; which is technique where you paint the image directly onto the canvass, without an underdrawing and the paint is "wet on wet."  I couldn't decide what I wanted to paint so I just threw up my hands and decided to paint myself.  Here is the result:

And with the optional sunglasses:

So, that's what I think I look like.
But then again not really.

​CFR  12/1/22
​

A BIG HOLLYWOOD STUDIO EXECUTIVE CONFERENCE ROOM, HOLLYWOOD U.S.A.
Seated around one side of the table are various and sundry good-looking people in expensive casual wear from Fred Segal, Kitson, Prada, etc.  Through the large glass windows, we can see palm trees lazily swaying in the Santa Ana wind.
A FEMALE ASSISTANT in a Chanel suit enters.
FEMALE ASSISTANT
Your three o'clocks are here...
MALE EXECUTIVE PHIL
Great Marissa, send them in...(to others)...I can't wait to hear their vision! (Everyone nods in agreement)
The door opens again and Marissa escorts in an entourage of more good-looking people, mostly in black, expensive casual wear from Fred Segal, Kitson, Prada etc...They take seats on the other side of the conference table.

PHIL
So great to have you all here.  Let me introduce the team.  This is Bill, Will, Jill and Lil from development and John, Don, Von and Kwan from production.
AHS EXEX DAN
Thanks Phil.  And this is our writing team of Pam, Sam, Jan and Stan.  And our producers Gary, Larry, Harry and Mary.
(Greetings are exchanged)
PHIL
So, let's get to it.  What do you have for us for Season 11, Dan?
DAN
Al Pacino!
PHIL
Al Pacino...where are you going with this?
DAN
Cruising!
PHIL
Are you referring to the 1980 film by William Friedkin?
DAN
Bingo!
JOHN
Wasn't that about the gay leather scene?
KWAN
Yeah...it was...and a killer who was murdering gay men...

JILL
Isn't that movie considered, well...a turkey?
DAN
It's been reassessed.  It's now considered a classic!
JILL
Is it?
WILL
Is Pacino the murderer?
JAN
No, he's a cop who goes undercover into the leather scene to try and flush out the killer!
STAN
But it turns out he gets in over his head and--
PHIL
Okay...I get the gist.  Murderer in leather land; conflicted cop...period piece?
DAN
We're setting it in 1981, at the beginning of the AIDS crisis...
KWAN
Why?
DAN
To give it verisimilitude.  And an extra layer of creepiness and horror...
KWAN
I would argue that Cruising is already a horror movie; so why not just straight up remake it?  Or just set it now and do like a Grindr killer type thing?
DAN
We need that metaphor!  AIDS was fucking scary man!  It's like our secondary element of horror in this...
KWAN
So, you want to make the AIDS virus an actual horror element?
DAN
Well, of course...
KWAN
You do know that AIDS was a real thing right?  That AIDS actually happened and a lot of people who lost people to it and almost lost themselves are still alive and kicking, right?
DAN
They'll love it!  Here's one of the posters for the marketing...we didn't have time for a Powerpoint on this so; Gary...if you will...
(Gary opens a large black folio, removes a poster and puts it on an easel):

PHIL
Is that a corpse?  Was he one of the murder victims?
DAN
Oh, no...he's still alive...but barely...
KWAN
Don't tell me...he's dying of AIDS...
DAN
Bingo!  You're getting it Don!
KWAN
I'm Kwan.  So he's dying of AIDS but he still puts on glam-leather?  I mean, would he actually have the...strength... to do that?
DAN
You're overthinking it...
KWAN
Am I?
DAN
You're starting to harsh my buzz, Ken...
PHIL
Thank you for your comments Kwan.  Do you have any more artwork for us?
(Dan gestures and another poster is placed on the easel):

VON
Oh, is Madonna in this?  I love her.  Does she have AIDS?
STAN
Oh, no, that's not her.  She's not even a character in the show...
JOHN
Then why is she on the poster?
DAN
​'Cuz she looks cool; You guys are really overthinking this...
​(Another poster is produced)

PHIL
More women...so your version is about leather lesbians in the early 80's?  Was that a thing?
PAM
Well, we wanted inclusivity in our version.  The original was kind of man heavy...(laughter from her side of the table).
KWAN
Wasn't that the point?
DAN
Are you on board here, Shawn?
PHIL
Look, you know, I've been around.  I was in New York in the late 70's. I stumbled out of the Mineshaft at dawn more than once; but I don't recall a lot of heavy leather lesbians in men's clubs.  Show me another poster with some man-candy.
(A poster is quickly put up):

WILL
Does he have AIDS? And why is he dressed like a thorn-bush?
DAN
He's a deer...I'll let our head writer Jan explain...Jan?
JAN
There's a leitmotif in the storyline, featuring animals; specifically deer, as a source for the AIDS virus.  It's a metaphor for Nature's indifference to Man's plight.
KWAN
The virus came from chimpanzees.
JAN
Well, they skewed a little too...funny...(more laughter).
PHIL
Anymore artwork?
(Still another poster is produced):

JILL
Who is this character and does he have AIDS?
DAN
He's not a character...it's more conceptual...
LIL
What's he doing to that skull?
BILL
Does the skull have AIDS?
DAN
Probably...
KWAN
He's fucking the fucking skull Lil!  That's what he's doing.  The entire image equates gay sex and leather with death.
DAN
Well, yeah...that's the point.
KWAN
Do you people recall when Cruising first came out and there were protests in the gay community because they were finally getting a movie about gay people but all it was about was them fucking in public and being murdered for it?  Don't you think your little season 11 is doing the same thing?  And then making an actual real life disease that killed millions of people window dressing for your  stupid horror series?
DAN
That was a long time ago, Cal...
KWAN
1981 was forty-one years ago.
DAN
Yeah, so who the fuck even remembers...
KWAN
Let me ask you Jan...how old were you in 1981?
JAN
Well...you don't ask a lady her age...(hesitant giggles in the room)
KWAN
Sorry Jan, but you people have summoned my inner QUEEN; and she's a bitch.  You look like you're on the backside of forty to me--
JAN
Excuse me--
KWAN
So, you were like, a fucking child during the majority of the AIDS crisis, correct?
JAN
Well...I suppose...but that doesn't mean...that I can't write about it...
KWAN
Did any of your friends die of AIDS?
DAN
I've had enough of this dude's sanctimony, Phil, could we have him removed?
PHIL
I actually had a lot of friends die of AIDS, so I'm interested in where this is going...

JAN
Okay, say it wasn't AIDS...say it was the Black Plague.  Would that be wrong?
KWAN
No...because that was seven hundred fucking years ago Jan.  There are no seven hundred year old people who had friends die of the plague around anymore...for like a good six-hundred-and-seventy years.  
JAN
Our scripts are paying homage to the suffering.  They are transformative...we've even got references to Angels In America!
PHIL
I've read some of the episodes...and I have some questions.
DAN
Shoot!
PHIL
So, you've got this cop who's in the closet and he goes to Fire Island and his apparent first gay sex experimentation involves an S and M encounter wherein he literally fucks a young man to death.  And then his friend calls a gay hit-man to clean up the scene and his solution is to bury the young man in the sand...right behind the house?
JAN
I didn't write that one.

PAM, SAM AND STAN
Oh yes you did!
​PHIL
And then later on, when the body is discovered...four of the characters, one of whom is a reporter, blithely handle parts of the corpse, on the Fire Island beach at the height of summer in broad daylight, yet...and not a single other human soul walks by?  And not one character has any remorse about this, including the cop and the righteous reporter...that maybe the corpse's family might want to know what happened to their son?  And why didn't the couple who discovered the body call the Fire Island police?
JAN
Well, because...uhhmmm...well....you see...
DAN
Because the script needed them not to; that's why.
PHIL
So, every single character in this...your leads no less...are all completely morally bankrupt?
DAN
Of course!
PHIL
And why is this reporter character such an unrelenting sourpuss for the whole thing?  By the second time he was about to be killed, I was rooting for the killer.
DAN
The character is really authentic...
PHIL
How was he able to use his typewriter if all ten of his fingers were bandaged after having red-hot needles jammed under his fingernails?
DAN
(To Jan) Is that in the script?
JAN
Huh? What? (Looks around quickly) Oooh, brownies!  (She grabs one and starts chewing).
KWAN
I just got a great idea for season 12!  How about Freddy Krueger going on a killing spree at a Khmer Rouge reeducation camp?
DAN
I LOVE it! (enthusiastic agreement on his side of the table).  "Freddy Vs. Pol Pot"!  So Phil, is it a go?
Phil raises his finger.  He pours some water into a glass.  He takes a sip.  He pauses, raises the glass and flings it's contents at Dan.
PHIL
​Get out.
DAN
Why you!!! (stands) My Balenciaga! Come on people, we're taking our business to A24!!! (They file out the door).
KWAN
I so wish that had been a slushie.

And scene!

CFR 11/25/22

It happened.  I pulled a "Karen" at Burger King.  But, since I'm a man, I guess it was a "Gary."  Or how about "Darren" since I'm gay and a man? Or should that read, "I'm a man and gay"?  And by the way, did you know that I'm gay yet?
Yeah, so I got my Darren (TM Registered Pat.Pend.) on at Burger King.  I mean, it wasn't a full on meltdown and I don't think I was filmed...although there was a guy holding a smart phone behind me...however, in my defense, I think they deserved it.
Look, I'm a pretty amiable person.  I don't really "go off" easily and it hardly ever happens.  So I'll pose the old "Am I the Asshole" query and tell you my side of what happened.
So, I get this coupon in the mail for Burger King.  Or should I say, a sheet of coupons.  And nowadays, what with prices the way they are (I mean you sort of can't get out of a fast-food restaurant without dropping nearly ten bucks) I figured I'd use the coupon.  Or had the coupon merely done its job of enticing me into the restaurant by making me crave one of BK's "Original Chicken Sandwiches"?  In this case, two; as it was a two for one deal?

Actually, my coupon was the two sandwiches and two medium fries for $6.49...so, that's kind of like I paid $1.50 for a few more fries.  And what is that price? $6.49?  Weirdly specific, isn't it?  So, I'm craving this sandwich.  It's a little low end; but it's super tasty.  I mean, it's like a processed chicken patty coated in some kind of batter; but like I said, it's delish!  I've loved them since I was knee-high to grasshopper.
So anyways, I go to the grocery store and afterwards swing by BK which is right across the street.  I notice the drive through is a bit jammed; but when I went in, there was no line.  Just a nice old lady, standing to the side, obviously waiting for her order.  She's a certain type of old lady.  Specific to these-a-here parts.  I call them Mountain Mamas.  They're usually grandma aged.  Usually gray-haired.  Long gray hair that they wear long.  They usually dress like they're still in their twenties (think halter tops and denim cut-offs).  They are quite often loud, as though they never learned to modulate their voice.  They drive big ass vehicles; quite often four door sedans from the 70's.  They are a type.  They all sort of have the same look; and as I mentioned they are LOUD; but sometimes not. Like the exact opposite.  No words at all; but if they do speak, hardly above a whisper.  Granny (let's call her) was the latter.  So I order, proudly present my coupon and then (having it MY way) ask for the mayo to be held and tomatoes (extra!) added.  This is achieved in mere seconds and then I go stand next to Granny.
And I wait.
And I wait some more.
And I wait more some more.
Granny tells me she's waiting for her order and I assure her that, I too, am waiting.
An older gentleman comes in and orders, pays in cash and then goes to the fountain to fill his drinks.  And I wait even longer.  I can see straight into the kitchen, where it seems there is one person preparing sandwiches; although there are like seven people behind the counter.  I'm watching for the chicken sandwiches I ordered, as they are oblong shaped and I'm seeing a lot of round sandwiches coming down the line.  Most of the bagged food is going to the drive through window.  Finally a girl comes out, holds up a bag and I half-hear "chicken sandwiches..."  Granny suddenly moves like a cat next to fire-crackers going off, grabs the bag, waves good-bye to me and she's out the door.  I looked at the girl and wished they still wore the uniforms from the 70's.

​So, meanwhile, I'm still waiting.
Finally, the girl reappears with another brown paper bag and looking at me she says: "Two juniors and two fries" and she dangles the bag in my general direction.  But I'm skeptical.  Nothing in my order mentioned anyone named Junior.
"Junior what?" I ask
"Whoppers...and two fries..." comes the reply.
"No," I say, "I ordered two chicken sandwiches with two--"
The manager, a Mountain Mama herself (who had taken my order), came over and looked at the girl. "What'samatter?"
"He--" 
"Oh, no honey, he had two chicken sandwiches with no mayo and extra tomato and two fries...what are these?"
"Two Juniors and two fries--"
They both looked up at the pending order screen.  By this time the little old man had wandered over and inserted himself into the dynamic.
Mountain Mama Manager turned to him.  "Baby did you order two Whopper Juniors?"
"And two fries!" he said.
"Oh," the Manager said to the girl, "these are his..."
And he goes on his merry way.  "So, where's my order?"  A lot of head swiveling and looking around unfolded at this point and then they both looked at the screen.
"Oh," the girl said, "that one already went out..." 
The Manager turned from the screen.  "Yeah, that one went out."
"Went out?" I asked. "Went out where?"
"With that lady..." the girl said, turning her not quite deer in the headlights gaze to me.
"Wait..." I said, trying to process this turn of events; events that had never turned before in my long history of visiting Burger King restaurants. "You're telling me you gave my food to that lady?"
"Well," the girl said, maintaining her equilibrium under the mounting pressure of my rising dudgeon (and I gotta say I respected her for that), "I called out the order."
Now, this, in its simplest interpretation, was basically her telling me it was my fault.  And that I was stupid on top of it.
A trap door opened under me and I plummeted into some kind of spiral galaxy where everything was backwards.  Backwards and forwards simultaneously.  Like, I was finding this whole scenario as hilarious as it was infuriating.

Perhaps I was a little hungry and after staring at images of food for nearly twenty minutes, I was perhaps now "hangry."  Perhaps I was anxious as I had Italian ice melting in the trunk of the car.  I mean, I was a little light headed as I started saying things like: "...this is supposed to be fast food, not twenty minute food!"  or: "...I don't have time to wait...I have kids!" (I don't)...(maybe I said this because I was clutching not one; but two Burger King crowns in my trembling hand). Then, I really started spiraling out as I started to wonder where Granny's order now was.  I mean where did it go?  She had clearly been waiting for some time before I ordered, so how did my order get in front of hers in order for her to dash and dine with it?  Or had she like ordered Chicken Fries and when she heard "...two chicken sandwhiches..." that sounded like a much better dinner to her, so she seized a "window of opportunity." To wit: DID GRANNY JUST STEAL MY TWO ORIGINAL CHICKEN SANDWICHES WITH TWO MEDIUM FRIES FOR $6.49 DEAL!!?!!!???

So Mountain Mama Manager, who also was completely unflappable in the face of my Looney Tunes-esque come-apart says: "She's goin' ta fix two more right up for you honey!"  And I said: "I don't have time to wait another twenty minutes (which was true; I mean waiting 40 minutes for your "fast" food, I'm pretty sure, disqualifies it from actually being "fast" food) Can I just get my money back?"
"Well, I'm gonna need your receipt for that..."
I delve into my pockets, where, of course, I can't find it.
I deflate in defeat.  Now I'm embarrassed that several people have witnessed me in a moment of, shall we shay: emotional dishabille.  I come up with nothing; both figuratively and literally.  My spiral galaxy grinds to a halt.
"Well, here are the sandwiches right now, 'hon..."
"Fine," I sigh, "fine..."
A bag is handed off.  Now my sense of divine comedy returns and I really want to know where Granny's dinner went.
"So, what happens when that lady gets home and finds out it's not what she ordered?"
Mama shrugged.  "This happens all the time.  That's her problem."
But wasn't it also now my problem?  And how is that for some cold comfort?

Oooops.  Wrong restaurant again.

So then I guess I apologized. I mean, I think I did say sorry.  I explained: "I'm hungry and it makes me edgy..."
I don't think she was all that concerned with my psychological well-being; edgy or otherwise.  So I take my new deal and get in the car and I start laughing.  I laugh long and hard.  I smell the irresistible scent of the french fries they sell and I reach into the bag for some on the drive home.  Fresh and hot from the fryer!  I take another handful between guffaws.  I never eat while I drive.  I wonder where Granny lives.  I wonder why, if Burger KIng has retro-branded themselves with their 70's vibe as of like, last week; why haven't they brought back, at least, THE HAT?  Probably because they couldn't get anyone to work there if they asked them to wear the hat.  I think back on Burger King in the 70's and muse that Burger King in the 70's must've been the most 70's thing about the decade of the 70's.

I laugh again and then wonder if maybe I've gone more than a little crazy along with the rest of the world, getting upset about my fast food order when another five innocent people were gunned down in Colorado. I think about the recent deaths at fast food restaurants where customers lost their lives over their orders.  I stopped laughing and retrieved my empty hand from the paper bag.
Welcome to America, the land of fast food, fast guns and fast death.  You want fries with that?

CFR 11/23/22

Here's the deal:
You can win your very own piece of artwork, by moi.  A signed, limited edition artwork of "The Astronaut's Wives," seen above.
You can choose which version too!  Black and white pencil etching or full color.  Your choice!  All you have to do is send a postcard to me at 103 Woodvale Court, Vinton VA.  Mark it "ART CONTEST."  Tell me which version you'd like and of course, tell me where to send it.
​You have until Saint Patrick's Day, 2023.  I will draw three winners from whatever cards I receive.  If I receive no cards, well then...screw it.  Nobody wins.  If I get only one card, that person gets both versions.  That is all.  Good luck!

CFR 11/21/22

If you've read my blog "A Letter To Tom Hanks for My Mother"; you may recall I was discussing the custom of "head shots" for actors and how embarrassing it can be.  I also mentioned that I had had some taken in the early 90's, when, I suppose I was considering being an actor.  But I never did pursue it, nearly the entire time I lived in L.A.  I often ask myself why and I think I know the answer; but I don't want to get into that here...
So, this was taken circa 1993-94.  So, I'm like 28, 29...facing down 30.  Remember turning 30 and being depressed because you felt old?  Ha, ha, ha.  I look like a freakin' baby.  And I used to suntan (child of the 70's. Teen of the 80's). And I used to party relatively hearty.
So the picture was taken by a Mr. Douglas Baker.  I first met him in 1983 when I was a senior in high school.  He was the "new teacher."  He taught English and Journalism.  I took his Journalism class.  After I graduated and attended Boston University, he ended up studying there as well. So, our orbits kept crossing. He also had a photography studio,  which is how the head shots came about. Now, of course, he's a therapist; and since this makes him something of a public figure, I will post a picture of him:

Oh, and what the heck...how about a video?

Thin as a reed!  All that yoga...
So, he took my first official head-shots; one of which is seen at the top of the page.  I think he lit my eyes quite well.  Brown eyes are hard to make pop.  Of course, it's a black and white photo...but still.
So, if you're in the Boston area and you need some yoga and/or psychotherapy, Doug is your man.  He offers his services online as well.
Yes, he's a kind and lovely human.
So, what was this supposed to be about?  Oh yeah...miscellany...which the head shot is.  I mean, I said I would post one when I found it and so there you have it.  Now, in doing that: posting an image of myself; am I engaging in self-absorption?
I mean this webpage is about me, right?  In essence, it boils down to an attempt to monetize my creativity. It sounds a little mercenary. But isn't it what all artists (or most...at least those who like to eat and have a roof over their head) try to do in life.  Take what makes them happy and try and make a living out of it?  Sure!  What about the personal revelations I'm revealing to you: mostly strangers?  Well, as a writer, I suppose I seek connection and a kind of catharsis by offering the world my experiences in an attempt to share them in a humanistic way.  Maybe I do disclose too much; but then, maybe some of us don't disclose enough.  I don't know.
But really, aren't we all self-absorbed to a certain extent.  I mean, yes, you can be "selfless"; But wasn't someone like say, Mother Teresa, even, self-absorbed?  How can you not be?  Your mind is literally absorbed by your brain.  Your personality resides in the body you were given at birth that you have to live with until...
We're the ones who have to live with ourselves all our lives.  Or should I say: I am the one with who I have to live with all my life.  So, if you're tired of hearing about my life or looking at my mug, I suppose you're just a click away from not having to.
But I think I'm pretty good company.  I like hanging out with myself.  And nowadays, I actually avoid mirrors as much as possible...which sometimes, maybe I shouldn't.  You wouldn't believe some of the outfits I go out in, in public.

CFR 11/23/22

Her new song: "Pulp"

Before I shock you, I just wanted to mention a few more things about my Empire Hotel peep-show.

The resident directly across from me was a violinist.  He would practice his violin directly in front of the window.  You couldn't have framed it more cinematically.  He did his violining fully clothed.  However, the viewing angle only allowed viewing the violinst from the waist up; so it was moot; as well as mute.  So, of course, I kept hearing violins, and seeing people carrying violin cases.  This may have been less "synchronicity" and more "staying in a hotel next to a violin school." I mean, Juilliard was right there...and an opera house.

​One of the apartments was pitch black; but someone was moving around in it by the light of a smart-phone.  It really was like a scene out of a movie!  I mean, what was that about?  Was it simply a case of not paying the electricity bill or something more...creepy
Speaking of creepy, in a good way I suppose, was a conversation my husband and I had yesterday.  We were talking about Hogan's Heroes, which we do more than you'd think.  It's on ten times a week on MeTV and we sometimes watch it, when there's absolutely nothing else on.  As a child, when we only had one TV, and HH went into repeats, I'd have to suffer through it every night. My older brother was obsessed with World War II for some reason (don't ask...my older brother has been a thorn in my side since we were in diapers) and so it was Hogan's Heroes, at 7:30, every night, for most of the 70's.  My least favorite genre of filmed entertainment, after Westerns, is War Movies.  But I'd sit there with glazed eyes and watch that show, because, well, what else did I have to do?
I mean, now, as an adult, I can appreciate its quality.  It's quite well written and produced.  They did 168 episodes, with basically the same plot.  Colonel Klink is hosting some Nazi high mucky-muck at Stalag 13; one who is in possession of information that Hogan and his boys want.  They pull the wool over Klink's eyes and blackmail Shultzie by reminding him about the Russian front.  The high ranking Nazi is duped, often ending up going to the front and Klink waves his finger and says: "Hooooogaaannnn!" The End.  See you next week, more or less.

​I see nothing!  Nothing...!

What's going on in that picture?  When I was looking for a picture of John Banner, who played Schultz, I found one on on some gay website and one caption read: Are you gay for John Banner?  Another: Do not be ashamed of your crush on John Banner.
So, as we were discussing the show for the nth time (speaking of crushes) I mentioned that the fellow on the show who gave me "childhood tingles" was Louis LeBeau.

Why?  I don't know.  I guess I had a thing for short haired brunettes with comfortably handsome faces.  I still think young Jerry Lewis was hot.  Apparently, so did Dean Martin:

I see everything!  Everything! (and you sure can with the rest of these pix!)

Distracted by prurience once again...
Anyways...so the point of this is synchronicity.  
So, we're discussing Robert Clary, who played LeBeau on HH and I'd read somewhere that he'd actually been in a concentration camp.  So, I wanted more information.  I pick up my smart phone.  I look up Robert Clary, one of my first childhood crushes, for the first time in my life.  A picture pops up.  His birthday: March 1, 1926.  His death: ...oh wait, he's dead?  His death: November 16, 2022.  Wait, that can't be right.  I turned to my husband.  "What's today's date?" His reply: "The 16th of November."  This was two days ago.  Wait...what?  Mr. Clary had literally just died, more or less.  I looked at my husband in stunned disbelief.  "He's probably still warm..." he said.
Maybe it's me; but I think that's pretty friggin' weird.  Like, had his ghost popped by our house when he was on his way into the light?
Reposez en paix, Monsieur Clary.
Also:
The one who gives me tingles now, watching those reruns, is Werner Klemperer.  He's weirdly sexy.  Or maybe I'm just weird.

                                                                           Robert Clary - 1926-2022 

​CFR 11/18/22

So, I was recently in NYC with the hubs for a two-day, let's see a play jaunt.  We stayed at the Empire Hotel in Lincoln Square.  Very tiny; but very cool; but would it kill them to put a mini-fridge and a coffee maker in the room?  No it wouldn't. 
Now, I don't want to give you the wrong impression of me.  Like, that I'm a pervert or something.  However, I really can't say that I'm not.  I have a hearty interest in sexuality and erotica and seeing people naked (well, that is, the people you'd want to see naked).  So was it wrong of me to spend most of my time in the hotel room gazing out the window at the back side of an all-glass, high-rise apartment building, scrutinizing the occupants and hoping for glimpses of hot guys; some of whom might be willing to put on a show; as they say that many of the denizens of Manhattan are wont to do for one another?  I say, NO! 
I mean, it wasn't just to get a glimpse of somebody naked.  There was also my interest in sociology at work.  And also my cinematic eye.  I mean, it was like a total Rear Window sitch.  The building (seen below) was even bathed in the extremely cinematic red glow of the hotel's neon sign.  The only thing it didn't do out of a movie, was flash on and off.

So, we went to dinner at a restaurant near the hotel.  It was extremely busy.  Every place in the vicinity was extremely busy, which makes sense, at the height of the dinner hour in NYC.  So I talked to the hostess and she put us on the wait list.  She was a petite blonde, young, attractive, gregarious.  She was juggling her duties seating people and taking reservations and was the very picture of grace under pressure.
Anyways, after we'd eaten and I was waiting for my husband to return from the rest room; I got to chatting with her.  I complimented her on her hostessing skills and (already knowing the answer) asked her if she was an actress.  Yes, of course she was; but also a singer, a performer and a writer.  Her name is Erin McMillen.  We exchanged information.  We both have websites (find her at erin mcmillen.com). Here she is:

Any of you Hollywood types out there reading this...get busy.  This woman is not going to be a star.  She already is a STAR.  Here she is, nailing The National Anthem; arguably one of the hardest songs to sing; let alone sing well.

So that's Erin...and I can say..."I knew you when..."
So here's another bizarre coincidence.  When we were looking at the menu in the window, I decided on a chicken sandwhich; not realizing I was looking at the lunch menu; not the dinner menu.  So I had my heart set on that.  When the waiter was taking our orders, I didn't see said sandwich.  "Was there not a chicken sandwich on the menu?" I asked. "Only at lunch..." Not wanting to peruse the menu any longer, my eyes randomly landed on "Chicken Pot Pie" which is what I ordered.  Apparently, it's one of the place's specialities.  How could I have known this?  I couldn't.  But it was delish!!!  Here it is:

So, I have this friend, Greg, who is a dyed in the wool New Yorker.  He and his husband go to see EVERYTHING on Broadway, Off-Broadway, Off-Off Broadway...however "off" it is; if it's still on the island of Manhattan, they go to see it.  Maybe in New Jersey even.
So anyways...my husband and I were exploring Lincoln Center, which neither of us had ever seen before, and there was a show going on in one of its theaters: The Old Man and the Pool.  It's star, Mike Birbiglia, who I'd never heard of up until I saw a bit of his interview on Late Night with Seth Meyers, was talking about his battle with bladder cancer. I was only paying half attention; but I was intrigued.  I was explaining this to my husband.  I also told him how, as a child, I received the Metropolitan Opera's Gift Shop Catalogue from about 10 years old until well into college.  As to how I got on their mailing list; I couldn't tell you. I mean, at least, I can't remember. And now, here I was, some forty plus years later, at last in the actual gift shop itself. We bought a Christmas ornament.
It gets weirder.

So, Peter Grimes is an opera, in the English language, by Benjamin Britten.  I would hazard a guess that it's rather an obscure work for most humans; even though it is well known by opera lovers.  The only reason I know what it is, is because when I did my first play in high school, Peter Grimes figured into the plot of the play.  The play was by Peter Shaffer: The Private Ear.  The Private Ear is about a shy young man who can't seem to get a date with a woman.  His suave friend fixes him up with a working girl but the dinner date proves to be a disaster and our hero is left high and dry by his date, who goes off with his friend.  The young man retreats further into his insular world of music.  His favorite opera is Peter Grimes, which he tries to explain to the girl as to why.  He empathizes with Peter, you see, because both he and Peter are outsiders. Why does he empathize with Peter Grimes, an outcast fisherman who may be responsible for the death of two young men?  Well, the subtext is that both Peter and the hero of The Private Ear are more than likely homosexuals; their outsider status being a fairly straightforward metaphor for being gay in an unaccepting world.  Although, both the characters seem unaware or in denial about the true nature of their sexual identities.  Pretty loaded play to put on at all boys school.  Of course, I was something of a Peter Grimes at my school which the teacher, a gay man himself and also a Peter Grimes must've recognized; for he literally begged me to be in the show.  I remember going into a record store in Cambridge with him to get the soundtrack for the opera.
In any event, my thinking was: "How odd is that?  That the Met just did Peter Grimes when I happened to go into the gift shop for the first time?  And was selling a hand-made "Peter Grimes" jacket for $500.00.  But really....where would you wear that?
I talk a lot about "messages from the Universe" and "synchronicity" in these blogs.  Fine; call me corny...but why did all these Peter Grimes references all pile up one night in NYC?  Or that The Hours is now an opera and it's a work that I make fun of with not one; but two of my good friends, who don't know each other?

"Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself..."

​

I'm sorry; but that movie is simply off the scale pretentious.  It's like a parody of itself.  And don't even get me started on Nicole Kidman's nose.  Or Meryl Streep's hair.  Or that Michael Cunningham makes you stand ten feet back while he signs your copy of his book.
That line about the flowers.  WTF?  Why are they being so portentous about it?  She's gonna buy the fuckin' flowers herself.  So?  Who gives a shit?  Buy the fuckin' flowers already.  Stop talking about it.  Remember how hard everyone creamed over that movie?  Sure, when was the last time you watched it?  Fuck off The Hours.
So let's shake that off!
Back to NYC...
We went to see Kinky Boots.

A great time was had by all!
​So, while we were there, I was thinking: wouldn't it be interesting if we ran into Greg and his husband.  We didn't.  But when we got home, Greg had been posting on Facebook.  These are from like the night we were wandering around Lincoln Center.  The caption: "Great night for chicken pot pies from P________'s"

Greg and friend.

So don't go tellin' me there ain't no such a thing as synchronicity...or messages from the Universe.  'Cuz that's proof right there.

CFR 11/15/22

Adam and friend.

​Domhnall Gleeson will be playing our Irish kick-fight champion, Patrick "Paddy" O'Riada:

Domhnall and friend.

Clearly, Dom is going to have to pull a Jake Gyllenhaal and bulk up for this role; Adam too.  Maybe they could get together with Jake and he can put them both through his patented grunting, groaning, pumping, pumping, pumping, gonna make you sweat workout!

Now why do you suppose he shaves his underarms?  Oh, and he sings!  Act 2 music break!!!
We'll cast more as we move along.
So let's get cracking!
Also, I will be tweaking dialogue and doing a certain amount of "script polishing" which I may or may not inform you of.

UNCAGED HEARTS
A Screenplay
by
Christopher F. Reidy

FADE IN ON:
INT. SAUGUS IRON WORKS GIFTSHOP -DAY
A dark haired man in a National Park Ranger's uniform is leaning on a counter, looking at an issue of Sports Illustrated magazine (the swimsuit issue).  
CLOSE-UP ON MAGAZINE PAGE / INSERT SHOT
We see the image of a red-headed fighter gripping the neck of his opponent inside a fighting cage.  The man in the picture, who we'll meet later, is PATRICK "PADDY" O'RIADA, 30's.  The article headline reads: "Is Paddy's Crown Slipping?"  Our magazine reader let's out a low, incredulous WHISTLE.  He is DANNY NOTLAD, 30's.  The bell on the door jingles as couple of tourists, 40's, enter the small room.
DANNY
How can I help you folks today?
MAN TOURIST
Can we tour the house?
DANNY
As a matter of fact, you can.  It starts in ten minutes.  
LADY TOURIST
Wonderful!  
She reaches for her purse and Danny waves his hand.
DANNY
There's no charge ma'am.
LADY TOURIST
You're kidding!  We just dropped a small fortune in Salem the other day.
DANNY
(Laughs)  I can believe that!  We here in Saugus call the town "Sell 'Em"!
LADY TOURIST
Really?
DANNY
Well, no...I just made that up...
The LADY TOURIST looks at him quizzically and then at her husband who sort of shrugs.  The bell jingles again and a boy of about 10 or so rushes in.
BOY
When does this thing start?  I'm hungry. (To Danny) Ya got any snacks in here?
Danny looks around and finds a cob of purple Indian corn and offers it to the boy.
LADY TOURIST
(Giggles) You're a riot!
DANNY
(Winks at her) Yes, so the tour starts at eleven.  I'll meet you at the front door.
MAN TOURIST
Great.  Come on honey...
(he practically pushes her out the door)
The family exits.  Danny looks out a back window across the ironworks.  He gazes at a small blacksmith's shop, smoke rising from its chimney and then at his watch.  He rolls up the magazine and puts it in his back pocket.  Shakes his head.  Grabs a satchel from the wall, and crams the magazine in.  He sighs, slings the bag over his shoulder, puts on his hat and goes out the door.
CUT TO:
INT. IRONMASTER'S HOUSE -DAY
Danny, is leading a small group of tourists through the house, which is a recreation/restoration of a three-story, 17th century English house.

DANNY
...and Mr. Nutting used the place as a photography studio in--
The TOURIST BOY sits on the antique bed.
DANNY
You can't sit on that junior...
BOY
Why not?
DANNY
It has bugs. 
He winks at the boy's mother again.  She blushes.
BOY
You talk funny.  What's wrong with your voice?
TOURIST LADY
There's nothing wrong with his voice John.  It's called a brogue.
BOY
He sounds like--
DANNY
Don't tell me son.  I know what you're going to say.  I sound like the little elf from the cereal commercials.
BOY
His name is Lucky and he's a leprechaun.
DANNY
You don't have to tell me that!  I do the voice for the television.
BOY
No you don't...
DANNY
(sing-song) Frosted Lucky Charms, they're magically delicious!
There is laughter from the group.
DANNY
Now, if there are no further questions I'll show you the forge and the mill and the blacksmith shop.  You'll like that junior!
BOY
I like this! 
He holds up the Sports Illustrated magazine and it flops open to a scantily swim-suited model.
DANNY
Checking his bag.  Now how did you get a hold of that?  You're the dickens, junior!
TOURIST MAN
Give the man his magazine back--
The tourist mom grabs the magazine and hands it to Danny, who winks at her again.
CUT TO:
A tight shot of an anvil.  A red-hot iron rod is laid against it and a hammer delivers a blow, sending sparks everywhere.
The camera pulls back to reveal the blacksmith.

Okay, so these italicized red colored notes are for commentary on story ideas, plot ideas, structure, etc.  To wit: a way of talking out what I want to happen.  For example: I know next to nothing about mixed martial arts; fighting inside cages or otherwise, so I'm just going to make up my own version.  My first thought was to set this in the near future, with all kinds of cool robotics and suchlike; kind of a Blade Runner thing.  Then I thought...well, that's a little too distracting.  I want the audience to be paying attention to the story between the two men, not futuristic trappings.  I mean, it actually did work in Blade Runner.  Your were totally invested in the love story between Harrison Ford and Sean Young.  So, the cage in my story will be a globe, and the fighters can utilize "hoverboards" (self-balancing scooters) to move about the cage.  Kind of like 3-D "Rollerball" maybe?

He is a tall, brooding, dark-haired man, mid to late 30's. He wears a 17th century blacksmith's costume: breeches and a simple cotton shirt.  He's not necessarily handsome, but arresting, none the less. He hammers away at the glowing iron rod like he has a personal grudge against it.  His name is HENRY "HANK" NOTLAD.  He seems oblivious as Danny leads the tour group up to the open door of the smith shop.
DANNY
This is one of our smithys, Henry.  Say hello to the folks Henry.  Henry happens to be my little brother. (Henry gives an almost disinterested nod).  Oh, I see he's about to put the head on the nail...
Henry snaps off a length of the heated rod and places the "header" tool into an opening of the anvil.  He pounds it until it's flat and then plunges the red hot nail into a trough of water.  He pulls it out and slides the finished nail out of the header and displays it to the group.
HENRY
(To the tourist boy) If you can tell me which hand it's in, it's yours.  
TOURIST BOY
Okay!
Henry puts the nail in his left palm and closes his fist.  He puts both hands behind his back and then puts them forward.  The boy points to Henry's right hand and Henry opens it.  Nothing.  The boy points to Henry's left hand which he also opens.  Nothing.
TOURIST BOY
It's in your back pocket!
HENRY
These pants don't have pockets.  (He waves his empty hand in front of the boy's face, then reaches behind the boys ear and produces the nail, which he hands to the now incredulous and finally silenced little whipper-snapper).
BOY
Why don't you talk funny like your brother does?
DANNY
Because he was born in a cabbage patch.  All right folks, that concludes our tour.  Feel free to walk about and make sure to visit our lovely little museum if you haven't already. (To TOURIST MOM) Thanks for coming...(He winks again and this time her husband literally pulls her away).
BOY
(As they leave)  Look mom!  I got a nail!

I will be supplying additional information in the form of visuals along the way...for fun!  

DANNY
(Sotto voce, to Henry) I've got a nail for his mum!
HENRY
You know winking is corny, right?
DANNY
Maybe so but when it's one of my baby browns, the ladies are helpless!
HENRY
You know Danny, that's what I love about you.  Your humility.
DANNY
You don't get anything is this life if you're humble baby brother.  Anyways, take a gander at this. (He pulls the magazine out of his bag and hands it to Henry.  He regards the cover).
HENRY
She's a little skinny for my tastes.
DANNY
Not her...page fifty-two.
Henry turns to the page, looks at the article.
HENRY
Why am I supposed to care?
DANNY
Come on Henry.  It's been five years!  Don't you miss it?
HENRY
Not really...
DANNY
Really?  I've seen the way you pound that anvil.  And aren't you a little bored making nails for the tourists?
HENRY
Somebody's got to do it.
DANNY
And aren't you more than a little tired of living in Gran's backyard?
HENRY
Aren't you a little tired of living in her basement?
DANNY
We're not talking about me.  We're talking about you.  And I think you can take this fellah down.
HENRY
I don't care what you 'tink.'
DANNY
Making fun of my accent?  You are bored aren't you?
HENRY
Yeah, 'cuz you're boring me...(he thrusts the magazine at Danny).
DANNY
No, you hang onto it...maybe it'll inspire you.  Aviva Stadium, 2023!
Danny marches off back up the hill, as Henry shakes his head and looks at the article again.  He looks up and watches as his brother recedes in the distance then throws the magazine on the fire.  As Henry returns to his work, the camera closes in on the flames and we DIZZOLVE to a CLOSE-UP of a tattoo.  They are stylized flames on the nearly paper-white chest of a man.  The camera PANS to the right and down the left upturned arm of the man, where a TATTOO ARTIST is putting the final touches on a tattoo of a human heart.

​INT. TATTOO PARLOR, LONDON   -NIGHT
The tattoo artist, KELLY O'KELLY, 25 is covered in tattoos herself, almost to the top of her neck. Her t-shirt bares the logo of the shop: VELVET UNDERGROUND TATTOO. And we've already had a glimpse of Paddy O'Riada in the magazine.  He is the man in the chair getting worked on.
PADDY
Are you almost done Kel?
KELLY
Just a couple more minutes Paddy.  Blimey, you're worse than a kid...by the way; why did you take your shirt off?  I'm working on your arm.
PADDY
Bare chested is the only way to have a tattoo put on!
KELLY
You don't say.
PADDY
Tell me Kel; why don't you have any tatts on your face?
KELLY
Not my cup of tea, babe.  My face is my fortune.
PADDY
I thought this was your fortune...
KELLY
This is just a side gig.  My day job is for Maybelline ads.  Face only...so...alright...I think we're done here...you wanna have a look?
PADDY
(Raises his arm and shakes his hand out.  He regards the tattoo and a huge, glowing grin lights his face)  Oh, Kel, it's gorgeous!  Just, beautiful!  Let me take you out for a drink to celebrate!
KELLY
Celebrate?  It's just a tattoo Paddy, not a new baby.
PADDY
Oh girl, you're wrong.  This is my new baby! (He grabs her and kisses her cheek) Brilliant!
KELLY
Well, let me get it wrapped for you!  And put your shirt on.  I'm tired of looking at your nips.
She goes to the a side-counter as Paddy checks himself out in a full length mirror.
CUT TO:
INT.  WHITECROSS TAP PUB  -NIGHT
Paddy and Kelly take seats at the bar.  The bartender places two napkins in front of them.
BARTENDER
What can I get for you?
KELLY
I'll take a Carling.
PADDY
Oh, come on now! We can do better than that.  Bring us your finest bottle of champagne John!
KELLY
Oh, Paddy, now don't be stupid.
PADDY
The bottle John, and two glasses.
JOHN
Coming up.
KELLY
Do you even like champagne?
PADDY
​It's alright.  So, how's your mum?
KELLY
She fell down again...
PADDY
What?  Is she all right?
KELLY
She's nothing but trouble; but she's on the mend.  She's like the little pink bunny on the TV: she falls down, she gets up and she keeps going.
PADDY
She's a doll--(the pub door opens and the bell tinkles.  Kelly looks over)
KELLY
Oh, speaking of trouble...
PADDY
Yeah, I invited them.
KELLY
Oh, is that who you were on the phone with?
Two men approach.  One is tall, good-looking in a scruffy kind of way, clearly boisterous.  This is SEAN O'RIADA, 30's.  He is Paddy's older brother.  The other man, who is in a wheel-chair, is CAL ROGERS, 30's.  Unlike Sean, Cal is quiet and reserved, but friendly.
PADDY
Oh shite!  Look what the cat dragged in!
SEAN
Well you're the one who dragged us down here; so you must be the pussy.
PADDY
(Swats him) Hey!  There are ladies present!
KELLY
Where?
The bartender returns with a champagne bottle and displays it to Paddy.
BARTENDER
Will this do?
SEAN
'Voo-vee Clee-koo-ought'  You really are a pussy!
PADDY
Feck off Sean.  That's brilliant John and could you bring it to a table with two more glasses?
JOHN
Sure Paddy.
SEAN
(Mockingly) Champage!
PADDY
Like you won't drink it...
(So, I want a real hairy chested actor to play Sean, as, like pretty much all of the male cast, he will be shirtless at some point.  I want to counter-balance all the smoothies, so let's cast Aiden Turner as Sean)

SMASH CUT TO:
CLOSE-UP on champagne bottle as the cork POPS.  Paddy starts filling the glasses that are on the table.
CAL
So, what's the occasion Paddy?
PADDY
I felt like celebrating.  You know, a sort of 'we need a little Christmas, right this very minute!'; also this gorgeous tattoo that the artist sitting right here has graced me with.  (He takes off his coat and shows off his tattoo).
SEAN
​Oh, that is a beauty!  Here's to Kelly O'Kelly!
They raise their glasses to her. She shakes her head.
KELLY
You fellahs are daft; but thank you. (She knocks back her champagne)  Who wants to play darts?
SEAN
(Suggestively) Oh, I'll play darts with you Kelly!
KELLY
Grow up Sean...
SEAN
Oh, I am Kelly!
She heads over to a corner of the bar, not far from the table, where there are a couple of dart-boards.
SEAN
You playing lads?
PADDY
In a minute Sean.  I want to talk to Cal for a moment.
​Sean raises his glass, takes a sip and follows Kelly.

PADDY
(Filling Cal's glass) Do you need anything Cal?
CAL
I'm fine Paddy...
PADDY
Because, if you need anything, all you have to do is ask...
CAL
(Polishes off the champagne and put the glass down)  Paddy, the only thing I need from you is your friendship.
PADDY
Well, you've got that.  What I meant was--
​​CAL
I know what you meant.  What I mean is that I don't need you doting over me every time we see each other.
PADDY
I don't dote...I just want to make sure you're taking care of yourself.
CAL
I'm fine.  Paddy, you just have to let it go.  It was an accident.  It happened.  It goes with the territory.
PADDY
All right Cal.  Fine.  I'll drop it.
CAL
Darts?
PADDY
​Sure. (He stands and gets behind Cal's chair and starts to push)
CAL
(Laughs) I've got it Paddy.
LOUD LAUGHTER is heard from a table on the other side of the room, where THREE MEN, 30'S, are getting into their cups. Paddy follows Cal who pops a wheelie as he heads for the dart area.

​CUT TO:
INT. PUB DART AREA  -NIGHT
The camera PANS a dart as it flies through the air and hits the dart board, just shy of the bullseye.
CAL
Twenty five points!
​KELLY
Oh, Cal, let's not play proper.  Let's just play for shots.
CAL
All right.  Diddle for the middle.  Or the outer bull.  First to hit calls the shot.
As he and Kelly continue to play, Sean and Paddy are seated nearby.
SEAN
Have you heard that Roddy Shannon is back in the game?
PADDY
Playing?
SEAN
No, producing.
CAL
He's a full-on madman--
SEAN
Or a genius.  He's put together his own league and he's changing the game!
PADDY
A round cage?  Scooters?  Gimmicks if you ask me.
SEAN
One wheels, roller blades...these guys are defying gravity!
PADDY
What are you saying?  You want me to fight for him?  In a round cage on roller skates?
SEAN
We're talking a million pound purse Paddy!
KELLY (Throws a dart and hits the bullseye)  Beautiful!  Who wants a shot of Jameson's?
SEAN
I'll take one.
CAL
Sure.
PADDY
None for me thanks.
KELLY
​Be right back. (She heads to the bar).
CAL
Sean, that man is only out for himself.
SEAN
So, who isn't?  What do you say Paddy?  I can get you a meeting with him.
KELLY
Let me think about it Sean.  We can talk business later (Kelly returns with the shots and hands one to Sean and Cal).
ALL
Slainte!
They do the shots as the THREE MEN move towards them.  

1ST MAN (BILL)
Are you finished with the dartboard?
CAL
No, but you're welcome to play.
2ND MAN (FREDDY)
We don't play well with others.
SEAN
Well, piss off then
3RD MAN (JOE)
Come on Freddy, let's go.
FREDDY
Fine Joe; I mean, why would I want to take advantage of Mister Raspberry Ripple here anyways?
PADDY
What the fuck did you just say?
FREDDY
You heard me...
Paddy gets off his stool and takes a step towards Freddy.  Kelly puts a hand on Paddy's shoulder, trying to keep him back.
CAL
It's not worth it Paddy.
BILL
Freddy, let's go...you know who he is don't you?
FRED
(Squints) Oh, if it isn't the famous Mr. Paddy O'Riada, sticking up for his friend!  Aren't you the one who put him in that chair?
Paddy lunges forward but his friends hold him back.
JOE
Come on Fred--
FREDDY
We can take him!
BILL
We?  You're off your rocker mate, let's go--
PADDY
You better listen to your friends before I do something you'll regret.
JOE
Sorry to disturb you; come on Fred.
PADDY
But before you drag this piece of shite back to the jacks he crawled out of; let me ask him something...
FREDDY
Go on then.
PADDY
(Grabs the dart that Cal has in his hand and offers it to Freddy)  Would you take a dart for one of your mates?
FREDDY
What?
PADDY
You heard me.  Would you take a dart for one of your mates? (He holds the dart under Freddy's nose.  Freddy does not respond). That's what I thought.  And that's the difference between you and me.
And with that, he plunges the dart directly into the middle of his heart tattoo.
KELLY
Jesus Christ Paddy!
FREDDY
You're off your bloody nut!
He runs out, just behind his friends who are already half-way through the door.
SEAN
Well, I hope you didn't hit anything vital, brother.
Paddy pulls the dart out and blood seeps through the clear wrap.
KELLY
Don't think I'm doing any free touch ups...
Paddy LAUGHS as the camera moves close to the tattoo.
DIZZOLVE
To the image of a heart, much like the one on Paddy's arm, on an anatomical chart on the wall of a doctor's exam room.  The camera pulls back, revealing Henry sitting on the table.  He's looking at a brochure entitled "You And Your Heart Health"

There is a soft KNOCK on the door and the doctor enters.  He is DR. MELVIN STURGES, 50's.  He sits in a chair and opens a  medical file and adjusts his glasses.  Henry folds the pamphlet and puts it in his back pocket.
DR. STURGES
Well Henry, everything looks very good.  You're in excellent health.  Your cholesterol is slightly elevated but it's really nothing of immediate concern...do you have any questions for me?
HENRY
Am I healthy enough to fight again?
DR. STURGES
Well Henry I can't recommend that.  As you know, hypertrophic cardiomyopathy runs in your family.  So far you haven't had much in the way of symptoms; but I did notice when I was examining you a palpatation...would you unbutton your shirt for me?
The doctor puts his stethoscope in his ears as Herny undoes his shirt.  The doctor places the chest piece over Henry's heart.
DR. STURGES
There's one--
HENRY
Can I listen?
DR. STURGES
Sure...
Henry takes the stethoscope and listens to his own heart.  After a few moments, he nods.
HENRY
Are you telling me it could kill me during a fight?
DR. STURGES
Henry, any blow to your chest--in your profession--could be fatal.  Even for someone with no indication of heart disorder.  It's called Commotio Cordis.  It's essentially blunt trauma to the heart...
Henry nods again.
HENRY
Okay doc.  Thanks.
DR. STURGES
You're welcome.  (He heads to the door and turns).  Henry...stay out of the ring.
Henry nods and buttons his shirt.

CUT TO:
INT.  HOSPITAL WAITING ROOM  -DAY
Two women are sitting in chairs.  One is absently thumbing through an old copy of Women's Day.  This is DONNA O'SHAUGHNESSY, late 20's.  Pretty, blonde, skittish.  She puts down the magazine and starts rummaging through her purse.  The woman next to her is MARY "GRAN" MURPHY, 70's. Appearing much younger than her actual age, she is, as the wiseman said "A Brick House." She is focused on her knitting, her needles flying a mile a minute as she simultaneously watches the TV mounted to the wall.  She looks at her watch.
GRAN
Do they get my story on this thing?
DONNA
It says to not change the channel.
GRAN
Well, I'm missing my story.  How many times are you going to go through your purse love?
DONNA
I swear to God I put my checkbook right in this pocket!
GRAN
Who uses checks anymore?  Even I don't use checks--
DONNA
I don't like the idea of my information just flying around in the clouds, is that so wrong?
GRAN
It's "the cloud" love.
DONNA
Whatever.  Where is he?
HENRY
I'm right here honey--
Henry steps around a corner and takes an empty seat.  
DONNA
What took so long?
HENRY
It's a hospital Donna.  They're not exactly known for being quick on the uptake.
DONNA
What about a 'code blue?'
HENRY
Well, there wasn't one. I guess we got lucky. (He kisses her cheek).
GRAN
(Loading up her knitting gear)
Let's get going then.  I might be able to catch the end of my show. 
She's already striding out the door.
DONNA
Her and that goddamn soap opera!
SEAN
You watch it too, honey.
DONNA
​Well, she got me hooked!

INT.  CAR  -DAY
Donna, wearing glasses, is driving and Henry is in the passenger seat.  Gran is in the back, once again knitting.
GRAN
So what did that quack have to say?
HENRY
He's not a 'quack' Gran...
GRAN
They're all quacks.  If I had a nickel for every time they told your grandfather he had 'nothing to worry about'!  Heart specialist this, cardiovascular genius there.  Ha!
DONNA
Didn't he die of cirrhosis of the liver?
GRAN
Those bastards drove him to drink, with all that worry over his heart! 
DONNA
But I thought he had nothing to worry--
GRAN
They killed your grandfather Henry--
HENRY
Could we drop it?
DONNA
Well what did the doctor say?
HENRY
My cholesterol is up a little, that's all.
GRAN
'Cholesterol'!  It's all made up, I say.   They just want to keep you sick for the all mighty dollar.
HENRY
Donna, you missed the turn--
DONNA
I need to stop at the drug store--
HENRY
For what?
DONNA
Red yeast rice.  Stacey at the club told me it helps lower cholesterol.
HENRY
(Laughs)  Oh, is she a doctor now?
DONNA
She's highly schooled in Eastern medicine!
HENRY
Well, she's 'high' anyways--
GRAN
I've heard garlic can help too, love.  Get some of that while you're in there--
Henry sighs, chuckles, and sinks down in his seat.

CUT TO:
INT.  GRAN'S HOUSE  -DAY
Danny is sprawled on the couch watching General Hospital on the TV.  "The Nurse's Ball" is in progress.  On the screen we see a group of nurses doing a Rockette's style kick line.  Gran hurriedly enters the room, sweeps Danny's legs of the couch, and settles in.
GRAN:
What did I miss?
DANNY
Not much.  It's the Nurse's ball...Anna, Felicia, Scorpio and Mack just did a number to "The Spy Who Loved Me"...I think the male nurse striptease is coming up though...
GRAN
Now why would I care about that?
DANNY
(Laughs.  Holds up a fighting magazine with Paddy's picture on it) Gran, how do you pronounce this last name?
GRAN
(Peering at magazine) O'Riada
DANNY
Like the tater-tots?
GRAN
That's 'Or-Idah,' you fool.  'Oh-ree-ah-dah!"
HENRY
(Entering the room) Danny, can I talk to you a minute?
DANNY
Sure Hank, right after--
HENRY
Now Danny.
DANNY
All right.
Danny senses Henry's urgency and gets up.  The two brothers exit out the back door as Donna enters the room and sits in a rocking chair.
GRAN
The boys are about to lose their scrubs.
Donna glances out the window and watches as Danny follows Henry into a somewhat rundown travel trailer.  She glances back at the TV.

​CUT TO
INT.  TRAILER  -DAY
Danny sits at the table as Henry pops open a beer.
HENRY
You want one?
DANNY
Does Bambi shit in the woods? (Henry opens a beer for Danny and sits across the table from him) You look so serious Henry...did you get bad news from the doctor?
HENRY
Well, it wasn't exactly good.
DANNY
Tell me for crissakes!
HERNY
I've got a heart murmur.
DANNY
No shit.  You've always had a heart murmur.  Just like Da and grand-dad.
HENRY
It's gotten worse.  I had two within five minutes at the doc's.
DANNY
So...I get them too you know.  There's 'innocent' and 'abnormal'--
HENRY
I know all that--
DANNY
Well then, what are you worried about?
HENRY
I'm worried that you're right.
DANNY
Right about what?
HENRY
Fighting.
DANNY
I knew it!  So you do want to get back into it!
HENRY
If I'm gonna die, I might as well go out doing what I love--
DANNY
​What you were meant to do!  And you're not going to die.
HENRY
We're all going to die.
DANNY
You know what I meant.
HENRY
I'm gonna have to train with someone good.  
DANNY
I know someone--
HERNRY
No; better than good.  The best.
DANNY
I have a connection Hank; and this man is a wizard!  I mean like a real wizard--(Donna pushes the door open.  Has she been eavesdropping?)
DONNA
Who's a wizard?
DANNY
A friend of mine...
DONNA
What's he a wizard at?
DANNY
...Wrought iron...
DONNA
(Nodding her head slowly) Uhhh-huhhh...
​

DONNA
...and why are you drinking at three in the afternoon?
DANNY
It's five o'clock some--
HENRY
We're celebrating.
DONNA
Celebrating what?
HENRY
I'm getting back to business...
DONNA
Business, as in...
HENRY
Well, I'm not talking about making antique nails, honey.  So--
DONNA
(Exploding) I KNEW IT!  (She stands and starts pacing the small space)  I KNEW IT!  (She picks up the nearest thing, which is a cast iron trivet and holds it above her head.  Danny leaps up and is out the door faster than you can say "say")  Yeah, you BETTER run! (She hesitates and instead of throwing it at Henry, she throws it at the door where it tears through the screen).  I knew.  I somehow just today, knew it.  You with the 'baby' this and the 'honeys' and the 'sweethearts'!  I'm so stupid!
HENRY
Hear me out.
DONNA
Hear me out?  HEAR ME OUT? No, you hear me OUT; because I'm the one that's out!
She barrels out of the trailer.  Henry stands and follows her.

CUT TO:
INT.  GRAN'S LIVING ROOM  -DAY
Donna tromps into the room and picks up the remote control.
GRAN
(Holding it up)  I found your checkbook dear it was on the kitchen--
DONNA
(Killing the TV with the clicker)  Do you know what your goddamn grandsons are up to?
GRAN
No good, I'm sure.  And would you give me my clicker back?  My story's not over--
DONNA
Well mine is!
DANNY
(From kitchen) V/O: Don't let the door hit you on the way out.
DONNA
I swear to God Danny I will kick your ass in!
GRAN
All right.  Enough.  Now what's all this about?  (She continues knitting, her hands flying like a hummingbird.  Henry steps into the room and leans against the stair railing).
HENRY
I'm gonna fight again...
DONNA
He's gonna fight again!
GRAN
(Rolling her eyes) Fight who?
DANNY
(Peeking in from the kitchen)  Paddy Ore-Ida!
GRAN
I told you it's O-ree-ada...
DANNY
Gran--
GRAN
(To Danny)  Not another word out of you.  Is this true Henry?  I've heard he's...decapacitated several of his opponents.
​DONNA
What?  Oh my God!
HENRY
It's part of the reality of it Gran.  It happens.
GRAN
And what about your cholesterol?
HENRY
It is what it is.
DONNA
I hate that fucking expression!  Listen Henry, if you want to fight again, fine.  It's what you're good at.  I don't want to hold you back.  I just don't like being lied too!
HENRY
I never lied to you!
DONNA
You kept if from me!  It's the same goddamn thing! We'll talk more about this later; I'm late for work-- 
GRAN
There!  Finished!  (Gran holds up what she's been working on: a bikini top; then, to Donna) You can wear this tonight love.
DONNA
You people are crazy!  I can't wear a bikini made out of yarn!
GRAN
Well...why not then?
DONNA
BECAUSE I DON'T WANT ITCHY TITS!
She elbows Henry on her way up the stairs, leaving the other three in silence.  Gran holds the top up to her chest, considering.
DANNY
It suits you Gran.
She considers, sighs and we fade to black.