Jan 20
Overheard at the 404 Lounge
"Is it safe?" "No." "Then why does everyone stay?" "...because nothing follows you inside."
seen from India
seen from Oman
seen from Tanzania
seen from China
seen from Australia
seen from United States
seen from India
seen from Germany
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Kazakhstan
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Peru
Overheard at the 404 Lounge
"Is it safe?" "No." "Then why does everyone stay?" "...because nothing follows you inside."
Found Dialogue
I heard this conversation in the halls of school recently, and I had to write it down.
"I like the world, I just don't like my place in it. It's like, if the world is a puzzle, with that guy and God reaching toward each other and having sex with their eyes-"
"They're not having sex-"
"With their eyes! And in that puzzle, I'm just... that puzzle piece thats just... his ding-a-ling"
"His ding-a-ling isn't in the picture"
"Yes it is"
"Is it?"
"Yeah, and that's me, his ding-a-ling part"
"Well some people like the ding-a-ling part. Find those people."
- This has been another episode of Depth Where You Didn’t Expect It and Where It Probably Doesn’t Belong.
Found Dialogue Friday: Men And Wires
Found Dialogue is a series of real conversations or monologues transcribed word for word. If I find myself witness to an interesting conversation or person, I’ll secretly pull out my iPhone voice memo app and record what’s happening. In an effort to study characters, human speech, and real life dialogue I transcribe these recordings word for word, punctuation for punctuation as I hear it. If it’s really interesting, I’ll publish a snippet here. Notice how rhythmic, poetic, and messy human interaction is. It so often has a “call and response” like a song or a sermon. We dramatize naturally. Enjoy.
(Moral and legal gray area— I never use real names and if I find I’m recording information that is incriminating in any way, I delete the voice memo and never publish).
What I like about this week's entry is how these two men seem speak a foreign language. Unless you've spent some time rewiring your house you might not follow what they are talking about. But at the heart of it these are two guys trying to solve a problem using a set of short hand that makes perfect sense to them.
Men And Wires.
(Two men in their sixties. Driving.)
A. Yeah, but those just pop out.
B. What do you mean they pop out?
A. Uh...
B. Well, I see--
A. What ya, what ya need?
B. Well, one-ten, I need ya know, one-ten, so, I--
A. I know but what's the breaker, uh...
B. Well, fifteen amp.
A. For a stove? Sure it's not more than that?
B. No. Yeah, for, you know, fifteen amp is standard for, ah, regular gas stove, right? Cause everything is gas on--
A. Oh that's right that's right, I'm sorry, // yeah yeah yeah>
B. ...Except the electronics.
A. --It's the regular breaker yeah...
B. But, uh, actually its thirty amp thats on the-- no, no, it's fifty amp I think that's on there now for the stove. It's fifty amp.
A. Uhhhhh//hhhhhh...
B. So, I think what I'm gonna do is I'm just gonna-- I'm gonna keep the wire in place but just take the breaker out and put a fifteen amp breaker on it, and just not use one of the wire leads.
A. Right, right. Uhhhh // hh >
B. And just--
A. -I was just gonna say you could probably double ging… the breaker is probably double ging >
B. Yeah it is.
A. --So if you just break that ing then you'll have one, uhh… twenty-five. And what is it, forty?
B. No, it's fifty actually.
A. Yeah, so it's twenty and… mmm… twenty right? or twenty? that's thirty… that's uhhh… >
B. I don't know.
A. Uh… that's twenty five and twenty five…
B. I just thought I'd pull the breaker out // and put in a fifteen inch breaker.
A. Yeah, they just pop out. Yeah. They just pop out.
B. Cause I was thinking originally I was gonna leave the uh, the uh, you know the two-twenty in place. But I couldn't do that. And just pull, pull the power off for the, the, you know, the plug and put a new plug in there so it'd have both right? But then the fifteen amp wouldn't be protected.
A. But I think if you… uh… No I mean if you just use them on one leg I think it uses half of the--half of that breaker though.
B. But it's still gonna be, fifteen amp it's gonna be twenty-five amps then right?
A. Uh… (pause) Yeah, if it's a uh… Yeah, if it's a… // a… yeah… a single fifty, yeah.--
B. So I started a started reading-- I started reading online-- I was hoping that somebody made, uh.. an outlet that would have its own breaker on it, right?
A. Yeah.
B. And I couldn't find one. But I did find this one that has a thermal, a thermal uh fuse on it, basically that a, uh… if it gets-- if the wire gets too hot it senses heat on the, on the connection?
A. Yeah.
B. And it'll it'll break it.
A. Huh.
B. So I was thinking maybe I'd use that but then I decided that "screw it."
A. No, you just pop the breaker out.
B. I'll just pop the breaker out, I'll put a fifteen amp breaker and I'll just uh, I won't-- the wire I'll keep in place but I just won't use--
A. Yeah, just won't use the uh…
B. Right. And so if somebody wants to change it back to two-twenty, the wire is there.
A. Yeah.
(long pause)
A. Unless you needed another plug. You could use that, run that other wire up and have another plug there.
B. What do you mean have two plugs back there?
A. Uh, no, you know you need another plug just over there on the counter.
B. No. // I got, I got plenty of plugs there.
A. Okay, okay.
B. Actually there's a plug on the other side of it I was thinking of trying to figure out how to take the power off of that one, one of those >
A. Uh…
B. --but that'd be a pain in the ass you know drywall and everything.
A. Yeah, if you already got that one there…
B. So yeah, I'll just convert that one over to a uh… one ten plug.
A. Yeah, that's easy enough.
While You Were Sleeping
“She was in a coma for what—20 years? But every time her family came by, she smiled.”
My neighborhood is a small one laid out like a grid, always filled with people walking their dogs or kids or themselves as they unwind from a long day with a long run. Every time I run around my neighborhood, I come across the same people: two women in their mid-50’s who walk their little dogs with calculated steps that allow the animals to catch up to them. One of them is a redhead; her son used to go to school with me. I don’t know if his mom remembers waiting at the bus stop every day in elementary school—he’s a few years older than me, and it’s been a while—but she always has this look of faint recognition on her face when we run into each other.
I was most inspired by the constancy of these circumstances. I imagined different versions of the same conversation happening over the course of many years as these women remained friends through different stages of life—when their kids were still in primary school, through the subsequent college preparation, and beyond, consulting each other on whether on not to remain in the same neighborhood once their kids had graduated. It was easy enough to create a fixation on the mystical and the impossible for the redhead (she was the one with the coma line), to be counterbalanced by a more rational voice. I imagined that they’d sound like teenage girls whenever they reacted to petty topics, so this conversation could have taken place at any point in their relationship.
Iris: She was in a coma for what—20 years? But every time her family came by, she smiled.
Robin: Who?
Iris: You know, Mary Nelson. The blonde with the pencil skirts and the days-of-the-week earrings. Have you even turned on your TV in the last week?
Robin: If this is another one of your attempts to convert me to—
Iris: No, no, nothing like that. This was real.
Robin: Iris.
Iris: It was based on a true story! I swear—it said so in the opening credits. “Based on the true story of Mary Nelson.” So right off the bat, you knew that they were gonna make it really authentic, only with nice makeup and, like, witty lines about weight struggles. It’s called Lifetime for a reason, Robin. “Everyone has an untold story waiting to be shared.”
Robin: I swear to God, if you sell my life story to that channel after I die, I will find unique and creative ways to haunt you.
Lily: I’ve seen enough horror films; I’m prepared. But it’s worth a—
Robin: Since I’ll probably be made of plasma, I’m gonna come through your TV screen and beat you over the head with your own remote control. How does that sound?
Iris: I’ve decided that I wouldn’t visit you if you ever ended up in a coma.
Robin: You probably would’ve put me there. One of these days my brain is gonna flat-line from all the junk you tell me.
Iris: I’d send, like, ambassadors, though. Or representatives, or bodyguards, or somebody. Just to make sure your nurses didn’t feel bad that you didn’t have any visitors. And then when enough time passed, I’d make my grand entrance and your unconscious self would be so happy to see me that you’d wake up.
Robin: Can’t catch a break, can I?
Iris: Oh, come on, I’m sure your dad would drop by at least once. Maybe every other Easter?
Robin: I’d be more worried that you’d steal my boyfriend in a While You Were Sleeping-type situation.
Iris: Like you’d turn down a mid-90’s Bill Pullman!
Robin: Fair enough.
--Fiora Elbers-Tibbitts '14
Found Dialogue Friday : An Enthusiastic Carson McCullers Recommendation
Found Dialogue is a series of real conversations or monologues transcribed word for word. If I find myself witness to an interesting conversation or person, I’ll secretly pull out my iPhone voice memo app and record what’s happening. In an effort to study characters, human speech, and real life dialogue I transcribe these recordings word for word, punctuation for punctuation as I hear it. If it’s really interesting, I’ll publish a snippet here. Notice how rhythmic, poetic, and messy human interaction is. It so often has a “call and response” like a song or a sermon. We dramatize naturally. Enjoy.
(Moral and legal gray area— I never use real names and if I find I’m recording information that is incriminating in any way, I delete the voice memo and never publish).
An Enthusiastic Carson McCullers Recommendation
Two women in their 30’s. Los Angeles. 11pm.
“//” Denotes the next character starts speaking.
“>” Denotes the character moves on to their next line without stopping.
A I mean, she will change your life. Her most famous book is The Member Of The Wedding >
B Oh my god, I love that book.
A --But don’t read that first >
B Yeah. Read, read…
A --I want you to read the first one >
B Yeah
A --Heart Is A Lonely Hunter // and you’re gonna be like…
B And then Member Of The Wedding is really fast I mean that’s a lot of short stories so…
A You’ll get like—but like they’re so—I mean all—just like her book of short stories is fucking amazing—
B She’s amazing.
ME: Well, what is it about?
A I’m not gonna even tell you.
ME: You’re not gonna even tell me the set up?
A No.
ME Why not?
B Except I will say--
ME: “It’s about a girl who…”
B No no no no I will say-- this is what I’m gonna say—the only thing I’ll say—
A Okay, what will you say?
B The only thing I’ll say-- just because he’s a guy.
A Yes.
B The only thing I’ll say is that it is NOT … a “girl”… book.
ME Okay.
A It’s not. // Don’t be worried about that.
B Don’t mistake it.
A …Be like, “It’s a female author.” It’s so—
A&B NOT.
B It’s, it’s actually mostly about men.
A Mostly about men. // Most of the characters are men.
B And it’s so insightful. Like, it’s like I learned >
A There are lines…
B --I learned more about men reading that book >
A Yes.
B --Than in any other book.
A There are lines in that book that are gonna slay you.
B Yeah, you’re gonna be like “Oh I’m… Okay.”
A “What?”
B Yeah, that’s… it’s beautiful. And it’s about friendship >
A About friendship…
B --Like between men.
A Yeah, it’s about like, it’s just a, I mean the main story is like that it’s a it’s this it’s this small town in the south and the characters within that town and how they interrelate with each other.
B It’s so… >
A That’s all I’ll say.
B --you’ll love it. Like, you’ll love it love it love it.
A I mean, it’s called The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter>
B I know!
A --I mean it’s fucking…
B (Laughing) Tracy is like “What more do you need?”
A “WHAT more do you NEED, Christian??”
ME Alright.
A It’s the book that—I read that book when I was like twelve and I was like…
B Yeah, me too.
A “This book just changed my life.”
B Yeah. I read it cause my brother, cause he was like “You should read this, >
A Yeah.
B --I think you would probably like it.” Like sort of like in an annoyed way. >
A Oh my God.
B --And I was like, “THIS changed my life.”
A Yeah, I was like, “This is talking to me about ME.” And I was like—because the character of Nick was so like—
B Oh my God, Forget It!
A FORGET IT! // FORGET IT!!
B Because she’s like a tomboy.
A Because she’s like this tomboy who’s like twelve and you’re like—
B Because she’s confused because she’s—
A She’s confused and she doesn’t know and I was like (gasping gasping)…
B And she catches everything. Like she’s one of those characters who sees everything // and she’s only twelve.
A She’s just super fucking observant she’s absorbing all of the adults around her and you’re like “Oh my God.”
B Yeah. And she knows everything.
A No, the year I was twelve I read two books that really changed my life. And it was The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter and Lolita.
B OH my God. // Lolita? Forget it.
A And those two—Reading Lolita when I was twelve…?
B Wow. I don’t know if I would recommend that to a twelve year old girl.
A I was like… “Yep.” I was like that’s… how I feel. >
B That…
A Like I would have sex with an old man right now.
B Oh totally!
A “I would do that.”
B Yeah. No that’s like accurate to a twelve // year old girl’s feelings
A Like actually the way she was like sexually like manipulative I was like that is actually spot the fuck on.
B Yeah. It’s so true.
The Dangers of Being a Spy
Life as an aspiring spy is tough. My hearing may be acute when it comes to hearing different pitches, but in the presence of multiple overlapping voices it grows tired and falters. Even if I could focus on four conversations at once, my fingers would slow me down, and I wouldn’t be able to record them all. (Secret agents can’t risk detection due to the clacking of a keyboard, and being a pen-and-pencil scribe is almost as hard as being a spy.) From this sensory overload come many fragments of conversations, with few transitions between different topics, as if the people involved had managed to communicate telepathically and omit any connecting dialogue in an anal need for efficiency. (I can definitely relate to this sense of urgency.)
Looking back on my notes, these “conversations” seem extremely humorous. However, as a writer reflecting on what it means to be stuck in one’s own head, I can see one of my own perpetual problems mirrored: remembering that no one who reads my work is privy to any of my thoughts beyond the page. Fully explaining the situation that a character is in, providing adequate background information, and building a tangible setting are not necessarily going to bog down your piece. Citing a series of facts without thoughts of artistry will bore a reader if drawn out for too long (ex.: Benjamin East is an old man. He is 82 years old. His birthday is January 21. He was not born on a leap year. His eyes are brown. He has a big nose”), but if you don’t write with enough clarity, a reader is going to have to fill in the gaps for him/herself. If one of your characters is sitting in the library one second and cheering at a stadium the next without any mention of transportation between the two sites, a reader will have to imagine the journey on his/her own; s/he can’t hear the train whistle that you assumed rang right outside the library, conveniently located just two blocks from the train station. Most readers won’t want to do that extra work, and they shouldn’t have to.
“Clarity” is a pretty big abstraction, but you might get a better idea of what I’m talking about if you read this transcription of different conversations I heard on the Hill. To further highlight the danger of potential confusion, I used letters instead of names and didn’t indicate which people were involved in which conversations.
A: They are totes adorbs.
B: Totes adorbs.
C: They’re writers.
D: You can tell?
C: Yeah! By, like, the way…
E: [Pumps fist in the air.] BERNARDO! WHOOOO!
C, D, E: [In exaggerated, inaccurate accent.] My name is Bernardo and I am from Bolivia and my favorite movie is Scarface.
A: There’s a One Direction parody called One Erection.
B: I’ve actually thought of that before.
F: [Enters.]
E: HEEEEY!
C: [Hitches thumb toward F.] He’s from opera.
G: [Gets up from bench, interested in new arrival.] Can you sing?
F: [Genuinely offended.] I’m not fucking singing. Do you say “go do backflips”?
H: [Flirtatious, slightly confused.] We’re not gymnasts.
F: I’m not a fucking street artist.
A: I got a B+ in calculus.
B: I got an A in sixth grade.
I: [Slightly irritated, seemingly to no one in particular.] This is Italian. I’m quizzing her on Italian, because that’s the language we sing in. [To nearest person.] Do you speak Italian? [To J.] Ardore. It’s a COGNATE!!
C: [Looks around the gazebo.] Is anyone from the South? I say y’all all the time.
E: [In exaggerated southern accent.] Ahm Paula Deen!
B: Canoodle. That word’s hilarious. Did they say that?
A: No drugs or alcohol.
B: Drugs? He didn’t seem…
A: Whatever you do, you don’t wanna know about it. They’re all in jail!
--Fiora Elbers-Tibbits '14
Found Dialogue Friday: CVS Worker
Found Dialogue is a series of real conversations or monologues transcribed word for word. If I find myself witness to an interesting conversation or person, I'll pull out my iPhone voice memo app and record what's happening. In an effort to study characters, human speech, and real life dialogue I transcribe these recordings word for word, punctuation for punctuation as I hear it. If it's really interesting, I'll publish a snippet here. I'm amazed by how rhythmic, poetic, and messy human interaction is. It so often has a "call and response" like a song or a sermon. Enjoy.
(Moral and legal gray area-- I never use real names and if I find I'm recording information that is incriminating in any way, I delete the voice memo and never publish).
CVS WORKER
(2am. The CVS checkout woman is in her 50's. Los Angeles).
CVS WORKER: Everything. Anything you want to know I could tell you.
All of it. I've seen it, I've been there. I've been on this side and I've been on that side. I've got got, and you know, I've gotten. And you know, that's why I speak truths. I speak truths. I know. I know. The game hasn't changed. Just the players. Just the players.
You know, people think wisdom is knowledge. It's not. Wisdom is experience. That's where wisdom comes from. Experience. Life lived. You can't read books and earn wisdom. You can't. You gain knowledge. And information. And that's it. Wisdom is here (points to her gut). Not here (points to her head). Intelligence is here (still at head). Wisdom is spiritual. Wisdom is spiritual.
You have got to-- they say Walk A Mile In My Shoes before you judge me. If you, if you can't walk in them, if you can't fit in em, you don't know.
BUT-- you know there's a difference-- people don't understand. In our human nature we observe and we form... we form... A picture of what I see. Like me, when I stand here and I see somebody back there and you watching me more than I'm watching you, I need to be watching you. Do you understand? Not everybody has that. They see only what they see. But I look past that. Because there is always something behind what you don't see. What you don't say speaks louder than what you are saying.
(police sirens wail outside. another customer approaches the counter, he has two pints of ice cream)
(playfully to the customer) Right?
CUSTOMER: All I know is that I am living proof that no good deed goes unpunished.
Hah??
CUSTOMER: I am living proof that no good deed goes, goes unpunished at this moment.
No good deed goes unpunished?
CUSTOMER: Unpunished.
Oh, never will! Never will!
CUSTOMER: I aimed to do, tried to do somebody a favor and ended up having to clean up a huge pile of cat litter from a burst plastic bag. Yeah. It took me over an hour to clean up the whole damn mess.
ME: Kitty litter? Everywhere?
Oh that's--
CUSTOMER: EVerywhere.
Really?
CUSTOMER: That bad.
I tell you what. I clean up cat shit before I clean up people shit.
CUSTOMER: I'll tell ya--
You know what I'm saying? Really! I don't even mean that just in the defecation. Cause we clean up people shit every damn day.
CUSTOMER: Everyday.
We just don't realize it.
(I laugh)
I need to write a book don't I?
ME: You need to write a book. Have a good night.
Hey! You're a good sport.
ME: You too.
(police sirens wail again)
December 23, Funeral #5
For my special project, I strived to listen for interesting pieces of dialogue and then craft stories around them. I first turned to my local Starbucks for inspiration a few months ago, when I overheard a woman recounting her holiday season to a male friend who sat across from her, enraptured. The woman didn’t have much to say about the warmth of the holidays, but instead matter-of-factly recited the list of people who had died over this short span of time.
“My cousin died, my uncle died, my cousin-in-law died--oh, and then my neighbor died. I think there were seven deaths from December 12th to January 1st.”
Not only was I drawn to the scenario--seven funerals means seven crowds of people with which to mingle, seven varying degrees of familiarity with the deceased, seven different events to dress for--but I was also fascinated by this character. Even before I caught a glimpse of her face, this woman’s speech gave the air of a person who had never compromised her beliefs for the sake of others, someone who understood the symbiosis of life and death. Before leaving the shop, I made sure to put a face to the voice. This woman was in her late fifties, fit, with short hair and a nose piercing. I had found my jumping-off point:
It was obvious that the job of ordering flowers had been relegated to Cousin Mickey. They were limp and orange, some breed of tiger lily that only a man sequestered off into a cubicle would find appropriate for a funeral. A sympathetic niece had tucked the flowers into the Christmas baskets that hung at the ends of the pews: poinsettia leaves, mistletoe, holly, tiger lilies. Donation cards completed the effect, shamelessly wrapped in red ribbons and attached to the front of the baskets: “In the giving spirit of this holiday season, make a donation to the Church of St. Francis in honor of your beloved deceased.” A toddler in the fourth row was coloring one of the donation cards with crayons that had been pulled out of a bulging handbag. Smart mother, thought Shannon.
The turnout surprised her. Shannon had expected the older generation to strut in, fingers ready for wagging, tongues prepared for flapping, heads in the standard starting position for a good, solemn shake downwards. They would keep their mouths shut during the service out of courtesy, then jabber at the reception.
“I told you the drink would get him.” “I always warned his mother that she shouldn’t let her boys drive the car on weekends. Ill faith can always be traced back to childhood, you know.” “Even though he denied it, I always had my suspicions that his tattoo was gang-related.”
Instead, children and adolescents spotted the pews. Some of them were crying; some looked frightened. One father carried his child to the pulpit, where the boy told the congregation that his uncle had taught him how to fold paper airplanes. He then placed a sample plane beside the tiger lilies on top of the casket.
Shannon appreciated the lack of sentimentality in the service. The priest hadn’t known her cousin, but he knew how to speak of him in generalities as if he did. “He was a true child of God, now brought even closer to His guidance.” All humans were equal in the eyes of God, Shannon supposed. Except maybe Jesus, but even he got the axe. Well, cross.
Shannon remembered her cousin for his piercings. They’d both come back home for Christmas their freshman year of college with fresh holes in their ears and noses. They hadn’t seen each other since their grandparents’ fortieth anniversary, ten years before. Both sets of parents had been furious, and the cousins had exchanged triumphant grins.
Joseph was forty-five years old when he died of food poisoning after trying sushi for the first time. The bathroom tiles were cold, and he was alone.
--Fiora Elbers-Tibbitts '14