5 Stages of Building a Fire

1. Denial

OK, a few more pieces of rolled-up newspaper and we should be good to go. No Eagle Scout skills needed here, thanks, David; why don’t you go find us a log to sit on? Mickey has the fire situation on lock. First the tinder (kindling?) catches, then the kindling (tinder? underbrush?) catches, then the… big sticks. Then it’s s’more time! Hey Alison, let me cook your marshmallow for you; yeah it gets super chilly out here, come get closer to the fire. MY fire. The match I tossed in the middle is just biding its time. That’s how fires work. The longer it takes for the flames to appear, the bigger they end up. Maybe a breath or two, down real low, that ember touches that leaf, the inexorable chain reaction becomes a wild elemental dance. Why, yes Alison, I do think fire is entrancing! Sorry about the wet log, David’s idea, haha. Here, you can sit on my lap if you want. Just a few more breaths. Just one more match right by the… kindling? Flint? I can feel your eyes watching me, David; maybe use your Eagle Scout skills and whittle yourself a clue: I got this.

2. Anger

Why. WHY? Cavemen could do this without matches! No, David, I didn’t use the “cabin method” or the “teepee method,” what is this, feng shui? I used the “this stuff is flammable let’s light it on fire” method. Why aren’t you burning? People light stuff on fire by accident all the time; why is it so much harder to do it on purpose? Smoke? HOW CAN THERE BE SMOKE AND NO FIRE. That’s like, the conservation of matter, isn’t it? It’s the rules of who goes first in checkers. Yes, David, there’s plenty of kindling. It’s right by the… nexus. C’mon, little sticks. Catch. Catch! Haha, yeah, no worries Alison, just a few more seconds. Catch!

3. Bargaining

Please. I’ll do anything. Just please start burning. Do you want my shirt? I’ll flap my shirt until my arms fall off. I’ll kill Smokey the Bear, he’s your enemy, right? I promise I’ll never take fire for granted if you just light up. I’ll offer David the dry log. Do… do you want gasoline? Tie me to a mountain and let an eagle eat my liver every day, just please let me make s’mores with Alison and let David get poison ivy in the middle of his back.

4. Depression

Nothing matters. No, I will not put my shirt back on, David, I am sweaty from blowing on unresponsive sticks. Apparently that can happen. No, Alison, I wouldn’t like any bug spray. The mosquitos deserve my blood more than I do. I’m going to go find a s’more stick. I hope I get eaten by a bear. At least there’s fire in hell.

5. Acceptance

Good job, David. Yes, please pass the marshmallows. No, I don’t mind this wet log. You two look comfy over there. We all have our roles to play. David can be the fire guy. I’m more of an ideas man. In fact, I think I may go to sleep soon. We better get up early if I’m gonna show you guys how to catch a fish.

House Cup

Open on Hogwarts Great Hall. End of year ceremonies. BRANDON GOLDTHWAIT, a first year Ravenclaw, is excited. AMELIA PINDLESTAFF, a 5th year Ravenclaw, is not.

BRANDON
All right, we did it! Ravenclaws are number one! Woo!

AMELIA
No we didn't. We didn't do anything.

BRANDON
What do you mean, Amelia? We won the House Cup and it's not even close! See? We're 200 points ahead of the runner-up!

AMELIA
It doesn't matter. I hate to break it to you, first-year, but we won't win.

BRANDON
What do you mean? Did someone get in trouble? I hope not, I worked like a House-Elf off for those points.

AMELIA
No, it's nothing to do with us. It's them. [gestures to Gryffindor bench.] Gryffindor always wins.

BRANDON
Gryffindor? But they're in last. And I believe some of their students ran afoul of the administration - broke quite a few rules.

AMELIA
Just shut up and watch.

DUMBLEDORE takes the podium.

DUMBLEDORE
Ah, my dear weezlewumps and gullyfrogs, alas, alas, the end of the year has come and so it is time to distribute the prized House Cup. If you will direct your eyeballs to the standings, you will see: Ravenclaw: 1216, Slytherin: 983, Hufflepuff: 881, and Gryffindor: 540. Congratulations, Ravenclaw.

Listless cheer from the Ravenclaw bench, with the exception of BRANDON, who cheers loudly.

DUMBLEDORE
And yet, magic is full of tricks and caprices, and things like mathematics can not be considered as they are in the Muggle world. Therefore, we have a few last-minute points to award.

BRANDON
What? Last-minute points?

AMELIA
Here we go...

DUMBLEDORE
First, to Miss Hermione Granger, who proved that in a pinch, an intellect is an able substitute for a wand - we award 100 points.

Gryffindor bench cheers. Other benches grumble.

BRANDON
Oh well, Hermione is very smart. But I though her wand was confiscated after she threw it at a professor; that shouldn't count.

DUMBLEDORE
Next, to Ronald Weasley, who, in the end, let his virtue win out over his jealousy, and his fortitude triumph over his insecurity, we award 120 points.

Gryffindor bench cheers again. Other benches begin to mutter protests.

BRANDON
That's an awfully vague reason to give out 120 points! I revamped the castle drainage system and only got 50.

AMELIA
I told you, this thing is a farce. Boo, Dumbledore! Boo!

DUMBLEDORE [overriding]
Magic can sometimes cloud the difference between what is right, and what is good. And to delineate between a friend, and an acquaintance. To Mr. Neville Longbottom, for divining said differences, we award 150 points.

Gryffindor bench cheers even louder, as other benches begin chanting "You suck!" "Re-count!" etc.

AMELIA
We're just pawns in his sick game. Get it over with, you hack!

BRANDON
Well, surely that's all the points he can give out without seeming completely biased.

DUMBLEDORE
A frown is an upside down smile, but it is equally important to remember that a smile is an inside out frown. For that we award Colin Creevey 75 points.

BRANDON
THAT MAKES NO SENSE.

DUMBLEDORE
Laughter may not always be the best medicine, but then again...50 points to the Weasley twins!

AMELIA
Are you kidding me? They beat up a first year for ruining one of their punchlines.

DUMBLEDORE
Gigglesnorts and rumplestacks may quarrel in the moonlight, but hey-blibber junebugs run the triangle offense. In sum, 80 points to Rubeus Hagrid, and by association, Gryffindor!

Great Hall is in an uproar.

BRANDON
He's just making up words! He's giving points arbitrarily to teachers and making up words! HOW IS THIS JUST?!

DUMBLEDORE
Silence, my guinea pigs. Well, those are all the points that I had to give out; it seems Ravenclaw has won with 1216, while Gryffindor trails with 1215.

DUMBLEDORE winks and smiles at HARRY POTTER, who winks and smiles back. HARRY sneezes.

DUMBLEDORE
Bless you!

HARRY
Thank you!

AMELIA
FUCK YOURSELVES.

DUMBLEDORE
Ahhhhhhh, gratitude. "Thank you" truly is a magical phrase. 2 points to Gryffindor, Gryffindor wins!

Gryffindor bench explodes with cheers. RON gets up on the table and starts doing the "suck it" motion to the Ravenclaw bench. HERMIONE conjures a giant middle finger to wave in the air. Professors all dance and clap for Gryffindor. Gryffindor bench starts singing "na-na-na-na, na-na-na-na, hey hey hey, goodbye!"

BRANDON
I'm transferring.

[Blackout.]

Dick Tattoo

JACK, a 20-something office drone, is working at his desk with his headphones in.

JACK [singing]
Wake me up inside, wake me up inside, call my name and save me from the dark.

ETHAN, a similarly aged office drone, runs in.

ETHAN
Psst. Jack. Jack!

He grabs JACK’s shoulders; JACK jumps.

JACK
Whoa, hey, man, you scared me! [he pats his shoulder and realizes they are dry]. Did you wash your hands?

ETHAN
Doesn't matter dude, listen! I was at the urinal when Mr. Frankle came in, and I saw his dick.

JACK
What? Why?

ETHAN
Shut up! He has a CARLY RAE JEPSEN tattoo on his dick.

JACK
A what?

ETHAN
You know, Carly Rae Jepsen? Call Me Maybe?

JACK shrugs.

ETHAN [sings reluctantly]
Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy, but here's my number-

JACK
Oh, right right. Wait, dude, that's ridiculous. He's 60, no way he has any sort of dick tattoo. It was probably a liver spot.

ETHAN
I know what I saw! She had bangs - liver spots don't have bangs!

JACK
OK, fine, suppose our boss, Mr. Frankle, has a Carly Rae Jepsen dick tattoo. Who cares? It's not a big deal.

ETHAN
Because I HAVE THE EXACT SAME TATTOO, Jack. That's how I recognized it.

JACK
WHAT?!

AMANDA enters.

AMANDA
Hey, would you guys keep it down?

JACK
Wait a second, Amanda. Ethan, what are you saying?

ETHAN
Mr. Frankle and I have the exact same dick tattoo.

AMANDA
The Carly Rae Jepsen tattoo?

JACK
How do you know about it?!

AMANDA & ETHAN
Christmas party.

ETHAN
Look, none of that matters. I'm scared about what this means, guys. Is Mr. Frankle my long-lost father?

JACK
You KNOW who your father is.

ETHAN
Maybe we're meant to be best friends. Maybe we're part of a secret society.

AMANDA
I hope not - he smells like a WetNap.

ETHAN
Look, regardless, I gotta confront him.

JACK
No, you don't! Your basing this off one errant glance in a bathroom - he doesn't have a Carly Rae Jepsen dick tattoo!

AMANDA
Let him be Jack. I think it's fate.

ETHAN
Thanks, Amanda.

MR. FRANKLE enters.

ETHAN
Mr. Frankle, I have to talk to you about something.

JACK
Don't do this man...

ETHAN
I believe we have the same Carly Rae Jepsen dick tattoo. I saw yours at the urinal and I have the same one. I don't know what this means but I figured you'd understand. We're kindred spirits, Mr. Frankle.

Beat.

FRANKLE
Are you crazy?!

ETHAN
Sir?

FRANKLE

That's preposterous! I don't even know who that is!

ETHAN
You know, [singing nervously] Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy-

FRANKLE
You’re fired, you pervert! Get out of my office!

ETHAN
But sir, the tattoo…

FRANKLE
I have never had a Carly Rae Jepsen tattoo on my penis, you freak! Just be glad I’m not pressing charges for ogling my privates!

ETHAN leaves. The others are silent.

FRANKLE
What kind of sicko would mistake Megan Fox for Carly Rae Jepsen? [looking down, pats his crotch.] There, there, Megan.

[BLACKOUT]

Three Letters to Myself

Dear Me in the future,

What’s up? How are you?

It’s me from the past, which you probably knew.

I’m writing 'cause soon we’ll be one and the same

And I’m wondering things: does our wife take our name?

That is, will we marry? Will we procreate?

I’m trying to get, here, a sense of my fate.

Do we end up bald? (I guess I mean “when”)

Do we climb up the sea cliffs of Eire again?

And how are my parents? Are they still around?

Do we still jam to techno or is it just sound?

What job are we in? Do we find it fulfilling?

Do we live day-to-day or do we make a killing?

Sorry for this interrogative glut,

I’m dying to know all the who’s ,why’s and what’s!

I don’t know how you’ll send it, Please write back fast.

Ours, very truly,

You (Me) from the past.

Dear Me in the past,

My, how long has it been?

I’d call you “my friend” but we’re closer than kin.

I was tickled to get your inquisitive note

And even more so when I saw what you wrote.

You want to know how our whole life turns out,

But there’d be no fun in removing all doubt!

Plus I don’t want to mess up the space-time continuum

But I do love your letters, by all means continue ‘em.

I’m afraid you must wait and find out on your own.

You’re done growing up but you’re still far from grown.

I’ll give you this, kid, you got plenty of gumption,

So do us a favor: trim your candy consumption.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to our bed.

I’ll see you quite soon!

Love,

Me up ahead.

Hey Me from the future,

It’s earlier me.

I just got your letter: still an asshole, I see.

Post 44

Now here's a little story I've got to tell

About three right-wingers you know so well

It started way back in history

With Paul Ryan, Adelson, and me - Romney

Had a horsey named Rafalca for financial gain

Just me and my horsey and a job at Bain 

Stuck in a quagmire, because of who I fired 

Didn’t want the blame – retroactively retired 

One lonely Romney I be

All by myself without nobody

The campaign is beating down on my Touch of Gray

The polls are gettin' hot, I’m not sure what to say.

Lookin' for a mate I ran into a guy

His name is Paul Ryan, I said, "Howdy" he said, "Hi"

He told a little story that didn’t sound legit 

Seven terms in Congress and he’s looking to quit

The hour was at hand, I lacked a running mate 

His voice was hoarse, he whispered “I can guarantee my state” 

He said, "Can it be me?"

I said “let’s wait and see.”

Had a chance to leave

He denied my reprieve

He was quick to the point, I thought I was trapped 

He put his face up next to mine and this is what he rapped,

"Now my name is Paul Ryan and I hate the urban poor 

I think you know your polling sucks it’s time for something more 

Now what do we have here: a Mormon with gay fear;

I’ll help you out and raise your clout: I make myself clear?"

We stepped into the wind, in chilly Wisconsin, 

You think this campaign's over but it's ready to begin

"Now I got the looks, you got the dough

You got two choices of how this will go 

It's not a tough decision as you can see

You can lose the Christian fundie’s or you’ll run with me"

I said, I'll run with you if you can sway the middle classes

The left is blasting me for what I did to the masses

I did it for fun, I did it for sport 

I even hoped that they would self deport 

So I'm getting burned, they want my returns 

And  right about now it's time to let them yearn. 

The King Romney that is my name

And I know this fly guy who can fund our campaign."

We flew to Vegas in a private jet 

The beat was vanilla and the girlies? Upset. 

This dude was staring like he knew all our thoughts 

We took the empty spot next to him at the slots

Paul Ryan said, "Yo, you know this robber baron?"

I said, "I didn't." but it became apparent 

The dude said, "Get ready cause this ain't funny

My name's Sheldon A. and I have too much money."

Pulled out his wallet put it in my hand 

He yelled, "Pander to me!" to make sure I’d understand 

Funding uproar was being incited 

Sheldon bit back by citing Citizen’s United

"I'm Sheldon A. and I get respect

Corporate tax breaks is what I expect"

Paul Ryan was with it and he's my mate

So I said I’d fight for DOMA and a flat tax rate 

Don’t Ask Don’t Tell is back, the job growth stopped 

We used to have health care, but that got dropped.

This is just a scary and yet cautionary note

But Mitt will take the White House, unless you vote.

Post 43

For the second time in my life, I'm super scared about the impending change (the third time if you count when my mom first made pierogis for dinner). I've got driving directions up to Boston to look for a place to live (to live! Without a deadline or a meal plan or parents) and a U-haul reserved to cart most of my room at home up to wherever it is that I end up.

I don't cook well. I'm not good at doing laundry so that my clothes don't wrinkle. I've never written a check. I'm expecting to get to work (to work! At a 9-5 job!) and they will realize I'm still a kid. Wearing a buttoned shirt won't fool anybody.

It was nice to see so many friends at Haverford and Bryn Mawr, but it put a hole in my stomach to watch them beginning another academic year (which is no longer how I will measure my calendar, unless I start teaching or have kids). Ain't no primal scream out here. Kids, savor every single day. There's always something good happening there. I gotta stay in touch with these dudes (at the risk of being one of those hangers-on, willing to sacrifice my image for another dinner with the gang). It took me four years to make these friends, I worked hard at this! I can't give em up that easily.

I can foresee this new life as one where I get in shape, get cultured, become fashionable and enviable and perform standup comedy for roaring audiences. I can also foresee watching a lot of Starcraft gamecasts and eating a couple of jars of peanut butter a week and forgetting to rip pages off a one-a-day calendar.

So I guess I gotta be a "man" now.

Post 42

Finding Oneself

Pt. 2

Back in the bathroom, Brian had gotten back to his feet, swaying. He had calmed himself down, tried to logic his way back down to earth. He splashed a little water on his face, saw that there were no paper towels, and used his sleeve. He pushed through the bathroom door and crept back to his seat, casting a wary eye toward the librarian, who merely sniffed. Brian sat down and looked back at the blog. There was the description of his flight to the bathroom. He reached down without looking and pulled the gum off the seat of his pants, rolling it between his fingers and pressing it to the underside of the desk. He noted that his action with the gum was recorded in the blog and glanced around at the rest of the library. A couple of kids were bent over an SAT prep book, an old man with calf socks pulled up squinting at a book title, and a young woman in her thirties asleep at another computer – no one looked like they were watching him and transcribing his movements. Brian turned back to the computer. It was crazy, and he knew it was crazy, but he was a writer and writers have to embrace a little craziness. He cleared his throat and closed his eyes.

“Hello?” He whispered. The sleeping woman grunted, making him jump. “Can you hear me?” Brian scrolled down to see his query. It was there, but there was no good answer, since I’m not sure what to tell him. I mean, I can read what he’s saying but I can’t technically hear him. Besides, what good is it if I can? “Ah HA!” Brian yelled. The librarian shot up. “Young man, if you cannot control yourself you will have to leave!” Brian sat back, cowed. “Sorry, ma’am,” he said meekly. Quietly, he murmured “ah-HA! You CAN hear me!” Well, not technically. “All right,” Brian said, “but the point remains.” And he was right, I suppose. The librarian’s interruptions were getting tiresome, so it only made sense to point out to all readers that we can “hear” Brian just as well if he thought his comments instead of speaking them. You know I’m reading this, too, right? Thought Brian. I did, obviously, which is why I wrote it. Hey, no need to get touchy. Brian frowned. Are you some kind of God? Which was another interesting question. Since the story is in a third person narration, it would suggest that as the author I retain some sort of authoritative control over the story. However, several prominent writers recently have advanced the theory that writers should simply start stories moving and then see where they go. In that regard, and in the sense that I am a little taken aback by the audacity of the questions, I cannot claim to foresee every detail. On the other hand, it is absurd to say I was taken aback, since I had planned for Brian to ask these questions. All right, all right, Brian thought. I don’t need to know everything about it. You’re clearly not omnipotent. But then, what does that mean about me? The title says this is a metafiction. Am I real? Brian tried to remember anything before the beginning of the blog entry and was surprised to realize that he could, with great clarity, recall a number of details from his past. He remembered eating Ice Pops with a bandaid on his knee in early summers, his mom sobbing at his high school graduation, and the toast he had eaten that morning. OK, he thought, this clearly isn’t a Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead scenario. But that past does seem a little canned. Brian realized he didn’t have a very strong emotional reaction to his past. So, he thought, I’m fictional? Like in Stranger Than Fiction? Brian was annoyingly quick on the reference, despite the obvious differences in the plot setup. There were similarities, but Brian was relieved to read that I had no intention of killing him off. It would be an act of literary suicide, since Brian’s character had a lot of the author in him. Really? Thought Brian. What are you like in real life? But there was no reply. Apparently the author hoped to maintain a level of mystique.

*********************************************

In Part 3, hopefully we get less pedantic