Saturday, December 17, 2011

There Goes My Future (Part II of The Producer)

Like most epiphanies mine lasted about as long as the balance in my checking.
When your stomach makes hunger noises like Chewbacca the embrace of realization, the joy of insight is empty. Besides that hopewhore doesnt dissapear so quickly. She works every corner in your heart.

So when the producer of the future Scooby Glee called me and asked me for a "special" favor:
"Could I walk his dog for a week" I was happy to oblige.
"I can pay you something and I wont forget this Joel."
"The I wont forget this Joel" had a slight sincere Godfatherish feel to it. He emphasized that part and chose his words carefully. These guys can act too.
Still that faint voice went off in the back of my head. You're taking a producers word on something. This race of folks whose words and promises fade quicker than an etch a sketch image in a 9.2 earthquake.
Oh cmon even as another John to the hopewhore I would give humanity the benefit of the doubt.
The dog was some kind of royal breed something or othe,r but in my mind it was much too close to the ground to really qualify as a dog but what did I care. It was also cross eyed implying some kind of natural stupidity but what does canine intelligence compare to the word of a producer in debt to a "talented" writer.
The hopewhore spreads her legs.

Everything went well for the first few days in the lakefront walks.. The dog went about his business as I built up my credibility and favor points that would undoubtedly land me a writing job
"But Genghis Kahn you promised"
The third day in the park his leash snapped and the dog promptly took off. I'll never forget that sound and the shower of rhinestones of that followed. It was like some kind of reverse baptism purifying me with sorrow.
For something so close to earth that dog could move. Maybe it was the lack of gravity. It was yelping too as if that made it go faster. It clearly out ran me and as it got farther off in the distance I vividly remembered my words. "There goes your future"" There goes your fucking future"
Now not only would this producer not help me but I would be blacklisted all over the West and East Coast.
"The guy cant walk a dog". That was worse than Joe McCarthy's label of communist.
I was simultaneously in numbing shock and all over the place.
I stopped people all along the lakefront. "Have you seen my future?"
"Huh excuse me"
" It yelps and is crosseyed. My future. A little dog, did you see a little dog come running by here?"
"No sorry. We havent seen your uh, future."
I think I looked as out of sorts as Smigel from the Lord of the Rings cause people backed up as I approached them. My "precious" was probably shitting on the run.
All the thousands of clever emails and phone calls just to try acknowledgment of my existence let alone anyone look at my work and this high strung royal canadien whatever the fuck it was breed with a goddamn bow keeping its hair out of its eyes, this was going to be my downfall.
Taken down and out of life by a dog with a bow. Oh that hurt.
Despite asking everyone I passed nobody had seen my future.
I gave up completely and believe I started to cry. I started choosing my tragic words to tell to the producer. And then amidst the depths of despair I spotted the dog at the corner of an old building chowing down on one of those multicolored popsicles ; its tongue way too big for its body. With my future and well being again in reach I was able to calm down enough to think.
If I tried to grab it and carry it it would probably bite me. Could I hang onto it with its little shit teeth in me even if that was my future? Probably not. I grabbed a large vine and doubled it and used it as a make shift leash. I remember walking it back to its condo. Thinking life is so tenous its held together by a shoddy rhinestone cord.

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