Short Film: Une Sieste à la Plage

 

La Ragazza di Milano - A Short Story

***Before reading, listen to 'Norwegian Wood' by the Beatles***

Édouard was getting his teeth cleaned at an open dentist in Richemont when he got a message on his tablet from a young woman, the Milanese model Nicole. She was in town for a photoshoot. He asked her where. She took her time responding.

            He went back to his hotel to freshen up for the girl he’d been pursuing for months now. He’d encountered her multiple times, at multiple events, in multiple cities around the world. They were star crossed lovers whose destinies were yet to intertwine.

            After getting dressed he noticed a message notification from her. His anger was ignited when the tablet crashed upon opening the message app.  He fought the OS with every trick in the book until he threw it across the room. It bounced off a pillow onto the floor. When he picked it up, everything was fixed. The app opened up, allowing the message to be read.

           

“365 W Martini St. Come after 9. We should be done.”

           

            Édouard’s hotel was on N Langouste Ave, at the top of a hill, which intersected Martini St at the bottom of the hill. It was a clear moonlit night. The city streets were deserted due to a miasma reported to be spreading the plague across the region. In the convenience of it, he mounted his longboard and coasted down an empty Langouste all the way to Martini, arriving seven minutes after la ragazza di Milano had specified.

            He strolled into the studio where Nicole was posing for the camera. She was modeling a MamerSass pink and white gown with a furry collar, twenties style. The flashes and lights bounced off her perfect cheekbones and the dress was resplendent by her svelte figure. She noticed him enter the room. The photographer noticed her notice him.

            The Photographer dropped the camera and turned to Édouard. “Why are YOU here? This is MY photoshoot!”

            “Isn’t it her photo shoot?” Édouard quipped.

            “Get out. I will have you arrested for being at MY shoot.”

            Édouard ignored the photographer and said to Nicole “You look fantastic, darling. Ay, which way to the Illy?” (referencing where they first met). Steam protruded from the photographer’s ears. He turned back to the photographer and said, “Calm down Ernst. I didn’t bring my camera with me,” as he moved towards Nicole.

            Photographer Ernst Ketchum looked at his watch and made a contrived change of attitude. “Okay, well, looks like our time is up for today. Nicole, see you tomorrow at 3:15.” He unscrewed his lens from the camera body and continued to Édouard, “Now, go ahead and leave us so we can clean up…” Ernst continued angrily under his breath, “…I am serious I will have you arrested if you don’t leave right now.”

            Édouard almost all the way to Nicole, said to Ernst, “Okay, me and everyone else here, too, for violating quarantine lock down.” Turned completely to Nicole, “Hey babe, this guy doesn’t seem to really want me here, so I’ll catchya on the outside. Aight?”

            She smiled and Ernst squealed impatiently.

           

            45 minutes later the photographer and la ragazza emerged from the studio. Ernst went where he was going, and Nicole came to the Langouste junction. Édouard got up from his lamp post and joined her path.

            “That guy is an ASSHOLE,” Édouard remarked.

            “Mmhmm. Why was he so pissed?” she asked

            “He must be familiar with my work. That’s why I’m in town.”

            “What’s still open around here?”

            “Nothing. This miasma has stranded me in my fancy hotel. They aren’t letting anyone up to the rooms who isn’t staying, but I think we can sneak into the lounge.”

            “Alright,” she said.

And so they did. They stayed up talking most of the night, discussing the nature of a perfect kiss. Its properties, its participant, its execution. He took photos of her on his tablet, until it crashed again. They drank a bottle of wine and slept there until morning. None of the staff felt the need to check the closed lounge for trespassers.

             

***After reading, listen to 'A kiss to build a dream on' by Louis Armstrong***

Review of Cigars and Cigars

Cigars are a classic and healthier* form of tobacco smoking. They are iconic accessories for upholders of Western Civilization such as Sir Winston Churchill, and marxist scoundrels like Fidel Castro. Whatever your ideology, aesthetic is aesthetic.

My entry into this world of smokes began with a college friend who runs a popular cigar review page on Instagram. He is Jim of @great-cigars. MY first smoke was supplied by him at our alma mater. If I remember correctly, it was a coffee flavored something or other.

My first cigar that I chose to smoke was the Churchill sized Romeo y Julieta. When I read the The Last Lion by William Manchester, he mentioned that the brand was one of Winston's favorites. So naturally, being an admirer of him, that was what I smoked.

Romeo y Julieta has a mild flavor and is a standard cigar. I am not very good at describing the notes and subtleties yet.

The next kind I tried was a recommendation by the salesman at the cigar shop. He gave me an Undercrown to try. It had a slightly more intense flavor than the Romeo's, but still rather mild.

Tuesday night, I tried my third distinguishable brand. I smoked a Metropolitan Connecticut by Nat Sherman. It wasn't a bad smoke but it definitely was the mildest of the three. I don't think I'll get this one again.

If I had to recommend one of these three, I'd go with the Romeo y Julieta. It falls right between the two others in flavor and strength, and I also get to feel connected to a great Briton.

Whether you smoke them occasionally, are a regular at the cigar lounge, or are smoking in bed and then attending Parliament, cigars are a classic accessory that adds to the aesthetic of a gentleman.

I'll leave you with my theory on why smoking has been treated aesthetically throughout history. A cigar demonstrates one's ability to casually control fire, so casually in fact, that it is added to the sartorial aesthetic. Also, one is taking chaotic fire, controlling it, and using it to relax, much like a sailor captures a strong wind and uses it to propel him around the globe.





*Disclaimer: Theoretically healthier than cigarettes because you are not inhaling into the lungs.

The Medium is the Mandela Effect

Many people know the quote, "medium is the message," coined by Marshall McLuhan. It refers to the nature of media and how it influences you, not by the message itself, but by the way in which the message is told.

Well, today I picked up his famous book "the Medium is the Message" at a bookstore, only to be surprised that what is written above is not the title. The title of his book is "the Medium is the Massage."

My mind was blown. The friend I was with had his mind blown as well. We both could have sworn the book was Message. All the books on the shelf were that way, and I wondered if it was a misprint. I then typed the book into Amazon to see if their books had the same 'misprinted' title and they did. The real title was Medium is the Back Rub.

I had known about the Mandela Effect for a while because everyone had been talking about it online recently. But I did not anticipate to encounter the effect with this book.

The Mandela Effect "is a psychological phenomenon where a person recalls something that did not happen or that something happened differently from the way it actually happened," according to Wikipedia.  Another example of this is the 'Berenstein Bears' is actually Berenstain Bears, despite everyone growing up with it known as Berenstein. A movie example is from Field of Dreams. The famous line, "If you build it they will come," is actually, "If you build it he will come."

The title Medium is the Massage is attributed to an original misprint in the 1960's when it was published, but the author decided to keep it that way. It certainly gets your attention once you notice it. The decision to keep the printing error has proved a smart move by McLuhan, for it keeps the intrigue of his work alive and proves his point. 

Shoot B: Ferguson

Shoot A: John of the North

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check john on insta: @john.of.the.north

Ni Haiku Chaise

Facing the Books

There he was, sitting outside on the bench.  He knew what was going on inside was sure to disappoint. So rather than continuing to sit there and imagine the worst, he decided to walk in and face the situation.

Up the brick steps he went, fear evaporating more and more with each step he took. Hand on the door handle, he looked through the glass to see her. She stood talking to Albert. He pulled open the door and walked towards them. Their backs were turned to him as they talked facing the books. Before saying a word, the acceptance of all his fears settled his nerves, ready to be done with it.

            “Hi Eunice.”

            She did not turn.

            “Albert, how’s it going?”

            He didn’t turn either.

            “Hello?” Vince slowed his approach. He stopped. “Oy!”

            The two were no longer speaking. They stood silently and motionlessly, facing the books. Perplexed, Vince circled around to the front of them.

            “Shiiit,” he said as he looked at them. “No faces…”

            Albert and Eunice had only smooth skin where their eyes, noses, and mouths should be. He looked down at his watch quickly. 5:30pm. He’d just seen them in movement. They spoke only seconds before his approach.  He knew whatever had caused this wasn’t far away.

            Vince looked away from the books, back towards the door. He then walked in that direction. Then ran. He opened the door and got outside. Breathing heavily, he turned around to look back inside. There they were, still talking.

            He looked down at his watch again. 5:29pm.