Clip from 2046, a film by Wong Kar Wai
(This is a test of my image-capturing software. I understand that if purchase the "Pro" version, I might expect better performance. Hmm.)
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Anecdote, Vegetable or Mineral: An Informal Analysis of Informal Stories
The assignment: Write a story in 10 tweets of 140 characters or fewer.
The publication: Seven Days newspaper
The resulting works of twitlitfic are available here.
My contribution is below and also viewable on Twiter -- @erikee
"WHY WE FIGHT"
Meeting Eli at the St. John’s Club after work. Eli, of all people! He’s not working. Just got back. Me: From where? Eli: Long story.
At the club. Eli: Bourbon. Me: Irish. Like old times. Five years out of touch, we calculate. Why? Email! Skype! Etc.! Eli: It’s complicated.
Eli’s in the john. I recall the day he bailed. The weapons firm took my bid to design their annual report. Glossy stock, hi-res, top dollar.
You watch, Eli said. First a print job — and then web, video … Pretty soon you’re part of the machine. Shalom, my oldest, goddamndest friend.
It’s noisy with the karaoke crowd in the house. A girl sings Nancy Sinatra while Eli argues about Obama with a guy the next table over.
Outside the club. Some shoving around the flagpole. No one really wants to fight. Bartender shouts from the door: Get the hell back inside.
Eli and I need fresh air. Pleasantries. My folks — fine. His mom’s good. I do the math: His sister, the soldier, has been dead seven years.
Long pause. Me: You shut me out — over a job? Eli (shaking his head): No. I went home. To Israel. I fought for her. Me: Ironic.
Eli: No. Family. It’s complicated. He looks at me. Me: Why’d I take the job? Girlfriend was pregnant. Eli: Was? Me: We have two kids now.
Back inside, we sit at the bar facing the lake — a stunning view in summer. It’s December. A patron sings Neil Diamond: “I am,” I cried.
-- THE END --
The publication: Seven Days newspaper
The resulting works of twitlitfic are available here.
My contribution is below and also viewable on Twiter -- @erikee
"WHY WE FIGHT"
Meeting Eli at the St. John’s Club after work. Eli, of all people! He’s not working. Just got back. Me: From where? Eli: Long story.
At the club. Eli: Bourbon. Me: Irish. Like old times. Five years out of touch, we calculate. Why? Email! Skype! Etc.! Eli: It’s complicated.
Eli’s in the john. I recall the day he bailed. The weapons firm took my bid to design their annual report. Glossy stock, hi-res, top dollar.
You watch, Eli said. First a print job — and then web, video … Pretty soon you’re part of the machine. Shalom, my oldest, goddamndest friend.
It’s noisy with the karaoke crowd in the house. A girl sings Nancy Sinatra while Eli argues about Obama with a guy the next table over.
Outside the club. Some shoving around the flagpole. No one really wants to fight. Bartender shouts from the door: Get the hell back inside.
Eli and I need fresh air. Pleasantries. My folks — fine. His mom’s good. I do the math: His sister, the soldier, has been dead seven years.
Long pause. Me: You shut me out — over a job? Eli (shaking his head): No. I went home. To Israel. I fought for her. Me: Ironic.
Eli: No. Family. It’s complicated. He looks at me. Me: Why’d I take the job? Girlfriend was pregnant. Eli: Was? Me: We have two kids now.
Back inside, we sit at the bar facing the lake — a stunning view in summer. It’s December. A patron sings Neil Diamond: “I am,” I cried.
-- THE END --
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