i'm a flavor junkie, what can i say?
In Tamineh’s movie, the camera will be set up right behind Chloe and the couch, so that only her golden-brown hair is visible, and beyond that, the TV. Chloe’s hair is blocking the view enough so that all we can see is the anchorman’s fake hair. Then, we’ll hear the anchorman say: “I know we’re on, Charlie! Gosh, you don’t have to treat me like a child all the time! It’s not fair.” He’ll clear his throat and smile (though we won’t see the smile, because Chloe is in the way). “Trouble arose in Suburbia, New Jersey today, as an eight-year old boy courageously chained himself to a tree in protest of war and cafeteria food. Lloyd has more on the story. Lloyd?” The scenery around Chloe’s hair will change, and we’ll see someone else’s hair.
“Young Timothy Buoys, angered by a fragment grenade that stinted his grammatical growth, and vexed by nearby Woody Allen Elementary School’s new Beef Stroganoff Mondays, stormed out of class early Tuesday morning. Using acorns, shoelaces, leaves, nylon and a pair of handcuffs, he tied himself to this tree.” If Chloe would be so kind as to move just a bit to the left, we would see a young man with a kind face point to a burnt stump on the ground. “The young man loudly protested for what seemed to be all afternoon, taking a short break during recess to play tag. Across the playground, short cries of protest, often missing a subject or a verb, sometimes both, could be heard.”
Fiery red curls would now be seen in an aura around Chloe, and a new shrill, sobbing voice fills the audience’s ears. “I was in the middle of a spelling bee, and I was trying to spell formaldehyde, but all I could hear was him shrieking. ‘No!’ ‘Beef bad!’ ‘Grenades bad!’”
The young voice will break off, and the slightest trace of Lloyd’s hair is visible. “Timothy was in school when a stray grenade from the Down With Woody Army found its way into Timothy’s class room. Everyone remembered to put their Rhetorical Grammar books in front of them, but Timothy wasn’t quick enough. Literary professors diagnosed him with Chronic Fragmentitis, and said there is little hope for a cure. All Timothy could hope for is years of hard tutoring.
“There was a standoff between young Timothy and several authority figures today, a standoff which lasted several hours, going way past bedtime. It all went terribly sour when a representative from Dairy Products Inc….”
The TV will go black, and we’ll jump back to the present day, where our four protagonists are walking into a bar. Adorning the outside are unimpressive lights; Christmas lights attached by a worn-out wire that seems about to give way to a devastating fire. They spell out: THAT FUCKED UP BAR FROM STAR WARS. They stop at the entrance; the four of them craning their necks back to read what is spelled out. Ned is shaking his head at the sign, Andy is smiling stupidly, Tamineh is smiling softly- her curiosity piqued (though not that much by the bar, more by Daschund), Chloe is biting the corner of her bottom lip. A few light bulbs are flickering, and a vast majority of them are late for their funerals. They strut in (or, better said, Andy struts in, and the rest follow him languidly).
“Young Timothy Buoys, angered by a fragment grenade that stinted his grammatical growth, and vexed by nearby Woody Allen Elementary School’s new Beef Stroganoff Mondays, stormed out of class early Tuesday morning. Using acorns, shoelaces, leaves, nylon and a pair of handcuffs, he tied himself to this tree.” If Chloe would be so kind as to move just a bit to the left, we would see a young man with a kind face point to a burnt stump on the ground. “The young man loudly protested for what seemed to be all afternoon, taking a short break during recess to play tag. Across the playground, short cries of protest, often missing a subject or a verb, sometimes both, could be heard.”
Fiery red curls would now be seen in an aura around Chloe, and a new shrill, sobbing voice fills the audience’s ears. “I was in the middle of a spelling bee, and I was trying to spell formaldehyde, but all I could hear was him shrieking. ‘No!’ ‘Beef bad!’ ‘Grenades bad!’”
The young voice will break off, and the slightest trace of Lloyd’s hair is visible. “Timothy was in school when a stray grenade from the Down With Woody Army found its way into Timothy’s class room. Everyone remembered to put their Rhetorical Grammar books in front of them, but Timothy wasn’t quick enough. Literary professors diagnosed him with Chronic Fragmentitis, and said there is little hope for a cure. All Timothy could hope for is years of hard tutoring.
“There was a standoff between young Timothy and several authority figures today, a standoff which lasted several hours, going way past bedtime. It all went terribly sour when a representative from Dairy Products Inc….”
The TV will go black, and we’ll jump back to the present day, where our four protagonists are walking into a bar. Adorning the outside are unimpressive lights; Christmas lights attached by a worn-out wire that seems about to give way to a devastating fire. They spell out: THAT FUCKED UP BAR FROM STAR WARS. They stop at the entrance; the four of them craning their necks back to read what is spelled out. Ned is shaking his head at the sign, Andy is smiling stupidly, Tamineh is smiling softly- her curiosity piqued (though not that much by the bar, more by Daschund), Chloe is biting the corner of her bottom lip. A few light bulbs are flickering, and a vast majority of them are late for their funerals. They strut in (or, better said, Andy struts in, and the rest follow him languidly).