Writing woke me up today again. Then again, so did my dog. And the phone. And my mom. It's not hard to wake me up. The point is, I woke up and attacked the keyboard again. But not with a weapon. Just with my fingertips. A very light attack. More like a tickle, maybe.
But writing throughout the day today was a bit harder. I didn't dread it, but curling up on the couch with a movie was so much more appealing. Even if that movie was a remake of a childhood classic. (Note: The Karate Kid, while not as good as the original, was definitely watchable)
But I got around to it. Today's writing was my reinterpretation of the classic "Carpe Diem" speech. A penultimate moment in the film, and maybe in filmography in general, so I had to handle it with care. I left most of the dialogue in tact—compounding just how much I'm infringing on a copyright—and added my own little spices throughout.
The thing about the speech is that it's fantastically geared towards a zombie parody. Allow me to throw out a few of the original lines that lend itself well to such a topic.
"We are food for worms, lads." "Because believe it or not, every one of us in this room is, some day, going to stop breathing, turn cold, and die." "Because you see, gentlemen, these boys are now fertilizing daffodils."
The way I'm looking at it, Tom Schulman wrote this knowing full well I'd write this parody. He put up the alley-oop, so all I have to do is not clank it off the rim.
Before I close, I offer another present that'll happen daily if all of you like it. I call it "Most Ridiculous Lines Thus Far." If you can't figure out what it is, please, press the back button on your browser a few times until you get back to the Sesame Street website you were undoubtedly browsing before you got here. Once you're brushed up on the letter of the day, come back and give it another try.
Anyway, I present Most Ridiculous Line Thus Far: Part One -
“GATHER ye rosebuds while ye may, Old time is still a-flying : And this same flower that smiles to-day To-morrow will be dying.” “Thank you, Mr. Pitts,” Mr. Keating said sincerely. He had read the stanza simply, but in the glorious way. The way a baby says its first words – full of wonder and freshness, the novelty of the words tumbling from his lips and spilling out onto the cool tile floor the way blood would, if it were, for some reason, to be spilled here at a later time for a reason that surely wouldn’t be obvious this early on in a story. Of course, it wouldn’t have to be blood. Other liquid would spill in much a similar way to Gerard’s words. Like water. Maybe someone will spill water. Yeah, that’s it. Water.