Location by “Handsome” Mulligan Slims
By mulligan slims | Posted in • General • Reading
Arthur Minsk now did all of his writing in an old claw-foot bathtub. He had a wooden plank that lay across the tub, and on it a 1938 Royal Portable typewriter that he had picked up while vacationing in Florida. The typewriter was for safety reasons; he was not brilliant but was smart enough not to put a word processor inches above a tub full of soapy bath water. The man at the antique shop had rigid, yellowing hair that was combed over from left to right hiding a magnificent bald spot. The old man wore a thin pair of wire-rimmed glasses. He was of napoleonic height and smelled of bourbon and dusty places. He was obviously very gay. He said that it had belonged to Hemingway. Though skeptical about the former ownership Arthur bought it, for 25 dollars while thinking about possible DNA evidence. The machine had an old tweed case with a worn wooden handle. The Royal was dusty with visible wear on the space bar from some writers thumb, but the keys worked and the carriage progressed. Arthur cleaned it up when he got home and set it in the bathroom.
Arthur was 28 and had been writing for five years. For the last two he had been married. He lived in the extreme northern part of New York State, a sparse steppe-like region filled with cows, deer and idiots. His retreat into the bathroom began shortly after his wife moved into his small house on a back road. Her name was Katya; when she walked her hips swayed like a handkerchief in the wind. She was beautiful, dim, and rich. Katya, at 22, had been a collector of poets and artists since 16. She fancied herself a muse, though in reality was no more than a scrumptious sexlet. On the first day of marriage Arthur rose to continue his writing. He went into the living room and planted himself on the couch; he began scribbling in his notebook.
Enter the wife, Katya.
Katya got out of bed, walked into the living room and sat down next to Arthur. She fished a Pall Mall from the red pack on the couch, lit the cigarette and blew the smoke through the fingers of sunlight that filtered through the dusty air. The sun shone against the pale blue ashtray on the coffee table making her cover one red eye with a tiny, ring-laden hand. She turned on the television and picked a flake of tobacco from her ample bottom lip.
Arthur said, “What the fuck are you doing?”
Katya said, “Watching TV, what the fuck are you doing?”
From that day on Arthur was in the bathroom for the first four or five ours of the day, and then for another two or three at night.
Arthur did all of his writing in the bathtub. Each morning at six o’clock he would get out of bed and head immediately for the bathroom. On the sink sat his coffee pot, it was programmed to start brewing at 5:45am.
This was Thursday. He separated from his wife’s death grip around his midsection, and like all days went into the bathroom, closing the door and sliding the latch, locking it behind him. He bent down and turned the knobs on the tub, letting the steamy water pour out and into the grimy bath. The exposed, copper pipes groaned. He raised the toilet seat and relieved himself. He opened a cabinet below the sink and took out a small radio, and a large yellow coffee mug. He poured himself a cup and placed the radio on the toilet. The radio came on and the slow drone of public radio slipped out into the small bathroom. Arthur pulled the wooden plank out from under the bathtub and placed it across the still rising water, and lastly he opened the typewriter case and placed it on the plank. Arthur slipped into the water.
He started with bills. If a bill had to be sent out that day, or the next, he would place the check on the platen of the typewriter, roll it down, and type in the appropriate information. There were only a few today and he quickly dispensed with them.
On a small, folding desk next to the tub stood a pile of unanswered letters. Each day he would type out two or three responses to any given letter, many times throwing out all of the versions of a particular letter, or sometimes he would mail three versions of the same letter, each one in a separate envelope but addressed to the same person.
Today there was only one letter from an old friend from high school. Arthur scanned the letter quickly to refresh his mind. He slipped a fresh piece of paper into the roller and turned the knob on the typewriter. He lit a cigarette, leaving moistened fingerprints on the shaft. He began to type.
Sean,
I am sorry to hear about your father passing, he always was a good guy. I can remember him hanging out with us on some of the nights when I would sleep over. I guess it was the stress like you said, I can’t imagine running a law firm.
The wife is fine.
I have had a few stories published, my agent is trying to push my novel right now, and it’s difficult to concentrate on my writing career. This bathtub thing seems to be helping though.
Arthur leaned back and took a drag from his cigarette, the ash dropped into the water. He let his hand rest on his head and slide down his face. It was hot in the room by now and sweat started to run down his forehead. There was a knock on the door.
“What,” said Arthur.
“I just wanted to tell you that I’m all packed up and I’m leaving,” said Katya.
“Leaving where,” said Arthur.
“I’m leaving you Arthur, and I’m pregnant. I’m not really sure if it’s yours or not and I guess I don’t really care,” Katya blurted.
“Ok, I’ll see you later then,” said Arthur.
“No you won’t,” said Katya.
He heard her footsteps move away and the front door close. Arthur dropped his cigarette into the water and lit another. He could smell the coffee burning, mixing with the steam and smoke. He leaned forward, ripped out the letter, inserted a new paper and began again.
Sean,
My condolences on the loss of your father. I’m glad to hear that your mother is fine and taking it well, she always was a tough old broad. Speaking of broads how’s that little sister of yours?
The writing thing is going well as expected, I haven’t had anything published or accepted in a few months. My agent is pushing my book as we speak.
Arthur leaned back and thought about rust. Would the steam accelerate rusting? If yes, then by how much? What steps could he take to prolong the use of his typewriter?
Arthur thought about finding a job. He took a long drag from his smoke, and blew it out under the plank and beyond. He hadn’t had to work a day job since he had met Katya, two and a half years ago. Arthur’s trade of choice was cooking. He had been working in restaurants since he was 16, washing dishes. He slowly worked his way up. Now he was qualified to work at most any restaurant. He stopped thinking about work. Arthur pulled the paper from the typewriter and replaced it with a fresh piece. He leaned forward with a new cigarette between his lips.
Sean,
Katya left me today. I’m not really surprised as she has been a little bitchy lately.
Sorry to hear about Joe. He was a real salt-of-the-earth kind of guy. Never too busy to talk or hang out. I always liked him. I’m sorry that I missed the funeral. Listen, I think I’ll swing out there soon, maybe in about a month or so. I still haven’t spent much time on the west coast and I don’t really have anything to stay here for, now that the wife is gone. See you soon.
Arthur Minsk.
Arthur leaned back, lit his cigarette, and thought about California.
In this exciting episode I examine:
But there was trouble brewing, waiting for me. Calling to me from the ether. I paid no mind and just thought it was some crap playing on the radio or maybe bad air coming through the air conditioner and kept driving.
to give me something. The Black Rider of the White Beast quickly grabbed his insurance information and handed it to me saying “I’m very sorry man, I didn’t see you.” Of course he didn’t, his truck is closer to the moon than it is to the ground. I hate big trucks. I hate them even more now.
you’d like them to be. “Did my hitch get you? Yeah, I couldn’t see it because you where there and it is a no parking zone. If you weren’t there, I wouldn’t have hit you.” Right. If I had a gun and a quick fuse temper I might have shot him in the face, but using his logic, it was a good thing I didn’t. Looking into the Black Riders eyes seeing his story evolving and realizing that I’m not really sure that I’m right about the law, I started panicing. What if I’m wrong? I don’t have money for a ticket. What if the police get here and say that not only am I in fault for being where I was, standing in a no parking zone or not, that I was in the wrong and that the Black Rider had every right to ram into my car back and forth all day long until my car could fit into a suit case? At that moment he gets out of the ozone depleting death beast and walks over to the business that he just left. I turned around as Hathyr handed me the photocopied forms and saw a small crowd forming. Apparently it was a group of friends of his from the businesses in the same center that Hathyr works in. A scrubby looking zitfaced blonde girl in her mid-twenties that looked like she might have worked at a rundown roadside stripbar and a guy who looked more like a used car salesmen in his weekend clothes (who I’ve seen around because he actually owns a videogame store in that center, and coincidentally also drives a huge truck, his is red though) approach with a few other non-descript shady looking characters. “Yeah, you are in a no parking zone, so you shouldn’t be there.” the trailer park queen says, reading me my rights. Heard that one. “It doesn’t matter” I say, “You still hit me. My car isn’t parked. It is technically standing; the engine is still running.” “Doesn’t matter, you shouldn’t have been there” she says, quickly becoming something of a trashy version of Legally Blonde. Deadlock. We are getting nowhere. The guy now has a group, I’m feeling pressured. What to do?
I got inside my car as Hathyr stood by, looking for my insurance information to trade it. The phone call to the cops was being made. I really don’t want to get into this. I really really hate this. But I’m pretty damn sure I’m right. But not 100% sure. I’m not a gambler. I didn’t like my odds. I don’t want a ticket for parking, even though I wasn’t technically parking, in a no parking zone. I can’t afford it. I looked to Hathyr for advise. “What do you think? I’m not parked, I’m standing. He hit me. I don’t know what to do” I pleaded. She agreed and said that the damage wasn’t that bad. I asked her if she thinks I should just drop it and just deal with it. She said yes. So I went back over to the Black Rider and told him that I’d drop it and call it even. He agreed and I handed him the photocopied paper and shook death’s hand and parted ways.
Getting into the car, blood boiling, stiff with rage, I overhear the Black Rider telling the guy to not worry about it and get rid of the cops. Driving off Hathyr asked me in that tone of “I’m asking you, but really I’m telling you” to not drive out of the parking lot like a madman. I am unfortunately known to drive a little wrecklessly when I’m angry. As far as I’m aware it is the only time where my driving skills are impaired (as I don’t drink ever and drive). I tried to stay my anger while I drove the 3 miles back home, not saying a word as I knew if I did I’d say something I’d probably either regret or wouldn’t like to hear myself say. Usually when I’m upset I need to be alone for a while then followed by being around someone to vent or at least just talk about something, anything, to get it out of my system. The air conditioning seemed to just eek out only enough cool air to barely keep me from passing out as I could feel my face flush with anger.
After cooling off at home for a half hour or so and going online to try to research dent removal to calm down, Hathyr knocked on the door and asked me if I’d like to go for the trail walk with our dog Satchel up in the mountains behind our house. After venting for a few minutes, we left with the dog for a relaxing walk along the river that travels down the small valley at the bottom of a plateau a few miles up the road from our house. During the spring she tells me it floods and can be many feet deep, but right now it is just a few feet deep in deepest sections. In a month or two it will be all but a trickle as the area dries up and the snow that still sits in the mountains thousands of feet above us. Relaxing.
actually live with the dent and have some cash in hand as I’m pretty broke. But alas, I have a nice big dent in the side of my car. This is the second accident I’ve been in in my own car, and the second one where another person drove into me. The first time was in a parking lot of a Wendy’s where an old man backed into my first car, an ‘84 Ford Tempo and left a huge dent in his rear fender. He didn’t realize what happened and I being the young dumb kid that I was, and being late for work, didn’t know what to do and after a short conversation with Gramps McAlzheimer’s realizing he didn’t know what he did, I left for work. I didn’t really care about my car all that much, so I just said screw it. 80’s Ford car versus cheapo 90’s new Geo. My car won that battle. All I ask for in life are the little victories. My car has a few other things that give it umm… character. Aside from the dings and dents it has collected since moving to southern California (most of which have been collected sitting in my own parking lot) I have a nice big group of scrapes on the windshield. Vandals? No. A few 
years ago when I was still live at home in upstate New York on a winter’s morning I was late to work. A thick coating of snow and ice covered my windshield. I had just locked the door to the house and didn’t want to go back in to get my ice scraper, so I looked around to try to find something to improvise. This is one of those moments where improvision is not a good thing… I picked up a large flat rock by the back door and scratched away at the thick ice. After about 6 scrapes my brain kicked in and I realized what the hell I was doing and dropped the rock along with my jaw. The scratches are there to this day. I like to tell people I didn’t have it replaced because I like to be reminded of the stupid choices I’ve made in life so I don’t repeat them.
something like it were to happen in the future. I’ll try to post an update if I remember as to what he said.
and I’ve been told that I can be intimidating but I just don’t have that type of mindset or mentality. I don’t bully people into things and I expect the same from them. Do unto others and all. Most folks that know me know that I’m pretty relaxed, chilled out and I take it easy. I don’t anger easily. I forgive but never forget. I guess I need to steel myself a little better for these situations. Mr. Furious “Rage”, Wolverine “Beserker”, Hulk “Smash”, or fists ablazing? Nahh. I need to keep my calm, think clearly and make the right choice. When I get pissed in these situations, I don’t do that. Note to self: When blood boils, keep your cool and think straight. Oh yeah, and carry a big stick. With nails… ECW like.
To all of you that fit this description, I dedicate Alan Parsons Project’s I Wouldn’t Want To Be Like You. May you find your vehicle wrapped neatly around a tree and your wallet as barren as your collective intellect.
Empire Strikes Back this movie isn’t. Fortunately, we don’t have to wait very long for its conclusion though, so I’m still holding out hope. While the first Matrix wowed me and knocked my socks off, this sequel felt mostly tired and at times almost tedious. Many of the effects we’ve seen before, and while they are done better and with more flair, they just don’t excite me like they did in 1999. In fact, there are times in the new film where the effects, though amazing, are still obviously CG which is disappointing as effects that are done right should be transparent. The Matrix was a rehash of many different familiar science fiction elements pieced together carefully so as to create something of a work of art. Reloaded on the other hand seemed to borrow much, perhaps too much, from the first film and didn’t have enough plot elements to back it up. All of this combined with sitting in line outside in the cold (stupid theatre) for two hours only to be let into in a very warm theatre filled with too many people as they oversold the tickets was a bit much and having less than optimal seats. But at least we got to see a few other things, like three people in different parts of the audience watching The Matrix on laptops and the girls directly in front of us brought a small portable television to see who was continuing on in American Idol.
Normally, I’m on the pulse of movies coming out, but when the first movie came out I had largely been ignoring movies and film news. So to say the least, Matrix came to me as a big surprise. And I’m not the only one, as it was the sleeper hit of the year. They didn’t bother to advertise it in advance; instead they let the word on the street get around to advertise it. You may have noticed they have done something similar this time around as well. And I thought it was going to be a movie about math, like Pi!
figure out is why half of the plot in this movie seemed to regurgitate that of the first one. It seemed like they spent an awful lot of time beating us over the head with a stick reminding us why we are here and what we are doing. Sledgehammer of Plot… Audience… BBAAAMM! Thank you, but we know all this because we saw the first movie a million times already. How about a few more pages of actual story and a few less pages of fight scenes that don’t really go anywhere?
effects of Who Framed Roger Rabbit and Cool World. Two completely different leagues. For an example of this, look at the “bully fight” scene, which was very entertaining to watch, but when you examine Neo’s body, face and his coat, they have a plasticy look giving themselves away as effects. The coat shouldn’t be shining in the light, it is pitch black from what we’ve seen earlier in the film. But during the fight, many times do we see live action Neo turn into CG Neo and then back again. It is distracting and distressing… Distressing in the sense that with the kind of money they put into making this film, it still seems like they could get the CG done a little better. 90% is a million miles away from 100%. I did however like the car chase sequence for the most part (though much of the fighting on the truck was obvious green screen and intermittent CG as well as the agent jumping from car to car). The shot coordination, framing and sense of speed were all there though and gave urgency to the moment. It has to be said however that many of these fight scenes last too long, seem to exist for the sole reason of being eye candy, and add absolutely nothing to the epic story that this trilogy is supposed to encompass.
Matrix unleashed on me a few years ago. It is a summer blockbuster, and I can’t fault it for not being perfect as most blockbusters have their flaws so I’ll cut it a little slack. You may also find the ending a little annoying as it just ends without any real resolution. At least Empire Strikes Back ended in such a way that they resolved much of what needed to be resolved while really hooking you for the conclusion with a great cliffhanger ending. Sadly, I think most fans of the first film will be at least a little disappointed but it is still an entertaining 2 hours 18 minutes of film and worth a look. If you aren’t feeling up to it, go see X-Men 2: X-Men United. It was a great flick and a welcome opening to what I hope to be a fun blockbuster summer.
Bottom Line: 3.5 out of 5 Monkeys. It was entertaining, but it has to try a lot harder to be as good as the first one. A would be homerun, but bungled enough to keep the ball deep inside the park… I’m sure it is all a setup to something greater in the sequel, but as a standalone piece of work, well… It doesn’t, really.
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