Conversations From the Red Phone

liz

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ABBREVIATED MINUTES FROM THE FIRST MEETING OF LEISURECANE, 11/5/08:

“Professional and Ugly”

“well i don’t have the software.”
“We’d be hard-pressed to have it printed right now.”
“That’s 10.”

“You could call the Leisurecane chatroom the Leisurecane Garden.”
“Are we going to edit it this time?”
“I don’t want you touchin’ mine, dude.  I want all the scratch-outs, and dot-dot-dots and shit.”

“ever been to Kabuki?”

“At this place I’m working we have a full setup.”
“we have to ride the electric bike, and film it.”

“ohhhh, ok.”
Rainstick sounds.

“We could do that, but it’d be REALLY expensive.”

“It would be really funny to have the Leisurecane Garden look like that.”

“I have to take off in 10 minutes.”

“Your house is light and crunchy.”

“I look forward to this stuff rollin’ in, and we’ll do what we can.”

“You scanning stuff set?”
“Yeah, yeah, yea…”

“1 o’clock?”
“Me and my pajamas?”
“Stoked.”

“I have a dance show coming up – not this weekend but next weekend.”

“The stuff we have is going up Saturday, this Saturday, the 8th.”
“A future erotic issue.”

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“Please Don’t Leave Me By the Television”

Ryan Alpers

Maybe we’re wrong.  Maybe this is something more than you think it is.  Maybe if you read this standing up, rather than sitting down, your legs will start to feel faint, and you’ll fall to the ground.  Maybe, when I am writing this, I become bored, stop writing, come back later and crumple this up in a ball and burn it in a small Weber grill.  Maybe this never even saw ink and paper, and never really existed outside of a computer screen.  Maybe you’re still reading this, thinking about something else, so you put this down, stretch your back a bit, walk outside and realize that you’ve forgotten your umbrella.  Maybe I am by the television, unread.

A loud explosion, and hundreds of me explode in thousands of pieces in a parade in Des Moines.  Or, somehow, I end up in space.  Or you do.  Maybe I am trapped inside this story, or maybe Jim is.  Don’t you know Jim?  He’s been here for years, a little pudgy at the sides, short red hair, pigeon toes?  I mean, really – Jim is a great guy.

“Hello,” Jim says, waving frantically a short distance away, “great day, isn’t it?”

Maybe I’m there with Jim, controlling him with piano wires attached to his elbows, shoulders, knees, and head like some county fair sideshow.  Maybe I’m creeping slowly closer behind you; can’t you feel my breath on the back of your neck?  That’s a little strange though – I think that I would much rather take a short nap in the middle of the afternoon, and then go for a swim minutes before sunset some warm evening.  But I’m still here with you.  Hey, are you going to eat that?  Thanks.

Let me be straight with you for a minute; Jim’s got this huge crush on that person over there and wants you to put in a good word for him.  Go ahead, just a little head-nod and a smile?  All you need to say is, ‘Jim says hello,’ it’s easy.  What?  You’re not gonna do it?  You’re just gonna sit here and read?  Quitter.

Maybe you stopped reading and went to go introduce yourself to the lady over there, or maybe you found that man there more attractive, and just wanted to show him this crazy story you’ve been reading.  Perhaps this person you later marry in shady circumstances in Reno, only to curse the name of Jim after the love of your life shot you in a dingy suite at The Nugget.

“Hahaha.”

Jim, stop laughing.

“Sorry,” Jim says.

It’s OK Jim.

Maybe it’s a good thing that you’re reading this, instead of doing a number of other things that wouldn’t really be as good for you as this.  Or, you could be doing stuff cooler than this.  I sure hope I am.  I mean, I’d much rather be free-diving for abalone or riding an elephant or eating Mentos and drinking some Diet Coke.

Oh, damn, Jim did you see that?  Jim just did the Mentos and Coke thing!

“I think I’m gonna die,” Jim says.

Careful where you step, there’s Coke everywhere, I mean, you wouldn’t want to mess your shoes up, would ya?  Or maybe you would, just so you’d have something to show people when you tell ‘em this crazy story.

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