Friday, August 04, 2006

Fritzing it in the parking lot


This blog is really about me being able to position illustrations properly. The copy is almost incidental.

--Ivan

Fritz the Cat sleeping in the parking lot.
Fritz the Cat, thrown out by his wife, propositioned in the parking lot by some lonesome woman.
All of a sudden not homeless, and getting it on.
Afterwards, we go dumpster-diving and she falls right in. "It's not funny. Get me outta here."


Fritz the Cat sleeping it off in the parking lot.
Knock on the window.
It is the chief of police.
Whatcha doin'? Just wanted to see if you're all right.
Good thing it's a small town.

Fritz the Cat hitchhiking to Toronto (car won't go; it is only used for sleeping)
Fritz the Cat picked up by off-duty Metro cop.
Hit all the bars with Metro cop.
Back to ":home" in the parking lot...Barbie set up just back of the trunk. I fry something, hoping the cops won't come. But the cops are right here. Man, this is real camping.
Cop and I have a drink out of the trunk.
How the hell are we going to have a leak, out here, with all the cars, all the people?
"Here, I'll show you says the cop....Trouble with you is you don't get out enough."
Cop kneels down, hauls her out, pees righ under the rocker panel of my broken-wown old Dodge.
I follow suit.
Looks like two guys, in turn checking something under the car.
"You don't get out enough."

Fritz the Cat now all alone.
Swiss Chalet guy brings some chicken. "Ding-Hao," I say in Cantonese.

Chop

The parking lot seagulls are alighting, screaming their heads off. They are after my chicken scraps.
Tomorrow, it'll be scouring in between the white and yellow lines, looking for cigarettes.

Somebody else taps at my window.
It is another hobo.
Turf war. He won't leave. Wants my "Home". I get on the cell phone that doesn't work. He sees me and leaves.

Another bum greets me in the morning. He wants to know my secret. How come you a rich bum, have car and never be out of cigarettes? I want to know your secret. I want to follow you around.

I go out into the parking lot and he follows me, as if out of a Charlie Chaplin movie, out of some antique caroon, where if I walk with a limp, he copies, also walks with a limp and the occasional hop.
I tread on a cigarett package, walk on. He also treads on the cigarette package and walks on.
"I read your book," he says.
How come a bum has read my book?
"I spend a lot of time in the library. What is your secret?"
"Glad you read my book, but you're starting to get on my nerves. Stop following me."

Quiet again in the parking lot.
A gorgeous woman taps on my side window. "Here is five dollars for gas. Keep you warm. It's a cold night.
"Why thank you. What's your name?
"Dianne."
And with that she was off in her pert blue Audi.

Ah, the gutter and other good places.
But the timing must be right.
Wrong time, wrong place and you are dead.

15 comments:

DoubtingThomas said...

One time I asked a Chinese guy what "Ding Hao" meant and he claimed he had never heard of it. Stupid roundeye!

Came across another guy that picked up ciggy butts and finished smoking them. He was crazier than a shithouse rat.

"Aqualung, my old friend," (Shudder)

ivan said...

You round-eyes are all crazier than shithouse rats.

ivan said...

Oh,
If you say something that sounds like maka-hao it might mean "your mother's smelly pussy" in which event they will chase you with meat cleavers and baroque talk
balloons with exclamation marks.
Get it right!

Erik Ivan James said...

I enjoyed this, Ivan. Relate. Visual. Good writing.

ivan said...

Thanks Erik.
Noticed the frustrated film maker, huh?

ivan said...

Note to Erik:
Would you believe I was commissioned by the Audubon Society to write a film script about Northern Ontario animals and got such a mental block about it all that I couldn't finish the script? This was thirty years ago and I'm still scrwed up about it.
Better to write about the "animals" in my blog, I suppose.

DoubtingThomas said...

"The Sex Life of the Randier Animals of Northern Ontario", a film by Ivan Porkchop. I'd pay to see that! Pity it was never made. Too late the Phalarope?

ivan said...

My *&%ing uncle by marriage, Dave Smith took up the cudgels where I'd failed, produced something called "Sharptooth--The Year of the Beaver and sold it not only to Audubon (where he was a minor film editor) but also to all schools in Canada. Sharptooth made oodles of money for my uncle Dave, and I know why. A seasoned editor, he knew how to write visually--you could actually see the beaver building his lodge...building it in the wrong place (not enough water) and finally getting it right (Even we Canadian beavers sometimes f*ck up).
My son, reading the book years later, thought the book hilarious, as it was "so dull."
I tried to explain that beavers were in the lumber business (small scale), but my son would have none of it. "Beavers are boring."
Yet, forty years later, I do beiieve "Sharptooth--A year of the Beaver", by David Allenby Smith is still on kids' reading lests in the school in Ontario.
I'm just kicking myself, haveing all those connections, and blowing it.

I did eventually produce a novel about my family's travails in a country very much like Afghanistan today--and it worked.
I think I'll put the Black Icon up again now that some of Zerby's pals over at the Star (very Greek) are interested.
One Greek cat is a film maker.
There is hope?

Shesawriter said...

OMG, I remember that movie. I was a kid when it came out, and I couldn't imagine why my mom wouldn't let me see it. I mean, it was a cartoon after all. LOL!

ivan said...

Thanks Tanya.

I've been an R. Crumb fan most of my adult years.

I was a bit older than you --quite a bit actually--and recall really enjoying the film.

Whoda thought it would later be kind of a soundtrack for the shank end of my life!

It was the actual strip that really got me,like the depressed couple: She: "Let's watch TV."
He: "Why bother?"

Crumb was in his heyday after his LSD trip, where his characters developed shoes bigger than their heads.
A recent documentary showed Crumb to be really unhappy with the film.
Said they (the producers) were welchers, rip-off artists and frauds.

The last book of R. Crumb strips had him telling the story of Franz Kafka's METAMORPHOSIS, something I could really get into, where this quiet, successful middle aged guy wakes up one day to be a giant cockroach hanging from a ceiling.

I do believe Robert Crumb was a genius not only of the Sixties, but perhaps the century.

...The rest of us have to content ourselves with being word freaks.

ivan said...

p.s. to Tanya,
I haven't written to R. Crumb, but I have written to the founders of MAD Magazine while in the course of producing a communications thesis on MAD for Ryerson University.

They gave me a MAD answer:
"You are now one of us, but remember what Groucho Marx said,
'I wouldn't want to be a part of any club that would have me as a member :-)'"

R.J. Baker said...

Fritz the Cat sure gets around.

Is he writing another novel?

As Willie would say, "Life is just another scene
In this old world of broken dreams
Oh, the night life, it ain't no good life...But it's my life."

ivan said...

Stop the presses!
R.J. Baker is alive!
Good.

Fritz over here is futzing with an idea of being Jacques Custeau diving into life experience, coming up agains parallel universes that might explain himself to himself.

Perhaps
a) You have not been abandoned by all
b) Where you think you are inadeuate, you are really not. (Do I owe that bit of encouragement to Jaye Wells?)
Anyway, R. J. Nice to see you alive and kicking.

R.J. Baker said...

Good to be...alive and kicking. You?

ivan said...

I am largely FITH, that is to say, F*cked In The Head.

Making noises, however in Antonia Zerbisias' blog in Toronto Star about all my books.
Resulted in response from a guy who has sold a documentary. He can sell my documentary?
My novel disguised as a documentary? I certainly tend to write that way. Terse.