Laugh Resort full of laughs

I went to the Laugh Resort to watch the comedy show. Laugh Resort prides itself “Shoot from the hip without aiming below the below the belt.” The show was super hilarious. I started to realize how much Toronto offers – breeding ground of many talented comedians, epicenter of musical and drama event including one of the world’s largest film festival, and top North America destination for Hong Kong singers to hold their overseas shows.

The other day, I heard my classmate complaining that Toronto lacks a unique character like New York has. As a minority, I certainly prefer it this way more than the "melting pot" USA.

Poem in Anger

Emotionless. He looks like those replicas in Madam Tuso.
Restless. He wrestles and hassles like a mouse in cage.
Time. Meaningless if there is no sense of importance and urgency.
Help. No one hear him. No one see him. Wonder himself, insignificant or unseen.
World. His own world. Isolated. Surreal. Dreamy. Uncertainties.
Anger. People think he is lucky. Only he knows the flames breath out and in.
His song. Nowhere man, doesn’t know what he is doing.
His plan for nobody. His point of view doesn’t exist.
Joy and peace. Maybe the early spring next year will give a hint.

Reminiscene of Beijing Winter

Today’s weather is quite strange. A mysterious haze crept from the lake, swallowing the CN Tower and diluting the sunny blaze. The haze reminded me of Beijing. But it was different. That was the smog from burning coal in some part of the town, where electricity was still a luxury. That was also the steam coming from the on-street hawkers selling dumplings, pancake, potatoes and stewed lamb. Walking along San Li Tuan (entertainment district), you will bump into several of these hawkers, who fight with DVD sellers to get your business. This is the hustle and bustle side of Beijing.

Second City Improvisation

Second week into this improvisation class by Second City. Quite daunted at first by some of my classmates – child actor, veteran comedy, daily show host… I was not funny even in my mother tongue, let alone a second language.

The instructor started the class with a comforting note: everyone can be funny, it’s about team work, not an individual show. And for the first two days of the classes, we didn’t need to talk, we just focus on actions. Now, whether I will end up doing anything in comedy, I don’t know. But I am sure I enjoy the class!

Hamlet

Hamlet was the Denmark prince who revenged for the murder of his King father, a tragedy by Shakespeare. You may criticize that Hamlet was too indecisive, struggling between taking actions and thinking to take actions. In fact, many of us are procrastinators ourselves, waiting for higher salary to do charity, waiting for a more promising job to do a better dad, waiting for that can’t-miss opportunity to shine our best…

What about the King, the spirit which had haunted and moved Hamlet to revenge. Is he a good spirit fighting for fairness, or an evil one messing up Hamlet’s life?

Javier Oreguela

A short fiction using the concept of misperception.
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“This’s getting freakin’ annoying!” Louis was shocked by the slip of tongue. Months of working in this hell, sonofabitch investment bank had exploded him, he thought. Javier, Javier, Javier, such a moron, bluff and drama king.

Say in the thanksgiving office party, Javier would impersonate Shakira, shaking his ass off and reminding everyone that he and Shakira came from the same village in Colombia. Awful! He would laugh at Louis’s Singaporean accent, a sore point. But here’s what Louis found most disgusting - Javier always started off a sentence with “When I was in Harvard, …”. Louis was sponsored by the Singaporean government to Cambridge and graduated first class. But he preferred to stay under the radar for fear of questions on how he could get away from the compulsory military training, that’s another story. Louis could only express his hatred in private. Everyone loved Javier – the secretary, managers, directors and clients. Javier was the untouchable gold, the high-flying star.

Perhaps the numerous late-nights crunching spreadsheets, gulping down caffeine mixed with red-bull, and toying with the Bloomberg machines created certain camaraderie. Louis found the better side of Javier– humorous, street-smart and smooth. He also learnt tons from Javier, how to cover ass in office, how to schmooze with the secretaries, and what’s a good pick up line ….

Last Sunday, they went out for drinks to celebrate a record-breaking 130 hours week. After some Vodka and pot, Javier half drunkenly, half seriously said,

“Mi Amigo, you know how the formula goes, white guys - yellow chicks, white chicks – black guys, black-chicks - Latino guys. Asian dudes, sorry man, that sucks! But what can you do? Stand up for yourself! Fight for what you want, si?” He grimly griped his fist and crushed the Rancheritos into crumbles, cascading into the Vodka. Louis did not disagree with it; he just didn’t realize the inequality had become so universally apparent.

Next morning, Louis came to the office fashionably on time. Walked past Javier’s desk, empty, kind of expected. Started reading emails, Louis was caught by the one marked “Important and Urgent.”

“Javier Oreguela was fired from Goodman & Company due to unsatisfactory performance.” This was impossible, Louis thought. Feeling an urge to “fight for yourself”, Louis dashed to the director’s office to do remedies.

“I have been working with Javier. I can prove he’s a great analyst!” Louis stepped back after he finished the statement, which he found ridiculous and naïve. Who he thought he was?

The director was somewhat surprised by Louis’s impetuosity. He frowned, motioned the analyst to sit, and then swiveled the laptop monitor showing Louis the CNN news. The headline read, “Gilberto Rodriguez Orejuela, once one of the world's most powerful criminals, has been extradited to the US to face drug smuggling and money-laundering charges.”

“Gilberto is Javier’s dad.”

“But Javier has nothing to do with the cartel, right?”

“In Goodman here, our clients come first. They include the US government. Louis, I know how it feels. But focus on your work. You ARE the star in this office! We all want to groom you into great success one day.”

Weary Professional

My first attempt of a poem, using first peson voice.
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What is more exhausting than a whole day work?
What is more stressful than a tight deadline project?
A professional, I used to be; now a jobless dad with two kids to feed.
I went back home with the big envelop, only to find my wife’s exciting look.
Anther baby is expected, she said, and hopefully I would soon get promoted.
The word “layoff” came to the tip of my tongue;
Yet I curbed it, and tried to smile somewhat hesitant.

Everyday I still wake up early like a professional will.
Wearing a suit, my wife will help make my tie.
I take the TTC going southbound to Bay Street,
cologne, briefcase, and Business Week.
Take out my Blackberry every minute,
pretending clients need me as advisor, who offers them much wit.
I elbow my way to get off from Union Station,
like a veteran in the corporate jungle.
Fittest survives, stepping on others’ toes and heels are just fine.

Another listless day! Wasting, struggling, whining, agonizing and pretending.
There is nothing I can do, no place I can go, no one I can share my shame.
“Outlook” no longer shows me the agenda; painful to pretend I am still a lawyer.
I sit at a table in Timothy’s, starting my day reading magazine with some intensity.
I planned my exact response if I bump into different acquaintances.
You know, the next big thing, great opportunity. Waiting for me, I can not miss.
I spend the afternoon wandering in Eaton Center, window shopping and
imagining how I could have spent the annual bonus, which I would never receive.

Squeeze into the train going back to the North. It is rush hour.
People were moving back and forth like dominos.
My shirt is wrinkled, making me more like a weary professional.
My wife would ask me about my day and my hypothetical project.
Same old, same old. It is exhausting. It is stressful.

Deal Or No Deal

“So Henry Davidson, you just rejected the bank offer of $350K. Three amounts left on the board, $1, $100 and the One Million Dollars. You have to open one more case before the next bank offer comes!” said Howie. Henry was contemplating. On the other side of the stage, there were his son Peter, his wife Suzy and his mother-in-law Sally, all condemning how stupid Henry was to reject the huge amount of money.

Henry had a choice from No. 3, 14 and 23. He gazed at the models. Suzy was like them a while ago; long while ago – No.3’s shiny cascading blonde hair and sparking eyes, No.14’s “36-24-36” and slender legs and No. 23’s mannerism and charm.

He smiled to the three angles and they smiled back. No. 3 was twirling her hair, unleashing an intense floral smell of Chanel No. 5. Her fuchsia lips seemed whispering, “hey young man, my boyfriend has gone, you wanna have a drink?” No. 14 was prepping her tiffany-blue chiffon halter and swaying towards Henry, so feminine that her hips rocked. She was inviting, “Come up to my apartment, will you? My parents are out of town.” Then No. 23 was closing her eyes like an elegant swan, waiting for Henry to lift her veil after they had both said “I do”.

“Number 14, Idiot!” Suzy’s squeak seized Henry from his delight, water mouthing moment back to reality.

Jesus Christ! What had time done to Suzy? Henry shrugged – Suzy had been blasted like a flat tire, superfluous meat over here and there, and spider vein overlaying her thighs like the Manhattan subway map. Henry found it too unbearable to reconcile Suzy’s past and present. He reoriented towards Howie and uttered, “Number 23.” Marriage must be the ultimate disguise.

The flurry sweater Henry was wearing would just prove that. He had been kicked out from the bedroom and sleeping with his dog in basement. Punishment for failing to get a paid rise and to clean the toilet up to Suzy’s standard. Henry missed playing football with Peter. The smell of grass, sweat and mud, the bonding between father and son made Henry feel like a real man. But Peter had gradually become more like Suzy, seeing Henry as a loser and staying away from him. And Sally, the mom-of-a bitch had never liked Henry. She didn’t even come to their wedding.

“Open the case!” Howie requested. Bingo! $1 was in case Number 23, meaning Henry still had a chance to win the million dollars. Banker came back with an even more appealing offer, $550K.

Henry felt luck, for the first time, was on the good side. But he also faced a predicament. Taking the offer, Suzy would welcome him back to the bedroom. Peter would show respect to me, and maybe his Sally would start to appreciate Henry as a person.

On the other hand, Henry could almost smell and feel and sense and know the one million dollars was in his chosen case. One million dollars, thirty years of his salary! He could start a new life with a premium apartment at Central Park, travel around the world with his dog, quit his miserable job, or even date a couple of models. He would live the American dream! His son would admire him. He would teach Peter how to be a man.

Howie was saying something to him but he could not make out of it. Henry took a quick glimpse across the audience. Yes, no one deserved the money more than he did.

What about divorce! Suzy and her mom would certainly beg him and he would humiliate them. But wait, there was no prenup. So Suzy could get half the million. NO NO NO. This was his hard-earned money! No one could touch it!

Henry was disconcerted by the shouts and yells of the multitude. Everyone was eyeing his case. He grasped it firmly with both arms, perplexed and dashed out from the NBC studio.

Why writing fiction is more fun

Stephen King ever mentioned “don’t think about plot too much” in his book On Writing. Instead, he preached let the characters take on their path, sometimes decide on their fate. I found it was weird. Having written a couple more assignment, I started to believe. That’s exactly what differentiates creative fiction and creative non-fiction, at least from the writer’s perspective. For creative non-fiction, you know exactly what’s going to happen, what’s the turning point, and what’s the ending. You instead focus on the angle, the voice, and the details that enhance the flow and credibility. But for creative fiction, if you characters are well-developed, you have to “listen” to them and let them gear the direction of you story. That’s also the fun part I now start to enjoy.

The Devil's Pawnbroker

This week’s assignment is using narrative portfolio to write a short biography of a creative character, modeled after the piece “The Hit Man” in Sudden Fiction

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The Devil Pawnbroker

Childhood

Strictly speaking, Lucy doesn’t have any childhood if childhood symbolizes love, sweet memories or laughter. At five, her parents were shot when the Japanese army crossed over the Manchuria, leaving her to a covetous uncle in Beijing. At twelve, uncle sells her to a landlord as the forth concubine for a hundred bucks. Displeased by Lucy’s defiance, the landlord rid her of to a whorehouse. She escapes, yet, a slim chance to survive given a far-flung famine all over China.

First encounter with Big Dee

Lucy is terribly starved. Her stomach howls as if she has swallowed the whole thunderstorm in her tiny tummy. Wait. It is indeed a thunder and the rain starts pouring over her already fragile body. Lucy is digging and scratching for anything to eat, tree skin, mushroom, dead bird or even corpse. A young gentleman shuffles and hands her a roasted chicken. Lucy gulps within minutes. The gentleman takes out more. “WoW, are you the G….” “No… no… no… I am the Devil but call me Big Dee. Be my pawnbroker, from today.” “soooooo, I can eat chicken?” “Of course,” Big Dee chuckles, “all money you can ever imagine and living forever. But there is a price. You have to trade your Love for all of these.” Without much thought, Lucy grasps hold of Big Dee like a life jacket. She knows it is a great deal, after all, love never knocked on the door throughout her miserable life.

The Business

All business is conducted at Lived Mansion, No. 99 on the Ninth Avenue. Lucy likes Big Dee’s business. It is simple: People come here for wealth, career or luck by pawning their limbs, organs, health, or souls, Big Dee’s ultimate pursuit. It is fair too, all done by freewill, choice and desire. After months of training, Lucy can manage the whole process from greeting client, discussing objective, negotiating, receiving pawnage, categorizing, shelving and record keeping.

First Client

Mr. Momoko comes to Lived Mansion for career promotion. Three kids, old parents and a huge mortgage he says. He will trade two years of his life for this. Deal. A week later, Mr. Momoko receives a promotion. He continues to climb up the corporate ladder and upgrades his house. A decade later, one of his sons joins the army, is sent to Vietnam, and is lost. Five years later, the son comes back only to find out it is too late. Dad just passed away a month ago.

Big Dee

Big Dee seldom appears at the Mansion unless for important deals involving souls or lives. To Lucy, Big Dee, her savior, is unassuming, eloquent and somewhat charming. But Big Dee also has his evil side. Lucy heard that the sparrow in the backyard was the last pawnbroker, being punished by Big Dee for misconduct, and same for the squirrel, the owl and the stone statue. .

Adulthood

Lucy convinces Big Dee to grow her to mid-twenties so that she can be more compelling, and can even do some outreach or counseling to proactively seek the lost soul. Granted.

Vacation

A typical vacation: flying to Paris for shopping, then Italy for lunch, Greece for the afternoon tea and Spain for a late dinner, slotting in a concert in London if there is time. Lucy loves facial. She doesn’t need Botox or any anti-aging formula though. The only annoyance is she has to change her dermatologist once a while, tenth time already. They are all top notch, yet life is too short for normal people.

Thunderstorm

Lucy hates thunderstorm which reminds her the dismal days. She has to roast chicken and eat it fiercely to comfort and reassure herself.

Lovers

Lucy has over thousands of lovers, and counting, from each country and generation. But she loves none of them. To her, they are just packages of organs and limbs which present possibilities for Lived Mansion. Some of them became repeated clients at the Mansion.

Baby

Lucy has longed for a baby for decades. She does not love baby, but believes baby can make her happier. One day, a middle-aged man comes to the Mansion to trade his wife’s six month old fetus for more money. Deal. Lucy looks at the fetus in the flask and thinks about taking it. But what if Big Dee discovers? How painful it will be to stuck it in my tummy? What if the baby born with defects? What if the baby doesn’t like to stay in the mansion? What if my love to this baby is unrequited? What if it dies before I die? Maybe it’s best to keep it this way. Everyday, Lucy walks by the flask, kisses the baby on the glass surface and it waves back, or so it seems.

The Lover

But there is this new friend Lucy meets in a flight across the Mediterranean Sea. He is different, from all the men she knows, and much so from Big Dee. Sipping her Moet & Chardon, Lucy peeks at her neighbor, who is looking into the sky. His refined face looks solemnly thoughtful, yet genuinely kind. She is intrigued. Then they start talking, exchange emails and visits. But, there is something missing, apparent to her, apparent to him.

The Love

Lucy has to make a very tough decision. She walks down to the cellar, stops at the last aisle, picks up the flask labeled Ms. Dahlia’s Love.

Lucy’s Death

With the flask in one hand, a jacket in the other, Lucy dashes out of the Mansion, passing the sparrow, squirrel, owl and statue, unknowingly walking into a forest. A pungent smell of rotten bodies, the thunderstorm, a downpour, a sense of déjà vu. Lucy scurries as fast as she can and suddenly she feels her head is behind her feet. Lucy is throttled by a hanging stem.

Lucy dies, dies of hunger, a hunger for love.

In one part of the world, a handsome gentleman is looking for another struggling, heartless or hopeless human being to offer help, and hope, and hiring.

In other part of the world, another gentleman is seeking for the same lost souls, to offer rescue, and redemption, and reborn.