Late Night Conversations: Act II

ACT II: Winging It

Part I: Prologue

SCENE

A starry evening on a suburban street, lit by a row of faintly glowing lampposts. A tall wooden fence lines a grey walkway with overhanging luscious vegetation. In the distance, chirping crickets can be heard disrupting an otherwise apprehensive silence.

CALVIN, CADOR, JOHN and CLANCY stand behind the fence; the sound of closing car doors can be heard. Only their faces can be seen, lit by an eerie glow emanating from a nearby lamppost but shrouded by the overgrowth. There is a rustling of plastic bags followed by a loud thud that echoes through the night.

John (looking aghast at CADOR): Dude. Those speakers are massive. They look like they weigh a ton.

Cador: Bro, they’re fucking heavy, but they’re pretty ace speakers.

Clancy (sarcastically): So ace you don’t take them out to parties anymore?

Cador: I’m trying to change my image bro. What did you bring?

Clancy: Oranges.

John: You’re joking right? (The sound of a rustling plastic bag can be heard as he grabs the oranges off CLANCY.) Who brings oranges to a party? These are over-ripe as hell man. They’re going to be bitter.

Clancy: What? (The sound of a rustling plastic bag can be heard as he snatches the oranges back off JOHN. He looks into the bag and repeatedly sniffs.) Fuck, I think you’re right… What’s wrong with bringing oranges anyway? Better than bringing a shitty camera. At least you can eat oranges.

John: Every party needs a camera man. (Takes out a large camera and takes a picture of CALVIN. The flash is blinding. Looks down and chuckles.)

Calvin: Dude, delete that.

John (laughing heartily): Fat chance.

CALVIN tries to reach for the camera but JOHN quickly withdraws it.

John (with a mischievous grin): This is going on facebook.

CALVIN sighs.

Cador: Ey Calvin, did you end up bringing twister?

Calvin: Yeah man, found it on the bottom of my drawer. I haven’t taken it out since that last time when I broke my rib playing it.

Clancy: How do you break your rib playing twister? That’s stupid.

Calvin: Some fat bitch landed on me.

There is a momentary silence. A strong breeze rushes through the trees, wailing as if in utter despair. The light from the lamp post flickers briefly.

Clancy (smiling suggestively at CALVIN): So Calvin. What’s the plan for tonight? Talk her up? Get her number?

John: Yeah dude, what’s the plan? You have to talk to her. It’s imperative.

Cador: Bro, I swear, if you don’t talk to her tonight, I’m going to smack you a new one.

Calvin (waving around his box of twister playfully and avoiding eye contact): I’m still not one hundred percent convinced that she likes me man.

John: It doesn’t matter if it’s not one hundred percent. You just need her to be interested in you to some degree. Besides, we’ve already established that the interest meter is pretty damn high. Fuck, I’d be stoked if someone had one percent interest in me.

Calvin (dropping his box of twister and bending over to pick it up): Fine, I’ll talk to her.

JOHN moves towards CALVIN and moments later, CALVIN howls in pain.

Calvin (angrily): Why did you sack whack me man? That fucking hurt. I’m wearing fucking skinnies.

John (laughing): Good to know you got some balls. You’re going to need them.

Clancy: Hey guys, I think we better get going to this party.

Cador: Yeah man, we’re pretty darn late.

CADOR, JOHN and CLANCY begin walking off. CALVIN remains, his head lowered, dejected. He takes a deep breath, lifts his head, but in doing so, drops his box of Twister. He swiftly bends over to pick it up, and scurries to join the others.

Part II: The Aftermath

SCENE

It is pitch black and silent. Spotlights shine on JOHN, CALVIN, CLANCY and CADOR, lifelessly slumped on dull wooden chairs in a neat file.

Cador: We fucked up bro.

Calvin: Don’t worry guys. You tried your best. That’s all I care about. I’m not disappointed. Really.

John (sighing): Nah man, I fucked up big time. I accidentally told everyone that you liked her man. Remember? When the word ‘love’ came up for that stupid word game, I was like, ‘Oh! Calvin feels this for her’. Fuck I’m stupid.

Clancy (with a dejected laugh): That was pretty funny though, man.

Cador: Bro, I really thought we had it when we were outside watching you twirl those fire things Clancy. I swear Calvin was about to talk to her.

Clancy: Sorry guys that was my bad. I didn’t mean to send a burning piece of debris at her head. That was fucking embarrassing.

Calvin (looking down): As I said guys, don’t worry about it. I really don’t mind. I didn’t speak up in the end.

John: Man, if things just could have been different.

The spotlights dim.

Part III: An Alternate World

SCENE

A grand room in Catherine’s apartment. Myriads of people are gathered in clusters, their voices forming a chorus of chatter, like an incessant static drone, harmonizing with the introduction of ‘My Love’ by Justin Timberlake, that can be faintly heard in the distance. The room is clean, well-lit and vibrant.

CADOR, immaculately dressed and perfectly postured, with an air of arrogance, can be seen in the background conversing with an elegant woman. JOHN, CLANCY and CALVIN, are in the foreground, similarly exquisite, conversing with each other, as a flock of ladies look upon them with approbation.

Clancy: Cador seems to be doing a good job over there.

Calvin: I hope he doesn’t over exaggerate.

John: Don’t be so negative Calvin. He doesn’t need to over exaggerate. Look at those girls over there. (Slightly tilts his head in the direction of the ladies.) They’re all over you. If you have confidence, you can get anyone you want.

Calvin (casting an inquiring look at Cador): I wonder what he’s saying…

CADOR walks over to the trio with a confident strut and a triumphant grin spread across his face.

Cador: Guys, we’re in. She reckons you’re a superhero now Calvin. If she asks, you saved some kid from getting run over the other day.

Clancy: Dude, what the fuck?

Clancy(excitedly): Whoa man… this is so happening.

John: You’re up Calvin.

Calvin: Alright guys, I’m going in.

CALVIN walks assertively towards the elegant lady, taps her on the shoulder and begins to engage in a conversation.

Cador: Bro I think he’s doing it. I think he’s actually doing it.

John (laughing): Fuck. What a beast.

Clancy: Guys, I’m happy for Calvin and all, but we’re wasting an opportunity here. (Turns to face the group of girls)

John: I don’t get it.

Clancy: Those girls over there are pretty much begging for us to come over. I’m going. (Walks briskly towards the girls).

Cador and John together: Hey wait up man!

CADOR and JOHN follow CLANCY.

Part IV: What Really Happened

SCENE

A claustrophobic room in Catherine’s apartment. People are scarce and scattered, their voices dissonant with a slightly distorted and sporadically skipping introduction of ‘My Love’ by Justin Timberlake that can be faintly heard in the distance. The room is cluttered, dimly lit and bleak.

CADOR, JOHN, CALVIN and CLANCY are huddled in a dark corner of the room. They are plainly dressed, hunched and wear austere expressions. CALVIN is tightly clutching his box of twister. In the background is an elegant lady, surrounded by a cluster of her friends. A booming voice proclaims: “What really happened.”

Cador: Calvin bro, you haven’t spoken to her all night. It’s now or never. Man up.

John: Dude, don’t worry about it. Just talk to her and get to know her.

Clancy: Don’t be a wuss. Just go.

Calvin(frustratingly): You don’t think I want to guys? It’s just… hard.

John: Dude seriously. She’s over there having a chat. Just approach her. It’s not that hard.

Calvin: I-I-I… I can’t do it man. (Sighs.) Can we just go play Twister?

Cador: Bro, if you’re not going to do it, then I’ll do it for you.

CALVIN stares at the ground in silence. JOHN sighs with a tone of resignation.

John: Come on Calvin. Let’s play Twister. Let’s go Clancy.

JOHN, CALVIN and Clancy exit.

CADOR slowly walks towards the elegant lady. As he approaches, her friends disperse.

Cador: Hey…

The Light dims and all are silent; only the outlines of CADOR and the lady can be seen. The Lady shakes her head and walks away whilst CADOR remains, his head hanging low and lifeless.

ACT DROP

And a little music to end the post: ...Off by Heart by City and Colour

Lyrics:

The stars are aligned,
But they don't align for us
Excuse me for I am the ocean
And I will starve for you
Will You Know How To Stay Brave?
Such Fragile moments we share
You Are My Every Thing
And Even With Nothing To Say

Audio Entry: Human - The Killers

Aren't you guys lucky? You get to hear my voice.

Beautiful things can come out of ugly people too.

(not to say my singing is beautiful, nor that I am particularly ugly. Well I hope not anyway)

Note: If you're wondering why the guitar is so... shit (for lack of a better word)... I'm pretty much reading the chords off the screen whilst trying to read the lyrics at the same time. I'll do this song properly. I know I said I don't like this song, but it grows on you.

A Note About My Works

In response to some recent events and heated exchanges, I'd like to take a moment to mention that my pieces are on the surface superficial (how ironic), simple and unintelligent (topic-wise); but for those of you who read between the lines (as I'm sure most of you do), the purpose of my posts and perhaps this blog in its entirety, is to leave a trail of bread crumbs that would direct you to the revelation of my true character and my personal frustrations. Many of my posts embody the elements of my life and what surrounds it that makes me so increasingly disappointed in the world.

For those of you who would take offense at my musings, I direct this message as a poisoned dart designed to offend: your inability to comprehend my true intentions and your decision to be adversely swayed by my baits speaks volumes of your disposition. You disappoint me. To your kind, I will be frank in telling you to fuck off.

I am in a very sour mood. Almost as sour as these fucking oranges.

Sunny

Musical Talent (or lack thereof)

Note: This is NOT the next act of the play.

As an unemployed, uninspired, and eternally lethargic degenerate (also known as a bludging piece of shit), I spend my days in my humble abode, mastering the art of twiddling my thumbs (69 TPM, or twiddles per minute, is my record). So in a desperate attempt to escape this cycle of monotony and to forge a world that permeates a plethora of fluorescent colours and fascinating dimensions, I decided to rediscover my collection of musical instruments and equipment, hidden under thick layers of dust and an assortment of other paraphernalia. I'm sure many of you were expecting that I had cooked up a new batch of brownies. Fuck you. I had those yesterday (I actually don't do drugs. Truly).

Immediately, I was struck with an urge to exploit those creative juices hidden away in locked sanctuaries deep within my body. [I actually wanted to add a literary device here, where I compare urges for creative juices with hormonal teenage boys, but that's disgusting] The following are some abstracts of my musical talent (or lack thereof). Props to SJong, for succumbing to my requests (pleas) to participate in my recordings and also being gullible enough to believe that I would not post these files on the internet.

Hunger Strike, by the Temple of the Dog.

Just a Boy by Angus and Julia Stone.

I have more amazing videos, but I am too lazy to upload them, unfortunately for you. Apparently (according to HP Muvee) a 3mb song = a 48mb movie. Go figure.

p.s. if the singing sounds strange, that would be due to my backup vocals and not my sister. She sings quite well. Don't tell her this; it'll inflate her already overly large head. Don't tell her I said that either.

Edit:

I Believe in a Thing Called Love (solos) by The Darkness

Everlong by the Foo Fighters

Late Night Conversations: Act I

ACT I: I THINK SHE LIKES YOU

SCENE

In Calvin’s car. The vehicle is plain and old, with an aged yellow tinge and hints of rust on the hood. The intermittent sounds of a failing muffler can be faintly heard in the background. Outside is a perfect, cloudless day.
CALVIN is driving the vehicle, eyes fixed on the road ahead of him, one hand on the steering wheel. CADOR is sitting languidly in the passenger seat, with his legs lazily planted on the bonnet in an almost decadent fashion. CLANCY is in the back seat; his head resting on a half-open window as if in deep contemplation. JOHN is sitting next to him, his fingers drumming incessantly on the car door.

Cador (lifting himself from his original position and sitting upright): Bro, she’s got to like you. It’s so fucking obvious.

The muffler suddenly erupts, emitting a cacophony of explosive complaints. The car decelerates as it approaches a red light.

Calvin: I don’t know man… Like I said, I think you guys are seeing too much into things.

Clancy: Look. (Rises from his contemplative state and plants his hands on the shoulders of the driver’s seat, leaning forward.) When I was giving her a lift home yesterday she was asking me about you. She wanted to know about the guy in the blue shirt – the shy guy. She didn’t mention anyone else at the party. She didn’t mention Anton, she didn’t mention John -

John (Suddenly stopping his drumming and casting a glare at Clancy): Thanks dickhead.

Clancy (Sighing deeply): Shut up John. The point is, (sits back down heavily) she only talked about you.

John: I think she likes you too man. If what Clancy said is true, then she singled you out. She probably noticed your clothing because she wanted to rip it off with her teeth. (Erupts into laughter, and is joined by the others.)

Calvin: I still don’t think anything of it. I mean, it wasn’t as if she said ‘I like Calvin’. All she did was notice my shirt. Maybe she liked my shirt.

The muffler splutters again.

Cador: Bro, your car is a piece of shit. Go fix it up or something.

Calvin: What? There’s nothing wrong with it.

John: Dude, it sounds like we’re getting fucking shot at. Your muffler is gone, and your car pretty much looks like shit. In fact, my shit looks better than your car. Get a better one already.

Calvin: Man, my car can’t just change into a V8 or something, just like that. Besides, I can’t afford a new car at the moment.

Clancy (laughing heartily): You should get that muffler fixed up anyhow. If you got a paint job and added some extra perks, you’d be able be able to sell it for a higher price. If you ever decide to sell that is.

Calvin: I guess there’s some parts in this car that I’d rather leave behind, but I don’t think I could ever really part with it. And even if I decide to sell it now, I’m sure someone will buy the car without me needing to upgrade it.

John (rolling his eyes): Whatever man.

The four remain silent for a short while. CALVIN shifts nervously, whilst JOHN scratches his head. CADOR clears his throat.

Cador: Anyway, she added you on Facebook too and –

Calvin: You mean YOU added her on Facebook by hacking into my account.

Cador: Whatever bro, same shit. She accepted. As I was saying, she sent you a private message. A fucking private message.

Clancy: What? Really? Oh man, this is so happening.

John: Yeah, I saw the message too. She said it was a shame that they didn’t get introduced. How romantic. (Winks at the rear-view mirror. Calvin ignores the suggestive gesture.)

Clancy (excitedly): Did you write back?

Calvin: Yeah. She didn’t respond.

John: Dude, she probably just forgot to check her inbox. I have fucking one hundred and eighty nine unread messages on my account. Go figure.

CALVIN clutches the transmission stick and shifts to a higher gear as the light turns green. The car begins to accelerate and the roars of the failing muffler begin to fade away. Outside, ominous clouds begin to gather.

Calvin: I suppose.

Cador (sighing): She fucking likes you bro. Don’t suppose it. Know it. You’re nothing short of a stud. (Chuckles at his own joke)

CALVIN momentarily takes his eyes off the road and gives CADOR a quizzical look.

Clancy: This is so happening.

Cador: I’ll organize something so that you guys can meet again. It’ll be perfect. Another party, next Saturday. I’ll get Catherine to do something and I’ll get Lauren to make sure your girl is there. (Faces CALVIN and twitches his eyebrows suggestively.) I’ll play wingman. Put on your ‘A’ game Calvin. You’re going to score. (laughs)

Clancy and John together: This is so happening.

Lightning can be seen in the distance and a delayed clamorous wave of thunder follows. Rain begins to heavily fall, striking the vehicle with relentless violence. CLANCY quickly shuts his window.

John: Man, what the fuck is up with this weather? It’s supposed to be summer. You know, where the sun is out. (Growls angrily.)

Clancy: Are we almost there yet? We’ve been driving like this for like, an hour.

Cador: Calvin I think you took a wrong turn somewhere. You need to chuck a u-turn.

Calvin: Dude, to be honest, I don’t think I even know where I’m going anymore.

Cador: Bro, seriously. Chuck a u-turn at the next light. (Shuffles around in his seat restlessly, patting himself down) Where the fuck is my phone, I got to give Catherine a call.

CALVIN sighs, his brows furrowed as he listlessly stares at the winding road in front of him, his mind elsewhere. CLANCY rests his head on a closed window and shuts his eyes as if in repose. JOHN resumes his incessant drumming on the car door. CADOR sits back and places his feet on the bonnet; a satisfied look on his face, as he withdraws his phone from his pocket and begins to dial a number.

ACT DROP

Late Night Conversations

It is 1 a.m. Your body is urging you to succumb to sweet repose; chemicals are manifesting in your brain, lulling your senses and weighing you down, but you resist, because gossip awaits. I am no scientist, but I theorise that the semi-conscious trance induced by weariness, is a catalyst for revealing one's deepest secrets.

I am what you call a 'veteran' of late night conversations. I enjoy partaking in them. I do not enjoying waking up the following morning with the knowledge that I have revealed too much of what I have vowed to keep inside. I am not alone in my detestation for the repercussions of such conversations. I am sure that my friend, who shall remain nameless, is infuriated over his confession a few nights prior, thinking: "Fuck. Why did I tell everyone I shaved my pubes?"

As a consequence of musing over this (as a wanker no less), on a hot summer's day, I decided to write a play (because normal people do such things) that would serve as a glorified abstract of my experiences. The following is a preview:

“Late Night Conversations”
By Sunny Jong

THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY

JOHN SURRY

CADOR CARDEAUX

CALVIN YASUTOMI

CLANCY JAMAL

WALT ANDERSON

THE SCENES OF THE PLAY

ACT I. “I Think She Likes You”

ACT II. “Winging It”

ACT III. “The Truth”

ACT IV. “Pick One”

Terrible. I know. A draft has been written for the first act. I will post a new entry for each act that I complete, so stay tuned...or if you prefer, don't stay in tune. Dickhead.

The Relationship Game

The human race is deplorably superficial. We cling onto stereotype ideals and insist that aesthetics are but a facade that is pleasing to the eye; that what we search for in life is not beauty that withers in time, like the falling leaves on an autumn day, but rather, beauty that is ethereal and eternal. We struggle to overcome our primal instincts with archetypal perceptions of love and often we lose. Perhaps I am a pessimist. You may argue that I am ignoring millions of blooming relationships built on stalks with cellular substance and devoid of superficiality. But pessimism is a perspective that is fostered by disappointment. I have good reason to take such a stance.

The relationship game is not a sport that I partake in currently. I am in indefinite hiatus for reasons I shall not disclose. In its stead, I spectate. I sneak into arenas through back doors: MSN, Facebook and house parties. My most recent attendance was heartbreaking. As I cheered for my team, I witnessed every attempt at goal dismally missing the target. It was torture. I glanced in askance at the opposing supporters; their faces contorted in disgust at such a poor display of skill. In the background are echoes of the coach, whose boisterous instructions fell on deaf ears. I dug my head into the depths of my palm in the hope that the guilt of accidentally revealing my teams strategy (or rather, strategem) to the opposing team in the midst of my rambunctious cheers, would wither away like the momentary image of an afflicted reality as I closed my eyes. The night wore on in similar fashion and as the game ended in despair - a goalless affair - I left with a sense of anguish.

The inevitable criticism of the days play arrived with perfect alacrity. There is nothing elusive about the words of a critique; they fire literary knives that leave hidden wounds. Our team was degraded to the level of dogs, desiring the image of a bone etched into the blue sky by floating clouds. Our ambition was too great; we were destined to fall short in a match where the disparity was strikingly 'overt'. I pondered over these musings, standing in front of a misty bathroom mirror. As I began to succumb to the belief of our inferiority, my dim reflection seemed to darken and fade further into oblivion. A trickling droplet of water split the reflected enigma in two, tracing a path that ran down its chest. I washed my face with a violent furry, the droplets of water like shards of broken glass.

"...pessimism is a perspective that is fostered by disappointment."

I wished that I could clarify the misconceptions that these critics possessed. That lack of skill was no indication of lack of heart. That lack of skill did not mean lack of effort. That lack of skill is severed from individual persona. That we are not all blessed with natural talent, abilities and attributes. I could not help but believe that our shortcomings stemmed from the follies of first impressions - the lovechild of superficiality. It seems that Austen's Pride and Prejudice remains relevant in our modern context.

Since that game, I have hungered for a rematch to prove that our team has the ability to be worthy opponents, or perhaps it is for more selfish reasons. Fuck that. I think I'll go back to ignoring the undertones present in these observations, sit back and watch the bullshit unfold. It was less painful that way and certainly less taxing on the brain. Fuck you 2u English for making me analyse shit.