TV show idea: “A. Turni at Law”
A. Turni at Law is the story of Alphonso Turni, an Italian-American lawyer and former college basketball standout. Each week he helps a special guest with an unusual legal problem, while simultaneously tracking the coach of the team that knocked his squad out of the Final Four. Was everything on the up-and-up on that fateful March day? Who was that shadowy man outside the locker room? And will Turni’s obsession with the tourney be his undoing as a lawyer?
For the answers to all these questions and more, tune in to A. Turni!
Rules on the Ground
“We have certain guidelines on any of our excavations. They may sound strict, but they keep us safe.”
“Of course, professor,” said David. He knew that it was highly unusual for a sophomore to be taken on such a trip. He wanted to project an air of seriousness.
“First of all, if we find any kind of an ark, no opening it. It could melt your face.”
“Wait. Really?” David wondered if he was being put on.
“If you think these rules are too difficult for you…” The professor trailed off but maintained eye contact.
“No, of course not. I was just a little surprised because it sounds like something out of—”
The professor interjected, “Rule number two: if some guy is after you and he’s doing all kinds of crazy sword shit, don’t mess around. Just shoot him.”
“Professor, are all of your rules just crap from Indiana Jones movies?”
The professor’s mouth screwed itself into a sour frown. “No! What the hell kind of academic do you take me for? All the rules from Indiana Jones? Do you even want to go on this excavation?”
“I’m sorry. Yes, I really do. Please continue.”
“Thank you.” The professor straightened up in his chair. “If we find any sort of an idol statue don’t touch it at the same time as anyone else, particularly someone with a dramatically different worldview from your own.”
“Why not?”
“You could end up in his body, and vice-versa.”
The professor was still making back and forth motions with his thumbs as David exited the room.
It sounds like a cliche, but two little letters can make all the difference. For example, “Hi.” It’s only two letters long, and it might even sound trite—what utterance could be more common?—but to a person desperately in need of human contact, of connection, it is vital.
Also, when picking up a DVD for your child, read the spine carefully lest you end up with “Bi-Curious George.”
I try to talk to my wife about sports but she never seems to engage. All she ever wants to talk about is the three inch maggot-encrusted hole in my head where my scalp and skull have been eaten away for some reason. When I try to talk to her about the NFL draft she says stuff like, “Have you called the doctor yet?” Sometimes I think that “Mars & Venus” guy was really onto something.
I appreciate the concern
“Do I think I drink too much coffee? No. Each cup has a purpose. The first cup keeps me from killing myself. The second cup keeps me from killing you. The third cup allows me to feel OK with those decisions. I need to have the fourth cup to get dressed. God, I loathe pants. The sixth cup allows me to walk into the office and smile when I see the patent for my chip board on the wall credited not to me but to Techouncil Labs. I don’t always slip a shot of whiskey in, but if I do it will be cup number five. It depends on whether I’ve had a particularly good idea—if so I tend to need a little pick-me-up because who the hell signs away all his intellectual property rights at 21? Me! Cups six through ten give me an overall plus 20% modifier on general mood, and cups eleven through twenty improve my mood by 10% a shot.
So while I appreciate the concern, please only worry if you see me reaching for cup twenty-one. I should add: I mean before lunch. There’s a whole different calculus for coping with the afternoon.”
Nightly News
No, I don’t watch the news. Seriously, the question isn’t why I don’t—it’s why you do. I’m so sorry I don’t share your bourgeois values, and upper-middle class illusions about the state of our media. Did you know that a very small number of gigantic companies control a very high percentage of the news people like you consume? It is a very small number of conglomerations, like two, and a very high percentage, like nintey-eight. No, I don’t know if those numbers are accurate. Again, with your pedantic late-industrial mores. Accuracy.
If we had any way of knowing what those companies were that controlled all the media, we would probably begin to notice all sorts of biases because companies have agendas. I’m sure they’re there, in every broadcast. No, you’re wrong—I’m perfectly capable of knowing this is true without having seen the broadcasts in question. It’s called “Occam’s Razor”—why don’t you look it up in one of you bound books, that I’m sure you have so many of. Facist.
So where do I get my information? Typical running-dog-pig trick, to flip this back on me. Like I can’t see through this. But I’ll condescend to answer. I pick it up here and there, from people I trust. Time permitting. I have a lot going on, right?
The hell you mean, “There’s a lot going on in Iran, too”? I would’ve heard if there was. Listen, I can’t enlighten you all day. I have to get these Matrix DVDs back to Video to Go 6—my mom will kill me if she has to pay any more of my late fees. I tried to tell her Netflix isn’t weighed down with corporate crap like “due dates” but does the Nixonian post-Victorian listen?
Cohabitation: Morning the third
On the third morning in which they woke up in the same home as people who live together, she returned home from the corner grovery store to find the apartment empty and a length of ethernet cable attached to her modem and descending out through the rear bedroom window.
She saw that the cable, or more accurately cables as there were several attached with couplers, reentered the building through the basement window. She went down to investigate.
“I’m posting photoshopped images of your boss online,” he told her as she entered the room.
“Awful, pornographic images,” he added.
“Why would you do that? I know I told you he was being a jerk, but this could get me fired if it was traced back to me!”
“Duh, of course.” He rolled his eyes. “That’s why I’m not doing it from your apartment.”
Educating to serve
Hey everyone. Most of you probably know me as the co-writer-slash-producer of Lovely Kisses Behind Watchful Doors, the in-preproduction period film about forbidden love. It’s loosely based on “Romeo and Juliet” but we’ve updated the story to take place Victorian England. We’re all very excited, but we don’t have distribution yet so if any of you knows a guy please come right up after the presentation. I’ve brought some business cards. I’ve got the kind that are turned sideways, so the long part goes up and down and they are really narrow. I checked the wrong box at the printing place. Don’t get me wrong: I like to have fun! But I would never do something so zany as these sideways business cards. Mostly for kicks, I drink. A lot. Which brings me to the reason I’m here today: community service.
When the judge told me I needed to perform 200 hours of community service, I just about died. Literally. I almost died right there in the courtroom. Then, I thought through the thing some more. As a movie producer, I thought the best thing I could do was to go to L.A. high schools and let kids know about community service. If I came to gymatorium like this, and let 2000 kids know all about community service, and then repeated that 200 times, that’s 400,000 kids who now know about helping out. And if they all do 200 hours like I did, that’s 80 MILLION hours of community service. Million with an M. It would be like Pay It Forward, which my movie is also loosely based on. Don’t tell my lawyer I let that slip, since Pay It Forward isn’t in the public domain like Shakespeare. Seriously.
So here are some ideas on things you can do to service the community. How about going to a blind person’s home, and organizing his DVDs, so he can find them without seeing?
Or, like Miss Eve Capuletford in Watchful Doors you could help a domestic servant make a hat. This is a great one, because everyone loves hats and it also symbolizes becoming the head of the household. At least it does for Eve in our film. You’ve got to see the montage. Anyway, it doesn’t have to be your domestic servant either—L.A. is full of them!
Or you could work on a street team, helping some enterprising young producer get his name out there, with posters and stickers.
Wait, do blind people have DVDs? Maybe you should just make the blind guy a hat too. It could be your practice hat, since it wouldn’t have to look that good. Better yet, you could take him out for a day instead. No cop is going to stop a blind guy with a staple gun so he’d be a great addition to your street team.
Well so, has that been an hour? Can we round up on these community service dealios? Drive time has to count, at least. Sorry, as the nominal expert I should know this. What can I say, first time out.
So that’s the presentation, and if you know anybody in distribution please take a card. Damn, these things look weird. And remember, if you take one thing from this talk, I hope it’s this: the Pay it Forward thing doesn’t leave this gymatorium.
Cohabitation: Morning the second
On the second morning in which they woke up in the same home as people who live together, he was eating breakfast as she was about to walk out the door.
“You had better hurry up,” she said, “or you will be late for work.”
“Did we not have this conversation? I’m unemployed.”
“You told me you were a cashier at a shoe store.”
“That’s my cover story,” he explained as though talking to a small child. “I decided to tell people I have a relatively low paying job so they wouldn’t be interested in me for my money.”
“Do you have any money at all?”
He sighed. “This is what I was trying to avoid!” He then stormed out of the apartment without his pants. As she was already on her way out, they shared an awkward elevator ride.
Cohabitation: Morning the first
On the first morning in which they woke up in the same home as people who live together, he was getting out of the shower as she was getting in.
“There’s coffee made in the kitchen,” she said.
“You’ve hired a coffee maid! Outstanding!”
“A what? No, I made a pot of coffee. What were you talking about?”
“I thought you hired a woman who would wear a black and white outfit and prepare coffee whenever we wanted some.”
“How strange,” she said.
“I’d like to make out with you vociferously,” he said.
“I don’t think you’re using that word correctly.”
“Raaaarrr blaaaaarr gaaaaaarr,” he said loudly, while lunging toward her face with his mouth open and tongue ever so slightly extended.
