Short Autobiography

I was born in Bucharest, Rumania. Communism was drawing it’s last breaths at the time, but my parents were not aware of its imminent demise so, fed up with hardship, they decided to look for brighter horizons.
I was eight years old when we came to the US in pursuit of a better life... Ironically, despite my parents efforts and unlimited opportunity, I had no practical bone in my body, so I became a full time dreamer, a.k.a.: a starving artist,.. a writer...
I started to write as a child. It was the one thing that has consistently brought me joy, not to mention – praises from teachers, professors and, yes, even my parents.
I published my first piece at 17, and just kept going, always with the next “Great American Novel” on my mind.
While finalising my BA, I started to freelance as a writer, copywriter/editor for hire. From creative writings to editorials, from advertising to poetry – I can deliver. Please review my writing samples:

REVIEWS    EDITORIAL    COMMENTARY   FICTION     SCRIPTS   POETRY    RESUME

REVIEWS 1. Music 2.Theater 3.Book
(published on www.cultureshop.com, while they were still in business)

Rescued from the ordinary
(music/entertainment critique)

On Friday, April 25, The Aquarium Rescue Unit played to an appreciative and receptive audience at Lynagh’s Music Club in Lexington, Kentucky. Hailing from Atlanta, Georgia, the musically eclectic quartet displayed an extensive knowledge of musical styles ranging from Jazz, Fusion, Rock, Rhythm and Blues, and straight-up greasy Funk. The Aquarium Rescue Unit shifted easily and convincingly from genre to genre while still maintaining the core integrity of any given song, keeping the meter solid and simultaneously infusing their compositions with an edgy improvisational feel.
Having temporarily lost their singer only days before due to an unfortunate accident involving a lofty fall and multiple facial abrasions, ARU was forced to follow through with their touring commitments sans a vocalist and front man. Picking up the slack, however, was bassist Oteil Burbridge (who, it has been rumored, turned down an offer to play with Prince so he could continue playing with ARU), an accomplished instrumentalist who exhibited an intimate relationship with the fret boards of his three custom designed Modulus basses, which consisted of 4- and 5-strings, as well as a gigantic six-string with an F-hole ornately drilled on top of the pickups and to the left of the top strap holder.
Burbridge mesmerized the crowd with his facile and lucid attack on the bass. Every solo he took was greeted with a sincere din of applause and whistles. Striking the perfect balance, Burbridge neither underplayed nor overplayed, displaying a mature musical restraint which nonetheless held the audience in a rapt hypnotic state.
Also of note was Burbridge’s George Benson-esque use of scatting in tandem with the notes he was gingerly blistering out on his bass. This borrowed technique has seldom been used with other instruments besides the guitar; it provided an interesting counterpoint and juxtaposition that I have never heard played by any other bands.
Previously known as Col. Bruce Hampton and the Aquarium Rescue Unit, the band is currently in the midst of their second tour. Hampton, who now has a new band called the Fiji Mariners (who have played twice at Lynagh’s), has been a relatively unknown musical mainstay since the early 70s and has been most often compared to Frank Zappa and Captain Beefheart, but only in as much as keen social criticism and unabandoned sarcasm pervades his lyrics. Hampton and his former band mates in ARU once had a mandolin player, Matt Mundy, who added a strange twist to an already odd conglomerate of musical colors.
Sadly, Mundy was absent from Friday night’s line-up. Regardless, the music didn’t suffer and, if anything, ARU proved that playing off the cuff can be just as exciting — and certainly more challenging — than the pre-packaged arena shows that rarely feature improvisation.
Several songs began with rapid tempos that would eventually ooze into an adagio middle section where Burbridge and guitarist Jimmy Herring traded measures, soling back and forth and displaying their musical wares to the amazement and delight of the crowd. The drummer proved himself to be a percussive artisan with unimpeachable meter who played his double and triple strokes with a Buddy Rich-like intensity. Whether he was vamping over an intricate Fusion groove or laying back on a dreamy Jazz phrase, the drummer let loose his chops, all the while, one could assume, imagining the blinking red light of a metronome in his mind’s eye. As the saying goes, a drummer, depending on the degree of his or her skill, can make a bad band sound good or a good band sound bad. Fortunately, all of ARU’s members contributed equally to the diversity and complexity of their musical skills.
Rounding out ARU’s talented roster was a keyboardist (whose first name I didn’t catch), who was, if memory serves correctly, Burbridge’s brother. Playing flute to boot, he added a certain Progressive touch to the music that most readily called to mind the likes of Prog Rock dinosaurs Jethro Tull. Throwing in some sequenced drum tracks added some tasty sound reinforcement whose ultimate effect was that of reverberation in a large concert hall.
ARU was thankfully reminiscent of 70s Fusion acts such as Return to Forever and the Dixie Dregs, two bands who have both been huge influences on many contemporary instrumentalists. As result of the ever widening glut in Country music and similarly influenced genres, Lexington rarely gets an opportunity to witness the spectacle of truly gifted musicians. The crowd needed no rescuing from mediocrity on Friday night and, for once, the price of admission was almost worth the price of hearing damage.

Reaction to “subUrbia”
(theatre critique / play review)

As I entered the artsy shop I must have appeared a bit confused. “Is this where “subUrbia” is being held?” I asked a lady who seemed to work there. Seconds later I’m making my way to the back of the store and up a flight of steps. Visions of a shady anti-prohibition-style operation amused my mind as my destination was obscured by a forty-five degree turn in the stairs. I anticipated my ascent would terminate at the foot of a big door with one of those sliding peep holes. This would have completed the pretense, but, alas, the Scorsese in me was defused by an open hall and a single-file line. A gracious lady asking me to “pay what I can.” I took out my last seven dollars and through a fin ($5) in the donation basket (I had to get some cigarettes later). I stood in line accompanied only by my new-and-improved theatre-going attitude.
This was the first time I have ever been to a theater with the experimental box format. It was really interesting and a little awkward at the same time. Seeing the audience on the other side made me feel like my side was in the play. Having forgotten all our lines we just sat there letting the other actors carry the play (is that paranoia, egomania or inferiority complex? I think potpourri!). Basically, I felt a little self-conscious because I was alone (everyone else seemed to have a companion a.k.a. a crutch).
Once again having neglected to snag a program. I don’t know anybody’s name, but I’ll do my best to describe the characters. Hopefully you won’t hold this oversight against me too much.
My favorite thing about the play was that it was so raw. Every other word was ‘fuck’ or ‘shit’. Just like in real life. My generation has a profound inability to articulate itself. Many of my peers unwittingly fill in the verbal gaps with pointless curses (I, of course, am a saint and frown upon this fucked up way of communicating). The language alone conveyed the limited capacity of the characters involved therein. No punches were pulled and that, in this case, is admirable.
To my dismay, the overall play was not very good. The acting drifted from believable to forced, the stage set-up was too cramped, and the girl dyeing at the end was not powerful enough. The latter complaint is the one that bothered me the most. Was she supposed to represent the dead-end future of this portrayed generation?
With the unwanted help of a drunkard friend, the main character identifies his problem as fear. Ultimately nothing comes of this revelation. The main character’s girlfriend is a floozy and plans to run off with a rock star (who couldn’t carry a note in a bucket, incidentally). The racist drunk stays a racist drunk and the character with the fewest lines (the one we care least about) dies.... This play’s themes were terminal stagnation and absolute stupidity.
The lighting was functional and very standard. The set design never changed. All the scenes took place outside of a convenience store so the light-tech would brighten or dim the lights in accordance to the time of day it was supposed to be.
This play had too many loose ends. The acting was poor at times, which made me impatient to leave. I’m glad I didn’t have to be associated with it as more than a spectator!

Dark Art
(book/art review) - fragment

The second I saw the cover of J. K. Potter’s book, “Neurotica”, I knew that this was my guy. The esthetic discord offered in the book was just my cup of pee. “This dude is one cynical son-of-a-bee-ach!” I thought to myself. As I cautiously flipped the pages I dreaded the paper-cuts the images might inflict on my fingers. Could my mind endure the Agony and the Ecstasy of such extreme social commentary? Would the manifestations of this vision infect me with fanatical scorn for this world’s “Big Brother Bureaucracy” syndrome? Was I ready to pick the sleep-boogers away from the corner of my third eye?... I flipped and frowned and frowned and flipped. The artist looks at a world that is fucked and basically comes to the conclusion that all he can do is bitch about it. This, I can relate to. Color me sold!
The first piece that violated me was the “Soul Effigy”. A naked woman cradles her breasts as streaks of dried blood cover her cleavage. Her head is a fragile egg, held by a second pair of arms that upend from the bottom of her neck.
She has been damaged in some way. She may have been molested or spiritually traumatized, whatever the case may be, she is protecting what is left of her soul. The manner in which she clasps the egg reminds us that the innocence is still within her but it is well sheltered.
The “Tongue Visage” portrays a naked woman (again) squatting. Her elbows rest on her knees and her hands grip the hair on her head. A mouth with it’s tongue sticking out is in the place of the face. The face is superimposed on the tongue.
She regurgitates her own face in an attempt to be true to herself. The rebirth of a social chameleon’s original mask only creates a more twisted demon. The madness is overwhelming. There is no retribution once you’ve betrayed yourself.

BACK TO THE TOP

REVIEWS    EDITORIAL    COMMENTARY   FICTION     SCRIPTS   POETRY    RESUME

EDITORIAL

Welcome to our Region!
(editorial piece – published in Southern KY Vacations, tourism guide)

Scenic Beauty
In South Central Kentucky the still waters run deep and clean into gorgeous highland lakes, and the wooded peaks tower to add grandeur to the enchanting settings. Roaring rivers, natural arches, waterfalls, rock-filled gorges and thick forests complete nature’s finest landscapes in this part of Kentucky and create an abundant and diverse natural playground. There’s no reason to go anywhere else for your short or extended vacation! The friendly people of our region will also make you feel welcome, so you keep coming back to enjoy all we have to offer.

Lakes & Rivers
The grand buffet of outdoor recreation is set around three major lakes: Cumberland, Dale Hollow and Green River, all cradled like aqueous gems in the Cumberland Mountain range. Fabulous fishing, boating, skiing, houseboating, swimming, sunbathing and serenity await you. More complete information on these famous lakes and other attractions in this 10-county area is scattered throughout this vacation guide.

State Parks
Kentucky is known for having one of the nation’s finest State Park System. Some of these parks have a full-service resort setting, while others offer great recreational opportunities. Each facility is unique in its own way, but all maintain the highest quality of standards to provide you with a positive, memorable experience.

Outdoor Recreation
Our region offers a wide range of outdoor activities and recreational opportunities.
In areas near the lakes you can ride a raft down a tumultuous river, canoe on a meandering stream, hike into the heart of nature, camp in comfort or wilderness, ride horses or bikes through a maze of trails, or drive a golf ball down a well-manicured fairway.

An array of festivals celebrate the region’s resources throughout the year, beginning with eagle watches at Dale Hollow Lake State Resort Park in January, and ending with Kentucky’s largest holiday event, Christmas Island at General Burnside Island State Park (the state’s only island park, located in immense Lake Cumberland), during November and December.

History & Heritage
A wealth of historic architecture still stands as testament to life in the late 1700s. We have the oldest courthouse west of the Allegheny Mountains, numerous 19th century limestone buildings, 18th century log cabins, many Civil War sites, a house linked to Lincoln, and the drilling site of the first oil well in America. Deep in the mountains you’ll find a recreated coal mining community, former Indian cliff dwelling, and other evidence of the people and places that shaped this rugged land.
History and nature intertwine in a most charming way at Big South Fork National River and Recreation Area. A historic train ride will usher you through it, or you can step back into the past by visiting Mennonite and Amish communities in Casey County. Their shops offer furniture, leather goods, produce, bulk foods, quilts and a grand assortment of other items.

Arts & Crafts
Like to shop? This area is rich in quaint and unusual antique and craft stores, hand-crafted items and quality reproduction cherry furniture.
Roadside stands and farmers markets offer a cornucopia of fresh fruits and vegetables. And if you visit during August, you’ll find “The World’s Longest Outdoor Sale,” a 450-mile roadside shopping adventure.

BACK TO THE TOP

REVIEWS    EDITORIAL    COMMENTARY   FICTION     SCRIPTS   POETRY    RESUME

COMMENTARY

Misogynist (commentary fragments)
(published on www.cultureshop.com, while they were still in business)

Cause and effect. A basic concept easily exemplified by a stone thrown into water and the resulting ripples. The cause is the initial action, and the effect is the result, the reaction, expected or unexpected, but nevertheless unavoidably concluding the cycle.
What is the cause of all man’s ailment? The sage frenchmen provide us with the most superb answer imaginable: cherchez la femme! In English the phrase translates verbatim, “look for the woman!”
Since the beginning of time women have been the object of idle contemplation, demented actions, and misery to men. Starting with Eve and the proverbial apple that got Adam exiled from the Garden of Eden. Willingly or inadvertently, women have been the cause and men have been bearing the effect of their toxic influence. Paris should have admired the fair Helen from afar, and listened to Cassandra’s warnings; perhaps his Troy might still be standing. The Beatles might have stayed together had John Lennon not succumbed to Yoko Ono’s strange spell. So why not be a spectator instead of a participant? If the effect is undesired, keep away from the cause! ...Although, the sirens’ song is irresistible.

*****************************
The Woman was gracious, perhaps with that ever so slight hint of tawdriness that no man can resist. The moments were highly notable when in her company. The interactions affected with insinuation. Time does its deed on this relation and suddenly the man can no longer pour his soul through the eyes of his beloved. This realization is seconded by her extinguished need for his eyes’ acceptance. A leisurely yet cumbersome disjunction is now imminent, and then at once his mental voice ceases to make allowances for the facts: he had become dispensable. The relationship ultimately collapses and the man, dripping with sorrow, is left to harden.
A series of introspective journeys will augment his feelings of resentment. He will helplessly torment himself with continual mental reenactments of the most trivial matters of this past relation, and even create fictional situations, until he becomes the ripples of this stone’s brunt. His will may soon attempt to mimic hers, superficially, as a stone, in hope to par to the next, but he will remain soft at the core. He knows he can hurt again and so, to protect his crippled pride, he categorizes all women as eternal courtesans, temptresses descending straight from Delilah.
What follows is a compilation of negative experiences that leave spaces between their scabs as they gradually overlap. If the lacerations persist, the soul is exposed to an increasingly diminutive version of its universe. The innocence inside him stands on its tippy-toes peering through the key holes that tempt and taunt its desires. With each prolonged exposure the pure is perverted. Curiosity becomes a vice, sensitivity—self destructive. Another opening is sealed and his whimper echoes through the growing darkness of the clotting sieve. With time no light may breach the crust, and the ashen being, no longer lucid, simply waits to suffocate. The concept of a “kindred soul” out there, somewhere, seems a mockery, an absurd illusion ment to prolong his agony.

BACK TO THE TOP

REVIEWS    EDITORIAL    COMMENTARY   FICTION     SCRIPTS   POETRY    RESUME

FICTION 1. Mystery 2. Si-Fi/Humor 3. Literary
(submmited for publication)

Hit Men
(short story -mystery/humorous)

“Tell you what, Jimmy, this business is going to the dogs. Who do you gotta kill to make some dough nowadays?”
In the back room of Logan’s, a relatively empty establishment, advertising on the marquee that ‘We’ll give you a brake!’, two men in their mid-forties lounge on a beat-up couch and unmatching recliner. In the dim light of the late afternoon their silhouettes bare a striking resemblance to Laurel and Hardy. The street noise, muffled by the front room, seems just a dim background buzz, so the sudden statement makes the skinny man jerk a bit on the couch and look sleepily at his buddy.
“Goddamnit, Pauly, I was catching a snooze here...”
After deeply inhaling from his cigarette and than blowing a series of perfect, concentric circles of smoke, Pauly continues undeterred:
“... I’m thinkin’... we’re getting on in years, you know. What do we have to show for, huh? I’m sick of getting my hands dirty – for what? Ain’t worth it no more! One little lousy job after another, never the big score... Nothing like the old days.... The two of us should forget about all this and move on to better things.”
“You not gonna let me sleep are you? Fine, I’ll bite. Move on to what? Live on what?”
“You’re a grouch, you know that? We’ve known each other what, twenty some years? I love you like a brother, Jimmy, but you’re so closed minded... We can go anywhere, do anything we want, live a little. What’s to keep us here, huh? Your sister? I bet she’s really happy you livin’ in her spare room”.
“Oh, yeah? At least my water comes down the pipe, not in a bucket like in your RV”.
“See, that’s exactly what I’m talkin’ about! We could start fresh in a new place, a new life.... I been thinkin’ Florida... start up a little legitimate business, you know, one of those towel and umbrella rentals on a beach somewhere... gawk at naked dames all day... Clean business, fresh air...”
“Florida? That’s rich! Here’s a news-flash Pauly: as you just said, we ain’t had a decent job in ages. You blew all you got on the ponies, my ex sucked me dry.... Between the two of us we ain’t got enough to cross the street and get a burger! Last time I checked, people needed money to do stuff like ‘move on’, start up businesses and what-have-you. On the other hand how about a career change? I hear highway robbery is quite profitable these days. Maybe we should try that for a while, my guns are getting rusty...”
(...DONG)
The front door’s bell rings with a muted ding. Pauly stops Jimmy in mid-sentence with a brusk gesture, then leans back slowly, looking over the side of the recliner.
“You expecting anyone?”
“Nope.”
Pauly folds the recliner and stands up grunting, “I got it.” He stamps out his cigarette and makes his way to the front room. As he pulls back the dividing curtain, a short, very well dressed man is revealed standing inside the entrance. The tailored sports coat gives him a youngish look, but Pauly can tell the man is pushing sixty. He is also sporting a sculpted ebony cane, and steppes deliberately toward Pauly with his chin up and eyes narrowed inquisitively.
“May I help you?” Pauly asks, and takes a solicitous step himself.
“Hello...”, the man looks around peevishly. “Nice cover you’ve got here. Quite elaborate...I didn’t expect.... Hum, I am the man with the problem... the one Tony told you about.” He then leans forward and raises his eyebrows to underline the implication.
“Tony. Yeah, sure... Hold on a second.” Pauly steals a quick glance through the windows at the expensive foreign car parked outside, then goes back to the back room, letting the curtain fall behind him.
“What’s up? What’s with the look?” Jimmy whispers with a smirk.
“This guy comes in here – says Tony sent’im. You know anythin’ about it?” Pauly whispers back.
“You mean Tony Martino? The Boss?”
“Guess so. This may be somethin’. This guy reeks of cash. He’s driving a Ferrari.” The two men exchange a meaningful look. “Let’s see what he wants.” Jimmy gets up and follows Pauly past the curtain.
The short man stands like a statesman’s statue propped on his cane, centering it between his Guccis, and utters a satisfied “ah” as they enter, then goes straight to business.
“Tony told me you’re a team. Good. He also said you’re the best at what you do. I wish to employ you ... to take care of someone. I want this person fitted with a pair of cement-loafers, as you would put it, and thrown to the bottom of a river!” He raises his voice and taps his cane on the tile once hard to punctuate his conviction. “It must be done swiftly and quietly.”
A moment of silence follows, as the two men ponder his request.
“Swiftly and quietly, he says...” Jimmy says out of the side of his mouth to Pauly , tagging at his sleeve.
“How else? Just settle down.” Pauly mutters through clenched teeth, trying not to move his lips. Clearing his throat, he addresses the man again.
“See... hum, Tony didn’t give us any details.... Let me see if I got this right. You want us to wack a... hum, some fella? Just so there is no misunderstandin...’
“No misunderstanding at all.” The short man reaches his hand into the inside of his jacket
to extorts a small package of photographs and papers, neatly rubber-banded. With a determined thrust he hands it to Pauly for inspection.
Jimmy steppes up, “Are you sure Tony – ”
“Hey Jimmy,” Pauly intercedes, “look here. Pictures of some dame buying ice-cream from some schlep in a penguin outfit.... That’s cute.” Pauly’s eyes pop opened incredulously in the short man’s direction. “The ice-cream man???”
“That is your target”, answers the man using his cane as a pointer.
Pauly bits his lip to suppress an involuntary grin and shoots a forbidding glance over his shoulder at Jimmy, who’s making huffing noises. When the noises stop, Pauly returns his attention to the package.
“Here we have a map of – correct me if I’m wrong – the ice-cream truck’s route,...”
“That is correct.” The man confirms.
“... name, address, and, last but not least, we have a pudgy yellow envelope. Is it fair to assume there is money in here?”
“As it was established. Half now, – the rest when the job is done. Obscenely expensive, exorbitant, but I’ve no patience to dilly-dally with amateurs. You may count it if you’d like.”
The man straightens out his clothes. Jimmy takes a breath to speak, but his plump partner takes the lead once more.
“I’m sure it’s all here,” says Pauly as he opens the envelope and thumbs expertly through the fresh bank notes. “What’d this guy do?”
“That is irrelevant to you.”
“I bet he’s shtooping the missus?” Jimmy murmurs to Pauly, not quite low enough.
The man’s eyes widen, “...Gentlemen, my business here is concluded. I know nothing
of you, and vice-versa. This meeting never took place.”
As the short man steppes toward the door, Jimmy can’t contain himself any longer.
“Are you committed to this swimmin’ with the fishes thing or can we improvise? Like – I don’t know – Columbian necktie, dismemberment, what-have-you?”
“Kill him! How it is done is of no consequence to me.”
Pauly pushes Jimmy out of the way and steppes forward apologetically.
“Yes, of course. Don’t pay any attention to him. His speciality is, you know... hum...severed-horse-heads-in-the-bed kinda stuff. We got the map, the pictures, and of course the money...”
“Once it’s done, I will contact Tony and arrange delivery of the balance, save his finder’s fee, which I understand is your agreement with him.”
“Yeah... hum, our agreement. Great then! Consider the job done. Nice doing business with you. Have a nice day.”
The man nods slightly in their general direction and leaves as aloof as he came, wedging his cane in the ground with each step, simply as an affectation. He gets into his car and takes off.
The second he clears the parking lot, Pauly locks the door and turns around to walk to the back room, dragging Jimmy with him by the sleave. Once there he pulls the curtain shot and begins feverishly:
“Can you fuckin’ believe this?”
“I can’t fuckin’ believe this! An ice-cream men? What’s the world coming to? Let’s wack some girl scouts while we’re at it. Two for the price of one!”
“Quit clowning! Can you fuckin’ believe this?” Pauly finally yells, than catches himself and tries to subdue his excitement. “Jesus! I woulda killed you if you blew this one! The big score! This is it!” Then he takes a big breath and calms down. “We gotta get out of town!”
“No shit! Whoever this Tony guy is - it sure as hell ain’t our Tony Martino. Somebody
somewhere musta gotten their wires crossed. How much is in there?”
“Enough to set us up in the towel business, with enough extra to keep us gassed and fed on the way. Florida here we come!” Pauly yells again, jumping up and down, his bulk moving like a water mattress.
Jimmy interrupts his hula declaring the session closed. “I’m going home to pack. Pick me up at my sister’s in two hours. You callin’ the penguin?”
“Sure thing. Jerk’ll never know how close he came. He better pull the disappearing act too. Pronto. Goddamn, I’m glad I’ve been watchin’ ‘The Sopranos’!”
“Hallelujah! Hey, you think we should stick around for the rest of the money? For all Shorty’ll know the penguin’ll be on ice...”
The two men looked at each other for a second, then shook their heads in unison.
“Naaah!”
A rich and vengeful man, had accidentally walked into a failing car repair shop and handed an ‘exorbitant’ amount of money to the two down and out mechanics working the late shift. Or maybe there are no accidents...

A Bad Space-Time to Sneeze
(short story - Science Fiction/Humorous)

Chapter 1. (Fragment)

Once upon a time Faloose, a humanoid time-traveler, didn’t quite know what time he was upon. Due to a freak accident, he found himself on a planet he could not identify, somewhere in the future, the present, or maybe the past.... He felt this situation was utterly absurd.
Faloose was an accomplished scientist. He had spent the last 127 years in the Mockvirginious Sector of the Prostitudia Galaxy doing assiduous research. His work was his life, and even though he was now being unjustly audited for misappropriation of intergalactic grants, he had no complaints. When asked to justify his expenditures, Faloose exploded with righteous indignation and spit on the auditor. He was fined for insult, and told not to leave the planet.
Nevertheless, right before the accident happened, Faloose was back at his habitat, getting his affairs in order - so that he could take a little interplanetary hiatus from the ol’ rat-race. He was innocently packing some super-spore hydroponic medicinal herbs in the secret compartment of his suitcase, when he began to sneeze uncontrollably. The next thing he knew, he was looking at a bunch of trees, in a foul smelling forest... He had neglected to put the safety on his wrist-worn Uni-Verbally Activated Space-Time Gizmo, which mistook a pattern of his sneezes as a direct order in Gezunthidien - and initiated a space-time jump...
As he replayed the last command from the Gizmo’s audio recorder, Faloose cursed himself. Back in school, he would ditch his Bizarre Language class to meet up with a fellow coed for individual studies on the mating rituals of the Fornicatian tribes. Now, all he remembered about the Gezunthidien language was that it was spoken mainly in coughs and nasal suction sounds.
Unable to translate the coordinates recorded in Gezunthidien, Faloose was stuck. He couldn’t make any new entries in the Time-Bum Gizmo since, for some ungodly reason (presumably to avoid paradoxical overlap), the worthless piece of Fecalian technology had to have the present time/place coordinates before a space-time shift could be initiated.
In a hopeless attempt to feel in control, Faloose checked the wrist-worn digital time calendar display on his other arm. It claimed to be 3:74 z.m. Junimus 34, 19,599 – and this was actually the correct time on Bimbodia Major, the planet that had just disappeared from under his feet. With all the shaking, tapping and cursing, the watch would not reset itself to show the actual date and time...

Eye of the beholder
(short, short story - literary)

A plain girl walks across my field of vision. My eyes follow, but my neck remains unswayed and deems her “not worth the effort” of movement. Not much there. Although there is something unusual about her, it does not qualify her as intriguing, or sensuous. She becomes a potential object of reference in my peripheral sight.
A man sits next to her and begins to talk to her as she listens. I am not sure they know each other. My neck slowly does begin to shift as not to be obvious.
“I swear to God...” The man says to her, as she smiles politely, looking away. He becomes insecure, but persists.
Bits and pieces of something about a party that got busted, back when they were in High School. They were both at some house that night, but they didn’t know each other. The cops showed up.
Now she’s giving him a second look. He picks up on it and straitens his shoulders. An anecdote about his escape is the tool he uses to get into her good graces. She laughs openly. His delivery is still a bit shaky - but, as the conversation grows, she begins to lean toward him ever so slightly. No hint of deliberate manipulation, just encouragement, the ego food without which man are incapable to function.
I was beginning to pine for her and despise him. Why? She was transformed! Once of a sudden she was beautiful! There was no sign of plainness – just an enchanting, classy young lady being courted and playing by sophisticated old-fashioned rules, a game few “women” can now-a-days appreciate or understand.
I thought to myself, “So they still exist.” I knew now what was unusual about her.
I stood up and walked away disgusted by my inability to recognize elegance unless it slapped me in the face. All I seem to recognize outright is promiscuity.

BACK TO THE TOP

REVIEWS    EDITORIAL    COMMENTARY   FICTION     SCRIPTS   POETRY    RESUME

SCRIPT (transcript sample)

"Flutter Girl, light my way" episode.

ACT ONE
SCENE A
Int. Lynagh’s Irish Pub - Sunday night
(Pete, Jake, Jorge, BELINDA) A cozy, moderately crowded atmosphere. Pete, Jake, and Jorge are sitting at a table in front of an empty pitcher of beer. Pete looks absent minded and depressed. Belinda is perched on a stool at the bar, overlooking the guys’ table. She is casually sipping through the straw from a drink belonging to some guy next to her, eves-dropping on Pete’s, Jake’s, and Jorge’s conversation.

Jake:
(to Pete) Don’t be so dramatic! All I’m saying is – bands break up, you know? Things fall apart. That’s life! Look at Jorge and Stephanie. Proof positive that fate has a drinking problem.

Pete:
Four years wasted, Jake! The record deal,.. poof! I quit college for it! This thing’s filling my blood with toxins, I feel’em crawling
inside me.... I’m gonna grab another pitcher.
Pete gets up and goes to the bar. (Belinda is following him with her eyes.)

Belinda:
(to Jake) What a kill-joy!

Jake:
(looking after Pete) He’s a mess... (to Jorge) but on the bright side, Jorjito! You’re a mess, too. You didn’t let the door hit you on the way out, did you? Never give them the satisfaction! How you holding up?

Jorge:
(Mexican accent, buzzing) Okay, I guess. Is weird, man. Being with Steph is like having the hick-ups, you know? Is annoying as hell when you have them, but when they leave, you miss it. I love her man.

Pete hears Jorge’s last remark as he walks up and puts the pitcher and the glasses
on the table. Jake takes initiative and pours beer.

Pete:
You were always cheating on her!

Jorge:
(defensive) Yeah, but she didn’t know that.

Jake:
What a crappy weekend! (to Jorge) You got the boot,.. (to Pete) you got the finger... (getting depressed himself)... and hey, it’s not like I came empty handed to the pithy party. Tattoo U replaced me with this hack flash artist... So much for my under-the-table money.

Belinda rolls her eyes, annoyed. Gets up and goes to put her hands on Pete’s and Jake’s shoulders, leaning over their heads.

Belinda:
I’ve never seen such a bunch of cry-babies. Snap out of it! You guy’s are pathetic.

Belinda leaves to find fun somewhere else. Pete waves his hand over his shoulder as if batting away a fly. The three of them sit in silence for a second.

Jorge:
(laughing) We are pathetic, man.

Jake:
You know what? There’s a silver lining, here! All three of us have a clean slate and a full pitcher in front of us... And, don’t
forget! The twins are coming!

Pete:
Amen for that! (They all toast.)

CUT TO:

ACT ONE
SCENE B
Interior. Courtney’s car - Same Night (Courtney, Brittany)
Courtney is driving. The overhead light is on. Brittany is applying make-up from a compact.

Brittany:
Tell me again why we’re going to some Irish dive to hang out with a couple of losers from work?

Courtney:
Because they invited us, and your idea of a good time is working-out and checking paper work for typos... and they are not losers. Pete is an amazing singer! They’re both very nice and fun...

Brittany:
...And cute. So what? Cute doesn’t cut it Courtney. Cute doesn’t get you a nice house (pouty) ...or a yacht, the finer things in life for which girls like us were created.

Courtney:
I’m not trying to get a yacht, Brittany! Would you chill-out?... They are kinda cute...but this isn’t even a date. We’re just going to
hang-out, have a couple of laughs, and that’s it. You’re making a big deal out of nothing.

Brittany:
Famous last words, Court... This is how it starts. You hang-out with some seemingly harmless guy. He manages to mutter out some crude imitation of charm, and it’s, “oh, I love him, Brittany, he’s so sweeeeet. He didn’t even throw-up on me between shots!”

CUT TO:

ACT ONE
SCENE C
Int. Pan between the Bar & Courtney’s car – Same Night (Pete, Jake, Jorge, Courtney, Brittany)
1. Bar. Pete, Jake and Jorge all take a shot.

Jorge:
(belching) Your boss’s daughters? They’re hot but they’re too skinny.... Brittany is all stuck-up and bitchy all the time....

Jake:
She is not ...too skinny!..

Pete:
Courtney’s a swan.

Jorge:
What’s a swan?

Jake:
The ugly duckling thing... She was weird looking as a kid, so her personality had to develop. She grew into her looks, but she
never realized it. She’s completely oblivious to her market value...

Cut to:
2. Car. Courtney and Brittany.

Brittany:
...It’s like you don’t even realize you have breasts!

Courtney:
Uh! These guys are different. Not like the guys you hang out with. They don’t treat women like notches on a bedpost...

Cut to:
3. Bar. Pete, Jake and Jorge.

Jake:
We might have problem! We’ve hooked-up with practically every chick in here. What if one of’em decides to pull some girl-power crap, warns the twins somehow?
(Pete and Jake look around. All the girls in the bar are shooting them daggers and
whispering among themselves. Pete gets a little panicky.)

Pete:
(pointing to a plain, overweight girl) No one hooked up with her...

Jorge:
Sorry, man.
(Pete and Jake both look at Jorge incredulously.)

Cut to:
4. Car. Courtney and Brittany.

Courtney:
You’ll see. They’re not these shallow, perverted,...

Cut to:
5.Bar. Pete, Jake and Jorge.

Jake:
...sex maniacs!!! A few drinks in, just tell’em they have beautiful
eyes or some crap. Next thing you know...

Cut to:
6. Car. Courtney and Brittany.

Brittany:
...they’re in your panties... Do yourself a favor: sip your drink, pace yourself, and absolutely no...

Cut to:
7. Bar. Pete, Jake and Jorge.

Pete:
...Shots! Love, Buttery nipples, all those girly shots with sexy names full of post-inebriated-suggestions. It’ll turn an amish girl into an...

Cut to:
8. Car. Courtney and Brittany.

Courtney:
... Animal, would have to be my favorite Muppet... Oh, on second thought, I like the Grouch. He reminds me of you.
Courtney parks her car in front of Lynagh’s and sticks out her tongue at Brittany.
(Brittany sticks her tongue out at Courtney.)

CUT TO:

ACT ONE
SCENE D
Int. Lynagh’s Irish Pub (Pete, Jake, Jorge, Courtney, Brittany, Belinda, server)
Courtney is in the doorway, lanky blond, dressed casually in jeans and a cute tee-shirt. (Aerosmith’s “Angel” starts to play) Dave asks for ID’s. As Courtney leans forward to get her ID out of her purse she drops it on the floor, and Brittany is revealed standing behind her. Brittany is slender and red-haired, dressed in a mini-skirt, high heels and a sexy top that shows off her cleavage. (Disc scratch, The Cult’s “Fire Woman” starts to play)

Jake:
...I would still love to find out how different they really are... Oh, that’s them... Damn!

Pete:
(yelling at Dave across the room) Dave!
(Pete waves the girls in. Dave let’s them in unchecked. Watches them walk away, than look at Pete, Jake and Jorge and shakes his head as if to say, “You lucky, bastards.” The other girls in the bar notice Courtney and Brittany as they reach the table. The guys are all sitting around the table. Courtney is bubbly. Brittany is awkward and trying to be pleasant. Pete is sitting in his chair backwards.)

Courtney:
Hey, guys!

Jorge:
S’up girls!

Pete:
Hello, hello!
(Pete whips his chair around for Courtney. Jake misses a step, mesmerized by Brittany’s cleavage. Courtney turns the chair back the way it was and sits in it backwards.)

Pete:
(pleasantly surprised) Touche,.. (noticing Jake is distracted) I’ll grab another chair...
(Jake snaps out of it and quickly offers her his chair to Brittany.)

Jake:
Oh! My bad... Milady?

Brittany:
(sitting down) Thanks.

(A server walks up and starts picking up empty beer bottles off the table.)

Server:
(to the girls) Can I get you two anything?

Courtney:
If I can just get a glass. I’m gonna mooch off their pitcher.
(to the guys) I’ll grab the next one.

Brittany:
An appletini, please.

Server:
Ah, appletini, like in ‘Sex In The City’... (awkward pause)
Sucks that they cancelled it...

Brittany:
(to server)...Are you implying that I’m some kind of tramp?
(The guys are not sure if she’s serious. Pete, Jake and Jorge are all gesturing “ABORT!” hand signals to the server out of Brittany’s field of vision. Courtney is embarrassed, but amused.)

Server:
(Cradling the bottles as if to protect himself) No!.. I just... you know,... I... I figured you’d like that show...

Brittany:
Well, I don’t like that show.
(The server breaks eye-contact, turns around and leaves the table without another word, thankful he is alive.)

Brittany:
(turning back around) I love that show!
(The whole table bursts into laughter.)

Jorge:
That was awesome! I though with you, I will have to wear a tie.

Pete:
Get these two together. Nobody’s safe!
(Jorge’s cell phone rings. Continuing the fun, Courtney grabs it before Jorge knows what happened.)

Courtney:
(mock sensual voice) Jorge’s house of love.
(Courtney’s expression changes, she hands the phone to Jorge.)

Courtney:
I’m sooo sorry... I think it’s your girlfriend.

Jorge:
Man!

(Everyone bursts into laughter again except for Courtney who feels remorseful.
Jorge grabs his cell phone, stands up and stumbles to the back by the bathrooms where it is more quiet. It is apparent he has had a lot to drink.)

Cut to:
Jorge, by the bathrooms.

Jorge:
(on the phone) Hey... It was a joke... at Lynagh’s having a beer...
(High-pitched nagging gibberish comes out of the receiver. Jorge holds the phone
back from his ear. Belinda walks by. Jorge covers the receiver.)

Jorge:
(to Belinda) Hey, you’re hot! What’s your name?

Belinda:
(startled) I am Belinda and you are very inebriated. I’msurprised you can see me...

Jorge:
I like your dress. Retro!
(The high-pitched gibberish continues. Belinda looks at his phone annoyed.)

Belinda:
You should get rid of that broad.
(Belinda walks away and Jorge gets back on the phone.)

Cut to:
Pete, Jake, Courtney and Brittany at the table.
(Courtney and Brittany stand up, excuse themselves, grab their purses and make
their way to the bathroom area, where Jorge is standing, still on the phone. A bar girl stands up and is following Courtney and Brittany to the bathroom.)

Pete:
Oh-oh! Jake, one’s breaking away from the pack!

Jake:
(calm and collected) Relax, I got it.
(Jake stands up and straightens out his shirt.)

Cut to:
Jorge, by the bathrooms.
(Courtney and Brittany are coming up behind him headed for the bathroom. The bar girl is coming up behind them. Suddenly Jake tackles her out of the frame.)

Jorge:
(Into the phone) Is over!
Jorge hangs up phone in prefect sink with the tackle. Courtney and Brittany walk on and enter the ladys’ room, none-the-wiser.

End of Act One

BACK TO THE TOP

REVIEWS    EDITORIAL    COMMENTARY   FICTION     SCRIPTS   POETRY    RESUME

POETRY
(published by Avant Garde Design & Publishing, Inc.)

Forbidden Thoughts

Crown the blistering thoughts of barbed pleasures and morbidity.
Behold within your mind’s sight, for it is no sin to wonder.
Exploit the possibilities fearlessly.
Guilt and Shame know their boundaries.... Do you?

nothing

let the words i write be the first of many or the last of what now is,
for in the end it makes no difference.
In the skein of Fates great plan i am but a quark,
if i may flatter myself with the comparison,
yet fully aware of this, the lead of my pencil meets paper
and scribbles off an insignificant thought.

Aspects of Reality

Principals and norms are not etched in stone but clay,
Carved by the surreal hands of the imagination
And subject to change by the smallest whim of a new perspective.
The common thinking has been conditioned,
Limited by standards and method actions
That dismiss the creative influences of a true reality,
As peevish thoughts of an infant’s mind.
Where are the innocent moments of His untainted sight?
Why can we no longer cherish the unwritten – or even recognize its warmth?
The concrete chisel shapes the perceptions of one’s reality.
True understanding of its various aspects lies in the depth of the soul.

BACK TO THE TOP

REVIEWS    EDITORIAL    COMMENTARY   FICTION     POETRY    RESUME

RESUME

Vlad Paraschiv
4681 Collinswood Dr. • Lexington, KY 40515
859-312-7236 • vparaskiv@aol.com

Objective: To steadily improve my writing skills, develop my talent, expand my client list, and be able to earn a living doing what I love: writing full time.

Freelance Writing Experience:

Dec.2002 – To date: Capricorn Art Studio – Lexington, KY
Freelance Copy Writer/Editor
• Writing editorial pieces, advertising copy and articles for printed or web marketing materials (brochures, newsletters, catalogs, flyers, websites, etc.)
• Proofreading/editing client’s copy whenever necessary.
• Participating with creative conceptual ideas and slogans to advertising and marketing campaigns.

1999-2002 www.cultureshop.com – Culture & Entertainment Web Magazine
Freelance Writer
Contributed with a variety of critique and commentary articles, focused on regional and national cultural events.
(Site went out of business.)

1998 – 2003: Avant Garde Design & Publishing, Inc. – Lexington, Kentucky
Part-Time Copy Writer/Editor
• Performing various tasks as: writing editorial copy, proofreading and editing brochures, tourism guides, catalogs, newsletters and other marketing and advertising materials. Also contributing with creative input in a variety of advertising campaigns for client companies and businesses.

Education

2002 BA, English Major — University of Kentucky – Lexington, Kentucky
Areas of study include: Arts & Humanities, Eastern & Western Philosophy, Creative Writing, Theatre History, English Literature, Journalism, Communication, Psychology.

Areas of Interest: Creative Writing, Literature, Photography, Music, Travel.

References: Available upon request

BACK TO THE TOP

REVIEWS    EDITORIAL    COMMENTARY   FICTION     SCRIPTS   POETRY    RESUME