So here's a new story I concocted that's been fermenting in my brain for a while.  Hopefully it hasn't spoiled.  Enjoy.

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Wearied from the excitement of the world and it's promised diversions, filled with enjoyment that only becomes a delusion devoid of any such thing, I've come to realize there is more excitement and pleasure in the little things that life offers. A morning stroll in the park watching the birds, the children, the plants, and the sun suddenly light up; simple afternoon lunches with a good friend, back in town for the holidays; or an evening curled in a comfortable chair under the warm glow of a desk lamp while reading a good novel the second time around, discovering the secrets and hidden gems that the first journey through could not reveal, all simple joys that many of us enjoy but do not relish. There is beauty in the stark realities of life, no matter how saddening or elating they can be, and how they are presented to us, with grandeur or in raw simplicity.

Monday, January 17^th

Today was my first day on the job at the Burnt Bean, which turns out to be a coffee shop that doesn't specialize in badly roasted coffee. It's a little bigger than quaint and has been around longer than that popular chain of coffee places that had become so popular. The tables and chairs of the shop seemed to have been taken from an antique store and placed haphazardly around. None of the chairs really matched. Some came in sets, such as four wooden chairs that are placed around the same wooden table, but some stand out of place. There is a rocking chair in a corner of the store, next to a small table where a lamp sat. On an opposite wall is a large easy chair that seems to be eternally dusty. I should probably ask a co-worker about the furniture someday, but it was my first day, I was terrified.

But the day wasn't nearly as boring as I thought it'd be. However, it wasn't all that exciting either. I got there early, about 5 am, to help open up shop and was there until after closing at eleven pm. I guess that's what full-time means. Nothing too difficult, just a matter of pressing buttons, looking up mixes and directions in the booklet near the drink station, trying not to scald yourself with hot water, being friendly, and trying your best not to curse as you go to the restroom to cool down your hand after scalding yourself with hot water.

What I find most interesting is the motley crew of customers that comes in. It was only my first day, but I could already tell which customers were the regulars. One of those regulars is, Mr. Jefferson, an old, but very lively, man. He came in with a smile and left with it. I was at the register when he came to order his drink and decided to strike up a conversation.

“You're a new face here, aren't ya?” the old man flashed a smile half his age.

“Yes sir,” I don't remember why, but it felt right to address him as “sir.”

He chuckled, his easy grin slowly eased the tension in my shoulders.

“Kinda stiff aren't ya?” he laughed as he held out his hand, “The name's William Jefferson, pleasure to meet your acquaintance ah..”

“Thomas,” I stumbled.

“Really now?” he whistled and clucked, “Then that'd mean if I adopted ya, you'd be 'Thomas Jefferson,' like the President, wouldn't ya?”

“I suppose so, sir.”

“There you go again with that “sir”-in'. Stop that now, it makes me feel old,” his eyes seemed to glare at me, but he also had a mischievous smile on that seemed to nullify any negativity that the glare gave off.

“Sure, what would you like to-,” I started.

“Did you just 'sir' me again?” he raised a silver eyebrow at me.

“No Mr. Jefferson, I said 'sure',” I repeated slowly.

“Ah, then all is well,” he proclaimed, his teeth gleaming from his wrinkled face, “I'll have a normal cup o' java, black as night and sweet as sin.”

“Sure, Mr. Jefferson”

At the sound of the “sure,” Mr. Jefferson cocked an eyebrow and gave me a condescending expression, which quickly melted into a lively smile when I began to look on edge.

Well, that was my run-in with Mr. Jefferson. It's getting a bit late, and I'm tired from the day's work. Time for a bit of shut-eye. I'll need a cup of coffee myself tomorrow if I don't get enough sleep.

Lately, I've been in a writing slump.  By lately, I mean the past year or so.  I guess I've just been rather busy and life's been unemotional.  Or I grew up, haha.

I'm making this post because I just watched a movie that made me want to start writing again and also to totally compose some songs on guitar.

Once is simply one of the most amazing movies I've watched in years.  I'm not going to write a review or anything, but just my impressions and what really blew my mind.

In a sense, it's a musical, if you define musical as something with songs played through the movie in full length.  There is a mastery in the way these songs are presented.  Instead of choppy and strange transitions of suddenly breaking out into song at strangely opportune times, the songs blend into the normal progression and presentation of the movie. The quality of the movie itself is like something of a real life view.  There is no dynamic stage lighting.  Everything is real and shot on site, which adds more to the intimacy of the affair. There is a genuine nervous pause before the beginning of each song which is beautifully, honestly played by the singers/songwriters/stars of the movie, Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova.  The acting is great in that the leads don't seem to be acting at all.  Everything feels natural, as if it were a documentary or that you were simply an observer of their happenings.

The story is simple, boy meets girl on street and they begin their experiences playing music together whilst developing a relationship.  However, they are both very realistic and human characters.  The music is inextricably woven into their stories.  Hansard's character, the Irish busker, sings and writes songs dealing with the heartache he feels in the aftermath of a break-up in which he was very much so in love, while Irglova's character, a Czech immigrant living with her young daughter and apart from her husband who is still in the Czech Republic, creates songs expressing her own anguish in being apart from her husband and having to raise her daughter without a father.

What, I believe, really makes the movie is the ending, which I won't spoil, but will simply say that there is such honesty and realism in the ending and the interaction between the two leads that makes it more delicate than many romance movies.

Buy this movie, watch this movie, and then buy the soundtrack.  Then go watch it again.  Each and every time you'll re listen to the soundtrack, you'll relive the splendor that is this movie.  I can't recommend this enough.

The moon was full, or at least it looked like it was, and the sky was bright, a few stars shining past the suburban lights.  He sat outside in his backyard on an old, faded orange stool, his dusty guitar resting on his knee and his fingers caressing the strings.  The tips of his fingers ached dully as he pressed them on the steel strings, now warm with the heat that escaped from his hands.

He played slowly, rhythmically, a sad tune that resonated within the individuals of his audience, the lawnmower and his old broken bike.  Gazing up at the clouds in the sky, he felt their depth and grandeur as the moonlight shone past, through, and around the clouds, revealing their large cumulus curves.

Opening his mouth as he strummed the vibrating strings, his voice seized and he couldn't speak, couldn't think.  The strumming stopped, as did the soft tune he played.  He struck the strings in anger creating cacophonous sound which hung in the air and decayed slowly into a faint memory of a hum.  Maybe he was in over his head, maybe it just wasn't the right time yet.  He slowly got up and realized how numb his legs were from sitting on the stool for so long.  Carefully, he put away his guitar and locked its case, thinking about when he'd open it again.  Maybe another day.  Maybe never.

An update, months in the works, only to be a huge disappointment.  I've had a painful case of writer's bloc thanks to.. well I guess you could say a lack of girl problems and I'm still caught within it's grasp.  This update was eked out painfully, sentences at a time every few weeks.  Only a few nights ago did I make a final push after having somewhat of a revelation for the story and where it's heading.  Well, without pushing this further, here's the update.

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 A muddled gray cast itself over the sky, holding back the brilliant blue with its blockade of beauty. Gray and white blurred into a haphazard mess. A nearing storm wet the air.

Tobias was nervous. He stood before the main doors of the hospital, its ominous four stories towering above him, with his legs trembling as a vague feeling that he had forgotten something faded into the back of his mind. A lurching sickness alerted him of the pit in his stomach. Slowly, his knees almost giving way with each step, Tobias made his way past the doors, past the other people patiently waiting in the lobby, and past the disgruntled balding man holding a clipboard near the front desk.

“I'm here to volunteer” he mumbled to the receptionist.

The receptionist was a middle-aged woman, or maybe she wasn't and it was just her eyes that had aged, weary with the suffering and death her eyes had seen. Giving Tobias a tired half-smile, she nodded and instructed him on his assignment, as well as told him not to ignore the other people patiently waiting at the reception desk.

Tobias heard bits and pieces of what she said and only picked up what he had already figured: cleanliness, carefulness, and asking staff or other volunteers for help in order to help. His mind was adrift in thoughts of Olivia and her curled brunette locks as she sang in the morning shine. He thought about her hair because he still had her brush of course, no other reason. It was his obligation to return the brush, it had been quite a while since she threw it at him.

After having a piece of plastic pressed into his hand, Tobias was let loose to his duties, which he actually didn't know exactly because he didn't pay attention, and he began to wander aimlessly, peering into rooms as he passed by their open doorways. In one room, there was an elderly woman sitting up on a hospital bed, smiling weakly for a young man and woman along with who seemed to be their bashful son hidden behind his mother, gripping the hem of her dress. In another, a woman expressionlessly slept on her bed while a man, with bags under his eyes and his hair a disheveled mess, sat, holding her hand as he gazed despondently at her face, hoping that at the very least her countenance would change. Anything would be better than her unconscious indifference. Moving on, Tobias caught a glimpse of a doctor in a white coat talking to a girl with short, black hair when he accidentally bumped into someone. A dull plastic clinking resounded from the floor, but was quickly lost in the sounds of the hospital.

“You know, Tobias,” a familiar voice began, “you shouldn't make this such a habit.”

Looking up, Tobias realized it was Aden and mumbled a hello. Aden bent down for his glasses and began to wipe them with a cloth he produced from his pocket.

“If you don't mind me asking, why're you here?” Aden asked, putting his glasses back on, “Visiting?”

“Oh, no, actually I'm volunteering here now,” Tobias responded hastily.

“Ah, really?” Aden said dryly, “Well, you should probably put your tag on first. Follow me, since it's your first day I'll help you out.”

Tobias looked down at the plastic that he held in his hand and didn't realize it was actually a name tag, with his name on it and everything. Clipping it on quickly, he tried to keep up with Aden as he walked away. They spent the rest of the day helping out, carrying various things to different places, delivering messages, closing doors, picking up papers Tobias dropped on the floor, and just generally things extra hands could do to help around.

A question filled Tobias's mind the whole day, but he was too hesitant to ask Aden. Aden seemed so dedicated to his work, never stopping to take a break or to break a smile, that Tobias was scared to bother him with trivial things like where Olivia was. Tobias had trouble keeping up with him. After they'd finish a task, Aden would ask for another. Tobias thought he might be masochistic, but that would have be too personal a question to ask.

When they were finally done, they walked outside to find the sky dark, looming clouds visible thanks to the street lights. Tobias finally decided it was an opportune time to ask Aden about Olivia as they both stood outside the hospital.

“Hey, Aden,” Tobias broke the silence that was in the cold, evening night, “Do you happen to know if Olivia volunteers too?”

Aden chuckled a bit before he began.

“Ah, you too then?” he smiled knowingly at Tobias, “Olivia doesn't volunteer this day of the week, you should make a note of it. I'll see you around.”

Aden began walking away from Tobias, a smirk on his face. What the hell did that all mean? Tobias felt angry for some reason, but he didn't know why. His cheeks were flustered and he had an overwhelming urge to stop volunteering. Suddenly, something wet fell on his nose. Looking up, Tobias's eye was suddenly splattered too. Before he could comprehend what was happening, a downpour began. Cheeks burning, but nose cold, he began to walk home in the rain. Tobias immediately remembered what he had forgotten. His umbrella.

I've decided to change the title of my short story series "Yubikiri" to "Here and Now."

Why?
Simply because the nature of the story has changed since its creation, the direction at least.  The song started the writing, but being influenced by other things so much since then has changed my approach to the story.
I'll be attaching links to the previous updates with their edited titles.  I'll get to naming the chapters later, haha.

Here and Now :http://weblog.xanga.com/AriaForAWriter/610382445/here-and-nowyubikiri-pinky-promise.html
Update 1: http://weblog.xanga.com/AriaForAWriter/611146351/here-and-nowyubikiri-update-1.html
Update 2: http://weblog.xanga.com/AriaForAWriter/628922361/here-and-nowyubikiri-update-2.html
Update 3: http://weblog.xanga.com/AriaForAWriter/630282031/here-and-nowyubikiri-update-3-first-day.html
Update 4: http://weblog.xanga.com/AriaForAWriter/638456115/here-and-nowyubikiri-update-4.html

A short may be coming up later this morning.