15, 081 Words... My plot derailed again...

I honestly think that if I didn't have lengthy stretches of internal dialogue, dream sequences, and karaoke nights I would not have any novel at all. I returned to Jackie's Place today, and included a karaoke scene that had absolutely no relevance to anything. But I got my words in for the day and am pleased with the effort.

I apologize for the length of this excerpt, but I really didn't know when to stop. I think everything I wrote today was intended only for an audience of Esmondes (and Heather) because this would make absolutely no sense to anyone else.

I hope you enjoy, and please, click on this video and watch it... so amazing.



Jackie refused to run the air conditioning that summer, some said to raise beer sales (this was truly unnecessary) some said in a bid to rid himself of his customers, who seemed to annoy Jackie, especially when they wanted to order things. Others said that Jackie had spent a significant amount of time in tropical climates, and was prone to feeling a chill more than others. Others said that Jackie liked the way he looked when he was sweaty. This was a feasible explanation, for Jackie looked quite terrifying as his muscled arms (which looked like they had been treated with an excellent spray tanner) glistened, and sweat collected on his brow, which was frequently furrowed in what looked like anger but might have just been his face. Whatever the reason, it was a hot summer, filled with soaring highs (not just the temperature, but the news that Forever 21 had discontinued its stock of purple harem pants, which brought a rousing fist pump from Freddie Sands, the second oldest resident of Black Wood), and heartbreaking lows, when the Canadian Women’s Soccer Team lost their match to the United States due to some highly controversial decision made by a Norwegian referee. That afternoon Jackie bought the house a round and burned all of the Norway themed ultra suede classic IPod cases he had painstakingly crafted earlier in the summer. Originally, he had just made one, using ultra suede scraps he had laying around, but after he had made one, he found himself making them for all of his friends, or perhaps more accurately, as Jackie did not strictly have any friends, he had made them to use as prizes during his infamous poker nights.
In the heat of the moment, and in solidarity with Canada’s brave women, Harold Pawson came close to sticking his foot through Jackie’s corner television unit, an old model that had dominated the corner of that living room for as long as anyone could remember. Harold was stopped dead in his tracks when Jackie calmly and quietly cleared his throat. Harold turned around just as Jackie raised his blond eyebrows slightly. Harold lowered his foot and returned shamefacedly to his seat in the floral armchair, which predictably, had doilies on the arms.
In mid August, the weather cooled slightly, and the farmers breathed a sigh of relief as the rain finally came. It was of course, too late for this year’s crops, which had for the most part been destroyed by the hot, dry summer, but it was welcome nonetheless, and many a resident of Black Wood was seen standing in the rain, palms upward, the cool rain hitting their faces as they grinned upward at the skies. They most decidedly did not look anything like Usher in his groundbreaking video for You’ve Got It Bad, in which he brazenly danced in the rain with no shirt on.
In celebration, Jackie decided to host a karaoke night at Jackie’s Place, a rare occurrence, and one the locals always looked forward to. Everyone arrived that night dressed in their Sunday best, their thin hair combed heartbreakingly with some sort of bryl creem, and some with flowers in their lapels. The farmers brought their wives, who rarely appeared in Jackie’s Place, but were a welcome addition to the usual crew of octogenarians, farmers, and traveling farm equipment salesmen (who truthfully, were not welcome at all). Brenda Simmonds kicked things off with a wavering but in key rendition of Patsy Cline’s well-loved ballad, Crazy. It was a safe choice, to be sure, but most of the riskier choices would begin once everyone was well into their cups.
Harold Pawson and Henry Cavill performed a rousing version of Aerosmith’s “Dream On,” pouring all of their considerable farming rage and angst into the lyrics in what could only be described as a tour de force performance. What everyone was most looking forward to, of course, was when Jackie would set down the filthy rag he used to polish the floor and the glasses, and take the mike to perform LFO’s monster hit, Every Other Time. It was truly eerie how Jackie had managed to perfect every nuance of Rich Cronin’s masterful performance, replete with kneeling, back somersaults, sitting and letting his arms hang down to the floor, pointing directly in people's faces, pointing at the ceiling, pointing at women, and grabbing his crotch. When Jackie sang the line “sometimes we swim around, like two dolphins in the ocean of our hearts”, which is arguably the best lyric of all time, the locals cheered, giddy with pop music love and booze laden cocktails.