I guess like all writers or people who call themselves writers, someday the novel bug hits. Or in my case, short stories and other forms of crap. I've been kicking around this idea about people never being pure evil or pure good. I guess it's been done a million times before, and I'm not sure that my idea is any better. Anyway, here's the short version:

Sam was five years away from early retirement but he wasn't really looking forward to "RVing" across the country listening to AM talk radio for the rest of his days. He still had one dream left: a restaurant. Food was his forte and his vice. When he was young, the first dime spent from every paycheck was at Poppa Carlo's—if you could find it on the Mediterranean coast, you could find it at Poppa Carlo's, only better. Ever since then he knew he would someday have a place just like that ... only better.

But food was no place to start. For him, real estate was ... Sam wasn't the best—his heart wasn't in it—but he was good enough. He socked enough cash away in the proverbial cookie jar and finally had enough to start a place of his own. Unfortunately, all the years away from the back kitchen took its toll and he really didn't know where to start. His buddy Paul did, though.

So Sam took care of the money end and Paul took care of the day-to-day business and PC's Place took off (Sam's little homage to his old pal.) Sam knew he had the best spot if the neighborhood would pick up, but he didn't know his carved shingle would be the one to open the floodgates. Things went better than he could have imagined. He got out of real estate as quick as he could to run the place full time.

The only trouble brewing was Sam's health. Fifty-eight years of the best, richest foods took a toll on his heart. His friends knew he was in trouble but he wouldn't hear of it. So three years into his dream—the day before Thanksgiving—he got to go see Poppa Carlo again ... at least that's what they say.

But back on the terrestrial plane, Paul's headaches were just beginning. Not only did he lose his best friend, but Sam had willed the restaurant to his family back home. Paul and he had talked about a more formal partnership but they thought they'd have plenty of time. Paul even produced a draft agreement from one late night but it wouldn't hold up in court, and worse, this cemented Sam's family's already low opinion of Paul and they certainly wouldn't reconsider now.

Paul was stuck ... it was his blood, sweat, toil, and tears as much as it was Sam's that made PC's what it was. Just not the cash. Heck, if it weren't for him, Sam would still be miserable, pushing houses on suburbanites with their two kids and the remaining 0.5 on the way. Paul had to have it.

Then a bit of luck hit. Well, not luck, so much as an "opportunity of necessity."

The building owner had rented PC's Place's place for a song—heck, the building had been nearly vacant for as long as he had owned it and he had figured some money was better than none. But now the place was hot, and he could easily get ten times the amount. By law he couldn't raise the rent on PC's, but after an eviction, he could certainly set new rent.

That's what he needed Paul for. All he had to do was fail to pay rent for six months or so, they'd draw up a new lease, and Paul could open a restaurant—his restaurant—just like before.

If there was one thing Sam's family had right about Paul, it was his malleable view of right-and-wrong. Over the course of the next six months, he ran the place lean and walked out the door with whatever was left—including the unpaid rent money. He figured it was his own personal parachute ... heck, after the fact, it would all go back into the restaurant—just like Sam had it—but if things went wrong, he could open up elsewhere.

Unfortunately for him, Paul's opportunity shut tight as the doors of PC's Place. The building owner had his own plan that excluded one particular restaurant, a fact conveniently excluded when explained to Paul.

So Paul tried and failed a few times. He could run a kitchen, but he didn't have Sam's vision—or his dream—and his gambles at businesses never paid out. He was no Sam and Paul, just Paul.

I guess it's pretty choppy and I don't know if I'll work on it further. I wanted it to show something about good and bad and right and wrong and people's perceptions. Something kindred to my belief that, on the one hand, there's no such thing as a monster or a saint when it comes to people, and on the other, that it is only actions that can be judged morally, not people. Maybe it's just too obvious or it's not the way to teach it. I don't know. I wanted to run all the way through to see what it would look like and now I did and I don't like it. Oh well ... no sense deleting perfectly good filler, though.

Let's see ... what went on. Let me consult my journal (in case you were wondering what all that Palm Pilot note taking was for.)

Thursday was really cool. I went to Daily Perks (389 Gregory St.) for Pure Kona Poetry night, but Evidence was there to open the show with an excellent set of powered acoustic. One of the most incredible moments was right before the chorus of their song "How Far Back Do You Want Me to Go?" Lightning struck just outside, crackling through the amplifiers a split second before its thunderclap shook the whole building. This prompted the lead singer, Ed—giddy with excitement—to proclaim, "Yes! Mother fu...," cutting himself off mid-curseword as he realized there were young kids in the audience.

Next I was off to The Bug Jar (219 Monroe Ave.) to catch a good three-piece instrumental experimental jazz band Doja and the more awesome-than-last-time That One Guy. This time I brought my camera and got the picture you see here. I could just repeat what I said last week, but why bother repeating myself because that would be redundant, and I'd just be saying the same thing over and over again. (Something like that, anyway.)

On Friday I made it out to Montage Grille (50 Chestnut St.) and saw Transcendental Hayride which is a better-than-average jammy groove-rock band ... in other words: it really didn't do anything for me. Bacci opened and I wasn't very excited about them either because they're a modern groove-rock three piece, and they didn't challenge the audience enough for my taste. They basically did everything expected of them—there were no interesting twists and turns in their music, just note-for-note what you thought they'd play. I'll qualify this and add that I don't really care for that kind of stuff, but both bands are quite good otherwise and if you like that kind of music, they'd be good to see.

Saturday I tried to go to Rochester Visual Studies Workshop (31 Prince St.) but apparently that Uforkestra show was nowhere to be found. Chalk one more error to VSW. I spent some time setting up the lights at The All-Purpose Room (#8 in the Public Market, off N. Union St.) for tomorrow and got to see that unbelievable thunderstorm roll across the Public Market from the All-Purpose Room's three huge picture windows. Much much later I got to see D.O.A. at The Bug Jar (219 Monroe Ave.) which was great ... I seem to remember seeing them before, and their logical and rational politically-charged punk music really was great.

• Bom yeoreum gaeul gyeoul geurigo bom (Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter ... and Spring) (at The Little) - Director Ki-duk Kim sums it up by saying "I intended to portray the joy, anger, sorrow and pleasure of our lives through four seasons and through the life of a monk who lives in a temple on Jusan Pond surrounded only by nature."
• La Battaglia di Algeri (Battle of Algiers) (at The Little) - The story of the French attempting to control the revolution in Algiers. Those who cannot learn from history are doomed to repeat it ... or is that just a forgotten musing of George Santayana?
• The Day After Tomorrow - A climatologist must figure out how to save the world from global warming!
• Raising Helen - A fish-out-of-water urbanite has to raise kids with entirely predictable results.
• Soul Plane - Finally, a black-owned airline! I gather it's silly like Airplane! only without Barbara Billingsley to translate.