We begin on Christmas Eve, with me Artie and my roommate Noah.
We live in an industrial loft, on the corner of Eleventh Street and Avenue B. It was the top floor of, what was once, a music publishing factory. Old rock and roll posters hang on the walls; they have Noah's picture on them publishing gigs are CBGB's and the Pyramid Club. We have an illegal wood burning stove (actually just a trash can), its exhaust pipe crawls up through a skylight. All of our electrical appliances are plugged into one thick extension cord, which snakes it way out a window.
Outside, a small tent city has sprung up in the lot next to our building. Inside, it's freezing because we have no heat.
"Smile!' I exclaimed as I turn my camera towards Puck and begin rolling.
December 24th, 9 p.m. eastern standard time; from here on in I shoot with a script. See if anything comes of it..instead of my old shit..
"First shot Noah, tuning the fender guitar, he hasn't played in a year."
"This won't tune." Puck groaned as he sat on top of what we like to call our kitchen table, but in reality was just an old poker table we found outside last New Year's Eve.
"So we hear." I mumbled.
Noah, or Puck as we liked to refer to him as, just got back from half a year of withdrawal.
"Are you talking to me?" Puck stopped playing and had a very angered look on his face. This, as it just so happens, has been Puck's overall mood in the past year.
"Not at all..are you ready? Hold that focus steady.." I hold the camera in a perfect shot frame of Puck holding his beloved guitar. "Tell the folks at home what you're doing, Noah!"
Noah remained silent for a moment; I had been bugging him about cooperating with me while filming for weeks. Luckily for me, I must have caught my dear old friend at a rather vulnerable time because to my surprise…I didn't receive a sarcastic remark.
"I'm writing one great song-"
BRRIINNNGG.
The phone rings, cutting Noah off completely.
"Saved!" Noah smiles.
We screen. Zoom in on the answering machine.
"SPEEEAAKK," boomed Noah and I's ridiculously loud voices.
"That was very loud beep, I don't even know if this is working…Artie? ARTIE. Are you there? Are you screening your calls? It's MOM!"
Great, I slowly feel my head wanting explode. Noah, by the way is smiling wider than I've ever seen..
"We wanted to call and say we love you and we'll miss you tomorrow. Your sister and the kids are here, they send their love. OH! I hope you like the hot plate! Just don't leave it on dear, when you leave the house. OH! And Artie, I'm sorry to hear that Brittany dumped you; I say c'est la vie. So let her be a lesbian! There are other fishies in the sea! Love, MOM."
Remember when I said I'd never seen Noah smile wider..well now I have. There are time when were freezing and starving and I wonder why I even stay in New York, but then she calls..and I remember.
I quickly turn the camera back in Noah's direction to continue my perfect shot. It's kind of hard to get back in the zone when you mom calls and reminds you how horrible your life really is.
TAKE TWO.
"Tell the folks at home what you're doing Noah."
Noah smile quickly fades, "Um- I'm writing one great song-"
The phone rings, once again. I disregard the feeling that it could be my dad ringing in to give me the old round two of how horrible my life as turned out.
"YES!" Noah's smile returns.
We screen.
"SPEEAAKK"
"Chestnuts roasting-" Sang a very familiar voice.
"Blaine!" Noah and I exclaim in unison as Noah picks up the phone.
"I'm downstairs! Throw down the keys."
I run over to our patio, let's be serious for a second, patio is a super nice word and what we have we'll not super nice. But this is my story, so I'm going to call it a patio for my ego. Thank you very much. Anyway, I can see my good old friend, Blaine, on the payphone across the street. I grabbed the keys to our apartment out of my pocket and throw them down.
A wild night is now pre-ordained.
"I may be detained.." Blaine announced before the line suddenly went dead.
"What does he mean detained?" I look at Noah puzzled. Before we could make it out the door to see what Blaine meant, the phone rings again, only this time we actually answer it. Don't ask me why..we just did.
"HO! HO! HO!"
"Sam. SHIT!" Noah and I groaned.
"Dudes, I'm on my way."
I rolled my eyes, "Great…fuck!"
"I need the rent."
"What rent?"
"Last year's rent that I let slide."
"Let slide? You said we were golden? When you bought the building?"
Noah snatched the phone out of my hands, "When we were roommates? Remember- you lived here?!"
There was a moment of silence and then laughter, "How could I forget? You, me, Blaine and Brittany. How is the drama queen?"
Great. Don't you just love it when people bring up you exes? Always a great topic.
"She's- er- performing tonight."
"I know, still her production manager?"
I put my hand on my forehead, I didn't want to have this conversation what's so ever. Especially with Sam, the tool bag. (Tool bag being the G rated term- your welcome kids!)
"Two days ago, I was bumped."
"Still dating her?"
I could see Puck's smile forming from the corner of my eye. "Last month I was dumped." I tried to say as confidently as possible. Hopefully, I could get it through everyone's head that I was completely over Brittany S. Pierce.
"Oh I see- does she have a new man?"
"Well…not exactly-" I was immediately cut off but tool bag…sorry I mean, Sam.
"What's his name?
The silence had to have not lasted any longer than a few seconds, but to me it felt like a lifetime. Puck found my silence as an invitation to tell Sam the one word I was avoiding.
"SANTANA."
A loud booming of laughter was heard over the phone, this lasted what again felt like forever. I was just about to hang up the damn phone when Sam spoke.
"Rent, my amigos, is due or I will have to evict you. I'll see you in a few."
Finally that jackass left the line. Jackass…see how much more vulgar my descriptions are becoming? Just take this as the red light for youngsters reading this. Trust me, my vocabulary won't get any peachier from here on out.
Puck goes back to picking his guitar, playing Musette's Theme from Puccini's La Boheme. Almost immediately, the fuse blows out on the amp.
THE POWER BLOWS!
How do you document real life
When real life's getting more like fiction each day?
Headlines, bread-lines blow my mind
And now this deadline, eviction or pay rent
How do you write a song when the chords sound wrong
Though they once sounded right and rare?
When the notes are sour
Where is the power you once had to ignite the air?
We're hungry and frozen, some life that we've chosen
How we gonna pay? How we gonna pay?
How we gonna pay? Last year's rent?
How do you start a fire when there's nothing to burn
And it feels like something's stuck in your flue?
How can you generate heat when you can't feel your feet?
And they're turning blue
You light up a mean blaze with posters and screenplays
How we gonna pay? How we gonna pay?
How we gonna pay? Last year's rent?
How do you stay on your feet when on every street?
It's trick or treat and tonight it's trick
Welcome back to town I should lie down
Everything's brown and uh-oh, I feel sick
Where is he? Getting dizzy
How we gonna pay? How we gonna pay?
How we gonna pay? Last year's rent?
The music ignites the night with passionate fire
The narration crackles and pops with incendiary wit
Zoom in as they burn the past to the ground
And feel the heat of the future's glow
How do you leave the past behind
When it keeps finding ways to get to your heart?
It reaches way down deep and tears you inside out
'Til you're torn apart, rent
How can you connect in an age
Where strangers, landlords, lovers
Your own blood cells betray?
What binds the fabric together
When the raging, shifting winds of change
Keep ripping away
Draw a line in the sand and then make a stand
Use your camera to spar, use your guitar
When they act tough, you call their bluff
We're not gonna pay, we're not gonna pay
We're not gonna pay, last year's rent
This year's rent, next year's rent
Rent, rent, rent, rent, rent
We're not gonna pay rent
'Cause everything is rent
What do you think? Shall I continue? Leave comments below, I LOVE input.
Love, Lady Segel.
(Oh, and as you can probably tell..Artie is NOT in a wheelchair in this story.)