May 06, 2005
telling a good story
Some people just don't have the knack of telling a good story. They evidently do not understand the concept of a beginning, a middle and a nice wind-up ending. They blather.
I've watched some asshole named Mike Rydell attempt to tell a story about Steve McQueen on the Western Channel for the past couple of days, and I can see Andrew Prine trying to drag the long-winded bastard back to whatever point he was trying to make when he started.
But Rydell doesn't get it. He just blathers and goes off on tangents while he never finishes a complete sentence. HE thinks he's being highly amusing, because HE likes the sound of his own voice, but as storytellers go, he sucks.
Why is it that most Hollywood celebrities can't tell a decent story without boring the shit out of you? The only person I know who can do as badly as THEY do is Georgia when she's been drinking.
"You'd like Miranda, Rob. We went to school together, and I'm really surprised that you don't remember her from back then... but you probably don't remember Jimmy, either... he married what's-her-name and they had a kid, I think. I don't know if Jimmy was the real father or not, but he claimed the kid, which I thought was nice of him. Jimmy got killed in a car wreck back in the late 70s. Or maybe it was the late 80s. It was sometime around then. Maybe the early 80s. Anyway, that was a REALLY cute kid. His name was Justin, or Jonathan... or something like that. I'm pretty sure it started with a "J." You know how those J-names are. It's kinda hard to keep track of them. I haven't seen that child in years now. You know someone else I haven't seen in years....?" Miranda is forgotten and this babble continues until everyone in the room goes to sleep from sheer boredom.
That's NOT a story. It is babbling.
One of the best storytellers I ever met in my life (outside my own family) was my dear friend Steve Hamby. Steve could tell a story with a solid beginning, a solid middle and a whip-ass ending, and he was totally deadpan the entire time. He didn't get in a hurry. He allowed the story to flow. He almost caused me to fall into a campfire more than once with his jokes and tall tales.
Steve had the knack of telling a good story. A lot of people don't, but that fact doesn't stop them from trying. I've got a piece of advice for those people. Just because you can talk a long time doesn't mean you really have anything to say.
Bejus. Learn to tell a good story and shut up when you're finished.
I'm with you there. I LOVE a good story, the taller the tale, the taller the dog.
Yea Like I haven't mentioned those people in 10 years you need to get alife.
"Bejus. Learn to tell a good story and shut up when you're finished."
If you need to talk to us you need to call because I no longer have your phone number.
Good. Now I won't have you interrupting one of my heart-rending stories to announce, "LOOK! There's a BIRD!!!"
And Georgia, you can't tell me you never did that.
OK, Acidman, here is a story for you. An old roommate of mine that used to be a police officer told it to me, and an old cop friend of his in turn told him the story. My roommate was not given to making things up of this nature, so I think it is a true story. Be that as it may, take this story for what you will.
Back in the 1960’s there was a mystery car in Los Angeles that kept eluding police. This was back before police helicopters were widely used, and a skillful driver stood a chance of getting away from police, even with the benefit of radios.
There was a black Porsche whose driver had a habit of attracting police attention with excess speed. The police had attempted several times to intercept and trap the car, but the driver possessed extraordinary skill and kept escaping. The police were getting pretty ticked off about this.
One night, the LAPD officer friend of my roommate was on patrol. Over the radio came a call from another unit, saying something like “there’s that @#$% Porsche again” and that the officer was in pursuit.
My roommate’s cop friend had a hunch who the perp was. Instead of joining the pursuit, he drove his police cruiser to the home of his “suspect” and waited in the driveway.
After a short while, a car pulled into the driveway, slowly...a black Porsche. The cop’s hunch was correct. The driver of the Porsche sat in his car for a few moments, obviously trying to think of what to say to the police officer sitting in his driveway. The jig was up.
The door to the black Porsche opened, and out stepped…Steve McQueen. The officer had reasoned the only person in that area that would have both a black Porsche and the driving skills necessary to elude police would be McQueen, and he was right. McQueen, of course, was also a racecar driver in addition to being a fine actor.
The officer spoke with a somewhat embarrassed and contrite McQueen, explaining that he could not go out rousting the police like that. McQueen might know what he was doing behind the wheel, but his antics might cause less skillful drivers to crash, including police officers. McQueen apologized and agreed not to play racecar driver with the police ever again. And that was that.
Damn. That was a long story. :o)
go watch "Big Fish"...
now THAT guy was a storyteller.
My wife's whole life is a tangent gone off on from something else. I'm surprised she didn't get distracted from saying "I do."
My Dad does that... a LOT.
He went to court with me one time for a ticket I got (after I pulled the cop over to ask directions, mind you) and got started in there, God help me.
He told that Judge some 20 minute story about how it happened, starting with how I was even in the area (a boyfriend the Judge heard allll about) and ending with some shit about my mom, I think.
I just kinda stood there, looking at the Judge in mortification, through my splayed fingers which were covering my face. My entire dialog consisted of two/three words, repeated every minute or so... "Oh, Gawd..., Oh, dear Gawd..."
The violation was thrown out and the cop reprimanded, but I don't know if he did that because I was right, or just to get us the hell outta there and then hollered at the cop for bringing us there in the first place...
(And, 'cause I know ya wanna know, the ticket was for doing 36 in a 35 mph zone. I swear, it was. That cop, who, btw, strongly resembled Fred Flinstone, was later fired... punk.)
And, about Fred Flinstone...
I'm jest kiddin'...
(See? Karma in action, there... I was trying to be cute and karma got me. Forgot my "t'... shit. *lmao*)
Why is it that most Hollywood celebrities can't tell a decent story without boring the shit out of you?
Cause they can't even fuckin talk unless they have a script to read. That's why they mostly have fucked up politcal ideas also.