Pretext: The Unabomber and the
Trumpet Player share two rooms directly next to each other in a house. They
are only recently acquainted.
The Unabomber wakes up at
approximately 10:30 AM. Well, really the Unabomber wakes up at approximately
6:45 AM. He relieves himself in the bathroom and returns to his bed where he
turns back and forth approximately four to five times until he falls back
asleep. The Unabomber is aware his body doesn’t require more sleep (since he
has slept 10+ hours the night previous, though it’s also worth noting the 2-3
nights previous to that his sleep had been very poor due to unmentioned
circumstances), but scientifically analyzes in his mind that if he were to
stay awake at 6:45AM, somewhere
prematurely along the way in his day his eyes will start hurting and begin
to feel sleepy, which will then lead to an unproductive limbo period in which
the Unabomber has to decide if he should take a nap—despite not really feeling
tired enough to take a nap. Meanwhile, the Trumpet Player sleeps soundly in his
adjacent room, unbeknownst entirely of the free will based philosophical
quandaries that are currently besetting the Unabomber.
Unless, of course, snoring is a
sign of assent. The Trumpet Player will often lie snoring in his room far past
the time the Unabomer’s rises from his lair. This would seem like it might
provide as some type of primordial riddle: who wakes earlier in the morning,
the Unabomber or the Trumpet Player? Well, it’s no wordsmith’s riddle—as
mentioned above, the Unabomber typically
The first order of business in the
Unabomber’s day is to shake off the remnants of his REM cycle dream (which
perhaps would have never taken place had he awaken at 6:45AM) involving Tom
Cruise playing a rock concert at a tiny venue, in which Cruise and company
(the company seem to be the more average looking participants of a rock back:
young and possibly Latino) are playing
actual songs known to the Unabomber from an entirely separate (and real) band, the
Secret Machines. The Unabomber surmises
this dream has at the very least something to do with his recent viewing of the
movie Edge of Tomorrow, which left him more interested in the underpinnings of
the psychology of Tom Cruise rather than an explanation for the plot of the
movie (which for all interested parties was a sci-fi Groundhog’s Day meets
Saving Private Ryan except Ryan is a hot chick). The Unabomber knows Tom Cruise
is a scientologist and assumes Cruise is also fairly intelligent. So what
exactly is going on here?
Rome, as they say, wasn’t built
in a day.
Next the Unabomber enters the kitchen
and retrieves an overly green banana. He peels the banana and eats it rather
quickly. The Unabomber walks around the back of the house as the aluminum shedding
outside yawns and bends from the gusty weather. The sounds excite him for some
reason, as if he’s back in a movie or a dream—perhaps Jurassic Park. The
Unabomber dons a jacket and a sweater, then a beanie and some sunglasses. It’s
not sunny outside but the sunglasses are prescribed and they will also protect
his eyes from the wind and drizzle (thus, the Unabomber is born).
When the Unabomber reaches
outside, he’s a happier man. On a warmer day, the Unabomber might run or look
for exercise, but today, the strong, cold weather is enough to make a simple
walk interesting. Halfway down the empty street, wind chimes agree. Part of
the beauty of the cold wind whipping against his face is that it doesn’t let
him think too much. The Unabomber merely let his mind pay attention to the
physical sensations that accompany his body’s movements. When the Unabomber thinks too much, it can
inevitably tend toward the unpleasant.
The only people the Unabomber sees
outside on his walk are a few construction workers beside a white dump truck.
The Unabomber then wonders if he is the sole person in his entire neighborhood
strolling around for the sake of strolling around, since it’s pretty damn cold.
The Unabomber wonders what cars think of him as they drive by. Do they think
nothing? Do they try to ascertain his motives? Does his appearance belie them trying
to ascertain his motives or does it inform them? Why in the hell does the
Unabomber think thoughts like this anyways? Shouldn’t the Unabomber just keep
At about the exact time the
Unabomber comes full circle (when he hears the wind chimes again), the
Unabomber thinks about a text message from his mom, in which she asked whether
he remembered his sister in law’s birthday. And unexpectedly, the Unabomber becomes
overly angered at the digitally interconnected world which he has opted out
from—for if he had a Facebook, he would have been reminded of her birthday. The
Unabomber can hardly remember his brother’s birthday. Does this mean the
Unabomber needs a Facebook? A Facebook seems quite un-Unabomber.
This reminds the Unabomber of one
of the few conversations he has had with the Trumpet Player (the Trumpet Player
is a middle aged man who has recently moved in with the Unabomber. The Trumpet
Player seems nice and keeps to himself, spending almost all of his time inside
his tiny room that resides directly next to the Unabomber. The Unabomber wonders if the Trumpet Player
prefers to stay in his room, or isn’t yet comfortable spending time in the
common area because: A. he doesn’t
know the Unabomber and his roommate well enough B. he doesn’t want to C.
he thinks the Unabomber doesn’t want to get to know him because he’s older D. the common area doesn’t have
anything to offer him E. the
possibilities continue endlessly… ) One
night, when the Trumpet Player came home fairly drunk (as he admitted to
being), he mentioned how his friend had stopped using Match.com, but how he had instructed his
friend he needed to stay on it. The
Unabomber confided in the Trumpet Player that he had once used OkCupid.com and
that it seemed like a viable alternative to the bar scene. The Unabomber also
offered that—as superficial as it seems, dating is really just a numbers game,
plug and chug, eventually you will find success. The Trumpet Player and the Unabomber then somewhat
awkwardly concluded their conversation and returned their separate rooms.
At around 12:15 PM, a fair time after
the Unabomber has returned from his walk, the Trumpet Player is heard rustling
in his room.
The Unabomber puts on some
afternoon coffee. Because the house is missing sugar, the Unabomber is forced
to use pink cake sprinkles. The Unabomber wonders if there’s even a