Passion = Truth? How Jeffrey James Francis Ircink Sees The World? I love when people are passionate about something. That surging of emotion is the one honest measure of what truth is. It's a truthful display of how a person really feels about something or someone at that particular moment. That passion IS truth.

About me...

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Greendale, Wisconsin, United States
Ex-producer of THE REALLY FUNNY HORNY GOAT INTERNATIONAL SHORT FILM FESTIVAL, playwright, actor, singer, outdoorsman, blogger, amateur photog, observer & bitcher, Beach Boys groupie, Brett Favre fanatic, lover of everything Celtic and forever a member in the Tribe of HAIR. Spent most of my life in the Village of Waterford, a small town just outside of the Milwaukee suburbs. After 12 years in North Hollywood, Bel Air and Culver City, Cali, I moved back to Wisconsin in September 2009. No regrets - of moving to LA OR moving back to WI. Have traveled to Belfast, Ireland, Dayton (OH), Manhattan, Seattle, Cedar Rapids, New York, Miami and Sydney, Australia with my plays. Moved back into the Village of Greendale where I was born. Life is good.


Wednesday, October 14, 2009

Origami No. 23. "Foppotte". In honor of Monty Python's Flying Circus' 40th Anniversary.

Something silly. "Foppotte" means "a simple-minded person". It was a writing assignment for a blog which I contribute to.

A man walked into a coffee shop unaware that a book signing reception was in progress. Looking around, he recognized no one. Course he wasn’t from the area so why would he recognize anyone. The coffee shop was a-buzz with activity – people eating cheese and crackers, sipping wine, a violinist playing a cello in the corner (the cello player took sick), chit-chatting and – drinking coffee. In another corner there was a stately, middle-aged gentleman signing books. The author. The man walked up to the author and, noticing a few hundred books stacked on the table, grabbed one and paged through it.

"This your book?" asked the man.
"Yes," confirmed the author. "Would you like to purchase one? I'd be happy to sign it for you."
"No thanks." Uncomfortable pause. “What’s your book about?” asked the man.
“Growing up in Cambridge, Wisconsin.”
“Cambridge? Never heard of it,” said the man.
“It’s near Madison,” said the author. He returns to signing books.

Odd, thought the man. He imagined anyone could write a book about their childhood, particularly if they grew up in an interesting place. But Cambridge, Wisconsin? Never heard of it.

The man stated, "Now...if you had written about your life growing up in Madison, that would have been interesting." The author smiled. "But I didn't grow up in Madison. I grew up on Cambridge."
"Yes," said the man, "so you've said."

Madison would have been much better place to write about, the man thought to himself once again.

The author asked the man, “If you'd like some wine or cheese...”
“No thanks,” said the man.
“Well - enjoy your visit,” the author said and returned to signing books.

The man nodded at the author - and stood there for a few seconds.

“Foppotee,” said the man to the author.
“Excuse me?”
“Foppotee,” repeated the man.
“What does that mean?” asked the author.
The man stated firmly, “Foppotee.” He paused. “Foppotee, foppotah.”

The author sat there dumbfounded. He chose his next words carefully. “You’re a simple-minded person, aren’t you?”

The man stared at the author. It's not known whether the man was staring at the author or staring through him. It made no difference.

The man repeated himself. “Foppotee, foppotah.”
Then the man turned, walked out of the coffee shop as quickly as he had entered it.

The author stared at the door for a few seconds then returned to signing his books.“Foppotee,” he muttered under his breath.

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