ANTHONY BOSCO

During the long night I tossed and turned on sheets soaked through with sweat, struggling to find that perfect position that allows my mind to float away to blissful unconsciousness. But it was no good. Every brief moment of serenity was interrupted by the hum of the air conditioner changing settings or gunfire on the television, which flooded the otherwise dark room with inconsistent flashing light.

I sat up, propping pillows behind me against the wall, trying to keep the wet fabric away from my skin, never with much success. The bed is huge, a king size monstrosity I paid way too much for to impress a woman who isn’t here anymore. I lay square in the middle, staring at my Sony Bravia, clicking through hundreds of channels in search of anything that will help ease me into the netherworld of sleep, where time stops, pain eases and worry is forgotten.

It makes me nostalgic for the late Bob Ross, who hosted the Joy of Painting for 11 years during the 80s and 90s, until his premature death in 1995 of lymphoma. He was a gentle soul with a soothing, almost monotone voice. He painted these beautiful, yet simple landscapes using oil on canvas and, as corny as it sounds, love. He painted big puffy clouds, mountains, streams, flowers and waterfalls and he never made a mistake, he had what he called “a happy little accident.”

Although I had never picked up a brush, I spent many a lazy, sunny afternoon falling into fitful slumber to the sound of Bob’s voice. As he blended paint on pallet, I was memorizing his techniques, which must have bled into my unconscious brain while I slept. But it was his voice more than anything that drew me in, a perfect tone of sincere sweetness, that I remember above all else and I search in vain for now with my remote control.

Eventually I did try my hand at painting and while I’ll never truly consider myself a painter, I have Bob Ross to thank for his influence. Now if only I can get PBS to rerun his old shows in the middle of the night, I might finally get some sleep.

Instead, Die Hard 2 is on again.

I want to say I have had my last political argument, but I know I’d be lying. Still, I’m getting much better at avoiding them, the recent email from my father notwithstanding. I love my father, but when it comes to political discourse, we just don’t jive.

It’s not something I’m particularly proud of lately, but I’m a registered Democrat. I voted for President Obama – not in the New York primary, mind you – and Bill Clinton before him. I did not vote for John Kerry, who I knew was unelectable even before his embarrassing and infamous “reporting for duty” convention speech. (And no, I didn’t vote for the other guy, either).

America is not going to elect Herman Munster (which is also why I’m fairly confident Obama will win re-election). Mitt Romney is the Republican version of Kerry, a country club Massachusetts moderate who kind of looks like a leading man, but upon closer inspection has the charisma of an overripe turnip.

I’ve come to believe it’s all theater, anyway. Corporations run this country, period. And all the yelling and screaming about big government, taxes, gay marriage, religion, the legalization of marijuana and so on is meant to distract us from the man (or men) behind the curtain. Lobbyists, super pacs, Citizens United, this is where the real power in the country is located these days.

Corporations are using our government (of the people, by the people and for the people) as their own personal ATM. They bankroll political campaigns and use the influence they’ve purchased to ensure legislation favorable to their economic interests. I’m not reinventing the wheel here, this kind of thing is older than dirt.

The most eloquent political discourse in the world wasn’t going to get true health care reform enacted, not with lobbyists representing health care professionals and the pharmaceutical and insurance industries all lining up on the same side, pumping so much money into the debate that not even left-leaning loyalists would stand behind a single-payer system.

As a Democrat, as someone who grew up believing in the system, it’s heartbreaking to elect someone like Barack Obama and have absolutely nothing change substantially. Gay marriage? Great. I’m all for it, but it’s not something that should have even been debated. The First Amendment took care of that 225 years ago, if anyone  bothered to read the document on which the nation was founded.

Even so, I prefer to lean left mainly because my beliefs – for the most part – are in line with Dems on social issues. I believe religion has no place in government and banning things like gay marriage is a product of someone else’s dogma dictating the lives of others. Not cool. No way. But this is the side show. This is what we get all heated about and scream about when no one is really listening.

I’d love for both sides to come together and talk about real reform. Put aside the talk of raising or lowering taxes for the moment and cut out the fat, streamline the government and stop wasteful spending practices (and wars) so things like social security, medicare and other services the people need (and pay for) remain in place. But that one, simple, logical step will never happen.

Scream as they will, Republicans aren’t very interested in shrinking the size of government, not the parts they want to keep, that is, like defense spending. And with a military the size of ours, we need to use it, to keep turning the engine, making more bombs, bullets and battleships. I wouldn’t have such a problem with this if not for the fact that – other than innocent people being killed – American workers are being squeezed out of the equation. Manufacturing jobs are being shipped overseas, aiding the emergence of China and India as world powers while America languishes in recession.

The rich keep getting richer. And the rich own corporations. People seem to forget that no matter how high the tax rate on the wealthy, they’re still the wealthy. They still have fancy yachts, foreign cars and swimming pools. Sooner or later though, there will be a tipping point. And when we reach it, duck.

I have seen a lot of courtroom dramas in my day, I dare say it may be my favorite movie sub-genre, followed closely by movies written by Charlie Kaufman and Burt Reynolds ensemble sports car comedies. In addition, I have covered my share of murder and mayhem as a reporter in New York City and I did grow up in Queens, home to a lot of good “family” men.

In spite of it all, I don’t have a criminal mind. Scott Turow’s Presumed Innocent – which later became a movie of the same name starring a woefully subdued Harrison Ford – is the kind of thing I’m talking about. Turow’s finely crafted novel about the murder of an attorney in the DA’s office and the subsequent trial of her former lover for the crime was a revelation when I read it. In particular, it had a great twist, executed far better in the original text than on the screen.

I’m in the midst of writing a screenplay of my own – I know, just what the world needs, another screenplay – and while I think I have a really good, original idea or take on the overall story, writing the details and working it out is much more difficult than I anticipated.

For the most part, the story has flowed, one scene flowing naturally into another. I’m happy with the character development, the prose and dialogue….that’s not it. It’s the details, the creating an entire fictional community and making sure it holds up to scrutiny; the number of officers on the police force, surface area of a key body of water, population and economic statistics, civic structure and the geographical layout of key areas in the story, among countless other things that don’t occur to you when first sitting down to write.

But as I continue to type and draw closer to the meat of the story, the biggest obstacle laying before me is the crime itself. My screenplay is about a murder, to put it simply. But how does one do it? How does one get away with it? How does someone else get the blame? How do the police respond and investigate? How does it all go wrong? How do I make it feel real? I’m learning as I go, trying to outsmart my characters and the audience and myself, it seems. And it’s a bear.

Struggling with how to kill and get away with it should come as some sort of relief, I suppose.  But on this level, the writing a screenplay level, I need to find my inner Turow and get about the business of crafting a murder. Figuratively speaking, of course