Week Thirteen - Journal Two
Tanjee laughed to herself and turned the page in the book she was reading. Suddenly, she heard the front door slam.
“Jerry?” she called.
Silence. She listened for a second and still heard nothing.
The meeting with Mr. Brewster must not have gone well, she thought. She uncurled her legs from underneath her on the sofa and sighed. She hoped he had been direct with Mr. Brewster like she'd told him to be. He deserved that promotion.
“Jerry?” she called again. Since he hadn't come directly to the living room to tell her about the meeting, she went looking for him. He wasn't in the kitchen, nor anywhere downstairs, so he had to be in his study.
She made her way up the stairs and noticed that his door was closed, as usual. She knocked tentatively, and waited.
“Yeah?”
He didn't sound too happy. “May I come in, please?”
She thought she heard a “yes” underneath all the grumbling, so she twisted the knob and opened the door. Jerry was sitting at his desk with his head in his hands, eyes closed.
“So, I take it there is no good news.”
“He gave it to Peterson,” Jerry grumbled.
“What!? Joshua Peterson?!” Tanjee said, placing her hands on her hips.
“Yes, Tanjee, Joshua Peterson.”
“Jerry, you deserved that head coach position far more than Joshua Peterson! He can't coach shit! Did you make sure Brewster remembered all the great success you've had with the tennis team since you've been there?”
“Well, Tanjee he knows all those things, so -”
“Jerry, you should have brought all of that stuff up! I told you you had to go in there and take that job. You knew he didn't want to give it to you in the first place, even though you're by far the best candidate. Jerry, you should have been a man and claimed that job!”
Jerry looked up at Tanjee and could feel the blackness beginning to seep in. Who did she think she was to talk to him like that? He had had a bad enough evening already and she was only making it worse.
“Tanjee, could you please leave me alone?” he asked, gritting his teeth.
“No, I will not,” she said, folding her arms. “I think you should call Mr. Brewster and make him change his mind.”
“Tanjee, I really think you should leave me alone right now,” he said. He did not need her shit tonight.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Image Into Story
Week Thirteen – Journal One
Little Abigail ran gaily around the backyard, picking flowers from her mother's garden and holding them aloft as she twirled around in her new summer dress. Her mother had told her to stay close to the house because in a little while they were going to her friend Samantha's birthday party. Samantha had just turned seven and she was going to have clowns and lots of balloons at her party.
As Abigail spun around and around, singing to herself, the little house across the field suddenly caught her attention. It was just a run-down little shack and it was empty, but Abigail thought she'd seen something moving through one of the windows. Ever since they'd moved to this new home a little while ago, she had been fascinated with it. She had asked her mother if she could use it as her play house, but her mother had strictly forbidden it. She had told her that there had been a fire in that little house a long time ago and some little girls had died in it. Although, Abigail thought that it was sad that the little girls had died, she still didn't understand why she couldn't play in it. There weren't any fires in there now and she definitely wasn't going to start one.
Abigail kept staring at the little house. The gray paint was peeling off all over it, and where there had once been windows, there were now only large, gaping holes. She looked back over her shoulder at the back door to see if her mother was watching her. When she didn't see her, she slowly started walking towards the deserted little shack, holding the flowers she'd been picking down by her side. She walked across the barren field with her eyes glued to the windows. The sun, which had been shining brightly, suddenly disappeared and a slight wind began to blow, rustling Abigail's hair and causing her little dress to float around her.
The closer Abigail got to the little house, the more she thought she could hear whispers and what seemed to be someone giggling. But how could that be? There was no one out here. Her mother had told her so. When she had gotten close to the little house, she stopped. The front door was hanging on it's hinges and partially closed, but she could see through to the empty room inside. Something kept her from going any farther.
She tilted her head, thinking she'd heard something. What was that? It sounded like someone was whispering her name.....”Aaabigaaaaaail.” It was a little girl's voice and it made Abigail feel creepy. Her heart started pounding and she slowly started backing away from the house. Because she was backing up, she didn't see the big rock on the ground and she went tumbling onto her backside. Suddenly, Abigail heard a chorus of giggling girls. She jumped up from the ground, eyes bulging out of her head, and turned and ran at full speed, arms flailing, until she got back to the main house. Her mother was going to be mad that she'd gotten her dress dirty, but probably more upset about her going out to that old house, so she wasn't going to tell her about that. Once she was brave enough, though, she had some more exploring to do out there.
Little Abigail ran gaily around the backyard, picking flowers from her mother's garden and holding them aloft as she twirled around in her new summer dress. Her mother had told her to stay close to the house because in a little while they were going to her friend Samantha's birthday party. Samantha had just turned seven and she was going to have clowns and lots of balloons at her party.
As Abigail spun around and around, singing to herself, the little house across the field suddenly caught her attention. It was just a run-down little shack and it was empty, but Abigail thought she'd seen something moving through one of the windows. Ever since they'd moved to this new home a little while ago, she had been fascinated with it. She had asked her mother if she could use it as her play house, but her mother had strictly forbidden it. She had told her that there had been a fire in that little house a long time ago and some little girls had died in it. Although, Abigail thought that it was sad that the little girls had died, she still didn't understand why she couldn't play in it. There weren't any fires in there now and she definitely wasn't going to start one.
Abigail kept staring at the little house. The gray paint was peeling off all over it, and where there had once been windows, there were now only large, gaping holes. She looked back over her shoulder at the back door to see if her mother was watching her. When she didn't see her, she slowly started walking towards the deserted little shack, holding the flowers she'd been picking down by her side. She walked across the barren field with her eyes glued to the windows. The sun, which had been shining brightly, suddenly disappeared and a slight wind began to blow, rustling Abigail's hair and causing her little dress to float around her.
The closer Abigail got to the little house, the more she thought she could hear whispers and what seemed to be someone giggling. But how could that be? There was no one out here. Her mother had told her so. When she had gotten close to the little house, she stopped. The front door was hanging on it's hinges and partially closed, but she could see through to the empty room inside. Something kept her from going any farther.
She tilted her head, thinking she'd heard something. What was that? It sounded like someone was whispering her name.....”Aaabigaaaaaail.” It was a little girl's voice and it made Abigail feel creepy. Her heart started pounding and she slowly started backing away from the house. Because she was backing up, she didn't see the big rock on the ground and she went tumbling onto her backside. Suddenly, Abigail heard a chorus of giggling girls. She jumped up from the ground, eyes bulging out of her head, and turned and ran at full speed, arms flailing, until she got back to the main house. Her mother was going to be mad that she'd gotten her dress dirty, but probably more upset about her going out to that old house, so she wasn't going to tell her about that. Once she was brave enough, though, she had some more exploring to do out there.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Week Twelve - Using Fear To Your Advantage
Journal Two
Nude Beach
I hope we're not gonna be here all day. I just agreed to do this because I didn't want to be the only loser afraid to go to a nude beach. Hell, I'm just as bold as the next guy, so why not, right? Well, it's summer time, and I can't stand the sun. That's one reason. What can I say? I burn easily.
Well, the guys have all started taking their clothes off, so now what do I do? I'm a little insecure about my nether regions, if you catch my drift, so I shuffle around a bit until Frank points at me and asks me what I'm waiting for, an open invitation or something. Well, of course, he says that cause look at him. He's hung like a horse. The guys chuckle and continue to take off their surf shorts and tee shirts. I look around and see all the old wrinkly people walking by naked as jaybirds, not a care in the world, but all I wanna do is curl up like one of those doodybugs and get locked up inside myself.
My head is already starting to burn from the sun, but I suck it up and take off my t-shirt. Gotta start somewhere, right? Carl makes a smart-ass comment about me being whiter than Snow White, and yeah, that makes me feel a whole helluva lot better. So, now everybody's naked except me, and of course, that makes me feel worse, cause now I'm the primary focus and everybody's waiting for me to drop trow. I finally get up the nerve when I notice that Pete's not working with much down in the old meat section, so I peel off my trunks and toss them aside. Lemme tell ya, nothing is as reassuring as the sound of five of your best buddies laughing at you simultaneously.
When Frank looks down at me and says it must be nice to still be in the third grade, I tell him I'm a grower, not a shower, and he laughs and claps me on the back. It's gonna be a long day. Dang, it's hot! I feel the sun continue to burn my scalp and I realize I'm gonna be burnt to a crisp when I get home. Ugh. How do I get talked into these things?
Nude Beach
I hope we're not gonna be here all day. I just agreed to do this because I didn't want to be the only loser afraid to go to a nude beach. Hell, I'm just as bold as the next guy, so why not, right? Well, it's summer time, and I can't stand the sun. That's one reason. What can I say? I burn easily.
Well, the guys have all started taking their clothes off, so now what do I do? I'm a little insecure about my nether regions, if you catch my drift, so I shuffle around a bit until Frank points at me and asks me what I'm waiting for, an open invitation or something. Well, of course, he says that cause look at him. He's hung like a horse. The guys chuckle and continue to take off their surf shorts and tee shirts. I look around and see all the old wrinkly people walking by naked as jaybirds, not a care in the world, but all I wanna do is curl up like one of those doodybugs and get locked up inside myself.
My head is already starting to burn from the sun, but I suck it up and take off my t-shirt. Gotta start somewhere, right? Carl makes a smart-ass comment about me being whiter than Snow White, and yeah, that makes me feel a whole helluva lot better. So, now everybody's naked except me, and of course, that makes me feel worse, cause now I'm the primary focus and everybody's waiting for me to drop trow. I finally get up the nerve when I notice that Pete's not working with much down in the old meat section, so I peel off my trunks and toss them aside. Lemme tell ya, nothing is as reassuring as the sound of five of your best buddies laughing at you simultaneously.
When Frank looks down at me and says it must be nice to still be in the third grade, I tell him I'm a grower, not a shower, and he laughs and claps me on the back. It's gonna be a long day. Dang, it's hot! I feel the sun continue to burn my scalp and I realize I'm gonna be burnt to a crisp when I get home. Ugh. How do I get talked into these things?
Week Twelve - Revision Journal
What Cletus Wants
I reached over JD to get the remote control and inadvertently touched his thigh. We'd been watching Star Search like we did every Saturday night, but for some reason there was some sort of tension in the air between us. Viola had given JD some liquor that night and he seemed a little friskier than he normally was. She'd since run off to the bar to raise hell with some her girlfriends, so that just left me and JD.
I was quite happy because I liked spending time with JD. There was something about him that was special to me. I couldn't quite put my finger on what it was. JD was a beautiful kid. I'd seen him grow up to be quite a handsome little devil, and something inside of me just wanted to be in his presence. I was always happy when he was with me. That is, until that night.
Like I'd said before, I had kind of touched his thigh while we were sitting on the couch. Now that I think about it, I wonder if in some way I did that on purpose. Whatever the case, I think that's what started the whole thing. JD kind of looked at me and grinned and then looked back at the television.
“Hey, Clete,” he said, after a few minutes had passed. “You know what?” he said, drunkenly.
“What's that, JD?”
“You're a sexy old man, you know that?”
I instantly started to twitch on the couch, but I held myself together and smiled at him.
“Well, that sure is nice of you to say so, JD.” At 38 years old, I didn't consider myself “old” yet, but I guess to him, I fit that bill.
He winked at me drunkenly and inched closer to me on the couch. Keeping his eyes on the small television in front of us, he suddenly placed his hand on my thigh. My breath caught in my throat and I closed my eyes. I didn't know whether to move his hand or just sit there frozen like I was. My thoughts went haywire. I wanted to control myself. I wanted to be a good friend to Viola. I couldn't do anything, though. I just sat there, frozen.
JD started rubbing his hand up and down my leg, slowly and although I tried with all my might to close my mind off, the erection that I was developing began to shift in my pants. I grabbed one of the pillows that I kept on the sofa, placed it across my lap and kept staring blankly at the television.
“Oh, she's definitely not gonna win. Did you hear that flat note she hit at the end, there?” I said, chuckling nervously.
JD didn't say anything. He just kept rubbing my leg, his body slightly swaying drunkenly. It was getting hot in there and I wanted to go turn on the fan that sat in the corner of my small living room, but I didn't want to give the state of my pants away. So, I reached over and got my glass of Jack Daniels off the table and reached inside and pulled out a cube of ice. I rubbed it across my forehead and took a deep breath, trying to get my breathing under control.
When I placed the glass back on the table, JD suddenly lunged at me. Before I knew it, his mouth was on mine and he had both his hands on my legs. His lips tasted so sweet, I hated myself for pushing him off me, but I did.
“JD! What the hell's the matter with you?”
“Aw, come on, Clete. Don't act like you don't want me. Don't you think I can see how much underneath that pillow?”
“JD, what do you know? You're seventeen years old,” I said, weakly.
“I know a lot old man. Don't you worry about that,” he said, tossing back the lock of black hair that had fallen into his face.
I didn't know what to do. I was still throbbing down there and my heart was beating out of my chest.
He leaned over towards me again, this time more slowly and kissed me softly.
“JD, Viola will kill me,” I pleaded.
“Yeah, she will kill you if she finds out you tried to rape me, Cletus. We wouldn't want her to find that out, would we?”
“You're talking crazy, son. Viola wouldn't believe that.”
“Oh, no? My momma ain't stupid, Clete. You don't think she sees the way you've been eyeballing me all this time?”
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Oh, no?” he said, snatching the pillow from my lap. “Well, what do you suppose this is?”
He grinned mannishly and grabbed my bulging crotch with his right hand. I groaned involuntarily and closed my eyes. Before I knew it JD was kissing me again, and I seemed to just melt away from myself. I knew there was gonna be hell to pay for this, but in that moment, I didn't care. Viola would never look at me the same way, and neither would JD, but I wasn't able to focus on any of that. In the background of my mind, I could vaguely hear the voice of Ed McMahon saying “The judges give you FOUR STARS!”, but my head was reeling. I was a mess of thoughts and all I could do was lay back on that couch and let the moment sweep me away.
I reached over JD to get the remote control and inadvertently touched his thigh. We'd been watching Star Search like we did every Saturday night, but for some reason there was some sort of tension in the air between us. Viola had given JD some liquor that night and he seemed a little friskier than he normally was. She'd since run off to the bar to raise hell with some her girlfriends, so that just left me and JD.
I was quite happy because I liked spending time with JD. There was something about him that was special to me. I couldn't quite put my finger on what it was. JD was a beautiful kid. I'd seen him grow up to be quite a handsome little devil, and something inside of me just wanted to be in his presence. I was always happy when he was with me. That is, until that night.
Like I'd said before, I had kind of touched his thigh while we were sitting on the couch. Now that I think about it, I wonder if in some way I did that on purpose. Whatever the case, I think that's what started the whole thing. JD kind of looked at me and grinned and then looked back at the television.
“Hey, Clete,” he said, after a few minutes had passed. “You know what?” he said, drunkenly.
“What's that, JD?”
“You're a sexy old man, you know that?”
I instantly started to twitch on the couch, but I held myself together and smiled at him.
“Well, that sure is nice of you to say so, JD.” At 38 years old, I didn't consider myself “old” yet, but I guess to him, I fit that bill.
He winked at me drunkenly and inched closer to me on the couch. Keeping his eyes on the small television in front of us, he suddenly placed his hand on my thigh. My breath caught in my throat and I closed my eyes. I didn't know whether to move his hand or just sit there frozen like I was. My thoughts went haywire. I wanted to control myself. I wanted to be a good friend to Viola. I couldn't do anything, though. I just sat there, frozen.
JD started rubbing his hand up and down my leg, slowly and although I tried with all my might to close my mind off, the erection that I was developing began to shift in my pants. I grabbed one of the pillows that I kept on the sofa, placed it across my lap and kept staring blankly at the television.
“Oh, she's definitely not gonna win. Did you hear that flat note she hit at the end, there?” I said, chuckling nervously.
JD didn't say anything. He just kept rubbing my leg, his body slightly swaying drunkenly. It was getting hot in there and I wanted to go turn on the fan that sat in the corner of my small living room, but I didn't want to give the state of my pants away. So, I reached over and got my glass of Jack Daniels off the table and reached inside and pulled out a cube of ice. I rubbed it across my forehead and took a deep breath, trying to get my breathing under control.
When I placed the glass back on the table, JD suddenly lunged at me. Before I knew it, his mouth was on mine and he had both his hands on my legs. His lips tasted so sweet, I hated myself for pushing him off me, but I did.
“JD! What the hell's the matter with you?”
“Aw, come on, Clete. Don't act like you don't want me. Don't you think I can see how much underneath that pillow?”
“JD, what do you know? You're seventeen years old,” I said, weakly.
“I know a lot old man. Don't you worry about that,” he said, tossing back the lock of black hair that had fallen into his face.
I didn't know what to do. I was still throbbing down there and my heart was beating out of my chest.
He leaned over towards me again, this time more slowly and kissed me softly.
“JD, Viola will kill me,” I pleaded.
“Yeah, she will kill you if she finds out you tried to rape me, Cletus. We wouldn't want her to find that out, would we?”
“You're talking crazy, son. Viola wouldn't believe that.”
“Oh, no? My momma ain't stupid, Clete. You don't think she sees the way you've been eyeballing me all this time?”
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Oh, no?” he said, snatching the pillow from my lap. “Well, what do you suppose this is?”
He grinned mannishly and grabbed my bulging crotch with his right hand. I groaned involuntarily and closed my eyes. Before I knew it JD was kissing me again, and I seemed to just melt away from myself. I knew there was gonna be hell to pay for this, but in that moment, I didn't care. Viola would never look at me the same way, and neither would JD, but I wasn't able to focus on any of that. In the background of my mind, I could vaguely hear the voice of Ed McMahon saying “The judges give you FOUR STARS!”, but my head was reeling. I was a mess of thoughts and all I could do was lay back on that couch and let the moment sweep me away.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
A Matter of Character
Week Eleven: Journal One
Name: Mildred Withers
Nickname: Millie
Sex: Female
Age: 32
Looks: Long stringy brown hair, glasses, medium build, small breasts
Education: College degree
Vocation: Clerk in Library
Status/Money: Lots of money in savings account from years of saving.
relationship: single
Family/Ethnicity: Mother and Father dead, White
Places: Apartment
Recreation/Hobbies: watching documentaries, eating pints of ice cream, logic problems
Obsessions: Her cat, Blue, solitude, puzzles, magazines
Beliefs: Believes she is very unattractive.
Politics: None
Sexual history: Never had a boyfriend, virgin
Ambitions: Secretly dreams of being glamorous and popular.
Religion: None
Superstitions: thinks crossed yes are bad luck
Fears: men/people in general, heights, sardine cans,
Attitudes: Quiet, mousy, introverted
Character flaws: insecure, painfully shy
Character strengths: intelligent, caring,
Pets: Cat, Blue
Taste in books/music: Gore Vidal, John Irving, clueless to music
Journal entries: talks about her cat constantly and her boring life in the library.
Handwriting: small and tight
Astrological sign: Libra
Talents: pure, angelic voice
Friends: The head librarian where she works
Relatives: One half-brother who lives across the country
Enemies: None
As seen by others: quiet, shy, mousy, but capable and smart
Scars: One from appendectomy, cuticles badly chewed up
Tattoos, piercings: None
Salary: $30,000/yr
“Now, Blue, you get down from there,” Mildred playfully scolded the cat, picking him off the top of the refrigerator and snuggling him close to her chest. “Mommy has been looking for you.”
As she held Blue protectively in the crook of her right arm, she replaced the box of Raisin Bran that had fallen off of the refrigerator and onto the counter. She continued petting the animal gently, as she ambled from her small kitchenette to the window in the living room, which overlooked the community garden behind her building.
Mildred rarely went out. Just the thought of being around people in a social setting was enough to make her start sweating. She looked wistfully out of her window into the garden below, wishing she had the desire to go out and walk among the beautifully blooming flora. She had no foolish notion of ever blossoming in that way herself. She was just a miserable old spinster, destined to be alone for the rest of her life. At least she had Blue. He would always be here for her.
Mildred felt Blue beginning to purr in her arms and she smiled, rubbing her face against the softness of his head. She began to hum along with the cat and eventually the hum became a song. As she peered out the window, mindlessly rubbing her most beloved possession, she sang. The voice that came from this small, mousy woman was pure and crystal clear. The melodious sound of her voice traveled through her opened window down into the grounds below and more specifically through the window of a certain single gentleman who lived in the apartment directly beneath her.
Never once thinking about being overheard by anyone, Mildred continued to sing and stroke her cat simultaneously. Before long, there came a tentative knock at her door, and she instinctively jumped. Blue, startled out of his peaceful reverie, leaped out of her arms and scurried beneath the couch, nearly taking her grandmother's old antimacassar with it.
Mildred couldn't imagine who could be at her door. She smoothed her hair, adjusted her eyeglasses and tip-toed quietly to the front door. She subconsciously pulled her sweater tightly across her chest and cracked the door open.
“Yes,” she said, peering through the door, into the hallway. She found herself looking at the interestingly handsome fellow who had just moved in downstairs.
“Excuse me,” he said, clearing his throat and looking somewhat amused. “But I need to speak to the person who was just singing; the little angel has melted my soul.”
Mildred squeaked in surprise and closed the door quickly. What was she going to do now?
Name: Mildred Withers
Nickname: Millie
Sex: Female
Age: 32
Looks: Long stringy brown hair, glasses, medium build, small breasts
Education: College degree
Vocation: Clerk in Library
Status/Money: Lots of money in savings account from years of saving.
relationship: single
Family/Ethnicity: Mother and Father dead, White
Places: Apartment
Recreation/Hobbies: watching documentaries, eating pints of ice cream, logic problems
Obsessions: Her cat, Blue, solitude, puzzles, magazines
Beliefs: Believes she is very unattractive.
Politics: None
Sexual history: Never had a boyfriend, virgin
Ambitions: Secretly dreams of being glamorous and popular.
Religion: None
Superstitions: thinks crossed yes are bad luck
Fears: men/people in general, heights, sardine cans,
Attitudes: Quiet, mousy, introverted
Character flaws: insecure, painfully shy
Character strengths: intelligent, caring,
Pets: Cat, Blue
Taste in books/music: Gore Vidal, John Irving, clueless to music
Journal entries: talks about her cat constantly and her boring life in the library.
Handwriting: small and tight
Astrological sign: Libra
Talents: pure, angelic voice
Friends: The head librarian where she works
Relatives: One half-brother who lives across the country
Enemies: None
As seen by others: quiet, shy, mousy, but capable and smart
Scars: One from appendectomy, cuticles badly chewed up
Tattoos, piercings: None
Salary: $30,000/yr
“Now, Blue, you get down from there,” Mildred playfully scolded the cat, picking him off the top of the refrigerator and snuggling him close to her chest. “Mommy has been looking for you.”
As she held Blue protectively in the crook of her right arm, she replaced the box of Raisin Bran that had fallen off of the refrigerator and onto the counter. She continued petting the animal gently, as she ambled from her small kitchenette to the window in the living room, which overlooked the community garden behind her building.
Mildred rarely went out. Just the thought of being around people in a social setting was enough to make her start sweating. She looked wistfully out of her window into the garden below, wishing she had the desire to go out and walk among the beautifully blooming flora. She had no foolish notion of ever blossoming in that way herself. She was just a miserable old spinster, destined to be alone for the rest of her life. At least she had Blue. He would always be here for her.
Mildred felt Blue beginning to purr in her arms and she smiled, rubbing her face against the softness of his head. She began to hum along with the cat and eventually the hum became a song. As she peered out the window, mindlessly rubbing her most beloved possession, she sang. The voice that came from this small, mousy woman was pure and crystal clear. The melodious sound of her voice traveled through her opened window down into the grounds below and more specifically through the window of a certain single gentleman who lived in the apartment directly beneath her.
Never once thinking about being overheard by anyone, Mildred continued to sing and stroke her cat simultaneously. Before long, there came a tentative knock at her door, and she instinctively jumped. Blue, startled out of his peaceful reverie, leaped out of her arms and scurried beneath the couch, nearly taking her grandmother's old antimacassar with it.
Mildred couldn't imagine who could be at her door. She smoothed her hair, adjusted her eyeglasses and tip-toed quietly to the front door. She subconsciously pulled her sweater tightly across her chest and cracked the door open.
“Yes,” she said, peering through the door, into the hallway. She found herself looking at the interestingly handsome fellow who had just moved in downstairs.
“Excuse me,” he said, clearing his throat and looking somewhat amused. “But I need to speak to the person who was just singing; the little angel has melted my soul.”
Mildred squeaked in surprise and closed the door quickly. What was she going to do now?
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Week Eleven - 7 or 8 Things
Week Eleven – Journal 2
7 or 8 Things I Know about Him – A Stolen Biography
His Wife's Scars
After his death, his wife found that she had become less ashamed of the scars that he had awarded her in the lottery that was her life. She began to count them nightly before bed; the one across her forehead from the butt of his pistol, the one just above her right eye from the the glass ashtray that he'd clipped her with, and the long thin one that went from the her left temple down to her chin. She seemed to wear them almost with a sense of pride; pride in the fact that she was still here, wearing those scars and he was not.
The Dog
He was always running around as a child and throwing things and teasing people. One sunny day as he ran around in the front yard with his cut-off shorts and dingy white t-shirt both caked with dirt, his father sitting up on the porch with a beer in his hand, he spotted a pitiful looking dog limping across the street. He picked up a rock and threw it, hitting the dog in his hindquarters. When he heard his father laugh, it seemed to spur him on. He ran over to the dog, lifted his ashy little leg and kicked him as hard as he could in his belly. The dog gave a horrible yelp and fell over. He ran back over to his father, laughing like he had just heard the funniest joke in the world. The next day the dog was found dead in the exact same spot.
The Sneakers
Gambling was something that he couldn't give up, but he had been horrible at it. His friends knew that when they saw him coming, they should just go ahead and pull out the dice because it was time to start shooting craps. His reputation as a sore loser was notorious. He would be quick to threaten one of them if they so much as accused him of taking too long to roll. Once he lost and wouldn't pay up, and he wouldn't pay up because he'd been gambling with his mother's money and he had no intention of getting put out. He didn't think it was right to have to walk the streets, especially with his brand new sneakers on. He broke a bottle over one of the guys' heads and they all jumped him. When he finally made it home a little later that evening, bloody-nosed and bruised, he wouldn't answer his mother's question about why he was barefoot.
First Criticism
He is about 4 years old and is standing against the wall, banging his head into the sheet rock over and over again. He's been at his mother's apartment, which she shares with a female friend, for four hours now, and he's already ready to get back to his father. The G.I. Joe figure his mother gave him is broken into three pieces at angry little feet. The young women are taking turns puffing from a marijuana cigarette, sitting on the couch and watching him. The mother's friend looks at her, shakes her head and says “Girl, that boy gone be trouble. He is so bad!”
Listening In
This is overheard while he is in the bathroom getting ready to go out to a bar: “Damn, you's a pretty nigga!”
Self-Criticism
“Hell, I guess I must have been as dumb as my momma kept saying I was. I couldn't never hold a decent conversation with a woman. They was always laughing at me or talking about they was “busy” whenever I called or came around. I was so dumb, it took me a little while to realize I could get what I wanted if I took it.”
Fantasies
Recurring fantasy: To have four voluptuous women, 2 white, 1 black and 1 mexican, all trying their best to fulfill his every desire while he sits like a king in the middle of his bed and throws hundred dollar bills in the air around them.
7 or 8 Things I Know about Him – A Stolen Biography
His Wife's Scars
After his death, his wife found that she had become less ashamed of the scars that he had awarded her in the lottery that was her life. She began to count them nightly before bed; the one across her forehead from the butt of his pistol, the one just above her right eye from the the glass ashtray that he'd clipped her with, and the long thin one that went from the her left temple down to her chin. She seemed to wear them almost with a sense of pride; pride in the fact that she was still here, wearing those scars and he was not.
The Dog
He was always running around as a child and throwing things and teasing people. One sunny day as he ran around in the front yard with his cut-off shorts and dingy white t-shirt both caked with dirt, his father sitting up on the porch with a beer in his hand, he spotted a pitiful looking dog limping across the street. He picked up a rock and threw it, hitting the dog in his hindquarters. When he heard his father laugh, it seemed to spur him on. He ran over to the dog, lifted his ashy little leg and kicked him as hard as he could in his belly. The dog gave a horrible yelp and fell over. He ran back over to his father, laughing like he had just heard the funniest joke in the world. The next day the dog was found dead in the exact same spot.
The Sneakers
Gambling was something that he couldn't give up, but he had been horrible at it. His friends knew that when they saw him coming, they should just go ahead and pull out the dice because it was time to start shooting craps. His reputation as a sore loser was notorious. He would be quick to threaten one of them if they so much as accused him of taking too long to roll. Once he lost and wouldn't pay up, and he wouldn't pay up because he'd been gambling with his mother's money and he had no intention of getting put out. He didn't think it was right to have to walk the streets, especially with his brand new sneakers on. He broke a bottle over one of the guys' heads and they all jumped him. When he finally made it home a little later that evening, bloody-nosed and bruised, he wouldn't answer his mother's question about why he was barefoot.
First Criticism
He is about 4 years old and is standing against the wall, banging his head into the sheet rock over and over again. He's been at his mother's apartment, which she shares with a female friend, for four hours now, and he's already ready to get back to his father. The G.I. Joe figure his mother gave him is broken into three pieces at angry little feet. The young women are taking turns puffing from a marijuana cigarette, sitting on the couch and watching him. The mother's friend looks at her, shakes her head and says “Girl, that boy gone be trouble. He is so bad!”
Listening In
This is overheard while he is in the bathroom getting ready to go out to a bar: “Damn, you's a pretty nigga!”
Self-Criticism
“Hell, I guess I must have been as dumb as my momma kept saying I was. I couldn't never hold a decent conversation with a woman. They was always laughing at me or talking about they was “busy” whenever I called or came around. I was so dumb, it took me a little while to realize I could get what I wanted if I took it.”
Fantasies
Recurring fantasy: To have four voluptuous women, 2 white, 1 black and 1 mexican, all trying their best to fulfill his every desire while he sits like a king in the middle of his bed and throws hundred dollar bills in the air around them.
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Week Ten - "Battle for Positions"
Week 10, Journal 1
In the dark room, Adele sat in the chair by the window, staring into the night. The only light came from the streetlight. She'd been sitting in the same spot for hours, thinking, not knowing what to do. She couldn't believe what she'd seen earlier that day – him with another woman. And he'd looked right into her eyes, caught red-handed.
He'd pulled into the garage a few minutes before and she heard the front door close and knew he was on his way up the stairs.
As he opened the door, she said in a dull monotone, “Don't turn on the light.”
“Honey,” he asked, concerned. “Are you OK?”
“Richard, please don't,” she said.
“Adele, look, I just want to make sure you're -”
“Like you really give a shit! I've been sitting here for 8 hours now, Richard. Don't pretend you're all concerned about how I'm feeling.”
Richard took a deep breath and said “Adele, I don't know what to say.”
“How long?”
“Sweetheart, why are you sitting here in the dark? Let me turn the lights on.”
“HOW LONG!?”
The room was suddenly very quiet. Richard said nothing. He slowly walked across the room to the bedside lamp and turned it on. Sitting down on the bed, he turned towards Adele at the window. “Four months.”
“You've been fucking her for four months?”
“Sweetheart, listen -”
Adele sat frozen for a moment, and then she raised her hands to her face. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God...........”
“Honey, it meant nothing.”
She looked at him incredulously. “Nothing?! Nothing? You have no idea. This means everything!”
“Please calm down, Adele.”
“I will not calm down,” she said, finally standing up and walking over to him. “You know? I thought I knew you. I thought we had a happy little life in our happy little home and that everything was hunky-dory in our happy little world. I guess I was living in a fairy tale, hunh? And the sad part about it is I was so in love with you that I couldn’t see how big an asshole you were!”
“Honey, listen to me,” Richard said.
“Oh, Richard, please! Save it!”
“Sweetheart, please listen to me.”
“STOP TELLING ME TO LISTEN TO YOU!! I don’t want to hear a word you have to say! Not one word! I’ve been listening to you lie to me all this time…listening to you say, “I love you”, listening to you say, “You’re the best little wife in the world”….listening to lie after lie after lie. And all the while you're lying, you're out sleeping with that whore! Well, I’m done listening!” she says, staring directly into his face. “And to think, I almost brought another life into this house of lies.”
Richard's face was suddenly a medley of emotions as he tried to figure out what she meant. “What?”
“I’m pregnant!! How’s that for a laugh? That’s the fantastic news I was running to your office to tell you when I saw you with your whore today. Yeah, I’m pregnant….but it doesn’t matter. I’ll be damned if I have this baby.”
Richard sat on the bed, stunned, as Adele turned and walked out the bedroom door, slamming it behind her.
In the dark room, Adele sat in the chair by the window, staring into the night. The only light came from the streetlight. She'd been sitting in the same spot for hours, thinking, not knowing what to do. She couldn't believe what she'd seen earlier that day – him with another woman. And he'd looked right into her eyes, caught red-handed.
He'd pulled into the garage a few minutes before and she heard the front door close and knew he was on his way up the stairs.
As he opened the door, she said in a dull monotone, “Don't turn on the light.”
“Honey,” he asked, concerned. “Are you OK?”
“Richard, please don't,” she said.
“Adele, look, I just want to make sure you're -”
“Like you really give a shit! I've been sitting here for 8 hours now, Richard. Don't pretend you're all concerned about how I'm feeling.”
Richard took a deep breath and said “Adele, I don't know what to say.”
“How long?”
“Sweetheart, why are you sitting here in the dark? Let me turn the lights on.”
“HOW LONG!?”
The room was suddenly very quiet. Richard said nothing. He slowly walked across the room to the bedside lamp and turned it on. Sitting down on the bed, he turned towards Adele at the window. “Four months.”
“You've been fucking her for four months?”
“Sweetheart, listen -”
Adele sat frozen for a moment, and then she raised her hands to her face. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God...........”
“Honey, it meant nothing.”
She looked at him incredulously. “Nothing?! Nothing? You have no idea. This means everything!”
“Please calm down, Adele.”
“I will not calm down,” she said, finally standing up and walking over to him. “You know? I thought I knew you. I thought we had a happy little life in our happy little home and that everything was hunky-dory in our happy little world. I guess I was living in a fairy tale, hunh? And the sad part about it is I was so in love with you that I couldn’t see how big an asshole you were!”
“Honey, listen to me,” Richard said.
“Oh, Richard, please! Save it!”
“Sweetheart, please listen to me.”
“STOP TELLING ME TO LISTEN TO YOU!! I don’t want to hear a word you have to say! Not one word! I’ve been listening to you lie to me all this time…listening to you say, “I love you”, listening to you say, “You’re the best little wife in the world”….listening to lie after lie after lie. And all the while you're lying, you're out sleeping with that whore! Well, I’m done listening!” she says, staring directly into his face. “And to think, I almost brought another life into this house of lies.”
Richard's face was suddenly a medley of emotions as he tried to figure out what she meant. “What?”
“I’m pregnant!! How’s that for a laugh? That’s the fantastic news I was running to your office to tell you when I saw you with your whore today. Yeah, I’m pregnant….but it doesn’t matter. I’ll be damned if I have this baby.”
Richard sat on the bed, stunned, as Adele turned and walked out the bedroom door, slamming it behind her.
Week Ten - "By the Time You Read This..."
“By the Time You Read This”
Week Ten, Journal Two
By the time you read this.....
*two magazines will have arrived along with various bills collecting in the mailbox.
*2 twelve-packs of beer will have been drank, the cans strewn around the living room, no one bothering to pick them up.
*20 hours worth of shows will have recorded on the DVR and gone unwatched.
*The smoke from the marijuana will have escaped underneath the door, prompting Miss Mathis to call the apartment manager.
*A female fan at the Coldplay concert, having reached the limit of her capacity for excitement, will have fainted and had to be carried out on a stretcher.
*Someone will have eaten the last piece of salami in the refrigerator, leaving it absolutely devoid of anything edible.
*Across the globe, a newly retired man will have just arrived at his hotel in Maui and been handed a Mai-tai and his itinerary for the start of the rest of his life.
Week Ten, Journal Two
By the time you read this.....
*two magazines will have arrived along with various bills collecting in the mailbox.
*2 twelve-packs of beer will have been drank, the cans strewn around the living room, no one bothering to pick them up.
*20 hours worth of shows will have recorded on the DVR and gone unwatched.
*The smoke from the marijuana will have escaped underneath the door, prompting Miss Mathis to call the apartment manager.
*A female fan at the Coldplay concert, having reached the limit of her capacity for excitement, will have fainted and had to be carried out on a stretcher.
*Someone will have eaten the last piece of salami in the refrigerator, leaving it absolutely devoid of anything edible.
*Across the globe, a newly retired man will have just arrived at his hotel in Maui and been handed a Mai-tai and his itinerary for the start of the rest of his life.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Week Nine - Setting & Dialogue
She was running dreadfully late. The invitation had said 6:45 and because she’d had to wait on the babysitter, she was already 30 minutes behind schedule. As she steered her Lexus SUV along the highway, she noticed the sign announcing her exit. She was still learning her way around the cities, having just moved here from San Diego, where her husband had been stationed. She had never been to this part of town before, but her co-worker Janice seemed like a nice enough lady, so she figured her neighborhood was probably alright.
After she exited the highway, she stopped at the red light and made a quick right turn onto Williams Blvd. There was very little traffic, so she slowed briefly and looked down at the invitation she held in her right hand. “You’re invited to celebrate the retirement of Janice Wheatley: 4518 Watkins Rd”.
“Oh, shoot! Watkins road,” she said. “I must have exited too soon. Good work, Sarah.” She noticed that she had driven up alongside a public park. She could see that what little grass there was had been worn down to the dirt and there was only one crooked swing on the rusty-looking swing set, where it appeared there had been three. Empty soda cans and other bits of trash lay discarded here and there. Sitting on a picnic bench with his legs straddled open, and drinking something out of wrinkled paper bag, was a young man wearing a tank top t-shirt and baggy pants. His hair was in cornrows. He noticed her watching him and lifted his head in greeting.
Sarah snapped her head back to the road. Suddenly, she was uncomfortable. On the opposite side of the street from the park, she started noticing torn down businesses, some boarded up and some just left to circumstance, shattered window panes gaping at her. She needed to get back on the highway. That much she knew, so at her next opportunity, she made a quick u-turn, making a mental effort to restrain herself from gunning it. She drove casually back towards the highway and cast a cursory glance at the man on the bench. He was watching her now with a look of amusement on his face.
“You can't go back that way!” he yelled, cupping his hands to his face.
“What?”Sarah mumbled to herself. “What is he talking about?” She nervously pushed a button, raising the SUV’s window. She continued down toward the freeway, ignoring the young man. When she had gone the short distance to the stoplight, she realized that there was no entry to the on ramp. Ahead of her the street became a one way, so she couldn't go forward, and if she were to go right, it looked to only have her circling around back to the street she was on.
She thought it was weird that there was no traffic, but she pulled over to the side of the road to think. She was so deep in thought about what to do, she almost hit the top of the SUV when the young man suddenly appeared at her window, as if out of thin air.
“Hey, mama, you lost?” he asked.
“Um, well, it would appear that I am,” she said, manufacturing the best smile she could.
“Well, what's a nice looking young lady like yourself doing in my neck of the woods, hunh?”
Sarah surreptitiously looked down to see if her doors were locked. “ I -, I-, I was just looking for, for .....”
“Come on, mama, spit it out. I ain't gone bite cha.” he said. His breath smelled an awful lot like her husband's when he came home from a night out with the boys. She noticed he had a cigarette tucked behind his right ear.
“Well, I sincerely wouldn't expect you to,” she answered, taking a deep breath. “I was only looking for Watkins, Watkins road.” She kept her hands on the steering wheel and looked straight ahead.
“Here's what’s up, lil’ lady. My friends call me Tony, so I'd like it very much if you would do me that honor. These streets around here can be a little dangerous at night, so you know what you do?”
“Um, I really have no idea. I thought I was just going to get back on the highway here, but - “
“Well, actually, all you have to do is turn around right here. Go back up to the next light. That'll be Jackson. Take a left and go down two stop lights and you'll run right into Williams. Cool?”
“Er, cool,” she said, subconsciously sweeping her hair behind her ear. “ I really appreciate it, uhm, Tony.”
“Hey, no sweat, ok?”
“Right. No sweat,” she said, with a big sigh of relief.
She looked at him as he strutted back over to the crumbling bench, and thought how nice it was of him to help her. She looked into her rearview mirror and quickly manuevered a u-turn. As she pulled off down the street, she looked back and saw Tony with his hand in the air, saying goodbye. She beeped her horn twice, and road off into the twilight.
After she exited the highway, she stopped at the red light and made a quick right turn onto Williams Blvd. There was very little traffic, so she slowed briefly and looked down at the invitation she held in her right hand. “You’re invited to celebrate the retirement of Janice Wheatley: 4518 Watkins Rd”.
“Oh, shoot! Watkins road,” she said. “I must have exited too soon. Good work, Sarah.” She noticed that she had driven up alongside a public park. She could see that what little grass there was had been worn down to the dirt and there was only one crooked swing on the rusty-looking swing set, where it appeared there had been three. Empty soda cans and other bits of trash lay discarded here and there. Sitting on a picnic bench with his legs straddled open, and drinking something out of wrinkled paper bag, was a young man wearing a tank top t-shirt and baggy pants. His hair was in cornrows. He noticed her watching him and lifted his head in greeting.
Sarah snapped her head back to the road. Suddenly, she was uncomfortable. On the opposite side of the street from the park, she started noticing torn down businesses, some boarded up and some just left to circumstance, shattered window panes gaping at her. She needed to get back on the highway. That much she knew, so at her next opportunity, she made a quick u-turn, making a mental effort to restrain herself from gunning it. She drove casually back towards the highway and cast a cursory glance at the man on the bench. He was watching her now with a look of amusement on his face.
“You can't go back that way!” he yelled, cupping his hands to his face.
“What?”Sarah mumbled to herself. “What is he talking about?” She nervously pushed a button, raising the SUV’s window. She continued down toward the freeway, ignoring the young man. When she had gone the short distance to the stoplight, she realized that there was no entry to the on ramp. Ahead of her the street became a one way, so she couldn't go forward, and if she were to go right, it looked to only have her circling around back to the street she was on.
She thought it was weird that there was no traffic, but she pulled over to the side of the road to think. She was so deep in thought about what to do, she almost hit the top of the SUV when the young man suddenly appeared at her window, as if out of thin air.
“Hey, mama, you lost?” he asked.
“Um, well, it would appear that I am,” she said, manufacturing the best smile she could.
“Well, what's a nice looking young lady like yourself doing in my neck of the woods, hunh?”
Sarah surreptitiously looked down to see if her doors were locked. “ I -, I-, I was just looking for, for .....”
“Come on, mama, spit it out. I ain't gone bite cha.” he said. His breath smelled an awful lot like her husband's when he came home from a night out with the boys. She noticed he had a cigarette tucked behind his right ear.
“Well, I sincerely wouldn't expect you to,” she answered, taking a deep breath. “I was only looking for Watkins, Watkins road.” She kept her hands on the steering wheel and looked straight ahead.
“Here's what’s up, lil’ lady. My friends call me Tony, so I'd like it very much if you would do me that honor. These streets around here can be a little dangerous at night, so you know what you do?”
“Um, I really have no idea. I thought I was just going to get back on the highway here, but - “
“Well, actually, all you have to do is turn around right here. Go back up to the next light. That'll be Jackson. Take a left and go down two stop lights and you'll run right into Williams. Cool?”
“Er, cool,” she said, subconsciously sweeping her hair behind her ear. “ I really appreciate it, uhm, Tony.”
“Hey, no sweat, ok?”
“Right. No sweat,” she said, with a big sigh of relief.
She looked at him as he strutted back over to the crumbling bench, and thought how nice it was of him to help her. She looked into her rearview mirror and quickly manuevered a u-turn. As she pulled off down the street, she looked back and saw Tony with his hand in the air, saying goodbye. She beeped her horn twice, and road off into the twilight.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Week Nine - Them's Fighting Words
Week Nine – Journal Two
Them's Fighting Words
“Who was she?!”
“Dammit, it's none of your business who she was?”
“Oh,no?”
“NO. Why do you think you need know everything?”
“I'm gonna ask you one more time, Leonard. Who was that whore you were traipsing around in front of my son?”
“Oh, and he's not my son?”
“Leonard, I swear I will call my lawyer and have your rights terminated.”
“What?! Are you out of your mind? You must be! Well, you go ahead. You go right on ahead and we'll see who's rights gets terminated”.
“Hmph. What are you talking about?”
“Oh, come on, don't play dumb with me.”
“Leonard, you sound so stupid trying to threaten me. I'm calling Bryan's office right now.”
“Fine. I'd like to talk him also.....about your good friend, Stanley Kirkland.”
“What? Um, what do you know about Stanley?”
“Loretta, I'd advise you to hang up that phone....now”.
Them's Fighting Words
“Who was she?!”
“Dammit, it's none of your business who she was?”
“Oh,no?”
“NO. Why do you think you need know everything?”
“I'm gonna ask you one more time, Leonard. Who was that whore you were traipsing around in front of my son?”
“Oh, and he's not my son?”
“Leonard, I swear I will call my lawyer and have your rights terminated.”
“What?! Are you out of your mind? You must be! Well, you go ahead. You go right on ahead and we'll see who's rights gets terminated”.
“Hmph. What are you talking about?”
“Oh, come on, don't play dumb with me.”
“Leonard, you sound so stupid trying to threaten me. I'm calling Bryan's office right now.”
“Fine. I'd like to talk him also.....about your good friend, Stanley Kirkland.”
“What? Um, what do you know about Stanley?”
“Loretta, I'd advise you to hang up that phone....now”.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Week Eight - Points of View
Week Eight – Point of View
POV 1
I was a little late to get to the club that night, cause I had to get my hair done, but I came flossing on in right at around 11:30. I was just a little bit late, but I know people expect me to be fashionably late. They think it's cute. Anyway, I walked in and there Patrick was, giving some chick with long extensions “the eye”. Smiling at her like a fool. She had on a dress that was too damn tight and her boobs look like they woulda popped out if you hugged her too hard. I thought to myself, “Oh, no, he didn't!” I stood there for a second, with my hands on my hips and let him notice me noticing him. Finally, he saw me and wiped the Casanova playboy look off his face. He smiled at me and started walking over to where I had just come in by the bar. Before he got to me, though, little Miss Fake Hair sashays on up and gives him a piece of paper and whispers something in his ear and walks off. By that point, I was hot! I stood there looking at him in shock. Was he kidding? He put the piece of paper in his pocket and walked up to me, kissing me on my cheek, talking bout, “hey, baby”. I told him “I got yo' 'hey baby'!” and slapped the taste out of his mouth!
POV 2
It was 11:45 and I was getting pretty pissed cause Chantal wasn't there yet. We were supposed to be meeting at 11:00, but as usual, she was late. She pisses me off with that shit. If she is ever on time for any-damn-thing I will give her the keys to my car. So, some little honey had been checking me out, but you know, I'm with Chantal, so I wasn't getting down like that with nobody else. I mean, ole girl was hot like fire, too! She had told me she was part Indian, and she had a head full of thick black hair that looked like it was all hers. The dress she had on was hugging her curves in all the right places and the ladies was sittin' at attention quite nicely up top, if you know what I mean. She had already tried to spit game at me, but I wasn't even trippin' with her. She wasn't giving up though, so I was still kind of admiring her persistence, from afar. That's when I looked over and spotted Chantal in her “warrior stance”. I knew she was about to act a fool, so I smiled and started walking over to her. Before I knew it, Indian girl had come up to me and put her digits in my hand and told me to call her. I thought to myself “is she kidding?” Like I said, I had already told her I was with somebody, but I didn't wanna create no drama with Chantal, so I just smiled, put the phone number in my pocket and laughed it off. I walked over to Chantal and gave her my usual, sweet “hey, baby”. You know what she did? She said “I got yo' hey baby!” and slapped me, right there in the club. I knew she was gone start trippin!
POV 1
I was a little late to get to the club that night, cause I had to get my hair done, but I came flossing on in right at around 11:30. I was just a little bit late, but I know people expect me to be fashionably late. They think it's cute. Anyway, I walked in and there Patrick was, giving some chick with long extensions “the eye”. Smiling at her like a fool. She had on a dress that was too damn tight and her boobs look like they woulda popped out if you hugged her too hard. I thought to myself, “Oh, no, he didn't!” I stood there for a second, with my hands on my hips and let him notice me noticing him. Finally, he saw me and wiped the Casanova playboy look off his face. He smiled at me and started walking over to where I had just come in by the bar. Before he got to me, though, little Miss Fake Hair sashays on up and gives him a piece of paper and whispers something in his ear and walks off. By that point, I was hot! I stood there looking at him in shock. Was he kidding? He put the piece of paper in his pocket and walked up to me, kissing me on my cheek, talking bout, “hey, baby”. I told him “I got yo' 'hey baby'!” and slapped the taste out of his mouth!
POV 2
It was 11:45 and I was getting pretty pissed cause Chantal wasn't there yet. We were supposed to be meeting at 11:00, but as usual, she was late. She pisses me off with that shit. If she is ever on time for any-damn-thing I will give her the keys to my car. So, some little honey had been checking me out, but you know, I'm with Chantal, so I wasn't getting down like that with nobody else. I mean, ole girl was hot like fire, too! She had told me she was part Indian, and she had a head full of thick black hair that looked like it was all hers. The dress she had on was hugging her curves in all the right places and the ladies was sittin' at attention quite nicely up top, if you know what I mean. She had already tried to spit game at me, but I wasn't even trippin' with her. She wasn't giving up though, so I was still kind of admiring her persistence, from afar. That's when I looked over and spotted Chantal in her “warrior stance”. I knew she was about to act a fool, so I smiled and started walking over to her. Before I knew it, Indian girl had come up to me and put her digits in my hand and told me to call her. I thought to myself “is she kidding?” Like I said, I had already told her I was with somebody, but I didn't wanna create no drama with Chantal, so I just smiled, put the phone number in my pocket and laughed it off. I walked over to Chantal and gave her my usual, sweet “hey, baby”. You know what she did? She said “I got yo' hey baby!” and slapped me, right there in the club. I knew she was gone start trippin!
Week Eight - Creating A Setting
Week Eight – Journal #1
Creating A Setting
The little white Honda Civic sat in the parking lot of the “Everything's A Dollar” mini-mart. In the bright sunshine, it looked more gray, showcasing it's need for a good wash. Through the car windows, clothes could be seen in the back seat, thrown on top of boxes, into which were stuffed all manner of items; books, purses, high-heeled shoes, a small television. A pillow and folded blanket had been placed on top of one of the boxes.
The dashboard, on which sat a coffee mug and hair brush, showed that the gas tank was almost empty. In the console were a toothbrush, and a tube of toothpaste. The opened ashtray held several tubes of lipstick. Empty soda cans, and various pieces of paper were strewn across the floor on the passenger side, among them old issues of Cosmopolitan and Elle magazine and envelops which read “Important Notice Enclosed” and “Payment Past Due”.
Hanging from the bar above the passenger seat was a red uniform. The uniform consisted of a sleeveless vest and short skirt. Across the breast of the vest was stitched the words “Golden Casino”. The sun beamed through the window making the fabric shimmer and flash on a laminated picture listlessly hanging from the rearview mirror. In the picture was a woman and little boy, both with bright smiles.
Creating A Setting
The little white Honda Civic sat in the parking lot of the “Everything's A Dollar” mini-mart. In the bright sunshine, it looked more gray, showcasing it's need for a good wash. Through the car windows, clothes could be seen in the back seat, thrown on top of boxes, into which were stuffed all manner of items; books, purses, high-heeled shoes, a small television. A pillow and folded blanket had been placed on top of one of the boxes.
The dashboard, on which sat a coffee mug and hair brush, showed that the gas tank was almost empty. In the console were a toothbrush, and a tube of toothpaste. The opened ashtray held several tubes of lipstick. Empty soda cans, and various pieces of paper were strewn across the floor on the passenger side, among them old issues of Cosmopolitan and Elle magazine and envelops which read “Important Notice Enclosed” and “Payment Past Due”.
Hanging from the bar above the passenger seat was a red uniform. The uniform consisted of a sleeveless vest and short skirt. Across the breast of the vest was stitched the words “Golden Casino”. The sun beamed through the window making the fabric shimmer and flash on a laminated picture listlessly hanging from the rearview mirror. In the picture was a woman and little boy, both with bright smiles.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Week Seven - Another's Perspective
I was very picky with meeting men, so it had been hard for me to find someone I was really interested in. My friends kept harassing me to go to Yahoo Personals and set up an ad, saying I was bound to meet some decent guys there. But I wasn't looking for decent. I was looking for great. I'm a single, attractive white guy and why should I settle for less?
Well, the first guy I went out on a date with was just not the one. For some reason, I've always been attracted to black guys, so when I saw in this one black guy's ad that he was intelligent, forty and was going to school to get his degree, I thought “cool, a guy going to get another degree”. Little did I know, it was his first degree. The guy had never graduated college! At 40 years old!
Well, I found that out over dinner. We had agreed to meet at The Cheesecake Factory, so I drove up and parked my Mercedes in the valet area and waited patiently for him, checking out my appearance in the glass revolving doors at the entrance. The black Armani blazer I had on fit perfectly and I was ready for a nice evening. My workout at the gym had left me feeling exhilarated.
Finally, he drove up in an older model Toyota 4Runner, which looked as if it had seen better days. It had to have been at least ten years old. That did not look too promising. Once he got out and walked over to me, I noticed he was tall, which the ad had promised, and relatively good looking. He was wearing jeans and a blue polo shirt and looked a little too casual for my taste. The sneakers he was wearing looked far from new and were a bit, shall I say, “run down”. I almost made up an excuse right then and there to leave, but I had promised my friends that I would at least give it a shot.
Once we were seated, I ordered a nice, healthy salad and a Perrier. He, of course, ordered what seemed like a whole side of beef and a beer. I rarely eat meat and I don't drink, so this was definitely not a good sign. By the time he was on his third bottle of beer, I knew this was not going to work. I didn't really understand his sense of humor and when he talked, something kept drawing my eyes to that gap he had between his top two front teeth. I instantly appreciated the years I spent wearing braces.
I didn't find his conversation all that great either. When I mentioned how I thought Britney Spears was a joke and should be mentally institutionalized, he said that he felt sorry for her and wished people would just leave her alone. Ugh.
I did like the fact that he seemed very comfortable with himself, but whatever the cologne was that he was wearing smelled like it cost less than the meals we were eating. At some point, I blatantly kept looking at my watch, and he asked, jokingly I would surmise, if there was somewhere I needed to be. I quickly jumped on the opportunity to escape and explained that I had just remembered I needed to go pick up a new suit I had been having tailored. The way he smiled and looked at me, saying “OK, cool,” let me know that he really didn't believe a word I was saying. But, I didn't care. I wanted out of there. I hadn't paid $150.00 for a haircut to be sitting here with some guy who laughed at his own “jokes”, called himself “silly” and never even finished college.
After we split the check and were out standing in front of the restaurant, I plastered a smile on my face and reached out to shake his hand. He chuckled as if he had just heard something funny, shook my hand, and said “It was nice to meet you.” I said the feeling was mutual. He turned, shaking his head, and said “You take care,” and walked off. The nerve of some people!
Well, the first guy I went out on a date with was just not the one. For some reason, I've always been attracted to black guys, so when I saw in this one black guy's ad that he was intelligent, forty and was going to school to get his degree, I thought “cool, a guy going to get another degree”. Little did I know, it was his first degree. The guy had never graduated college! At 40 years old!
Well, I found that out over dinner. We had agreed to meet at The Cheesecake Factory, so I drove up and parked my Mercedes in the valet area and waited patiently for him, checking out my appearance in the glass revolving doors at the entrance. The black Armani blazer I had on fit perfectly and I was ready for a nice evening. My workout at the gym had left me feeling exhilarated.
Finally, he drove up in an older model Toyota 4Runner, which looked as if it had seen better days. It had to have been at least ten years old. That did not look too promising. Once he got out and walked over to me, I noticed he was tall, which the ad had promised, and relatively good looking. He was wearing jeans and a blue polo shirt and looked a little too casual for my taste. The sneakers he was wearing looked far from new and were a bit, shall I say, “run down”. I almost made up an excuse right then and there to leave, but I had promised my friends that I would at least give it a shot.
Once we were seated, I ordered a nice, healthy salad and a Perrier. He, of course, ordered what seemed like a whole side of beef and a beer. I rarely eat meat and I don't drink, so this was definitely not a good sign. By the time he was on his third bottle of beer, I knew this was not going to work. I didn't really understand his sense of humor and when he talked, something kept drawing my eyes to that gap he had between his top two front teeth. I instantly appreciated the years I spent wearing braces.
I didn't find his conversation all that great either. When I mentioned how I thought Britney Spears was a joke and should be mentally institutionalized, he said that he felt sorry for her and wished people would just leave her alone. Ugh.
I did like the fact that he seemed very comfortable with himself, but whatever the cologne was that he was wearing smelled like it cost less than the meals we were eating. At some point, I blatantly kept looking at my watch, and he asked, jokingly I would surmise, if there was somewhere I needed to be. I quickly jumped on the opportunity to escape and explained that I had just remembered I needed to go pick up a new suit I had been having tailored. The way he smiled and looked at me, saying “OK, cool,” let me know that he really didn't believe a word I was saying. But, I didn't care. I wanted out of there. I hadn't paid $150.00 for a haircut to be sitting here with some guy who laughed at his own “jokes”, called himself “silly” and never even finished college.
After we split the check and were out standing in front of the restaurant, I plastered a smile on my face and reached out to shake his hand. He chuckled as if he had just heard something funny, shook my hand, and said “It was nice to meet you.” I said the feeling was mutual. He turned, shaking his head, and said “You take care,” and walked off. The nerve of some people!
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Week Seven - Point of View
Week Seven – Journal #2
Point of View
My younger brother and I were never really close once we left home, but I still remember the days when we used to play together with reckless abandon as kids. Those days were long gone, and we were both different people. I had gone off to try my hand at college and my brother had taken a different path: one of guns and drugs. I never really knew if he was completely ok with me being gay because though he never mocked me, he never seemed proud of me either. But, I was never going to find out because my mother called me one day to tell me my brother had been killed. At 22, he'd been gunned down outside of a nightclub by some thug trying to steal his souped up Impala. I remember being stunned as I hung up the phone. I didn't cry, though. For some reason, I just didn't. By the time the “wake” came, I still hadn't. I watched my mother, go up to my brother's casket and touch his face softly, trying to be strong. My grandmother and aunt were crying pitifully in the front room of the overcrowded and hot funeral parlor and I just took deep breaths. It felt surreal as I listened to the young organist playing a somber spiritual and suddenly it was my turn to view his body. I slowly walked up to him and the minute I saw the waxen face that he would wear to his grave, I immediately was rushed with memories of running around the house with him and playing in the backyard with him and tickling him until he was crying and suddenly, I was sobbing like I never had before. Deep, ugly sounds poured out of me. I would never see him again. As he lay there in the suit that I had worn to my high school prom, I rained down tears on his body until my mother walked up and hugged me from behind, telling me everything was alright and he was now in a better place.
Darald hadn't been very surprised to get the phone call from his mother telling him that his brother, Patrone had been shot. He was, however, stunned to hear that his brother was dead. Patrone, who was only two years younger than he, had chosen to stay in the ghetto that they had both grown up in. He had considered himself a gangster, and he had guns and drugs to prove it. He wasn't afraid of anything or anyone. Darald, on the other hand had chosen to be the first person in his family to go to college, and he was proud of that. Patrone despised the fact that his brother was gay, joking about him to his friends, but for the sake of his mother, he tolerated him. The two brothers couldn't be more different. Darald didn't really make much of his reaction, or lack thereof, to the news that his brother had been slain. Though they had played happily together as kids, they had fought viciously, too. He figured that it had to happen sooner or later, and although he felt a sense of loss, no tears did he shed. While he sat in the first row at his brother's wake, he looked around solemnly at his brother's friends and their many relatives. Barbara, the boys' mother, stood silently weeping. Her arms were hugged tightly to herself as she looked down at the emaciated body in the casket. She had known this day would come. She had warned Patrone when he had been shot two years earlier that if he didn't change his life, it was going to come to an end. And here it was. The organist, who had just gotten her hair fixed especially for the occasion, couldn't help but notice how hot and sticky it was. She wanted to take out her fan just as everyone else had, but she had her hands full with playing. As Barbara made her way back to her seat, Darald slowly stood up and walked toward the casket. He looked down into his brother's face. Suddenly, he remembered the time he tickled Patrone until he had called their mother crying. He remembered the time that he and Patrone had flown their first kite and the time they had gotten their first pair of skates. Memory after memory rushed into his head and he began to weep uncontrollably. He clutched the side of the casket and leaned over it wanting to get inside with him; wanting to have one more chance to be that kid again, to make his brother laugh. He cried like that until Barbra, with fresh tears flowing down her face, came up and lovingly placed her arms around him from behind. She turned him to her and they embraced, sobbing in each other's arms.
Point of View
My younger brother and I were never really close once we left home, but I still remember the days when we used to play together with reckless abandon as kids. Those days were long gone, and we were both different people. I had gone off to try my hand at college and my brother had taken a different path: one of guns and drugs. I never really knew if he was completely ok with me being gay because though he never mocked me, he never seemed proud of me either. But, I was never going to find out because my mother called me one day to tell me my brother had been killed. At 22, he'd been gunned down outside of a nightclub by some thug trying to steal his souped up Impala. I remember being stunned as I hung up the phone. I didn't cry, though. For some reason, I just didn't. By the time the “wake” came, I still hadn't. I watched my mother, go up to my brother's casket and touch his face softly, trying to be strong. My grandmother and aunt were crying pitifully in the front room of the overcrowded and hot funeral parlor and I just took deep breaths. It felt surreal as I listened to the young organist playing a somber spiritual and suddenly it was my turn to view his body. I slowly walked up to him and the minute I saw the waxen face that he would wear to his grave, I immediately was rushed with memories of running around the house with him and playing in the backyard with him and tickling him until he was crying and suddenly, I was sobbing like I never had before. Deep, ugly sounds poured out of me. I would never see him again. As he lay there in the suit that I had worn to my high school prom, I rained down tears on his body until my mother walked up and hugged me from behind, telling me everything was alright and he was now in a better place.
Darald hadn't been very surprised to get the phone call from his mother telling him that his brother, Patrone had been shot. He was, however, stunned to hear that his brother was dead. Patrone, who was only two years younger than he, had chosen to stay in the ghetto that they had both grown up in. He had considered himself a gangster, and he had guns and drugs to prove it. He wasn't afraid of anything or anyone. Darald, on the other hand had chosen to be the first person in his family to go to college, and he was proud of that. Patrone despised the fact that his brother was gay, joking about him to his friends, but for the sake of his mother, he tolerated him. The two brothers couldn't be more different. Darald didn't really make much of his reaction, or lack thereof, to the news that his brother had been slain. Though they had played happily together as kids, they had fought viciously, too. He figured that it had to happen sooner or later, and although he felt a sense of loss, no tears did he shed. While he sat in the first row at his brother's wake, he looked around solemnly at his brother's friends and their many relatives. Barbara, the boys' mother, stood silently weeping. Her arms were hugged tightly to herself as she looked down at the emaciated body in the casket. She had known this day would come. She had warned Patrone when he had been shot two years earlier that if he didn't change his life, it was going to come to an end. And here it was. The organist, who had just gotten her hair fixed especially for the occasion, couldn't help but notice how hot and sticky it was. She wanted to take out her fan just as everyone else had, but she had her hands full with playing. As Barbara made her way back to her seat, Darald slowly stood up and walked toward the casket. He looked down into his brother's face. Suddenly, he remembered the time he tickled Patrone until he had called their mother crying. He remembered the time that he and Patrone had flown their first kite and the time they had gotten their first pair of skates. Memory after memory rushed into his head and he began to weep uncontrollably. He clutched the side of the casket and leaned over it wanting to get inside with him; wanting to have one more chance to be that kid again, to make his brother laugh. He cried like that until Barbra, with fresh tears flowing down her face, came up and lovingly placed her arms around him from behind. She turned him to her and they embraced, sobbing in each other's arms.
Saturday, October 4, 2008
Week Six - Complication vs. Situation
Week 6 – Journal #1
Complication versus Situation
Marcus hadn't been this excited in a long time. He was finally going to be able to marry Carl, his long time partner of 10 years. They had stayed together against all odds; through all the arguments, all the fights and all the lovemaking in between. Finally, it was legal to get married in the state of California.
Marcus hurried across the busy city street, proudly holding the tuxedo he had just picked up from the cleaner's. Carl was going to be so impressed when he saw it. He had gotten special stitching done to the right lapel, combining the initials of both their first names. He was almost glowing as he made his way up the stairs of their brownstone apartment, his tall figure exuding happiness and confidence.
At the front door, he threw the plastic-sheathed tuxedo over his left arm and dug out his key with the other. Carl was going to be so surprised that he'd gotten home early. He wanted to take him out for a picnic in the park before their relatives started arriving that evening. Carl had taken the day off to get the place ready for their guests.
Marcus opened the door, and bent down to grab the mail that had been shoved through the mail slot beside the door. As he stood, he cocked his ear. What was that sound? Probably Carl was upstairs cleaning things up. He quickly went through the mail; a bill from the caterer, a bill from the florist, a letter from his grandmother, probably saying she wouldn't be able to make it to the wedding, and the latest People magazine.
Marcus laid the mail on the table beside the door, and started taking the stairs in front of him two at a time. He slowed, however, when he heard what sounded like moaning coming from the bedroom, and stopped altogether at the top of the landing when he heard the bedsprings creaking. What the - ?
He was frozen in place. Suddenly he felt as if the blood had drained from his entire body.
He slowly started walking toward the bedroom. The tuxedo and the keys that he had been holding dropped to the floor, the sound upsetting the stillness in the hallway.
The moaning stopped all at once and Marcus placed his hand on the doorknob. Did he really want to turn it? Nothing could be happening on the other side of this door, right? He was just hearing things.
Marcus slowly turned the knob, and pushed. As the door swung open, the door to the bathroom inside slammed shut. Carl jumped out of the bed, wrapping his well-toned, caramel-colored body hastily in the comforter.
“Ah, hey, honey,” he started. “What - ?”
“Carl,” Marcus said, trying to catch his breath, which suddenly seemed very short. “Carl, what the hell's going on?”
“Marcus, baby, nothing's going on,” he said, smiling freakishly.
“Carl, you promised,” Marcus said dully.
“Baby, let's go downstairs and talk. You look like you need to sit down,” Carl said, stumbling over the comforter towards Marcus and the bedroom door.
“What - is - going - on?”
“Baby, calm down. You're overreacting,” said Carl, putting his hand on Marcus' shoulder.
Marcus looked hard at Carl, not believing that they could be going through this again. Carl had promised that he wouldn't cheat on him again. Well, it looked like once a cheat, always a cheat. Marcus ripped Carl's hand away from his shoulder and walked straight to the bathroom door.
“Whoever is in there, you can come out now!,” he shouted, pounding his fist into the door.
“Marcus! Come on, man. Calm down. Let's go downstairs.”
“COME OUT NOW!” Marcus said.
After a minute, the door slowly opened and Marcus felt like his entire body had just been shocked with a zillion jolts of electricity. His brother, Marlon, stood before him looking up into his eyes and didn't say a word. He stood there in Carl's bathrobe, looking like a little boy who'd just gotten caught by his father wearing his mother's dress. Marlon, who he'd taken care of and protected when they were kids; taught him how to ride his bike, tie his shoes, hold his fork.
Behind him, Marcus could hear Carl mumbling something, but his head was filled with such a mass rushing of thoughts that all he could focus on was his brother's eyes. “I can't....I...I can't believe it.” He slowly backed away, finally coming into contact with the bed and sitting clumsily.
“Marcus,” Marlon finally spoke. “Dude, I'm so sorry. I mean, I know it's no excuse but ....”
Marcus turned to look at Carl, who was standing sheepishly looking out into the hallway, as if wanting to make a mad dash for it.
“Carl, I don't get it, and I guess I never will.” Marcus sat for a minute, looking from Carl to Marlon and back again. Nobody said a word.
Marcus eventually pulled himself off of the bed. He looked at Marlon from head to toe, and turned toward Carl. Pulling the ring that Carl had just given him the night before from his finger, he walked toward him slowly. In one snake-like movement, Marcus's hand was across Carl's face. The crack echoed through the silent room, and then all was still again.
Marcus tossed the ring onto the bed and walked out of the room, down the stairs and out the front door.
Complication versus Situation
Marcus hadn't been this excited in a long time. He was finally going to be able to marry Carl, his long time partner of 10 years. They had stayed together against all odds; through all the arguments, all the fights and all the lovemaking in between. Finally, it was legal to get married in the state of California.
Marcus hurried across the busy city street, proudly holding the tuxedo he had just picked up from the cleaner's. Carl was going to be so impressed when he saw it. He had gotten special stitching done to the right lapel, combining the initials of both their first names. He was almost glowing as he made his way up the stairs of their brownstone apartment, his tall figure exuding happiness and confidence.
At the front door, he threw the plastic-sheathed tuxedo over his left arm and dug out his key with the other. Carl was going to be so surprised that he'd gotten home early. He wanted to take him out for a picnic in the park before their relatives started arriving that evening. Carl had taken the day off to get the place ready for their guests.
Marcus opened the door, and bent down to grab the mail that had been shoved through the mail slot beside the door. As he stood, he cocked his ear. What was that sound? Probably Carl was upstairs cleaning things up. He quickly went through the mail; a bill from the caterer, a bill from the florist, a letter from his grandmother, probably saying she wouldn't be able to make it to the wedding, and the latest People magazine.
Marcus laid the mail on the table beside the door, and started taking the stairs in front of him two at a time. He slowed, however, when he heard what sounded like moaning coming from the bedroom, and stopped altogether at the top of the landing when he heard the bedsprings creaking. What the - ?
He was frozen in place. Suddenly he felt as if the blood had drained from his entire body.
He slowly started walking toward the bedroom. The tuxedo and the keys that he had been holding dropped to the floor, the sound upsetting the stillness in the hallway.
The moaning stopped all at once and Marcus placed his hand on the doorknob. Did he really want to turn it? Nothing could be happening on the other side of this door, right? He was just hearing things.
Marcus slowly turned the knob, and pushed. As the door swung open, the door to the bathroom inside slammed shut. Carl jumped out of the bed, wrapping his well-toned, caramel-colored body hastily in the comforter.
“Ah, hey, honey,” he started. “What - ?”
“Carl,” Marcus said, trying to catch his breath, which suddenly seemed very short. “Carl, what the hell's going on?”
“Marcus, baby, nothing's going on,” he said, smiling freakishly.
“Carl, you promised,” Marcus said dully.
“Baby, let's go downstairs and talk. You look like you need to sit down,” Carl said, stumbling over the comforter towards Marcus and the bedroom door.
“What - is - going - on?”
“Baby, calm down. You're overreacting,” said Carl, putting his hand on Marcus' shoulder.
Marcus looked hard at Carl, not believing that they could be going through this again. Carl had promised that he wouldn't cheat on him again. Well, it looked like once a cheat, always a cheat. Marcus ripped Carl's hand away from his shoulder and walked straight to the bathroom door.
“Whoever is in there, you can come out now!,” he shouted, pounding his fist into the door.
“Marcus! Come on, man. Calm down. Let's go downstairs.”
“COME OUT NOW!” Marcus said.
After a minute, the door slowly opened and Marcus felt like his entire body had just been shocked with a zillion jolts of electricity. His brother, Marlon, stood before him looking up into his eyes and didn't say a word. He stood there in Carl's bathrobe, looking like a little boy who'd just gotten caught by his father wearing his mother's dress. Marlon, who he'd taken care of and protected when they were kids; taught him how to ride his bike, tie his shoes, hold his fork.
Behind him, Marcus could hear Carl mumbling something, but his head was filled with such a mass rushing of thoughts that all he could focus on was his brother's eyes. “I can't....I...I can't believe it.” He slowly backed away, finally coming into contact with the bed and sitting clumsily.
“Marcus,” Marlon finally spoke. “Dude, I'm so sorry. I mean, I know it's no excuse but ....”
Marcus turned to look at Carl, who was standing sheepishly looking out into the hallway, as if wanting to make a mad dash for it.
“Carl, I don't get it, and I guess I never will.” Marcus sat for a minute, looking from Carl to Marlon and back again. Nobody said a word.
Marcus eventually pulled himself off of the bed. He looked at Marlon from head to toe, and turned toward Carl. Pulling the ring that Carl had just given him the night before from his finger, he walked toward him slowly. In one snake-like movement, Marcus's hand was across Carl's face. The crack echoed through the silent room, and then all was still again.
Marcus tossed the ring onto the bed and walked out of the room, down the stairs and out the front door.
Week Six - Tell Me A Story
Week 6 – Journal #2
Tell Me A Story
Original Version:
One day when I was in high school, I took it upon myself to be a thief. My Major Works English class was just ending for the day and Jessica Evans, who sat in the desk directly in front of me, had gotten up and left her purse sitting open beside her desk. In it, sitting exposed on top, was a smaller coin purse. While no one was looking, I grabbed it. Inside there was a $10.00 bill. I snitched it and threw the purse back in, surreptitiously scanning the room. No one had seen me. Needless to say, after Jessica found out her purse was missing, she went to the principal and reported it. Eventually, I was called into the principal's office and she drilled me with questions to the point that I broke down and confessed that it indeed had been me who'd purloined the purse. She told me that I was going to return the purse and when I got home I was going to call Jessica and apologize to her for taking it. I thought to myself that this was not something that I was going to do at all. But that evening when I got home, I couldn't help but think about it. I finally got up the nerve to call Jessica. She was so nice about it and I was so proud of myself for having the courage to call her up, after hanging up the phone I felt like some part of me had grown up a little.
Showing and Telling Version:
Kelly fidgeted in his seat, waiting for the school bell to ring, putting an end to that day's second period English class. It was the advanced Major works level, and only the smartest students were allowed to take this particular course. As Kelly sat listening to the teacher give out that night's homework assignment, he glanced down and noticed Jessica Evans' purse sitting beside her desk in front of him. Suddenly, his heart started to beat a little faster. He couldn't believe the opportunity that had presented itself. He'd never done anything like this before, but something was propelling him, urging him to take it. He nervously looked around the classroom, gauging his surroundings. The bell rang and while some students jumped up, anxious to get to their next class, others meandered about, collecting books and chatting happily as they slowly made their way out.
Jessica got up and made her way up to Mrs. Levonsky's desk. Kelly sat at his desk, pretending to organize his books while surreptitiously eying the purse, which lay open before him. On top, exposing itself to him, was a little coin purse. It was just screaming at him to be snatched. He gave a quick look around to see who was there. All of the students had made their way toward the front of the class. Seeing his opportunity, Kelly swiftly grabbed the little leather coin purse and twisted the clasp. He grabbed what was inside, keeping his eyes on Mrs. Levonsky and Jessica the entire time, and stealthily replaced it.
“Bye, Mrs. Levonky,” he said, after he'd gathered his belongings and made his way to the front of the class. “Bye, Jessica.”
“See you tomorrow, Kelly. Very good reading today,” Mrs. Levonky replied.
“Thank you,” Kelly said.
“Bye,” Jessica said.
As Kelly left the classroom, he heard Jessica saying that she'd be sure to turn in her book report the next day. As he rounded the corner, he dug the cash that he'd stolen from the purse out of his pocket. It was a crisp $10.00 bill. He couldn't believe he had just stolen $10.00 from Jessica Evans. His heart raced and his mind was going a million different directions at once.
Later that day, while he was in his fifth period Biology class, Kelly was called to the principal's office. He knew that this was not going to be good. As he made his way slowly down the hall, his heart about to beat out of his chest and his feet huge stones that were almost impossible to move, he tried to think of what he could say. He would just flat out deny it, he told himself. And that would be that.
Too soon, he arrived at the administration office. Mrs. Trimmer was waiting patiently behind her desk when Kelly was ushered in by the secretary. She was known to be a stern principal, and one who didn't mess around. She was a large imposing figure and moved with an authority that was obvious. To cross Mrs. Trimmer was to pay the price. At that moment, however, Mrs. Trimmer simply looked concerned.
“Have a seat, Kelly,” she said with a slight smile.
Kelly nervously took the seat in front of the principal's desk, keeping his eyes on the floor.
“Kelly, Jessica Evans came to me and said that somebody had stolen her money out of her purse today,” Mrs. Trimmer began, sitting patiently behind her desk with her hands clasped together in front of her. “Do you know anything about that?”
“No, ma'am,” Kelly said, never once looking directly into Mrs. Trimmer's eyes.
“Kelly, are you sure?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“Well, the fact remains that someone stole Jessica's money,” Mrs. Trimmer said. Her voice had taken on a stern tone. “Do you know of anyone who would have taken Jessica's money?”
Kelly was quiet for just a moment before blurting out, “Sonya Marshall probably took it!”
“Why would you say that, Kelly?” Mrs. Trimmer asked, eyebrows furrowed.
“Because she sits right in front of her,” Kelly answered, noticing how terribly his hands were shaking.
“Kelly, so you're telling me Sonya Marshall stole Jessica's money?” Mrs. Trimmer asked.
“I guess so,” Kelly answered.
“You guess so? Kelly, why won't you look me in the eyes? Are you afraid of something?”
“No, ma'am,” he said. He was thinking that now this interrogation should be over, shouldn't it? He had given up the culprit. It was Sonya Marshall. Wasn't that all she wanted?
“Kelly, I'm going to ask you again,” Mrs. Trimmer continued. “Did you take that money?”
Kelly was almost on the verge of tears, but he looked up and shook his head, “No ma'am.”
“Kelly, you know what guilty people do when questioned about something? They blame somebody else. They always point the finger at another to take the focus off of themselves. I know you're a good student and probably didn't mean to steal that money, but Kelly, if you did it, you need to admit it. I won't punish you, but if you keep lying and saying you didn't take the money, I will have to.”
Kelly felt small enough to fit in that coin purse at that moment. He was so ashamed of himself, he didn't know how to act or what to do. This lying was becoming too much for him. He felt trapped. He looked up at Mrs. Trimmer's face and a tear rolled down his cheek. “I didn't mean to take it. I don't know why I did,” he confessed, his bottom lip trembling. “I'm sorry.”
“I know it, son,” said Mrs. Trimmer. “Kelly, you just can't go around taking people's things. Where is the money?
”
He dug the pocket of his Blue Devil jeans and offered the bill. Mrs. Trimmer looked at him for a few minutes before speaking.
“That was very brave of you to admit you stole this money, but you're going to need to be braver now. I want you to call Jessica tonight and apologize to her for taking that money.”
Kelly nodded his head pitifully. Things had just gone from bad to worse.
“I think you learned your lesson today, but I want to be sure you did. You call her tonight and apologize and all is forgiven.”
“Yes, ma'am”.
“Now, get back to class and I don't want to see you in my office again,” she said.
Kelly walked back to class and for the rest of the day his mind was consumed with having stolen that money and having to call Jessica and admit that he had done so. By the time he got home, it had chewed away at him like a buzzard gnawing away at rotting flesh.
When he couldn't stand to be alone in his room with his thoughts any longer, he picked up the piece of paper with the phone number that Mrs. Trimmer had given him. Slowly he began to dial the number, but hung up twice before he finally built up enough courage to complete the call.
An older woman answered.
“May I speak to Jessica, please?” he began.
“One minute,” the voice replied.
A few brief seconds later, Jessica was on the phone. “Hello.”
Kelly took a deep breath and started, “Hi, Jessica, this is Kelly....from school. Uhm, I just wanted to say that I'm real sorry that I took your money today. I didn't mean to make you upset and I promise that I won't ever steal anything from you again....so...that's all. I'm sorry.”
Jessica paused and said “That's OK, Kelly. I just didn't have any lunch money today, but Sonya paid for my lunch, so I was ok. Don't worry about it, alright? You gave it back, so that's all that counts.”
“Thanks, Jessica,” Kelly said, feeling all the stress that he had been threatening to crush him begin to ease away. “I appreciate it. And again I'm sorry. See ya tomorrow?”
“See ya tomorrow,” Jessica said and hung up.
Kelly replaced the phone, and sat in silence for a moment. He turned and jumped when he saw his mother standing in his bedroom doorway. "I'm so proud of you, son," is all she said before turning and walking out of the room. He breathed deeply, smiled to himself and went to go make himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
Tell Me A Story
Original Version:
One day when I was in high school, I took it upon myself to be a thief. My Major Works English class was just ending for the day and Jessica Evans, who sat in the desk directly in front of me, had gotten up and left her purse sitting open beside her desk. In it, sitting exposed on top, was a smaller coin purse. While no one was looking, I grabbed it. Inside there was a $10.00 bill. I snitched it and threw the purse back in, surreptitiously scanning the room. No one had seen me. Needless to say, after Jessica found out her purse was missing, she went to the principal and reported it. Eventually, I was called into the principal's office and she drilled me with questions to the point that I broke down and confessed that it indeed had been me who'd purloined the purse. She told me that I was going to return the purse and when I got home I was going to call Jessica and apologize to her for taking it. I thought to myself that this was not something that I was going to do at all. But that evening when I got home, I couldn't help but think about it. I finally got up the nerve to call Jessica. She was so nice about it and I was so proud of myself for having the courage to call her up, after hanging up the phone I felt like some part of me had grown up a little.
Showing and Telling Version:
Kelly fidgeted in his seat, waiting for the school bell to ring, putting an end to that day's second period English class. It was the advanced Major works level, and only the smartest students were allowed to take this particular course. As Kelly sat listening to the teacher give out that night's homework assignment, he glanced down and noticed Jessica Evans' purse sitting beside her desk in front of him. Suddenly, his heart started to beat a little faster. He couldn't believe the opportunity that had presented itself. He'd never done anything like this before, but something was propelling him, urging him to take it. He nervously looked around the classroom, gauging his surroundings. The bell rang and while some students jumped up, anxious to get to their next class, others meandered about, collecting books and chatting happily as they slowly made their way out.
Jessica got up and made her way up to Mrs. Levonsky's desk. Kelly sat at his desk, pretending to organize his books while surreptitiously eying the purse, which lay open before him. On top, exposing itself to him, was a little coin purse. It was just screaming at him to be snatched. He gave a quick look around to see who was there. All of the students had made their way toward the front of the class. Seeing his opportunity, Kelly swiftly grabbed the little leather coin purse and twisted the clasp. He grabbed what was inside, keeping his eyes on Mrs. Levonsky and Jessica the entire time, and stealthily replaced it.
“Bye, Mrs. Levonky,” he said, after he'd gathered his belongings and made his way to the front of the class. “Bye, Jessica.”
“See you tomorrow, Kelly. Very good reading today,” Mrs. Levonky replied.
“Thank you,” Kelly said.
“Bye,” Jessica said.
As Kelly left the classroom, he heard Jessica saying that she'd be sure to turn in her book report the next day. As he rounded the corner, he dug the cash that he'd stolen from the purse out of his pocket. It was a crisp $10.00 bill. He couldn't believe he had just stolen $10.00 from Jessica Evans. His heart raced and his mind was going a million different directions at once.
Later that day, while he was in his fifth period Biology class, Kelly was called to the principal's office. He knew that this was not going to be good. As he made his way slowly down the hall, his heart about to beat out of his chest and his feet huge stones that were almost impossible to move, he tried to think of what he could say. He would just flat out deny it, he told himself. And that would be that.
Too soon, he arrived at the administration office. Mrs. Trimmer was waiting patiently behind her desk when Kelly was ushered in by the secretary. She was known to be a stern principal, and one who didn't mess around. She was a large imposing figure and moved with an authority that was obvious. To cross Mrs. Trimmer was to pay the price. At that moment, however, Mrs. Trimmer simply looked concerned.
“Have a seat, Kelly,” she said with a slight smile.
Kelly nervously took the seat in front of the principal's desk, keeping his eyes on the floor.
“Kelly, Jessica Evans came to me and said that somebody had stolen her money out of her purse today,” Mrs. Trimmer began, sitting patiently behind her desk with her hands clasped together in front of her. “Do you know anything about that?”
“No, ma'am,” Kelly said, never once looking directly into Mrs. Trimmer's eyes.
“Kelly, are you sure?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“Well, the fact remains that someone stole Jessica's money,” Mrs. Trimmer said. Her voice had taken on a stern tone. “Do you know of anyone who would have taken Jessica's money?”
Kelly was quiet for just a moment before blurting out, “Sonya Marshall probably took it!”
“Why would you say that, Kelly?” Mrs. Trimmer asked, eyebrows furrowed.
“Because she sits right in front of her,” Kelly answered, noticing how terribly his hands were shaking.
“Kelly, so you're telling me Sonya Marshall stole Jessica's money?” Mrs. Trimmer asked.
“I guess so,” Kelly answered.
“You guess so? Kelly, why won't you look me in the eyes? Are you afraid of something?”
“No, ma'am,” he said. He was thinking that now this interrogation should be over, shouldn't it? He had given up the culprit. It was Sonya Marshall. Wasn't that all she wanted?
“Kelly, I'm going to ask you again,” Mrs. Trimmer continued. “Did you take that money?”
Kelly was almost on the verge of tears, but he looked up and shook his head, “No ma'am.”
“Kelly, you know what guilty people do when questioned about something? They blame somebody else. They always point the finger at another to take the focus off of themselves. I know you're a good student and probably didn't mean to steal that money, but Kelly, if you did it, you need to admit it. I won't punish you, but if you keep lying and saying you didn't take the money, I will have to.”
Kelly felt small enough to fit in that coin purse at that moment. He was so ashamed of himself, he didn't know how to act or what to do. This lying was becoming too much for him. He felt trapped. He looked up at Mrs. Trimmer's face and a tear rolled down his cheek. “I didn't mean to take it. I don't know why I did,” he confessed, his bottom lip trembling. “I'm sorry.”
“I know it, son,” said Mrs. Trimmer. “Kelly, you just can't go around taking people's things. Where is the money?
”
He dug the pocket of his Blue Devil jeans and offered the bill. Mrs. Trimmer looked at him for a few minutes before speaking.
“That was very brave of you to admit you stole this money, but you're going to need to be braver now. I want you to call Jessica tonight and apologize to her for taking that money.”
Kelly nodded his head pitifully. Things had just gone from bad to worse.
“I think you learned your lesson today, but I want to be sure you did. You call her tonight and apologize and all is forgiven.”
“Yes, ma'am”.
“Now, get back to class and I don't want to see you in my office again,” she said.
Kelly walked back to class and for the rest of the day his mind was consumed with having stolen that money and having to call Jessica and admit that he had done so. By the time he got home, it had chewed away at him like a buzzard gnawing away at rotting flesh.
When he couldn't stand to be alone in his room with his thoughts any longer, he picked up the piece of paper with the phone number that Mrs. Trimmer had given him. Slowly he began to dial the number, but hung up twice before he finally built up enough courage to complete the call.
An older woman answered.
“May I speak to Jessica, please?” he began.
“One minute,” the voice replied.
A few brief seconds later, Jessica was on the phone. “Hello.”
Kelly took a deep breath and started, “Hi, Jessica, this is Kelly....from school. Uhm, I just wanted to say that I'm real sorry that I took your money today. I didn't mean to make you upset and I promise that I won't ever steal anything from you again....so...that's all. I'm sorry.”
Jessica paused and said “That's OK, Kelly. I just didn't have any lunch money today, but Sonya paid for my lunch, so I was ok. Don't worry about it, alright? You gave it back, so that's all that counts.”
“Thanks, Jessica,” Kelly said, feeling all the stress that he had been threatening to crush him begin to ease away. “I appreciate it. And again I'm sorry. See ya tomorrow?”
“See ya tomorrow,” Jessica said and hung up.
Kelly replaced the phone, and sat in silence for a moment. He turned and jumped when he saw his mother standing in his bedroom doorway. "I'm so proud of you, son," is all she said before turning and walking out of the room. He breathed deeply, smiled to himself and went to go make himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Week Five - Mythical Structures
The Silence of the Lambs
Clarice's Call to Adventure
Agent Clarice Starling walked uncertainly into Mr. Crawford's office. She had no idea what she'd been called for. She had been in the middle of running the Academy obstacle course and she was sweating profusely. The FBI Academy sweatpants and sweatshirt she wore over her t-shirt were practically soaked with sweat. The only things presentable about her now were the pearl earrings she always wore.
Clarice clasped both hands behind her back and looked around the empty office. There were bookcases and file cabinets to the right and left of her, all covered with stacks and stacks of books. Clarice noted the messy desk in front of her and the little computer desk and chair to the right of that; all covered with something. On the wall in front of her was what looked to be a couple of certificates or degrees. A lamp sat on top of one of the file cabinets, making the room seem both comfortable and eerie.
As her gaze swept around the full perimeter of the room, her body followed. She turned and suddenly stopped short. In front of her was a menagerie of massacre. It was only a bulletin board, but from one side of it to the other were photos of dead bodies taken at various crime scenes. The photos showed naked female bodies, most of them with their skin horribly ripped away; skinless torsos and bloodied legs and feet dominated the wall. Starling stared at the photos as if entranced. To the bottom of the board was clipped a newspaper's front page. The caption read “Bill Skins Fifth”, and below it were the pictures of the girls who had fallen victim to him. Clarice thought that this had to be related to the Buffalo Bill serial killer case.
“Agent Starling,” a deep and not unpleasant voice called, startling Clarice out of her gaze, “Clarice M. Good morning.”
“Good morning, Mr. Crawford,” answered Clarice, trying to maintain her composure after having seen the devastation on the bulletin board.
Mr. Crawford was a tall distinguished-looking gentleman. He wore a gray three-piece suit, white shirt adorned with a gray tie and silver eye-glasses. His freshly cut hair was neat against his head, parted on the side. His jewelry consisted of a silver watch and one thin gold bracelet. As he walked around his desk, taking off his jacket, Clarice could not help but wonder what he'd called her into his office for.
“I hear you're doing well in your studies here, Clarice; top of your class,” he said, taking a seat at his desk and reclining, bringing both hands up behind his head. The rush of movement caused Clarice to get a whiff of the cologne he was wearing. She didn't know what it was, but it was something fresh and clean; in complete contrast to the rest of the room.
“I hope so, sir,” answered Clarice, smiling.
“I have a job that's come up and I thought about you,” he said. “Sit down.”
Clarice sat down in the lone chair which sat in front of Crawford's desk. He pulled out a folder and started reading off Clarice's credentials and accomplishments. Visibly uncomfortable with the praise, Clarice started to fidget, reaching up and unconsciously rubbing her earring. “It says here that you'd like to come and work for me in Behavioral Sciences,” Crawford continued.
“Yes, sir,” Clarice said, “very much.”
He looked directly at Clarice for a brief moment, and then leaned forward onto the desk. “We're interviewing all serial killers now in custody for a psycho-behavioral profile. It could be a real help in unsolved cases.”
Clarice immediately sat forward. She listened intently now, brow furrowed.
“Most of them are participating, but there's one we can't seem to get to cooperate.” Crawford stopped a brief beat and said “You spook easily, Starling?”
Clarice laughed again, nervously. “No sir. Not yet, anyway.” She was still a bit uncomfortable to be sitting in front of the Director smelling of sweat, with her hair in slight disarray.
“You see the one we want most refuses to cooperate,” he said. “That's where you come in. We'd like to send you out to the asylum to take another crack at him.”
“And, who's the subject?” Clarice asked.
“The psychiatrist, Hannibal Lecter.”
“Hannibal, the cannibal,” Clarice said dreamily, almost as if she couldn't believe it. Suddenly, the room seemed much less comfortable and much more dreary.
“I don't expect him to talk to you,” says Crawford in the same calm and soothing tone he'd had throughout the conversation. “But I have to be able to say we tried. So, if he won't cooperate, I want just straight reporting: What's he doing. Is he painting? How does he look? Is he sketching? If so, what's he sketching? That kind of thing.”
Clarice swallowed hard, trying to grasp the reality of the situation. She was being asked to meet with Hannibal Lecter, and she realized the impact that this could have on her career as an agent. She focused intently on every word that Crawford was saying.
He picked up a thick file from atop a dozen other documents and sheets of paper covering his desk and placed it in front of Clarice. She was sitting completely upright. “Here's a dossier of Lecter, a copy of our questionnaire and a special ID for you,” he said, placing the other items on top. “Have your memo on my desk by 0800 Wednesday.”
“OK,” Clarice said, quickly grabbing the pile and standing. She turned to make her way out of the office, but suddenly stopped, seeming to have an afterthought. Turning back to Crawford, she said “Excuse me, sir, but why the urgency? Lecter's been in jail for many years now. Is there some connection between him and Buffalo Bill, maybe?” she asked, hunching her shoulders and lifting her head in the direction of the bulletin board.
“I wish there were,” Crawford answered, with what appeared to be the hint of a sad smile on his face. “I want your full attention on this, Starling.” Crawford remained seated behind his desk, but his presence was still the dominant one in the room.
“Yes, sir,” said Clarice, still intensely listening.
“Be very careful with Hannibal Lecter,” Crawford said, looking directly into Clarice's eyes. His voice had taken an ominous tone. “Dr. Chilton at the asylum will go over all the physical procedures used with him. Do not deviate from them, whatsoever. And by no means do you share anything personal with him, Starling. Believe me, you don't want Hannibal Lecter inside your head. Just do your job, but never forget what he is.”
“And what is that?” she asked, concerned.
“Oh, he's a monster.”
Clarice's Call to Adventure
Agent Clarice Starling walked uncertainly into Mr. Crawford's office. She had no idea what she'd been called for. She had been in the middle of running the Academy obstacle course and she was sweating profusely. The FBI Academy sweatpants and sweatshirt she wore over her t-shirt were practically soaked with sweat. The only things presentable about her now were the pearl earrings she always wore.
Clarice clasped both hands behind her back and looked around the empty office. There were bookcases and file cabinets to the right and left of her, all covered with stacks and stacks of books. Clarice noted the messy desk in front of her and the little computer desk and chair to the right of that; all covered with something. On the wall in front of her was what looked to be a couple of certificates or degrees. A lamp sat on top of one of the file cabinets, making the room seem both comfortable and eerie.
As her gaze swept around the full perimeter of the room, her body followed. She turned and suddenly stopped short. In front of her was a menagerie of massacre. It was only a bulletin board, but from one side of it to the other were photos of dead bodies taken at various crime scenes. The photos showed naked female bodies, most of them with their skin horribly ripped away; skinless torsos and bloodied legs and feet dominated the wall. Starling stared at the photos as if entranced. To the bottom of the board was clipped a newspaper's front page. The caption read “Bill Skins Fifth”, and below it were the pictures of the girls who had fallen victim to him. Clarice thought that this had to be related to the Buffalo Bill serial killer case.
“Agent Starling,” a deep and not unpleasant voice called, startling Clarice out of her gaze, “Clarice M. Good morning.”
“Good morning, Mr. Crawford,” answered Clarice, trying to maintain her composure after having seen the devastation on the bulletin board.
Mr. Crawford was a tall distinguished-looking gentleman. He wore a gray three-piece suit, white shirt adorned with a gray tie and silver eye-glasses. His freshly cut hair was neat against his head, parted on the side. His jewelry consisted of a silver watch and one thin gold bracelet. As he walked around his desk, taking off his jacket, Clarice could not help but wonder what he'd called her into his office for.
“I hear you're doing well in your studies here, Clarice; top of your class,” he said, taking a seat at his desk and reclining, bringing both hands up behind his head. The rush of movement caused Clarice to get a whiff of the cologne he was wearing. She didn't know what it was, but it was something fresh and clean; in complete contrast to the rest of the room.
“I hope so, sir,” answered Clarice, smiling.
“I have a job that's come up and I thought about you,” he said. “Sit down.”
Clarice sat down in the lone chair which sat in front of Crawford's desk. He pulled out a folder and started reading off Clarice's credentials and accomplishments. Visibly uncomfortable with the praise, Clarice started to fidget, reaching up and unconsciously rubbing her earring. “It says here that you'd like to come and work for me in Behavioral Sciences,” Crawford continued.
“Yes, sir,” Clarice said, “very much.”
He looked directly at Clarice for a brief moment, and then leaned forward onto the desk. “We're interviewing all serial killers now in custody for a psycho-behavioral profile. It could be a real help in unsolved cases.”
Clarice immediately sat forward. She listened intently now, brow furrowed.
“Most of them are participating, but there's one we can't seem to get to cooperate.” Crawford stopped a brief beat and said “You spook easily, Starling?”
Clarice laughed again, nervously. “No sir. Not yet, anyway.” She was still a bit uncomfortable to be sitting in front of the Director smelling of sweat, with her hair in slight disarray.
“You see the one we want most refuses to cooperate,” he said. “That's where you come in. We'd like to send you out to the asylum to take another crack at him.”
“And, who's the subject?” Clarice asked.
“The psychiatrist, Hannibal Lecter.”
“Hannibal, the cannibal,” Clarice said dreamily, almost as if she couldn't believe it. Suddenly, the room seemed much less comfortable and much more dreary.
“I don't expect him to talk to you,” says Crawford in the same calm and soothing tone he'd had throughout the conversation. “But I have to be able to say we tried. So, if he won't cooperate, I want just straight reporting: What's he doing. Is he painting? How does he look? Is he sketching? If so, what's he sketching? That kind of thing.”
Clarice swallowed hard, trying to grasp the reality of the situation. She was being asked to meet with Hannibal Lecter, and she realized the impact that this could have on her career as an agent. She focused intently on every word that Crawford was saying.
He picked up a thick file from atop a dozen other documents and sheets of paper covering his desk and placed it in front of Clarice. She was sitting completely upright. “Here's a dossier of Lecter, a copy of our questionnaire and a special ID for you,” he said, placing the other items on top. “Have your memo on my desk by 0800 Wednesday.”
“OK,” Clarice said, quickly grabbing the pile and standing. She turned to make her way out of the office, but suddenly stopped, seeming to have an afterthought. Turning back to Crawford, she said “Excuse me, sir, but why the urgency? Lecter's been in jail for many years now. Is there some connection between him and Buffalo Bill, maybe?” she asked, hunching her shoulders and lifting her head in the direction of the bulletin board.
“I wish there were,” Crawford answered, with what appeared to be the hint of a sad smile on his face. “I want your full attention on this, Starling.” Crawford remained seated behind his desk, but his presence was still the dominant one in the room.
“Yes, sir,” said Clarice, still intensely listening.
“Be very careful with Hannibal Lecter,” Crawford said, looking directly into Clarice's eyes. His voice had taken an ominous tone. “Dr. Chilton at the asylum will go over all the physical procedures used with him. Do not deviate from them, whatsoever. And by no means do you share anything personal with him, Starling. Believe me, you don't want Hannibal Lecter inside your head. Just do your job, but never forget what he is.”
“And what is that?” she asked, concerned.
“Oh, he's a monster.”
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Week Four - My "Menus"
A “menu” of things that make me happy.
Being tickled
Watching someone unexpectedly startled.
A really good situation comedy.
Drinking a good merlot.
Reading a really good book.
Playing a particularly adept tennis match.
Knowing someone loves me unconditionally.
Awards shows/Beauty pageants.
Watching the joy people get in victory/winning.
Lazing around the house watching tv, with no responsibilities.
A “menu” of things that make me mad.
People who are rude.
Unruly children.
Having to do something over again after I had it just right the first time.
Superficial, shallow people who consider themselves above others.
A particularly slow traffic jam.
People who drive while texting/on the phone.
Being kept waiting.
Forgetting something I know I should remember.
Clumsily spilling/dropping things.
Being lied to/about.
Being tickled
Watching someone unexpectedly startled.
A really good situation comedy.
Drinking a good merlot.
Reading a really good book.
Playing a particularly adept tennis match.
Knowing someone loves me unconditionally.
Awards shows/Beauty pageants.
Watching the joy people get in victory/winning.
Lazing around the house watching tv, with no responsibilities.
A “menu” of things that make me mad.
People who are rude.
Unruly children.
Having to do something over again after I had it just right the first time.
Superficial, shallow people who consider themselves above others.
A particularly slow traffic jam.
People who drive while texting/on the phone.
Being kept waiting.
Forgetting something I know I should remember.
Clumsily spilling/dropping things.
Being lied to/about.
10 Quantifiable Things About Me
10 Quantifiable Things
1.Number of siblings I have: 1 brother, 1 sister
2.Number of siblings I talk to regularly: 1 sister
3.Number of states in which I've lived: 5
4.Shortest length of time living in one state: 3 months
5.Number of partners that I've had: 10(?)
6.Number of partners that I've had who were felons: 3
7.Chances that I'll miss an awards show if it comes on tv: 2%
8.Number of times I go to the library a week: 1
9.Average number of books I check out: 3
10.Average number I actually read: 1.
1.Number of siblings I have: 1 brother, 1 sister
2.Number of siblings I talk to regularly: 1 sister
3.Number of states in which I've lived: 5
4.Shortest length of time living in one state: 3 months
5.Number of partners that I've had: 10(?)
6.Number of partners that I've had who were felons: 3
7.Chances that I'll miss an awards show if it comes on tv: 2%
8.Number of times I go to the library a week: 1
9.Average number of books I check out: 3
10.Average number I actually read: 1.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Week Three - I Don't Know Why I Remember
Week Three – Journal 2
I don't know why I remember riding in the back of a rental van driving across the country from Houston, Texas to Los Angeles, CA with the other members of the Drama club. We were all 5 of us laid out in the furthest part of the van, having some of the best fun any of us had ever had. I don't know why I remember the game we played as we waited impatiently to finally get to Hollywood and see some big stars. We were seniors in high school, with some level of dramatic prestige among our classmates, but we were more than ecstatic to get to see some real life celebs. My closest friend, Arnitta and our other good girlfriend, Donna, were playing a game where we'd count all of the Mercedes Benzes that we'd see on the road and once we spotted them we'd do our best Count (of Sesame Street fame) imitation - “ Two! Two Mercedee-cees! HA, HA, HA!” Why we called them 'mercedeecees', I have no idea.
I remember my drama coach in the passenger side, his stature almost dwarf-like, his little black toupee sitting comically on top of his head. Mr. Doner was his name, and he would later die a violent death from some guy he'd picked up and taken home. But that day, I remember him turning around in the passenger seat, beaming at us and pointing things out – we were his pride and joy back then. We'd won numerous awards under his tutelage and had gone on to the state drama competitions and won there also. I remember the trip being a sort of reward for us being such good students in our last year. I wasn't the best actor though, by a long shot. That would go to my friend, Donna, who struck me with her emphatic, cat-like eyes as a sort of stacked African-American Elizabeth Taylor. She actually performed a scene from “Cat on a Hot Tine Roof” in drama competitions. Her curviness was unequaled in our inner city high school.
Yes, Donna was the diva in our group. I was “the smart one” and fittingly when she won the Best Performer award at our last Drama banquet, I was bestowed the award for “Most Likely to Succeed”. Hilarious! That should have given me a clue right there that I was destined to do something other than act. But on this trip, I just remember laughter and excitement and joy. This was the most fun I'd had since I had been in high school. The Drama Club had changed my life. Whereas before, I had been the nerdiest of nerds, walking around with my super-thick eyeglasses and sporting the drippiest of jheri curls. Once I joined that group of hilarious misfits, we elevated one another and as a result elevated ourselves. I was no longer the quiet, reserved bookworm that I once was. I was confident, funny, fun and relatively talented. I remember on that trip I was wearing my favorite Red Devil jeans and my head was in Donna's lap. Donna had her head in Arnitta's lap and we were all laughing and joking around. I remember the sun coming through the windows of the van, illuminating our shiny happy faces and capturing the face of Jessie, the friend of Mr. Doner's who had come along to drive us. His light skin was smooth and I'm not sure whether I had a crush on him or not. But I did like his curly light brown hair and how it was not quite an afro, but almost.
I don't know why I remember Donna affectionately caressing my face, and playing in my hair, almost like a lover would. Her laugh was infectious and I can see her throwing her head back and roaring with laughter, her eyes squinting in a frown of hilarity. I remember licking her face. Yes. I licked her face. It was one of those things that I did because I knew it grossed her out. I'd lick her face and she'd scrub away at that spot for the next 5 minutes, all grossed out, but laughing the whole time. I don't know why I remember being in the back of that van playing “count the mercedeecees” with those girls and finally coming into my own as a young man; I hadn't yet figured out the “gay” part yet, but I think that maybe with that trip, I was on my way.
I don't know why I remember riding in the back of a rental van driving across the country from Houston, Texas to Los Angeles, CA with the other members of the Drama club. We were all 5 of us laid out in the furthest part of the van, having some of the best fun any of us had ever had. I don't know why I remember the game we played as we waited impatiently to finally get to Hollywood and see some big stars. We were seniors in high school, with some level of dramatic prestige among our classmates, but we were more than ecstatic to get to see some real life celebs. My closest friend, Arnitta and our other good girlfriend, Donna, were playing a game where we'd count all of the Mercedes Benzes that we'd see on the road and once we spotted them we'd do our best Count (of Sesame Street fame) imitation - “ Two! Two Mercedee-cees! HA, HA, HA!” Why we called them 'mercedeecees', I have no idea.
I remember my drama coach in the passenger side, his stature almost dwarf-like, his little black toupee sitting comically on top of his head. Mr. Doner was his name, and he would later die a violent death from some guy he'd picked up and taken home. But that day, I remember him turning around in the passenger seat, beaming at us and pointing things out – we were his pride and joy back then. We'd won numerous awards under his tutelage and had gone on to the state drama competitions and won there also. I remember the trip being a sort of reward for us being such good students in our last year. I wasn't the best actor though, by a long shot. That would go to my friend, Donna, who struck me with her emphatic, cat-like eyes as a sort of stacked African-American Elizabeth Taylor. She actually performed a scene from “Cat on a Hot Tine Roof” in drama competitions. Her curviness was unequaled in our inner city high school.
Yes, Donna was the diva in our group. I was “the smart one” and fittingly when she won the Best Performer award at our last Drama banquet, I was bestowed the award for “Most Likely to Succeed”. Hilarious! That should have given me a clue right there that I was destined to do something other than act. But on this trip, I just remember laughter and excitement and joy. This was the most fun I'd had since I had been in high school. The Drama Club had changed my life. Whereas before, I had been the nerdiest of nerds, walking around with my super-thick eyeglasses and sporting the drippiest of jheri curls. Once I joined that group of hilarious misfits, we elevated one another and as a result elevated ourselves. I was no longer the quiet, reserved bookworm that I once was. I was confident, funny, fun and relatively talented. I remember on that trip I was wearing my favorite Red Devil jeans and my head was in Donna's lap. Donna had her head in Arnitta's lap and we were all laughing and joking around. I remember the sun coming through the windows of the van, illuminating our shiny happy faces and capturing the face of Jessie, the friend of Mr. Doner's who had come along to drive us. His light skin was smooth and I'm not sure whether I had a crush on him or not. But I did like his curly light brown hair and how it was not quite an afro, but almost.
I don't know why I remember Donna affectionately caressing my face, and playing in my hair, almost like a lover would. Her laugh was infectious and I can see her throwing her head back and roaring with laughter, her eyes squinting in a frown of hilarity. I remember licking her face. Yes. I licked her face. It was one of those things that I did because I knew it grossed her out. I'd lick her face and she'd scrub away at that spot for the next 5 minutes, all grossed out, but laughing the whole time. I don't know why I remember being in the back of that van playing “count the mercedeecees” with those girls and finally coming into my own as a young man; I hadn't yet figured out the “gay” part yet, but I think that maybe with that trip, I was on my way.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Week Three - My Short Story
Week Three, Journal 1
A Deer in His Headlights
Jacob had just left the best party of his life. He'd finally hooked up with Sally there and he could hardly believe his luck. Ever since he'd moved here from Dallas, he'd been looking for somebody special to spend his time with. Sally seemed like she could be that girl. And man, she had looked good! Her hair was down, which was a change because she always had it pinned in the back of her head, and that tight dress she'd been wearing was rocking!
“Whoa”, he said, as he straightened the wheel of his new Honda Civic. He'd almost driven off the road. He thought about those 6 long island teas he'd had at the party and the two beers he'd had on the way over. He realized that he probably shouldn't be driving, but hell, he figured he had to get home some kind of way. Sally had had to leave because she was dropping a couple of her girlfriends off. She said she was gonna call when she got home to “check on you”, as she put it. And he could hardly wait to get there.
In his excitement, Jacob sped up. “Just a few miles over the speed limit's not gonna hurt anything”, he thought. Besides he was perfectly fine. In the past, he'd drank much more than what he'd consumed that night and he was always perfectly fine. Yep, Jacob considered himself a lucky duck.
He whistled merrily and smiled like he'd just won the lottery. Keeping his eyes on the road ahead, he reached over to grab his cell phone out of the console. “Dam, why is it so dark on these country roads in Minnesota?”, he thought aloud. As soon as he'd grabbed the phone, it rang.
“Yell-oo,” he said gaily. He listened intently, but didn't hear anything. “Yo! Hello!”. Still nothing.
Thinking that it might have been Sally, Jacob dropped the phone, irritated, and gave the car a little bit more gas. “Oh yes! I can not WAIT to get her over to my house tonight!” he said, still driving as carefully as he could. By this time, he was traveling close to 75 miles an hour on the not so brightly lit highway and he was feeling fine.
He looked down to retrieve his phone once again, it wasn't there. He looked into the seat and then looked over to make sure it wasn't on the floor on the passenger side and when he returned his gaze to the road ahead it was too late. He'd looked up just in time to see that a deer had jumped into the middle of the road and he was bound to hit it.
“Oh my -!!” he started, but that was all he could get out before the impact of the collision forced him into silence. As the body of the deer came crashing through the windshield, Jacob raised his hands up to shield his face, but the car's air bag beat him to the punch. The car spun once and Jacob heard the deer make the most horrible sound that he had ever heard, and then all was silent.
A Deer in His Headlights
Jacob had just left the best party of his life. He'd finally hooked up with Sally there and he could hardly believe his luck. Ever since he'd moved here from Dallas, he'd been looking for somebody special to spend his time with. Sally seemed like she could be that girl. And man, she had looked good! Her hair was down, which was a change because she always had it pinned in the back of her head, and that tight dress she'd been wearing was rocking!
“Whoa”, he said, as he straightened the wheel of his new Honda Civic. He'd almost driven off the road. He thought about those 6 long island teas he'd had at the party and the two beers he'd had on the way over. He realized that he probably shouldn't be driving, but hell, he figured he had to get home some kind of way. Sally had had to leave because she was dropping a couple of her girlfriends off. She said she was gonna call when she got home to “check on you”, as she put it. And he could hardly wait to get there.
In his excitement, Jacob sped up. “Just a few miles over the speed limit's not gonna hurt anything”, he thought. Besides he was perfectly fine. In the past, he'd drank much more than what he'd consumed that night and he was always perfectly fine. Yep, Jacob considered himself a lucky duck.
He whistled merrily and smiled like he'd just won the lottery. Keeping his eyes on the road ahead, he reached over to grab his cell phone out of the console. “Dam, why is it so dark on these country roads in Minnesota?”, he thought aloud. As soon as he'd grabbed the phone, it rang.
“Yell-oo,” he said gaily. He listened intently, but didn't hear anything. “Yo! Hello!”. Still nothing.
Thinking that it might have been Sally, Jacob dropped the phone, irritated, and gave the car a little bit more gas. “Oh yes! I can not WAIT to get her over to my house tonight!” he said, still driving as carefully as he could. By this time, he was traveling close to 75 miles an hour on the not so brightly lit highway and he was feeling fine.
He looked down to retrieve his phone once again, it wasn't there. He looked into the seat and then looked over to make sure it wasn't on the floor on the passenger side and when he returned his gaze to the road ahead it was too late. He'd looked up just in time to see that a deer had jumped into the middle of the road and he was bound to hit it.
“Oh my -!!” he started, but that was all he could get out before the impact of the collision forced him into silence. As the body of the deer came crashing through the windshield, Jacob raised his hands up to shield his face, but the car's air bag beat him to the punch. The car spun once and Jacob heard the deer make the most horrible sound that he had ever heard, and then all was silent.
Saturday, September 6, 2008
Ron Carlson's "Story"
Ron Carlson's Story – Response
This was a very interesting take on the short story. I actually read this book in one sitting. The one major thing that I will take out of reading it is to "stay in the room". To tell the truth, I hardly ever actually "stay in the room" when writing a story. I usually get distracted by television or a phone call that comes in or some other part of everday life.
I completely agree with the concept of "staying in the room", because it means finishing something you've begun and making sure you've finished it. I find myself sometimes getting frustrated because I don't know what to say next or what the next event will be in a story, but I've gotten from the book that it's not important if you don't know. What's important is to stay with it. Something will eventually come if you're true to the characters and are in the story as them. I'm kind of excited to actually test the whole “stay in the room” concept out and actually write a whole story in one sitting because I've never actually done that before.
That's why I think his concept of the "outer story" is also important. Because the outer story can lead you places you never considered going before. He says on page 48, "The outer story is the world of the story, the real concrete elements and places of the story that is composed of all the sensory imagery." I think when you've created a full outer story, your story will naturally begin to flow and go in directions that you never would have thought to take it before.
It was also interesting to see how the story was built from the first idea to its completion. It was good to learn also that if an idea is important to you, then it's definitely worth writing about. Sometimes I have ideas and wonder which ones are worthy of being put down on paper. Carlson is clear in his opinion that if it's not something that is important to you, then you shouldn't write about, even if it's something that's important to someone else. You, as the writer, must be compelled by the idea and want to tell the story for yourself.
Sidenote: I thought his take on television writers was funny, because I had actually considered being a sit-com writer. But as he said, that would be writing for someone other than myself and I'd like to write about things that are important to me, not necessarily an audience.
This was a very interesting take on the short story. I actually read this book in one sitting. The one major thing that I will take out of reading it is to "stay in the room". To tell the truth, I hardly ever actually "stay in the room" when writing a story. I usually get distracted by television or a phone call that comes in or some other part of everday life.
I completely agree with the concept of "staying in the room", because it means finishing something you've begun and making sure you've finished it. I find myself sometimes getting frustrated because I don't know what to say next or what the next event will be in a story, but I've gotten from the book that it's not important if you don't know. What's important is to stay with it. Something will eventually come if you're true to the characters and are in the story as them. I'm kind of excited to actually test the whole “stay in the room” concept out and actually write a whole story in one sitting because I've never actually done that before.
That's why I think his concept of the "outer story" is also important. Because the outer story can lead you places you never considered going before. He says on page 48, "The outer story is the world of the story, the real concrete elements and places of the story that is composed of all the sensory imagery." I think when you've created a full outer story, your story will naturally begin to flow and go in directions that you never would have thought to take it before.
It was also interesting to see how the story was built from the first idea to its completion. It was good to learn also that if an idea is important to you, then it's definitely worth writing about. Sometimes I have ideas and wonder which ones are worthy of being put down on paper. Carlson is clear in his opinion that if it's not something that is important to you, then you shouldn't write about, even if it's something that's important to someone else. You, as the writer, must be compelled by the idea and want to tell the story for yourself.
Sidenote: I thought his take on television writers was funny, because I had actually considered being a sit-com writer. But as he said, that would be writing for someone other than myself and I'd like to write about things that are important to me, not necessarily an audience.
Week Two - Closer To Memory
Week Two – Journal Entry/Free-Write 2
Closer to Memory Exercise
I remember quite vividly one of the first houses that I lived in. Although it wasn't the first house I remember, I will never forget it because of a traumatic event that happened there. It was on a little dirt road called True Lane and it was the first house that my mom owned on her own. She was a single mother, raising three kids. I was the oldest at around 13. This would make my brother about 11 and my little sister, 3.
There was a leisurely knock on the front door that day. It was a sunny Saturday and I can remember us kids just sitting around the small living room, watching television with our backs to the window that faced our even smaller front yard. My mom was wearing some short-shorts and a little tee shirt and was in the kitchen making us lunch, I suppose. She stopped what she was doing and walked over to the door. We had of course, immediately looked out the window to see if we could see who was at the front door, but we couldn't. We were always excited to have people come over. This time, we weren't so excited.
When my mother opened the wooden front door and we saw through the screen door that it was none other than Willie Bush, we were immediately terrified. Willie Bush was the ex-husband of my mom's best friend, Angela and he was a bad customer. The week before, he had pistol-whipped Angela and she had come to our house bruised and upset. My mom had taken pictures of her and convinced her to go to the police. That night, violence had exposed itself to us and we were left shocked by what we'd seen. In our young minds, Willie Bush meant pain and fear. And there he was at our front door.
My little brother started crying instantly. I'm sure he suddenly saw images of her being beaten and kicked. I know I was seeing them. My little sister probably had no idea what was going on, but seeing my little brother crying set her off, too. My mother was all the parent that we had at the time and she and I were very close. I wanted to be there for her, but I was scared to death.
Her reaction stunned me. All I could do was watch her. She was very calm, which was the complete opposite of what I was feeling inside. I wanted to tell her to close the door and lock it, but I was frozen solid and couldn't do anything but watch. I remember him saying, “I just wanna talk to you for a minute” or something to that effect.
The cereal that I'd eaten that morning threatened to return when I saw he was a holding an ugly looking gun down by his side. My mom noticed it too, and spoke to him calmly. Somehow, she maneuvered Willie back down the porch and across the yard to the old LeSabre that she drove us around in. Fear finally got the best of me, and I burst out crying, too. Now there we all were, crying and snotting, looking out the front window at a sight we had never imagined we'd be seeing.
I knew why my mother had gone to the car. First of all, it was probably to get him away from us, but more importantly, my mom always kept a long, sharp knife underneath the floor paneling in the car. The knowledge of this gave me some hope, but not much against Willie. We knew him to be a maniac who could do terrible things.
Though I was feeling intense fear and worry for my mom, I did think enough to call 911 and blubber through my tears that my mom was in danger. I will never forget this image: my little brother, my little sister and me all straddled on the back of the couch, looking through the window, crying ferociously, and my mother sitting in the driver's side of the car, one leg in and one leg out with the door open and Willie standing above her. Although they seemed to be talking calmly, the menace emanating from Willie was evident. I didn't know exactly what he wanted, but I knew if he didn't get it, we would probably be crying for a long time to come.
I don't know how it happened exactly or how much time had passed, but before long a blessed police cruiser pulled up through the dirt lane and parked behind my mother's car. I had never been so happy to see the police. They both turned in the direction of the car at the same time and Willie said something to my mom and took off, running like his feet were on fire. I will never forget how we cried and hugged our mother that day. That house and True Lane will always remind me of the day my mom escaped Willie Bush.
Closer to Memory Exercise
I remember quite vividly one of the first houses that I lived in. Although it wasn't the first house I remember, I will never forget it because of a traumatic event that happened there. It was on a little dirt road called True Lane and it was the first house that my mom owned on her own. She was a single mother, raising three kids. I was the oldest at around 13. This would make my brother about 11 and my little sister, 3.
There was a leisurely knock on the front door that day. It was a sunny Saturday and I can remember us kids just sitting around the small living room, watching television with our backs to the window that faced our even smaller front yard. My mom was wearing some short-shorts and a little tee shirt and was in the kitchen making us lunch, I suppose. She stopped what she was doing and walked over to the door. We had of course, immediately looked out the window to see if we could see who was at the front door, but we couldn't. We were always excited to have people come over. This time, we weren't so excited.
When my mother opened the wooden front door and we saw through the screen door that it was none other than Willie Bush, we were immediately terrified. Willie Bush was the ex-husband of my mom's best friend, Angela and he was a bad customer. The week before, he had pistol-whipped Angela and she had come to our house bruised and upset. My mom had taken pictures of her and convinced her to go to the police. That night, violence had exposed itself to us and we were left shocked by what we'd seen. In our young minds, Willie Bush meant pain and fear. And there he was at our front door.
My little brother started crying instantly. I'm sure he suddenly saw images of her being beaten and kicked. I know I was seeing them. My little sister probably had no idea what was going on, but seeing my little brother crying set her off, too. My mother was all the parent that we had at the time and she and I were very close. I wanted to be there for her, but I was scared to death.
Her reaction stunned me. All I could do was watch her. She was very calm, which was the complete opposite of what I was feeling inside. I wanted to tell her to close the door and lock it, but I was frozen solid and couldn't do anything but watch. I remember him saying, “I just wanna talk to you for a minute” or something to that effect.
The cereal that I'd eaten that morning threatened to return when I saw he was a holding an ugly looking gun down by his side. My mom noticed it too, and spoke to him calmly. Somehow, she maneuvered Willie back down the porch and across the yard to the old LeSabre that she drove us around in. Fear finally got the best of me, and I burst out crying, too. Now there we all were, crying and snotting, looking out the front window at a sight we had never imagined we'd be seeing.
I knew why my mother had gone to the car. First of all, it was probably to get him away from us, but more importantly, my mom always kept a long, sharp knife underneath the floor paneling in the car. The knowledge of this gave me some hope, but not much against Willie. We knew him to be a maniac who could do terrible things.
Though I was feeling intense fear and worry for my mom, I did think enough to call 911 and blubber through my tears that my mom was in danger. I will never forget this image: my little brother, my little sister and me all straddled on the back of the couch, looking through the window, crying ferociously, and my mother sitting in the driver's side of the car, one leg in and one leg out with the door open and Willie standing above her. Although they seemed to be talking calmly, the menace emanating from Willie was evident. I didn't know exactly what he wanted, but I knew if he didn't get it, we would probably be crying for a long time to come.
I don't know how it happened exactly or how much time had passed, but before long a blessed police cruiser pulled up through the dirt lane and parked behind my mother's car. I had never been so happy to see the police. They both turned in the direction of the car at the same time and Willie said something to my mom and took off, running like his feet were on fire. I will never forget how we cried and hugged our mother that day. That house and True Lane will always remind me of the day my mom escaped Willie Bush.
Week Two - 101 Word Story
Week Two – Journal Entry 1
101 Word Story
The bus was full. Only one seat left. She looked into his eyes and felt warm. She sat next to him. He looked at her and smiled. Her beleaguered unhappiness, which had threatened to beat her down, eased. He offered the newspaper and winked when she shook her head. She felt an odd electricity, suddenly. Time, which had flown by, now seemingly stopped. They rode in silence, but their presence and eyes spoke volumes. It was no surprise when they reached his stop. This time, he offered his hand. Taking a deep breath, she stood and followed him into the future.
101 Word Story
The bus was full. Only one seat left. She looked into his eyes and felt warm. She sat next to him. He looked at her and smiled. Her beleaguered unhappiness, which had threatened to beat her down, eased. He offered the newspaper and winked when she shook her head. She felt an odd electricity, suddenly. Time, which had flown by, now seemingly stopped. They rode in silence, but their presence and eyes spoke volumes. It was no surprise when they reached his stop. This time, he offered his hand. Taking a deep breath, she stood and followed him into the future.
Week One - Four Sentences
Week One – Journal/Free-Write 2
Four first sentences
1. “Say one more word, and you'll never see him again,” Sister Mary said calmly.
2. I'd never felt pain the way I felt it on my wedding day.
3. Mary Agnes never wanted to have no babies in the first place, let alone one that was Black.
4. It was only the beginning of my descent, but at the time it already felt like rock-bottom.
Four first sentences
1. “Say one more word, and you'll never see him again,” Sister Mary said calmly.
2. I'd never felt pain the way I felt it on my wedding day.
3. Mary Agnes never wanted to have no babies in the first place, let alone one that was Black.
4. It was only the beginning of my descent, but at the time it already felt like rock-bottom.
Week One - First Sentence Story
Week One – Journal/ Free-Write Entry 1
I could tell the minute I got in the door and dropped my bag, I wasn't staying. For one thing, the place looked almost uninhabitable. As I looked around the room, it gave me the creeps to see their faces looking so glazed over, almost like zombies. How did I let my brother convince me to come back down here to Texas for the Labor Day weekend? I have no idea. I resented him already.
“What's up, dude?” said one of my brother's stoner friends, barely lifting his head off his chest.
“Hey,” I said. “Where's George?” There were at least seven people in what could be called a living room. My brother, Georgio, had just gotten an apartment with his girlfriend Nancy and from the looks of the place, they had an “open door” policy. Guys were slouched across the couch and splayed out on the floor, all heads turned towards the small color television, which was sitting on what looked like a nightstand.
“Yo, dude,” said zombie #1, “he's making a beer run. Paco over there just popped the last tab. Asshole.”
“Fuck you,” said a lanky looking Mexican kid, who couldn't have been more than 19. He turned and looked at his accuser, and belched loudly.
Nice. This is definitely not going to be where I'll be staying this weekend. I could smell the faint scent of marijuana in the air, and it confirmed my suspicion that these guys were fried.
I shifted around uncomfortably, still standing right inside the front door. I was the older brother who had moved across the country to be adventurous, but I didn't feel very adventurous right then. I just wanted to get the hell outta there. Not that I didn't occasionally smoke a joint or two, but I didn't like the crowd my brother hung out with. His friends ranged from his geeky Mexican friend to his thug-like Black friend, Pooky. Most of these kids I remembered from growing up in the apartment complex where my mom still lived.
Some of them hadn't amounted to much, which was no surprise. But I wanted something different for my brother. Which was one of reasons why I agreed to come hang out with him for the holiday weekend. I wanted to try to be a positive influence, but I could tell this was going to be challenging.
“So, where's Nancy?” I asked, finally leaning against the wall and crossing my arms.
Damon, who was my mom's best friend's oldest son, turned to look at me and finally noticed my presence. “Yo! Wassup, Dee?” he said, grinning.
“Hey, Damon,” I said, shaking my head. “Dude. Did you just notice I was standing here?”
“Man, you know Judge Judy don't play,” he said. “I can't miss a word!”
I could tell the minute I got in the door and dropped my bag, I wasn't staying. For one thing, the place looked almost uninhabitable. As I looked around the room, it gave me the creeps to see their faces looking so glazed over, almost like zombies. How did I let my brother convince me to come back down here to Texas for the Labor Day weekend? I have no idea. I resented him already.
“What's up, dude?” said one of my brother's stoner friends, barely lifting his head off his chest.
“Hey,” I said. “Where's George?” There were at least seven people in what could be called a living room. My brother, Georgio, had just gotten an apartment with his girlfriend Nancy and from the looks of the place, they had an “open door” policy. Guys were slouched across the couch and splayed out on the floor, all heads turned towards the small color television, which was sitting on what looked like a nightstand.
“Yo, dude,” said zombie #1, “he's making a beer run. Paco over there just popped the last tab. Asshole.”
“Fuck you,” said a lanky looking Mexican kid, who couldn't have been more than 19. He turned and looked at his accuser, and belched loudly.
Nice. This is definitely not going to be where I'll be staying this weekend. I could smell the faint scent of marijuana in the air, and it confirmed my suspicion that these guys were fried.
I shifted around uncomfortably, still standing right inside the front door. I was the older brother who had moved across the country to be adventurous, but I didn't feel very adventurous right then. I just wanted to get the hell outta there. Not that I didn't occasionally smoke a joint or two, but I didn't like the crowd my brother hung out with. His friends ranged from his geeky Mexican friend to his thug-like Black friend, Pooky. Most of these kids I remembered from growing up in the apartment complex where my mom still lived.
Some of them hadn't amounted to much, which was no surprise. But I wanted something different for my brother. Which was one of reasons why I agreed to come hang out with him for the holiday weekend. I wanted to try to be a positive influence, but I could tell this was going to be challenging.
“So, where's Nancy?” I asked, finally leaning against the wall and crossing my arms.
Damon, who was my mom's best friend's oldest son, turned to look at me and finally noticed my presence. “Yo! Wassup, Dee?” he said, grinning.
“Hey, Damon,” I said, shaking my head. “Dude. Did you just notice I was standing here?”
“Man, you know Judge Judy don't play,” he said. “I can't miss a word!”
I'm Back....Again
Hey, guess who's back? It looks like I'll be cranking this puppy up again. I'm currently taking a Fiction Writing class as part of my degree curriculum and one of our first assignments is to create a blog. Guess who's got a head start on that!? So, I'll be writing some stories and posting them and other writing exercises here. I'm excited to get started, so here we go!
Thursday, May 22, 2008
So Sorry
I'm so sorry I haven't been writing. My life is soooo busy right now. My mom was here through today. She came all the way up from Texas to come see her boy. She was supposed to be leaving today, but she's got a stand by ticket and wasn't able to get on a flight, so she's back for another nite. It's been an awesome week. I'll upload a photo once I have a second.
School starts for me next Tuesday, so I'm super stoked! I'm blogging from my brand new laptop that I just picked up 2 hours ago!! Woo-hoo! It's a Dell and it's love at first sight.
I can't blog any longer. I have so much stuff going on; looking at my class syllabus, talking to ma, playing with my new laptop, and this beer ain't gone drink itself! Love you, but I gotta go!
I'll hit you up sometime soon. We're off to Chicago for Memorial Day weekend for a big bash that Scot and Michael are throwing at their home. We're the special guests, so it's gonna be a hoot. We'll set off tomorrow at about 2:00, and pray that mom gets on a flight home!
Lovin' life and this laptop!! Holla!
School starts for me next Tuesday, so I'm super stoked! I'm blogging from my brand new laptop that I just picked up 2 hours ago!! Woo-hoo! It's a Dell and it's love at first sight.
I can't blog any longer. I have so much stuff going on; looking at my class syllabus, talking to ma, playing with my new laptop, and this beer ain't gone drink itself! Love you, but I gotta go!
I'll hit you up sometime soon. We're off to Chicago for Memorial Day weekend for a big bash that Scot and Michael are throwing at their home. We're the special guests, so it's gonna be a hoot. We'll set off tomorrow at about 2:00, and pray that mom gets on a flight home!
Lovin' life and this laptop!! Holla!
Friday, May 16, 2008
I Got Yo Umbrella!!
Oooh, Rihanna get on my nerves! So, I had this bright idea, right? I was gonnna cook some dinner and invite Rihanna to come over. Beyonce decided she couldn't come back after Jay got pissed cause she was playing in my head the last time they came over for Spades. So, Rihanna was my next choice. She's fierce, too, but not in the same league as Bee. Anyhoo, I thought I'd give her the privilege of having some of my famous seafood gumbo, ya know. Maybe have her sing us a coupla songs and talk about how fantastic she is and stuff, right? No harm, no foul, yea? Unh hunh.
I shoulda taken it as a bad sign when she asked me if we maintained a constant temperature in our "villa", cause she needed a certain air quality wherever she went. WTF? I thought to myself, "um, ooookaaaaay." So anyway, she came over and the whole time she complained. It ain't my fault Chris Brown had to drive all the way back home cause he wasn't invited. Ain't nobody tell her to bring his azz! I mean he's nice to look at, but I wasn't trying to have Jeremy drooling over him the whole time he was here. By the way, it took Jeremy about 10 minutes to stop cursing me out and banging his head against the wall after Chris skateboarded off. I mean, really! Chris Brown ain't even legal yet!! He is cute, though.
So, I tried to get Rihanna to get us some tickets for her concert tour and stuff, but she held on to that grudge the whole time she was here, pretty much. That small mirror she had attached to her dress sleeve was annoying, too. Literally every 2 minutes it would look like she was checking the time, when she was actually checking herself out, licking her lips and winking lewdly. She asked me where the humidifier was and why it was so dayum hot in here. I mumbled something under my breath so she couldn't hear it, but ya girl was testing me. I had an ulterior motive for inviting her over, namely tickets to see her perform in Australia, so I was trying to be on my p's and q's.
After we drank a coupla martinis, I went and threw the shrimp, crab and oysters into the gumbo pot and let that cook for a little while. During the whole first half of the evening, she was BO-ring! Between her and that mirror, she didn't really need anybody else's company, I guess. Eventually, she took it upon herself to have two martinis at a time! So after the 6th one, she went off on her "ella" tangent. Everything was "ella, ella, ella"! I'm like "you want some ice cream for dessert?" She's all "as long as you have vanella, ella, ella, eh, eh, eh". I asked "You really like Chris, hunh?" She responded "He's a really nice fella, ella, ella, eh, eh, eh". Ugh. I woulda paid top dollar for a Tums.
So, I was in the kitchen plating the food and she wobbled in screeching her latest hit at the top of her lungs, "but it's over now, go on and take a bow". By this time, I've started a slow simmer inside. She sidled up to the side of the stove, dancing around and asked what is was that was smelling like ass in here. I silently dug in my pocket and offered her a TicTac. She rolled her eyes as she leaned up against the stove. I guess it took a while for the heat to register, because I swear it was at least a minute before she screamed and jumped like she'd just taken a cattle prod up the ass. I damn near dropped the bowl I was filling, she startled me so bad. As the back of her Prada blouse sizzled and flamed, I couldn't help but chuckle. She swatted wildly at her backside, spinning around that kitchen like an idiot. Finally, I got tired of laughing at her, and dashed her with the martini I'd been drinking, and simultaneously stunning her into paralysis. She stared at me in shock. "I was just trying to put the fire out", I said innocently.
Well, I guess she didn't really like the gumbo that much. She was polite, though. She said she'd regurgitated better flavors than what was in that m.f.'in pot! How dare I invite her over to serve her some dog sh*t of that caliber? Did I not know who she was?! She had platinum records, dammit! Beyonce ain't have nuttin' on her!? (Whoa, slow ya roll, sista! I'm thinking). After she finished throwing up, I asked her if she'd like to have another bowl full. She pulled out her 2 way at that point and I guess she musta summoned Chris back, cause 10 minutes later the doorbell rang. As she stormed out the front door, smelling strangely like a chimney sweep, I yelled "So, what's up with those tickets to Australia!?" You know what that ho told me? "I hope you catch Salmonella, ella, ella, ugh, ick, uck." Ooh, it felt so good to see her slip on Chris's skateboard and fall on her ass. He laughed too. That'll teach her to waste my food. Bitch.
I shoulda taken it as a bad sign when she asked me if we maintained a constant temperature in our "villa", cause she needed a certain air quality wherever she went. WTF? I thought to myself, "um, ooookaaaaay." So anyway, she came over and the whole time she complained. It ain't my fault Chris Brown had to drive all the way back home cause he wasn't invited. Ain't nobody tell her to bring his azz! I mean he's nice to look at, but I wasn't trying to have Jeremy drooling over him the whole time he was here. By the way, it took Jeremy about 10 minutes to stop cursing me out and banging his head against the wall after Chris skateboarded off. I mean, really! Chris Brown ain't even legal yet!! He is cute, though.
So, I tried to get Rihanna to get us some tickets for her concert tour and stuff, but she held on to that grudge the whole time she was here, pretty much. That small mirror she had attached to her dress sleeve was annoying, too. Literally every 2 minutes it would look like she was checking the time, when she was actually checking herself out, licking her lips and winking lewdly. She asked me where the humidifier was and why it was so dayum hot in here. I mumbled something under my breath so she couldn't hear it, but ya girl was testing me. I had an ulterior motive for inviting her over, namely tickets to see her perform in Australia, so I was trying to be on my p's and q's.
After we drank a coupla martinis, I went and threw the shrimp, crab and oysters into the gumbo pot and let that cook for a little while. During the whole first half of the evening, she was BO-ring! Between her and that mirror, she didn't really need anybody else's company, I guess. Eventually, she took it upon herself to have two martinis at a time! So after the 6th one, she went off on her "ella" tangent. Everything was "ella, ella, ella"! I'm like "you want some ice cream for dessert?" She's all "as long as you have vanella, ella, ella, eh, eh, eh". I asked "You really like Chris, hunh?" She responded "He's a really nice fella, ella, ella, eh, eh, eh". Ugh. I woulda paid top dollar for a Tums.
So, I was in the kitchen plating the food and she wobbled in screeching her latest hit at the top of her lungs, "but it's over now, go on and take a bow". By this time, I've started a slow simmer inside. She sidled up to the side of the stove, dancing around and asked what is was that was smelling like ass in here. I silently dug in my pocket and offered her a TicTac. She rolled her eyes as she leaned up against the stove. I guess it took a while for the heat to register, because I swear it was at least a minute before she screamed and jumped like she'd just taken a cattle prod up the ass. I damn near dropped the bowl I was filling, she startled me so bad. As the back of her Prada blouse sizzled and flamed, I couldn't help but chuckle. She swatted wildly at her backside, spinning around that kitchen like an idiot. Finally, I got tired of laughing at her, and dashed her with the martini I'd been drinking, and simultaneously stunning her into paralysis. She stared at me in shock. "I was just trying to put the fire out", I said innocently.
Well, I guess she didn't really like the gumbo that much. She was polite, though. She said she'd regurgitated better flavors than what was in that m.f.'in pot! How dare I invite her over to serve her some dog sh*t of that caliber? Did I not know who she was?! She had platinum records, dammit! Beyonce ain't have nuttin' on her!? (Whoa, slow ya roll, sista! I'm thinking). After she finished throwing up, I asked her if she'd like to have another bowl full. She pulled out her 2 way at that point and I guess she musta summoned Chris back, cause 10 minutes later the doorbell rang. As she stormed out the front door, smelling strangely like a chimney sweep, I yelled "So, what's up with those tickets to Australia!?" You know what that ho told me? "I hope you catch Salmonella, ella, ella, ugh, ick, uck." Ooh, it felt so good to see her slip on Chris's skateboard and fall on her ass. He laughed too. That'll teach her to waste my food. Bitch.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
I love Tennis (and Tom)
Tom Cruise stopped by yesterday. I was just getting out of the shower when the doorbell rang. Had I known he was at the door I woulda brought my shades with me cause as soon as I turned the knob and pulled, I was damn near blinded by the light from his perfect smile. He was grinning like the mad hatter and I nearly passed out. If you didn't know it, I (heart) Tom Cruise! Me likee mucho.
Of course, I invited him in and just stared at him for the first 15 minutes he was here. He was talking and mentioned something about Scientology, but all I heard was the waves rushing around in my head. He kept trying to push me to sit down, but I was frozen so solid, I fell backwards and hit my head on the kitchen table! I'll tell you one thing, blood falling into your eyes will snap you back to reality in a hurry! Tom was such a gentleman. He ran into the bathroom and grabbed the only towel that was there. Unfortunately, I'd just used that one to take care of some personal bizness, but oh well, it was mine. He made a funny face, sniffed the towel, and then moaned deeply, making such a sexually charged face, I nearly jumped him then and there!
After I got all cleaned up and was sitting with an icepack over my left eye, I asked about Katie and little baby Suri. Tom went on about how Suri is a brat and the pictures in the magazines are really a misrepresentation. She was a little devil, he said. The whole time he was talking, he was rubbing my shoulder in a soothing way. It felt nice, although I was really kinda bummed that that little angel of his was a brat.
I told him that normally I'd have to be pried with a crowbar away from his magnificent presence, but that I was getting ready to go play some tennis. Lo and behold, Tom Cruise is a tennis fanatic. He was once the president of the tennis team in college and he was so good that nobody would play with him after a while. He made sure I knew that THAT was the reason and that it had nothing to do with the shower incident where he was caught peeping through the hole in the wall. I told him I believed him entirely. He said he'd love to join me. I was beside myself. Me play tennis with Tom Cruise! Shut the front door!
But I got too excited too quickly. The whole time I was hitting the ball, Tom was talking about how I wasn't moving fast enough, I didn't keep my eye on the ball, and I just needed to get the molasses out my ass! I mean I love me some Tom, but after a while, I kinda got fed up! And after he came over and slapped me across the face cause I couldn't get the serve in the right service box, I had had enough! I marched over to him and looked him square in his face. And you know what I did? I leaned in and grabbed his face and planted the biggest, wettest kiss Tom Cruise has ever had in his life! That'll teach him to call me a "tennis tragedy".
He looked like he was stunned at first, but all of a sudden he broke into a smile so big it scared me, really. I backed up a little bit and Tom went to groping for me. I started running round the tennis court with Tom Cruise on my tail and he was gasping like a little school girl. I yelled back at him if he didn't stop chasing me, I was gonna call Katie and make her divorce him! Didn't stop him none. I told him if he didn't pump the brakes, I was gonna call those Scientology people and have him chanted on or something! When I said that, he caught up to me, gave my crotch a good grope and said something like "YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH!" Eeesh, I thought as he threw me on the ground and molested me thoroughly.
He's moving in on Sunday. Katie and the baby will come over every now and then to play tennis sometimes. I still think Suri's the cutest baby in Hollywood. Funny how things happen, ain't it?
Of course, I invited him in and just stared at him for the first 15 minutes he was here. He was talking and mentioned something about Scientology, but all I heard was the waves rushing around in my head. He kept trying to push me to sit down, but I was frozen so solid, I fell backwards and hit my head on the kitchen table! I'll tell you one thing, blood falling into your eyes will snap you back to reality in a hurry! Tom was such a gentleman. He ran into the bathroom and grabbed the only towel that was there. Unfortunately, I'd just used that one to take care of some personal bizness, but oh well, it was mine. He made a funny face, sniffed the towel, and then moaned deeply, making such a sexually charged face, I nearly jumped him then and there!
After I got all cleaned up and was sitting with an icepack over my left eye, I asked about Katie and little baby Suri. Tom went on about how Suri is a brat and the pictures in the magazines are really a misrepresentation. She was a little devil, he said. The whole time he was talking, he was rubbing my shoulder in a soothing way. It felt nice, although I was really kinda bummed that that little angel of his was a brat.
I told him that normally I'd have to be pried with a crowbar away from his magnificent presence, but that I was getting ready to go play some tennis. Lo and behold, Tom Cruise is a tennis fanatic. He was once the president of the tennis team in college and he was so good that nobody would play with him after a while. He made sure I knew that THAT was the reason and that it had nothing to do with the shower incident where he was caught peeping through the hole in the wall. I told him I believed him entirely. He said he'd love to join me. I was beside myself. Me play tennis with Tom Cruise! Shut the front door!
But I got too excited too quickly. The whole time I was hitting the ball, Tom was talking about how I wasn't moving fast enough, I didn't keep my eye on the ball, and I just needed to get the molasses out my ass! I mean I love me some Tom, but after a while, I kinda got fed up! And after he came over and slapped me across the face cause I couldn't get the serve in the right service box, I had had enough! I marched over to him and looked him square in his face. And you know what I did? I leaned in and grabbed his face and planted the biggest, wettest kiss Tom Cruise has ever had in his life! That'll teach him to call me a "tennis tragedy".
He looked like he was stunned at first, but all of a sudden he broke into a smile so big it scared me, really. I backed up a little bit and Tom went to groping for me. I started running round the tennis court with Tom Cruise on my tail and he was gasping like a little school girl. I yelled back at him if he didn't stop chasing me, I was gonna call Katie and make her divorce him! Didn't stop him none. I told him if he didn't pump the brakes, I was gonna call those Scientology people and have him chanted on or something! When I said that, he caught up to me, gave my crotch a good grope and said something like "YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH!" Eeesh, I thought as he threw me on the ground and molested me thoroughly.
He's moving in on Sunday. Katie and the baby will come over every now and then to play tennis sometimes. I still think Suri's the cutest baby in Hollywood. Funny how things happen, ain't it?
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Thursday's Thoughts
Whattup, peeps? Another day, another entry. I had a pretty fab day; nothing out of the ordinary, but cool.
**I spent all of the gift cards that I got for my birthday today after work on a new iPod nano! I had waited long enough and I just couldn't wait anymore! Someone scooped my old shuffle up at my birthday party, so I've been without my favorite tunes all week. It hasn't been that bad, though, cause I've been actually reading John Grishams's new book The Appeal. Like all of his books, it's awesome! So, I haven't really been dying without my music, but as soon as I complete this blog today, I'm fixing to rip this baby open and get to transferring some stuff!
**More tennis today. It was kind of cool outside, but not too bad, so I got out there with my sweats on and my sweatshirt and went up to the courts. Looked like the high school tennis team was at the normal place, but I didn't let that stop me. I found another court that had a backboard. This court is between the house and the hotel where Jer works, so I see that one all the time. It was deserted, so I set up shop there. I had one really good rally out there today, like at least 25, 30 strokes. So, I came home, showered, and cleaned up the kitchen a little.
**Syesha was safe last nite!!! I'm going to say I had something to do with that! I DID call in and vote for her, lest you forget. heehee... That means, it's her against the two Davids and she hasn't got a shot in hell against them. But she got as far as she should have in my opinion. She was my favorite, but I knew she didn't have enough in her to win the whole shebang! Go Syesha!!!
**The weekend is gonna be full. Tomorrow nite, Anthony, whom Jeremy and I met some months ago at the hotel is coming into town for the Mother's day weekend and we're planning to take him out on the town. Saturday we've got our Landmark Forum buddies Curt and Jamie coming over for the evening to play games and drink and socialize, and of course on Sunday, me and my best bud are getting together for beers and Rock Band and maybe some video games. We'll see. It's gonna be a full weekend.
**I made a phone call to the lady who's gonna be helping us with our new home loan application. She was wanting to get my information so that she could start working on finding out how much I could get pre-qualified for on a mortgage loan. I'm stoopid excited. I left her a message and she hasn't called me back yet, but it feels good to have the ball in motion.
So, enough of playing on the blog. Time to get to the music. Hasta la vista, baby!
**I spent all of the gift cards that I got for my birthday today after work on a new iPod nano! I had waited long enough and I just couldn't wait anymore! Someone scooped my old shuffle up at my birthday party, so I've been without my favorite tunes all week. It hasn't been that bad, though, cause I've been actually reading John Grishams's new book The Appeal. Like all of his books, it's awesome! So, I haven't really been dying without my music, but as soon as I complete this blog today, I'm fixing to rip this baby open and get to transferring some stuff!
**More tennis today. It was kind of cool outside, but not too bad, so I got out there with my sweats on and my sweatshirt and went up to the courts. Looked like the high school tennis team was at the normal place, but I didn't let that stop me. I found another court that had a backboard. This court is between the house and the hotel where Jer works, so I see that one all the time. It was deserted, so I set up shop there. I had one really good rally out there today, like at least 25, 30 strokes. So, I came home, showered, and cleaned up the kitchen a little.
**Syesha was safe last nite!!! I'm going to say I had something to do with that! I DID call in and vote for her, lest you forget. heehee... That means, it's her against the two Davids and she hasn't got a shot in hell against them. But she got as far as she should have in my opinion. She was my favorite, but I knew she didn't have enough in her to win the whole shebang! Go Syesha!!!
**The weekend is gonna be full. Tomorrow nite, Anthony, whom Jeremy and I met some months ago at the hotel is coming into town for the Mother's day weekend and we're planning to take him out on the town. Saturday we've got our Landmark Forum buddies Curt and Jamie coming over for the evening to play games and drink and socialize, and of course on Sunday, me and my best bud are getting together for beers and Rock Band and maybe some video games. We'll see. It's gonna be a full weekend.
**I made a phone call to the lady who's gonna be helping us with our new home loan application. She was wanting to get my information so that she could start working on finding out how much I could get pre-qualified for on a mortgage loan. I'm stoopid excited. I left her a message and she hasn't called me back yet, but it feels good to have the ball in motion.
So, enough of playing on the blog. Time to get to the music. Hasta la vista, baby!
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Wednesday's What-nots!
**First off, lemme just say that I'm sorry I've been away for so long, but I've been so focused on my birthday that I haven't been able to concentrate on much else. So , I'm back with great news!
** I went to work a half day on Friday, which, of course, was my birthday. And all my friends had something else to do, so I offered to take Charlotte with me for a birthday date. Jay's mom came up for the party, so they went to the dinner theatre since he had more free tickets; so did Marcella and Jay. Charlotte, of course, is Marcella and Jay's daughter and her birthday is on same day as mine. She turned 8. She and I went to see IronMan after I picked her up. It was an awesome movie! Robert Downey Jr. has moved up on my list of favorite actors. Afterwards, we had some fun running through the rain looking for some place to eat. We first tried Buffalo Wild Wings (Charlotte's suggestion) but there was a waiting list and Charlotte wasn't having it! We dashed through the drizzle over to Applebee's and ate there; me and my little birthday date. Afterwards we came home and played a couple of games, namely Payday. I let her win like a nice uncle. :-)
**My sister (Rozzie) and nephew (Aurrie') arrived on Friday nite, later than expected due to flight delays. They were scheduled to be here at 6:30, but didn't actually arrive til midnight (in the middle of a horribly rainy nite). But we had a great time together. We stayed up til at least 4 that morning, laughing and talking just like old times. The weather ended up being glorious! We went to the Mall of Americas on Saturday before the party. I miss them sooo much! My nephew is still a handful. I bought myself a t-shirt and belt buckle that says "Got Beer". I know - kinda red-necky, but I needed a buckle for my jeans, so it fit me and I got it. We had a really good time while they were here and I was glad to have them here for such a great day in my life.
**My party was a genuine success!! I gotta say that it was the best party ever thrown for me! I don't know exactly how many people were there, but I would guess between 40 and 50 came and went. Everybody seemed to have a great time, and the pictures are really awesome! I lost count of the shots after the 3rd one, and I was carted off to bed at around 1:30 a.m. or so. There was a DJ, Karaoke, eating and drinking and dancing, oh my! What a party! I'm still in afterglow. That night my name shoulda been Gropey McGroperson. I was so affectionate and kissy. It was heelarious! It's gonna be hard to top that one. I have to give all the credit to Jeremy, who planned a wonderful event, and Jared, who gave so much of himself and his time to make my night magnanimous.
**Some of the great gifts I received: Unforgivable cologne (P. Diddy), Electric coffeemaker, Volleyball/Badminton set, about $150.00 in gift cards, frames, candles, diffusers, liquor and shoes. It was a quite a haul! Thanks to all my friends who thought of me. What's funny is that my "friends" in Texas didn't so much as send me a card. I thought that was really interesting. I would say "outta sight, outta mind", but I talked to all of them on a regular basis. Oh well, I'm thankful for everything I have and everyone in my life anyway.
**My best friend and I have our bff anniversary this month. It was this time last year that we met and hit it off while we were all in Paris. Me and Jerr and he and his partner, Larry. Jared and I were just there for the trip, while Larry and Jeremy were there for a hotel conference. We happened upon each other at the McDonald's in the entertainment village outside the hotel and hit it off immediately. He and Larry have a lot to do with the success of my relationship with Jeremy. I'm grateful to him for being so inspirational to me. He's the best, most inspirational person I've ever met and with Jeremy's love and Jared's friendship, I'm the luckiest guy in the world. I say all the time he and Larry are the best!
**I'm all set as far as furthering my education goes! I've applied for and was accepted by Normandale College. I've registered for two classes, Creative Writing and Business Writing and have been approved for financial aid. My first class starts on June 2nd, and I am super-stoked. I'm looking forward to lots of homework. I say that now, but when the time comes, I'll prolly be like "dayum, I ain't finished yet?!" I'm excited to find out how many of my actual credits will transfer. I know I have at least 64 hours, but how many will transfer will be the interesting thing. Yay, I'm enrolled! I'm a college student! You can pat me on the back later. heehee
**I played tennis today!!! YAY!! It was the first time this season, but I got out there and hit me some balls!! I was just hitting against the backboard, but it felt so great to just swing and hit; chasing balls and sweating, running and being winded. I plan to go out as much as I can. I was all set to go yesterday, but the rain stopped me. Today, I got home from work, dropped my work clothes and put on my play clothes! It was only 30 or 40 minutes, but it felt great!!
Well, I think that's all and you've been brung up to speed. If I remember something, it'll be in Thursday's things. Deuces!! Let's all say a prayer for Syesha on American Idol......(hummmmmmmmmm)
** I went to work a half day on Friday, which, of course, was my birthday. And all my friends had something else to do, so I offered to take Charlotte with me for a birthday date. Jay's mom came up for the party, so they went to the dinner theatre since he had more free tickets; so did Marcella and Jay. Charlotte, of course, is Marcella and Jay's daughter and her birthday is on same day as mine. She turned 8. She and I went to see IronMan after I picked her up. It was an awesome movie! Robert Downey Jr. has moved up on my list of favorite actors. Afterwards, we had some fun running through the rain looking for some place to eat. We first tried Buffalo Wild Wings (Charlotte's suggestion) but there was a waiting list and Charlotte wasn't having it! We dashed through the drizzle over to Applebee's and ate there; me and my little birthday date. Afterwards we came home and played a couple of games, namely Payday. I let her win like a nice uncle. :-)
**My sister (Rozzie) and nephew (Aurrie') arrived on Friday nite, later than expected due to flight delays. They were scheduled to be here at 6:30, but didn't actually arrive til midnight (in the middle of a horribly rainy nite). But we had a great time together. We stayed up til at least 4 that morning, laughing and talking just like old times. The weather ended up being glorious! We went to the Mall of Americas on Saturday before the party. I miss them sooo much! My nephew is still a handful. I bought myself a t-shirt and belt buckle that says "Got Beer". I know - kinda red-necky, but I needed a buckle for my jeans, so it fit me and I got it. We had a really good time while they were here and I was glad to have them here for such a great day in my life.
**My party was a genuine success!! I gotta say that it was the best party ever thrown for me! I don't know exactly how many people were there, but I would guess between 40 and 50 came and went. Everybody seemed to have a great time, and the pictures are really awesome! I lost count of the shots after the 3rd one, and I was carted off to bed at around 1:30 a.m. or so. There was a DJ, Karaoke, eating and drinking and dancing, oh my! What a party! I'm still in afterglow. That night my name shoulda been Gropey McGroperson. I was so affectionate and kissy. It was heelarious! It's gonna be hard to top that one. I have to give all the credit to Jeremy, who planned a wonderful event, and Jared, who gave so much of himself and his time to make my night magnanimous.
**Some of the great gifts I received: Unforgivable cologne (P. Diddy), Electric coffeemaker, Volleyball/Badminton set, about $150.00 in gift cards, frames, candles, diffusers, liquor and shoes. It was a quite a haul! Thanks to all my friends who thought of me. What's funny is that my "friends" in Texas didn't so much as send me a card. I thought that was really interesting. I would say "outta sight, outta mind", but I talked to all of them on a regular basis. Oh well, I'm thankful for everything I have and everyone in my life anyway.
**My best friend and I have our bff anniversary this month. It was this time last year that we met and hit it off while we were all in Paris. Me and Jerr and he and his partner, Larry. Jared and I were just there for the trip, while Larry and Jeremy were there for a hotel conference. We happened upon each other at the McDonald's in the entertainment village outside the hotel and hit it off immediately. He and Larry have a lot to do with the success of my relationship with Jeremy. I'm grateful to him for being so inspirational to me. He's the best, most inspirational person I've ever met and with Jeremy's love and Jared's friendship, I'm the luckiest guy in the world. I say all the time he and Larry are the best!
**I'm all set as far as furthering my education goes! I've applied for and was accepted by Normandale College. I've registered for two classes, Creative Writing and Business Writing and have been approved for financial aid. My first class starts on June 2nd, and I am super-stoked. I'm looking forward to lots of homework. I say that now, but when the time comes, I'll prolly be like "dayum, I ain't finished yet?!" I'm excited to find out how many of my actual credits will transfer. I know I have at least 64 hours, but how many will transfer will be the interesting thing. Yay, I'm enrolled! I'm a college student! You can pat me on the back later. heehee
**I played tennis today!!! YAY!! It was the first time this season, but I got out there and hit me some balls!! I was just hitting against the backboard, but it felt so great to just swing and hit; chasing balls and sweating, running and being winded. I plan to go out as much as I can. I was all set to go yesterday, but the rain stopped me. Today, I got home from work, dropped my work clothes and put on my play clothes! It was only 30 or 40 minutes, but it felt great!!
Well, I think that's all and you've been brung up to speed. If I remember something, it'll be in Thursday's things. Deuces!! Let's all say a prayer for Syesha on American Idol......(hummmmmmmmmm)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
