"Well then, if you were scared you haven't really overcome your fear, have you?"
"...Oh."
Sigh.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Vignettes (and two poems)
Today in my creative writing class we were asked to look at ads and write what we saw, in any sort of narrative form. Here is what I wrote.
Winter of Cats
It was the winter of fur-mixed snow,
of puddle-mixed paws, meow mix
scattered across linoleum laid across
his grandmother's kitchen by his grandfather
some decades ago. It was the winter of cats.
As he bundled up for winds--they climbed him,
they clawed.
Running
It is impossible to guess why they run,
with their perfect hair, form-fitting suits,
dresses--yet they run, sinewy limbs outstretched
for each other; round, beautiful bright eyes
panicked. But why?
It had been such a nice dinner, after all.
Newports
In the ads they all have perfect teeth--straight, white teeth smiling, gleefully celebrating each others' birthdays. What they don't show us is the good stuff. The aftermath, the cake splattered across the kitchen floor, overturned in a swift rage, the stained cardigan, the sudden downpour of rain that would ruin their afternoon plans, vague threats in heated arguments, her final, mumbling growl, "I need a cigarette."
Two Men Fighting
The sale at Joseph A. Bank had been highly anticipated by all the men at their small-time modeling agency, but especially to Charles, the crew-cut blonde who would have a future in Calvin Klein, and to Avery, with his naturally shiny, shoulder-length brown hair, whose career would soon end in a downward spiral ending in a Target photo shoot involving frisbees and cargo pant bathing suits. It was not foreseen by either that they would both discover the suit of their dreams that day. It was, as the local news would later call it, a suit worth fighting for.
Scowl
It was clear how this man had made it to upper-management, how the younger ones cowered in his presence, how he could still wear that pinstriped suit in this unbearable heat and not shed even one bead of sweat. It was not just talent. Yes, there was more to it than that. It was the man's scowl--my god, a scowl to send a grown man to a bathroom stall for a good cry.
A scowl like that'll take you places.
Winter of Cats
It was the winter of fur-mixed snow,
of puddle-mixed paws, meow mix
scattered across linoleum laid across
his grandmother's kitchen by his grandfather
some decades ago. It was the winter of cats.
As he bundled up for winds--they climbed him,
they clawed.
Running
It is impossible to guess why they run,
with their perfect hair, form-fitting suits,
dresses--yet they run, sinewy limbs outstretched
for each other; round, beautiful bright eyes
panicked. But why?
It had been such a nice dinner, after all.
Newports
In the ads they all have perfect teeth--straight, white teeth smiling, gleefully celebrating each others' birthdays. What they don't show us is the good stuff. The aftermath, the cake splattered across the kitchen floor, overturned in a swift rage, the stained cardigan, the sudden downpour of rain that would ruin their afternoon plans, vague threats in heated arguments, her final, mumbling growl, "I need a cigarette."
Two Men Fighting
The sale at Joseph A. Bank had been highly anticipated by all the men at their small-time modeling agency, but especially to Charles, the crew-cut blonde who would have a future in Calvin Klein, and to Avery, with his naturally shiny, shoulder-length brown hair, whose career would soon end in a downward spiral ending in a Target photo shoot involving frisbees and cargo pant bathing suits. It was not foreseen by either that they would both discover the suit of their dreams that day. It was, as the local news would later call it, a suit worth fighting for.
Scowl
It was clear how this man had made it to upper-management, how the younger ones cowered in his presence, how he could still wear that pinstriped suit in this unbearable heat and not shed even one bead of sweat. It was not just talent. Yes, there was more to it than that. It was the man's scowl--my god, a scowl to send a grown man to a bathroom stall for a good cry.
A scowl like that'll take you places.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Today
Today, I woke up. I ate a bowl of Trix cereal.
I checked facebook.
I continued disassembling my spare bike to paint the frame.
I met a friend for coffee, and we talked about the end of the world, and how we kind of liked the thought of it, and we realized we both liked looking at rooms for rent on Craigslist in far, far away cities, because it reminded us of how easy it would be to start over new.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Oh allergens! Oh sweet summer sweat!
It's summertime! As a result, there's a wedding reception at the Grady House, across the street from my apartment, every weekend. I can hear the songs when I sit out on my porch. Most weekend evenings are passed with the sound of the Electric Slide and the YMCA. I don't mind. In fact, I think one day I'd like to meet someone who'll dance on the sidewalk with me to that cheesy DJ, and we'll drink our own cheap champagne, and say "I do" "I do" and drunkenly kiss there, not having any more of an idea what we are doing than the people up on that lawn. They just happen to be dressed for it.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Day Dreaming, Night Dreaming
I have been having a lot of scary dreams lately, and then I wake up and feel wonderful. Is this some sort of cleansing? Working out my anxiety by being chased by shooters every night? It's sort of nice. Mornings are quiet, and I am always alive.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Argh!
God.
I have too many internet site things to keep up with, and it's so frustrating. Sometimes don't you just feel like a pioneer? Like how it took them FOREVER to get to the freaking west, and by the time they got there, they were pretty much all dead anyway. Like, seriously, sometimes the internet feels like that. You have all these different networking sites, each with a different purpose, but many for confusing, overlapping purposes (like Twitter, and now facebook status updates, for example), and they are always evolving (for better or for worse). New sites are always cropping up, new trends emerge and are destroyed or worshiped by the internet community with a terrifyingly fast turnover rate, each comes with its own pointless privacy policy that no one reads, and the information our parents keep in locked safes in the coat closet, we give out for the opportunity to show off our winning personalities on the internet. It's so frustrating to me--waiting for the internet to figure itself out. It's just such a jumble right now! So many accounts, so much information just floating around, and so much of it completely pointless. I love keeping in touch with people as much as the next guy, but honestly--I have a twitter (for witticisms), a soup (like a scrapbook), a blogger (for thoughts), a facebook (for friends), a myspace (for music friends), and a flickr account (for my own images), all of which report snippets of what I deem the most interesting parts of my life, and almost all of which overlap. When is someone going to invent the ideal platform? We're watching facebook try to do this, borrowing features from whichever site happens to be the flavor of the week. But will they manage? Sure facebook is huge, but it's not perfect.
Then, when will this supernova internet hub pop up? I guess asking that is as pointless as the pioneers asking "Are we there yet." In the meantime, I guess I'll keep pathetically tweeting, facebooking, blogging, flickring, souping, whatevering, until this internet thing figures itself out.
This was a drawn-out excuse for my sparse updating as of late.
I have too many internet site things to keep up with, and it's so frustrating. Sometimes don't you just feel like a pioneer? Like how it took them FOREVER to get to the freaking west, and by the time they got there, they were pretty much all dead anyway. Like, seriously, sometimes the internet feels like that. You have all these different networking sites, each with a different purpose, but many for confusing, overlapping purposes (like Twitter, and now facebook status updates, for example), and they are always evolving (for better or for worse). New sites are always cropping up, new trends emerge and are destroyed or worshiped by the internet community with a terrifyingly fast turnover rate, each comes with its own pointless privacy policy that no one reads, and the information our parents keep in locked safes in the coat closet, we give out for the opportunity to show off our winning personalities on the internet. It's so frustrating to me--waiting for the internet to figure itself out. It's just such a jumble right now! So many accounts, so much information just floating around, and so much of it completely pointless. I love keeping in touch with people as much as the next guy, but honestly--I have a twitter (for witticisms), a soup (like a scrapbook), a blogger (for thoughts), a facebook (for friends), a myspace (for music friends), and a flickr account (for my own images), all of which report snippets of what I deem the most interesting parts of my life, and almost all of which overlap. When is someone going to invent the ideal platform? We're watching facebook try to do this, borrowing features from whichever site happens to be the flavor of the week. But will they manage? Sure facebook is huge, but it's not perfect.
Then, when will this supernova internet hub pop up? I guess asking that is as pointless as the pioneers asking "Are we there yet." In the meantime, I guess I'll keep pathetically tweeting, facebooking, blogging, flickring, souping, whatevering, until this internet thing figures itself out.
This was a drawn-out excuse for my sparse updating as of late.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
What I'm Reading
Gustav Flaubert: Hates the bourgeois.
Pierre Laclos: Hates the aristocracy.
Miguel de Cervantes: Hates society.
Samuel Johnson: Hates everything.
Dan Brown: Thinks the world is pretty much awesome.
There is a certain joy in reading trashy novels that the dead white guys just can't live up to.
Pierre Laclos: Hates the aristocracy.
Miguel de Cervantes: Hates society.
Samuel Johnson: Hates everything.
Dan Brown: Thinks the world is pretty much awesome.
There is a certain joy in reading trashy novels that the dead white guys just can't live up to.
Conversation I just had with my chinchilla that I could just as easily have had with any of my ex-boyfriends
Look at you!
God you’re so cute!
I really could just snuggle with you all night.
You’re sooo cuddly!
Haha stop that.
Hahaha no, don’t do that.
No really, don’t.
You’re acting crazy.
Please stop.
Seriously.
If you don’t stop I’m not going to feed you later.
Ohhh silence, real mature.
And to think, I really thought things would work out despite your obstinate hatred of Camus and total ignorance of the French New Wave.
I want my juicer back.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Most fun thing
Eating spaghetti like a total slob when no one else is around.
(Second most fun thing: Pretending that you are at a dinner party hosted by Emily Post while you eat spaghetti when no one else is around.)
(Second most fun thing: Pretending that you are at a dinner party hosted by Emily Post while you eat spaghetti when no one else is around.)
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
I'm an actor now
I tried out for a play yesterday, "Sherlock Holmes: The Final Adventure." It had always been something I wanted to try, and it really was an exhilarating and fun experience, until they told me I was "free to go," and I knew what it meant.
Today I got an email saying I had been cast as "Ensemble." I have to accept or turn down by Thursday. I think I will, just to find out what being in a play is like, and to get to dress up in neat dresses and such.
Now I just have to get in character. You may see me pacing around in public places, looking busy while not doing any action that may distract from the major players, and occasionally walking behind curtains.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Your Grass is Greener
How is it possible that I could be so miserable when I'm so happy, merely because the thought of being even happier is so close?
You know what? That sucks. Why is there even grass on the other side? This is perfectly good grass.
You know what? That sucks. Why is there even grass on the other side? This is perfectly good grass.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Love of Animals
After an evening in the company of a vegan I had an incredibly graphic nightmare about killing almost every small animal I love in order to survive. A small monkey first, two guinea pigs, a platypus, strange, cute hybrid versions of small animals that I had never seen before, and others that I am too sad to mention. I woke up feeling so much more sad than in dreams in which I die.
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