the clock struck 10 on a cold winter's night. a man limped down a dimly lit road, his struggled gait belying any urgent purpose. the gray left in his beard, peeping out over his chin-high scarf, was the only remaining indication of his younger years. his jaw had slackened as the result of a minor stroke and the muscles in his eyelids had lost their hold, making his eyes look half closed.
inside, he was seething. it kept him distracted enough that he didn't feel the cold as much, and could continue plodding along. they had laughed at him, even called him a silly old man to his face, all for trying to play some tunes on his old tuba and sounding very badly.
the thing was, he had never been very good at the tuba! he hadn't the ear nor the persistence to learn such a formidable instrument. yet, he still liked to give it a few puffs every now and then to make the brass roar, and in times long ago everyone had laughed and cringed, but applauded and insisted that he play more. now it seemed, no one wanted to listen to his music.
the man limped on. if they wouldn't let him play his tuba in peace, what did he have left? irrelevancy was more painful than death. he could barely walk, his eyesight and hearing were fading, even eating didn't produce the gratification it once did. but he could still blow the air out that entered his body with decent force. it wasn't much more difficult than breathing. they may have not respected him tonight, but come tomorrow, he would have them on their knees. they would learn.
in the distance, the faint light from a gas porch light shone, and the man's awareness of his surroundings returned. this was his destination. noting that the cold had frozen his limp jaw in place, he shuffled a little faster to reach the door and get inside. this was the house of his old friend, wallace.
when he arrived, the man banged on the door with all his might. "wallace, open up! god damn you, let me in!"
after carrying on like this for several minutes, a light went on, the shades were momentarily pushed aside, and the creaking of the wood floors could be heard. wallace opened the door slowly, but in a spurt of energy the man had pounced and pushed himself through, tumbling to the ground as he entered. wallace jumped back, clutching his heart through his faded blue bedrobe.
"bernard! is that you? what the devil are you doing!"
bernard felt around his body to make sure he wasn't hurt, and then started giggling. "by god wallace, i'm here, i've made it! it's time to make something of myself!"
wallace looked at him through his tired eyes, perplexed. "well you sure haven't been in any hurry to do that! look at you, bursting in through people's houses at night like a degenerate, if i'd had had my wits about me i would have shot you dead through that gaping mouth of yours!"
bernard giggled again, amused with wallace's hostility. "help me up, good man, let us go to your den together."
wallace sighed, and bent down as far as his knees would allow to offer his arm as bernard struggled to rise. it is in bad taste to describe the grotesque picture of a rickety old man trying to pick himself up after a tumble, but one can imagine it.
when bernard had stabilized himself, he clapped old wallace on the arm, and they hobbled over to the den to have a seat, bernard jabbering the whole way. wallace turned on a floor lamp and eased into his leather chair. he didn't bother starting up the fireplace.
"okay bernard, tell me what you want."
"i need you to teach me a tune on the tuba, rightaway!" bernard shouted. he was possessed by his excitement and was trembling madly.
wallace studied his old friend. "by god, you old quack, you've really licked the right toad this time haven't you?"
bernard waved his hands in front of his face. "wallace, we all know that no one blows the ol' tuba better than you can. i just...." bernard trailed off. "i just want to be able to play a tune, okay? just one. i've been blowing nonsense through that thing for years. it's time i made myself worth something!"
wallace considered his deranged friend's request. "well, you know i'm always happy to show a man the tuba, but does it have to be right now? how about you come back tomorrow? i'll be better rested then, and we can go over as many songs as you'd like."
bernard's face drained of color. "no! no no no. tomorrow's simply too late! let's do it tonight, please old friend, while we're both here, and the desire for learning is strong!"
"okay, okay," wallace said, not seeing an easy way out of the situation. "let me get us set up."
wallace and bernard spent the rest of the evening, and past sunrise practicing in the den. it was hard for bernard to move his fingers to press the valves as quickly as the tune required and though his breath was still strong it was no match for the tuba. yet, bernard persisted, and the two old men had many good laughs that evening. after the sun had been up for some time, and the deep bodied clamor had started to wear on him, wallace sat back in exhaustion.
"well, i don't think you're going to be winning any awards for this one, but the melody is discernible and your sincerity can't be denied. consider this lesson mastered."
bernard beamed through his slackjaw and droopy eyelids. "i've really done it. what a grand accomplishment, to take this oddly shaped piece of metal and puff it until it makes a song! any animal can beat on a drum, but it takes a truly refined man to tap out a rhythm, to fill the air with a tune! this will show them who's worth what!"
that bit concerned wallace, but he kept his thoughts to himself. "yes, bravo friend! now let me catch up on my sleep, see you another day."
bernard hobbled off, determined to hold an audience the minute he got home, although, he suddenly realized how early it must be, and decided they would surely still be sleeping. here he was, bernard, moribund, depressed, and he had stayed up the entire night enriching himself while the world slept. what vigor, what spirit!
"lazy is as lazy does!" bernard screeched to the dim morning sky.
when bernard arrived home he created such a commotion pulling out his tuba from the closet that soon everyone in the house had left his or her bedroom and was standing around him in a circle with their canes and walkers. a nurse ran out of a back room and spoke urgently through a radio. there isn't much time, bernard thought.
bernard licked his lips and pressed them gently to the tuba. he closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, recalling everything wallace had taught him. this was it. keeping his eyes shut, bernard began to blow. his lips vibrated against the brass and a deep, sonorous sound flowed out. it was sweeter than anything he had ever heard. his fingers, suddenly awakened, moved at lightning speed through the scales and surprised even himself. his command of the tune, in such a few short hours, was simply astounding. bernard arched his back and played to the heavens.
bernard sensed a flash of light, and realized that someone must be taking his picture. he wondered if he would end up in the city paper, with an article written up about him, and a headline like, "amazing man bedazzles crowd with his tuba tune." bernard beamed, and his slackjaw fell open wider. he heard applause, but it sounded far away.
2.22.2015
1.21.2014
i hate grammar conventions...part ???
grammar...it's that terrible itch you just can't scratch. in 8th grade we spent an entire year covering grammar, and it was the pits. should i have put a comma after "grade" in the previous sentence? does anyone really care? unfortunately, the answer is yes. there are people out there who describe themselves as "hating bad grammar" and feel outraged when they come across it. i would like to use this opportunity to let those people know that they are contributing nothing to society except enforcing rigid, authoritarian rules that make language seem dull.
that's not to say that i think all grammar should be abandoned...although that certainly would be a fun time...but i understand that grammar can be useful in communicating your meaning clearly. however, there truly are some pointless grammar conventions--if it makes no difference in how i understand the sentence, it should be abolished. the grammar convention i loathe most is using commas in direct addresses. for example:
"stop eating my pancakes, grandpa!"
unless you are some kind of autotron, this is not how the rhythm of your speech would play out. if you were really mad at your grandpa for doing this, it would certainly be, "stop eating my pancakes grandpa!" if you were only a little mad, and kind of just acting exasperated with your grandpa, you might emphasize the word "grandpa" and use the rhythm above. but in the end, it makes me question if that person truly even wants the pancakes because robots can't eat pancakes.
some of my grammar friends will counter me and say, yeah, well what about this:
i will ignore that the second sentence contains an error. my counter: for this one very specific circumstance, you can just say "grandpa let's eat." done, get over it.
all i have to say is that if i receive another email starting with "Hi, Victoria," just to illustrate how good that person is at grammar i will lose my marbles.
that's not to say that i think all grammar should be abandoned...although that certainly would be a fun time...but i understand that grammar can be useful in communicating your meaning clearly. however, there truly are some pointless grammar conventions--if it makes no difference in how i understand the sentence, it should be abolished. the grammar convention i loathe most is using commas in direct addresses. for example:
"stop eating my pancakes, grandpa!"
unless you are some kind of autotron, this is not how the rhythm of your speech would play out. if you were really mad at your grandpa for doing this, it would certainly be, "stop eating my pancakes grandpa!" if you were only a little mad, and kind of just acting exasperated with your grandpa, you might emphasize the word "grandpa" and use the rhythm above. but in the end, it makes me question if that person truly even wants the pancakes because robots can't eat pancakes.
some of my grammar friends will counter me and say, yeah, well what about this:
i will ignore that the second sentence contains an error. my counter: for this one very specific circumstance, you can just say "grandpa let's eat." done, get over it.
all i have to say is that if i receive another email starting with "Hi, Victoria," just to illustrate how good that person is at grammar i will lose my marbles.
1.16.2014
i've been told that there are some pieces of writing that are not appropriate for this blog, or for the internet in general. this kind of thinking makes my mind feel dulled, but i'll admit that it has yet to be seen what kind of effect my mark of evil on the web will have on future endeavors. so i do practice some form of self-censorship, if for no other reason than to safeguard myself against publishing something that in theory i should feel uncomfortable about. when i write a post that i think might be questionable, i save it as a draft on blogger and leave it unpublished until i decide what to do with it. so tonight i found myself revisiting those drafts, and i stumbled upon a rather perplexing piece that i saved about a week ago, although i possess no memory of it whatsoever. here it is in its entirety:
ordered all real cats to be replaced by people
new order, all the
while all indications say otherwise, i'm going to give myself the benefit of the doubt and assume that i did not sit there and type this nonsense out as an idea for a potential blog post. but still, the text was intriguing enough to pique my interest-- it leaves so many unanswered questions, and i just couldn't leave it unfinished. here it goes:
ordered all real cats to be replaced by people
new order, all the
while all indications say otherwise, i'm going to give myself the benefit of the doubt and assume that i did not sit there and type this nonsense out as an idea for a potential blog post. but still, the text was intriguing enough to pique my interest-- it leaves so many unanswered questions, and i just couldn't leave it unfinished. here it goes:
ordered all real cats to be replaced by people
new order, all the last cats were feeble
this time i won't accept nothing less than 100 percent
give me that fake cat, ill be up on your customer service line expressing my discontent
you see, i aint the average consumer
and these games with the cats, i'm failing to see the humor
b**** that cat had a plastic paw
your online ad's misleading, this cat's not what i saw
you know i'm looking for that round ball of fur
it breathes, it moves, honestly just make sure it purrs
if this is too hard for you to fulfill let me know right now
i'm warning you, repeated failure is something my fist won't allow
don't you know those online cats seemed like a good call
the beauty of the web is that no pretext is necessary at all
no busy body salesperson discriminating against my tastes
just because i need a lot of cats you gonna make me feel disgraced?
hell no, let me make my intentions clear
these cats won't be at my place for longer than a year
now your making me spell it out--i'm just a recluse fortunate enough to have made a cat for a friend
this little tabby showed me that life alone means nothing in the end
but i ain't no cat, that's why i made this plan....
ordered all real cats to be replaced by people
life is better now that this is off my chest.
1.10.2014
2013 in review
as the a new year begins, it's time to unpocket my spectacles and review 2013 in detail. the joys, the sorrows, the fears, the utter madness--i'll tell it all.
one very important thing that happened in 2013 is that i learned how to return a package through the mail. although this may seem like an elementary task, after i threw the box and packaging away that contained the large item i wanted to return, i realized that i didn't know the first thing about returning packages. now i know that the first step is to retain the box for shipping purposes. luckily, the gods were with me during this stressful time, and while walking to the store near my work i found a substantial box someone had left out for trash collection. they obviously didn't realize that this "trash" costs $25 at the post office, and they could have done some kind of box arbitrage. so into the box the kitchen cart went, to be replaced by the exact same one i found on craigslist for 1/4 the price. the one we returned may or may not have had a large stain on it.
another thing that happened is i gained a new found appreciation for the idea of a "police state". after spending a joyous day gallivanting around ikea and eating swedish meatballs, i just about dropped my new rug when i returned to my car and saw that some fool had knocked out the back light and scraped up the side of my forever hot ride, little red. with no note left to identify this fool and poor video surveillance coverage of the ikea parking lot, any attempt at vengeance would have been misdirected. if only, i thought, this parking lot and this world was crawling with law enforcement officers prepared to take punitive measures, this never would have happened to me. i must update the logs under my "alternative forms of social control" tab, which was created in response to the revelation that "the people are scum".
lastly, i learned this business parable, sent to me in a 'happy new years' type of email by a person who i am supposed to trust to represent the PTA in promoting our media assets:
their conclusion on the parable: "I will stand with you against the grizzlies of the world"
my conclusion: you are a sick f*** who willingly let your friend get eaten by a bear. you are worse than the grizzly. quite honestly i don't even understand who the grizzly is supposed to represent in this scenario.
in retrospect, this is just a small list of things that happened to me at the end of 2013. i live in the NOW, bitches. happy new years!
one very important thing that happened in 2013 is that i learned how to return a package through the mail. although this may seem like an elementary task, after i threw the box and packaging away that contained the large item i wanted to return, i realized that i didn't know the first thing about returning packages. now i know that the first step is to retain the box for shipping purposes. luckily, the gods were with me during this stressful time, and while walking to the store near my work i found a substantial box someone had left out for trash collection. they obviously didn't realize that this "trash" costs $25 at the post office, and they could have done some kind of box arbitrage. so into the box the kitchen cart went, to be replaced by the exact same one i found on craigslist for 1/4 the price. the one we returned may or may not have had a large stain on it.
 |
| the pretty cart |
 |
| it's okay little red, we'll fix you |
lastly, i learned this business parable, sent to me in a 'happy new years' type of email by a person who i am supposed to trust to represent the PTA in promoting our media assets:
Questioner:
I have a question for you. Let’s say that you were out in the
woods walking with your friend and you were suddenly confronted by a big
grizzly bear! What would you do?
Answer:
ooooh .. .i’m not sure .. is this where you’re to lie flat on the ground and
pretend you’re dead?
Q:
no, not really .. the grizzly would surely maul you to death right then and
there.
A:
yikes … what is the answer then … I can’t think.
Q:
the answer is that you should run like hell!
A:
oh .. okay … but … isn’t it pretty much conventional wisdom that you cannot
actually outrun a grizzly?
Q:
ahhhhhhh … but you see … you don’t HAVE to outrun the grizzly … you ONLY have
to outrun your friend!
their conclusion on the parable: "I will stand with you against the grizzlies of the world"
my conclusion: you are a sick f*** who willingly let your friend get eaten by a bear. you are worse than the grizzly. quite honestly i don't even understand who the grizzly is supposed to represent in this scenario.
in retrospect, this is just a small list of things that happened to me at the end of 2013. i live in the NOW, bitches. happy new years!
12.13.2013
shhhh it's a secret
this blogger has a secret. is it a dark secret? no, not really, but a secret all the same. come closer...stop.
*whispers* i want to be a singer. it is my number 1 wish as i blow out my birthday candles every year.
but it can't happen, i sob as i write this.
growing up, i had very few insecurities. whether i should have felt more or not, i don't know, but i was pretty confident in myself. that is, until i was introduced to the 'musical'. i have a faint recollection of my heart beating fast when they were assigning lead roles in the 5th grade play, and feeling disappointed that my name was not called. i don't think i had realized at this point that i was shitty at singing, and probably thought that at the tender age of 11 i had it in me to sing and dance my way to stardom. i'm thankful that i was able to use my time in the privacy of the back chorus row, where i was placed because i was a giant 5th grader, to figure out that my singing voice sounded similar to a squawking hen with laryngitis.
i braved that 5th grade play the best i could, but it was probably the most uncomfortable i ever felt throughout all of my formative years--enduring something is very different than participating, i learned. on top of all this singing business, i was forced to wear a skirt to the opening night of the show. A SKIRT! what about my jorts? it was as if someone had slapped me across the head and said, "victoria, you are no longer a person, you are a girl."
at any rate, that faint hope to star in the musical gave birth to a pitiable offspring that still lives today: the resigned daydreamer. but the aspirations of my daydreams are much higher than starring in the 5th grade play--i inevitably belt out adele and the like to my ever captive dream audience who reside in my car. after making hideous squawks for a solid 5 minutes or so with my blinders on, the fantasy unravels, and my car sounds less filled with the beautiful sounds of my dreams and more like, well, the squawks. that is okay though, because in this blogger's mind, reality never really has to win anyhow.
*whispers*
but it can't happen, i sob as i write this.
growing up, i had very few insecurities. whether i should have felt more or not, i don't know, but i was pretty confident in myself. that is, until i was introduced to the 'musical'. i have a faint recollection of my heart beating fast when they were assigning lead roles in the 5th grade play, and feeling disappointed that my name was not called. i don't think i had realized at this point that i was shitty at singing, and probably thought that at the tender age of 11 i had it in me to sing and dance my way to stardom. i'm thankful that i was able to use my time in the privacy of the back chorus row, where i was placed because i was a giant 5th grader, to figure out that my singing voice sounded similar to a squawking hen with laryngitis.
i braved that 5th grade play the best i could, but it was probably the most uncomfortable i ever felt throughout all of my formative years--enduring something is very different than participating, i learned. on top of all this singing business, i was forced to wear a skirt to the opening night of the show. A SKIRT! what about my jorts? it was as if someone had slapped me across the head and said, "victoria, you are no longer a person, you are a girl."
at any rate, that faint hope to star in the musical gave birth to a pitiable offspring that still lives today: the resigned daydreamer. but the aspirations of my daydreams are much higher than starring in the 5th grade play--i inevitably belt out adele and the like to my ever captive dream audience who reside in my car. after making hideous squawks for a solid 5 minutes or so with my blinders on, the fantasy unravels, and my car sounds less filled with the beautiful sounds of my dreams and more like, well, the squawks. that is okay though, because in this blogger's mind, reality never really has to win anyhow.
 |
| the night of the 5th grade play. grrr. |
12.09.2013
krumpusnacht
snow was falling lightly in the moonless woods. the branches caught the snow where they could and let the rest float down to the ground. ice had forced the stream to quiet itself weeks ago, and all the furry little animals had tucked themselves away somewhere, but not all was silent and still in rock creek park.
in the distance, the distinct crunch of an intruder could be heard trekking through the snow. if one were to catch a glimpse of the tracks, they might be delighted to see that they were made by cloven hooves--must be a brave winter animal. however, if this same person were to ponder the tracks a while, to play out the rhythm of the impressions in their head, they would be able to come to one conclusion and one conclusion only: this was no complex running beat of a ba ba boom boom ba ba boom boom kind of creature, it was a simple ba boom ba boom ba boom ba boom...the kind of work that could only be made by two extremities--by a horrible, hooven upright beast.
unnoticed, krampus trudged on, anger coursing through his knotty veins and hot breath meeting the air through his nostrils. he was on a special mission tonight, a mission to install more fear and terror into some poor souls' lives than he ever had before. krampus was no stranger to the old world, where he had haunted both the waking and dreaming hours of alpine children for centuries, but including the new world in his wrath was unheard of. these f***ing hipsters, he thought, celebrating krumpusnacht in the open night? they don't know the depth of evil they are dealing with.
krampus was a terrible-looking thing. at just over 7 feet tall (7.5 feet if you counted his gnarled horns), his entire body was covered with coarse brown hair, which fell in long strings off of his head and his chin. from his ears to his nose to his chin to his teeth, everything on his face was dreadfully pointy and sharp. his long tongue was split like his hoof, and his tail had a peculiar way of twitching as he walked. he carried a short wooden broom, had chains about his neck and torso that bounced silently against his matted fur, and a large, empty basket strapped to his back to carry away his victims.
after many miles of staggering through the forest in this way, krampus hit a clearing and saw his penta-cloven footed brethren in the distance. despite the krumpusnacht celebration and all the costumed krampuses it would bring, it was still too risky to walk the streets. as much as krampus preferred walking, he would need another means of transportation to arrive at his final destination, h street NE.
krampus rolled his pink tongue into his mouth, and whistled loudly through the slit, the agreed upon call if he was in trouble. within seconds, 9 cloven hooved animals flew down from the sky, carrying krampus' master, the one loved and hailed by all, kris kringle, st. nick, papa noel, father christmas. santa claus. be not surprised my friend, for all smiling idols have their own secrets and motivations too.
santa took his time exiting the sleigh, using one of the poor reindeer in the back to hoist himself up, whose bones looked curved and deformed from years of supporting such weight. on his clumsy way down, santa grabbed some snow from the ground, balled it up, and aimed his throw at krampus' old noggin. the snow hit krampus' nose with a soft thud, and buried itself in his beard.
"ho ho ho!" shouted santa. "look what we have here, a very bad boy indeed! ich vin von krampus? you know how i frown upon naughty children. well silly me, of course you do! you're such a terribly wicked thing, aren't you? why'd you call me, needing a ride to inflict your terror on h street, i assume?"
"i've only done what you've required of me, mr. claus," replied krampus.
"oh don't kid yourself boy, i know you love it. all those dissatisfied, spoiled children out there, begging me for this and that year after year after year, and it's only gotten worse. someone had to do something about them, since their parents only add fuel to the fire, pushing them into my lap and holding them there until i grant them their wish with a forced smile. one time, yes, one time i had the courage to stand up to a mini devil, i could smell the impropriety all over him, but it did nothing but tarnish my reputation that christmas season. you wouldn't believe how many households left me coal rather than cookies that year! me! santa claus! no no, that wouldn't do. those kids, they needed to be punished, but they needed to love me too."
"that's where i come in, i suppose," said krampus in his dry way.
"oh, ho ho ho, you've caught on, better late than never i always say." santa slapped his suspenders against his flabby chest. "well, let's be on with it then."
"mr. claus, i don't understand," said krampus grasping for straws, desperately hoping that santa would change his mind, "the people of h street are celebrating krampus and everything he stands for, they are promoting the punishment of naughty children in this parade! why would you want to stop them? let them do your dirty work for you, for us!"
santa's eyes grew hard, a faint flicker of lunacy glowed through his pupils. "you fool, don't you see, these hipsters have no intention of actually hurting any children! all they stand for is anything that isn't jolly saint nick, and you are obscure, and everything else that i am not, or so they think. sure, they'll talk about me ironically at their ugly sweater parties, but not once have 100 santas come together and paraded through h street, the forefront of culture in the new world!" at this point, santa was fuming. he closed his eyes, carefully pronunciating each word, "they. think. YOU. are. COOLER. than ME. ho ho, no, they will not get away with this, this, transgression. krumpusnacht will be forever no more unless it is celebrated earnestly!"
krampus bowed his head. "as you say, mr. claus."
santa grabbed krampus by his chain and pulled him into the sleigh. with a quick switch of his elkhide whip, the reindeer kicked into motion and cleared the forest below.
they sailed over the nation's capitol, home to good children and bad children alike. the great monuments and mall looked so peaceful at this hour, why couldn't those h streeters all just stay home and be peaceful too, krampus thought. he closed his eyes and sat meditatively, rehearsing the plan in his head and convincing himself that no one would be hurt.
too short of a time later, they arrived behind the meeting place where the krumpusnacht parade would commence. krampus peered around the corner, and saw krampuses of all shapes, sizes, and ages. they seemed to be having a wonderful time admiring each other, petting neighbor's horns and tussling ratty hair. no one had ever tussled the real krampus' hair before, he thought with a sulk. not since...well not since an entirely different time indeed.
krampus' brooding was interrupted by a hard clap on his shoulder, and a quick shove from behind caused him to reveal himself to the party. catching a chair to prevent himself from falling, krampus collected himself and approached his fans with his head held high.
"damn, look at that sweet costume" a blue-faced krampus shouted. "are you on stilts man, how are you doing that!" krampus was about to yell some fiery words at them, demand their younglings and shoot out his split tongue when suddenly the parade jumped into motion. relieved, he pretended that nothing happened and pushed into the krampus sea.
the flashing cameras, overly elaborate costumes, and hellish screaming, it was all for him. krampus could see why santa was pissed, the people loved him! forgetting himself, krampus posed for several pictures with neighboring krampuses and made a point of walking hard so his hooves would make a loud 'clop' with each step. these hipsters had taken his horrible self and made him into something fun, something different! krampus' high lasted until out of the corner of his eye, he caught a whir of red and saw that lunatic eye blinking in the darkness of a closed storefront. the fun was over; he still had a job to do.
krampus stopped marching and peered around to find a suitable target. he didn't have to look long. standing apart from the parade were two boys and a girl dressed in plainclothes who were snapping pictures and looking on with amusement. good as any, krampus thought.
departing from the crowd, krampus hunched his body and slinked his way over to them, leering and cocking his head in different ways to appear like he was considering, perhaps, devouring them. of the three, the girl was giving the most visceral reaction, so he focused his glowing red eyes on her face, using the powers bestowed upon him by santa to penetrate her soul. before the girl could fall into hysterics, santa jumped out from his hiding spot to save the day, his plan all along.
"ho ho ho, and a merry christmas! say, krampus, what is going on here, leave these poor people alone!" with that, santa kicked krampus in his shin, and krampus yelped and fell heavily to the ground, clutching his leg. "no need to thank me, boys and girls, it's really my pleasure!" santa was about to take a step forward, but before he could do so, the blue-faced krampus had hit him over the head with his staff.
"this is no place for santa," he screamed. grabbing krampus' wood broom, he went on, "assume the position santa, assume the position!!!" other krampuses who had seen what santa did to the real krampus joined in, chanting "assume the position" at the tops of their lungs and circling around him. one of them picked santa up, and the blue-faced krampus hit santa not once, but twice in the arse with the wood broom. for a quick moment krampus caught santa's expression, saw the mangled glint in his eye, and dove from the ground and across the circle to take on the full blow of santa's spell, which had been intended for the blue-faced krampus.
blinding pain reverberated throughout krampus' body, and his ears rung so fiercely that nothing registered with him except the own beating of his heart, which at that moment was all he wanted to hear. slowly the ringing turned to voices, and he looked up and saw all of his krampus friends gathered round to care for him. glorious, it's glorious, krampus thought, shedding a tear. but as he tried to raise himself up he wasn't so ecstatic any longer. his arms were wrinkled and leathery, like that of an old man, and his legs were buckled and feeble. krampus realized that his hearing had returned, but there were no noises coming from h street at that moment, only the silence of shock. a pair of krampuses helped him up and supported him as the crowd made way so he could approach the reflective glass of the popeyes chicken restaurant. krampus reached out and touched the reflection, shaking, and then touched his actual face as well, feeling around his eyes, over his mouth and across his nose. it was unmistakable-- he was a much older version of the naughty boy santa had stolen from his Vater and Mutter's cabin centuries ago, and imprisoned in this body called krampus. crying, krampus, now Dolf again, turned and shouted to all in the crowd who was listening, "i will tell you everything, everything!" truly open to anything, those free-wheeling h streeters, they cheered and heard out his story as they all dined together, and laughed together when they saw santa's mug shot flash across the tv in the corner with 'fraud' displayed in big letters, and Dolf tasted the sweet joy of the popeyes chicken, and knew that for once, everything was as it should be.
in the distance, the distinct crunch of an intruder could be heard trekking through the snow. if one were to catch a glimpse of the tracks, they might be delighted to see that they were made by cloven hooves--must be a brave winter animal. however, if this same person were to ponder the tracks a while, to play out the rhythm of the impressions in their head, they would be able to come to one conclusion and one conclusion only: this was no complex running beat of a ba ba boom boom ba ba boom boom kind of creature, it was a simple ba boom ba boom ba boom ba boom...the kind of work that could only be made by two extremities--by a horrible, hooven upright beast.
unnoticed, krampus trudged on, anger coursing through his knotty veins and hot breath meeting the air through his nostrils. he was on a special mission tonight, a mission to install more fear and terror into some poor souls' lives than he ever had before. krampus was no stranger to the old world, where he had haunted both the waking and dreaming hours of alpine children for centuries, but including the new world in his wrath was unheard of. these f***ing hipsters, he thought, celebrating krumpusnacht in the open night? they don't know the depth of evil they are dealing with.
krampus was a terrible-looking thing. at just over 7 feet tall (7.5 feet if you counted his gnarled horns), his entire body was covered with coarse brown hair, which fell in long strings off of his head and his chin. from his ears to his nose to his chin to his teeth, everything on his face was dreadfully pointy and sharp. his long tongue was split like his hoof, and his tail had a peculiar way of twitching as he walked. he carried a short wooden broom, had chains about his neck and torso that bounced silently against his matted fur, and a large, empty basket strapped to his back to carry away his victims.
after many miles of staggering through the forest in this way, krampus hit a clearing and saw his penta-cloven footed brethren in the distance. despite the krumpusnacht celebration and all the costumed krampuses it would bring, it was still too risky to walk the streets. as much as krampus preferred walking, he would need another means of transportation to arrive at his final destination, h street NE.
krampus rolled his pink tongue into his mouth, and whistled loudly through the slit, the agreed upon call if he was in trouble. within seconds, 9 cloven hooved animals flew down from the sky, carrying krampus' master, the one loved and hailed by all, kris kringle, st. nick, papa noel, father christmas. santa claus. be not surprised my friend, for all smiling idols have their own secrets and motivations too.
santa took his time exiting the sleigh, using one of the poor reindeer in the back to hoist himself up, whose bones looked curved and deformed from years of supporting such weight. on his clumsy way down, santa grabbed some snow from the ground, balled it up, and aimed his throw at krampus' old noggin. the snow hit krampus' nose with a soft thud, and buried itself in his beard.
"ho ho ho!" shouted santa. "look what we have here, a very bad boy indeed! ich vin von krampus? you know how i frown upon naughty children. well silly me, of course you do! you're such a terribly wicked thing, aren't you? why'd you call me, needing a ride to inflict your terror on h street, i assume?"
"i've only done what you've required of me, mr. claus," replied krampus.
"oh don't kid yourself boy, i know you love it. all those dissatisfied, spoiled children out there, begging me for this and that year after year after year, and it's only gotten worse. someone had to do something about them, since their parents only add fuel to the fire, pushing them into my lap and holding them there until i grant them their wish with a forced smile. one time, yes, one time i had the courage to stand up to a mini devil, i could smell the impropriety all over him, but it did nothing but tarnish my reputation that christmas season. you wouldn't believe how many households left me coal rather than cookies that year! me! santa claus! no no, that wouldn't do. those kids, they needed to be punished, but they needed to love me too."
"that's where i come in, i suppose," said krampus in his dry way.
"oh, ho ho ho, you've caught on, better late than never i always say." santa slapped his suspenders against his flabby chest. "well, let's be on with it then."
"mr. claus, i don't understand," said krampus grasping for straws, desperately hoping that santa would change his mind, "the people of h street are celebrating krampus and everything he stands for, they are promoting the punishment of naughty children in this parade! why would you want to stop them? let them do your dirty work for you, for us!"
santa's eyes grew hard, a faint flicker of lunacy glowed through his pupils. "you fool, don't you see, these hipsters have no intention of actually hurting any children! all they stand for is anything that isn't jolly saint nick, and you are obscure, and everything else that i am not, or so they think. sure, they'll talk about me ironically at their ugly sweater parties, but not once have 100 santas come together and paraded through h street, the forefront of culture in the new world!" at this point, santa was fuming. he closed his eyes, carefully pronunciating each word, "they. think. YOU. are. COOLER. than ME. ho ho, no, they will not get away with this, this, transgression. krumpusnacht will be forever no more unless it is celebrated earnestly!"
krampus bowed his head. "as you say, mr. claus."
santa grabbed krampus by his chain and pulled him into the sleigh. with a quick switch of his elkhide whip, the reindeer kicked into motion and cleared the forest below.
they sailed over the nation's capitol, home to good children and bad children alike. the great monuments and mall looked so peaceful at this hour, why couldn't those h streeters all just stay home and be peaceful too, krampus thought. he closed his eyes and sat meditatively, rehearsing the plan in his head and convincing himself that no one would be hurt.
too short of a time later, they arrived behind the meeting place where the krumpusnacht parade would commence. krampus peered around the corner, and saw krampuses of all shapes, sizes, and ages. they seemed to be having a wonderful time admiring each other, petting neighbor's horns and tussling ratty hair. no one had ever tussled the real krampus' hair before, he thought with a sulk. not since...well not since an entirely different time indeed.
krampus' brooding was interrupted by a hard clap on his shoulder, and a quick shove from behind caused him to reveal himself to the party. catching a chair to prevent himself from falling, krampus collected himself and approached his fans with his head held high.
"damn, look at that sweet costume" a blue-faced krampus shouted. "are you on stilts man, how are you doing that!" krampus was about to yell some fiery words at them, demand their younglings and shoot out his split tongue when suddenly the parade jumped into motion. relieved, he pretended that nothing happened and pushed into the krampus sea.
the flashing cameras, overly elaborate costumes, and hellish screaming, it was all for him. krampus could see why santa was pissed, the people loved him! forgetting himself, krampus posed for several pictures with neighboring krampuses and made a point of walking hard so his hooves would make a loud 'clop' with each step. these hipsters had taken his horrible self and made him into something fun, something different! krampus' high lasted until out of the corner of his eye, he caught a whir of red and saw that lunatic eye blinking in the darkness of a closed storefront. the fun was over; he still had a job to do.
krampus stopped marching and peered around to find a suitable target. he didn't have to look long. standing apart from the parade were two boys and a girl dressed in plainclothes who were snapping pictures and looking on with amusement. good as any, krampus thought.
departing from the crowd, krampus hunched his body and slinked his way over to them, leering and cocking his head in different ways to appear like he was considering, perhaps, devouring them. of the three, the girl was giving the most visceral reaction, so he focused his glowing red eyes on her face, using the powers bestowed upon him by santa to penetrate her soul. before the girl could fall into hysterics, santa jumped out from his hiding spot to save the day, his plan all along.
"ho ho ho, and a merry christmas! say, krampus, what is going on here, leave these poor people alone!" with that, santa kicked krampus in his shin, and krampus yelped and fell heavily to the ground, clutching his leg. "no need to thank me, boys and girls, it's really my pleasure!" santa was about to take a step forward, but before he could do so, the blue-faced krampus had hit him over the head with his staff.
"this is no place for santa," he screamed. grabbing krampus' wood broom, he went on, "assume the position santa, assume the position!!!" other krampuses who had seen what santa did to the real krampus joined in, chanting "assume the position" at the tops of their lungs and circling around him. one of them picked santa up, and the blue-faced krampus hit santa not once, but twice in the arse with the wood broom. for a quick moment krampus caught santa's expression, saw the mangled glint in his eye, and dove from the ground and across the circle to take on the full blow of santa's spell, which had been intended for the blue-faced krampus.
blinding pain reverberated throughout krampus' body, and his ears rung so fiercely that nothing registered with him except the own beating of his heart, which at that moment was all he wanted to hear. slowly the ringing turned to voices, and he looked up and saw all of his krampus friends gathered round to care for him. glorious, it's glorious, krampus thought, shedding a tear. but as he tried to raise himself up he wasn't so ecstatic any longer. his arms were wrinkled and leathery, like that of an old man, and his legs were buckled and feeble. krampus realized that his hearing had returned, but there were no noises coming from h street at that moment, only the silence of shock. a pair of krampuses helped him up and supported him as the crowd made way so he could approach the reflective glass of the popeyes chicken restaurant. krampus reached out and touched the reflection, shaking, and then touched his actual face as well, feeling around his eyes, over his mouth and across his nose. it was unmistakable-- he was a much older version of the naughty boy santa had stolen from his Vater and Mutter's cabin centuries ago, and imprisoned in this body called krampus. crying, krampus, now Dolf again, turned and shouted to all in the crowd who was listening, "i will tell you everything, everything!" truly open to anything, those free-wheeling h streeters, they cheered and heard out his story as they all dined together, and laughed together when they saw santa's mug shot flash across the tv in the corner with 'fraud' displayed in big letters, and Dolf tasted the sweet joy of the popeyes chicken, and knew that for once, everything was as it should be.
12.06.2013
broken metro card :(
woe is a broken metro card.
to finger its smooth, sleek surface
you feel the rush of a cold, intelligent future.
that prochronistic plastic gadget!
one would think that thing invincible.
tis not, i say!
i droppeth my phone one day
that fall was hard
my hand held the card
caught the phone on my hip
then the card had a chip.
zach, he no understand how
how she can make chip with card
it plastic, so durable, no?
no no no
that card not hit soft flesh
it hit bone hip
card go crackalacklack
truth be
he just mad cuz
cuz it his card
hoo hoo hoo
hah hah hah
to finger its smooth, sleek surface
you feel the rush of a cold, intelligent future.
that prochronistic plastic gadget!
one would think that thing invincible.
tis not, i say!
i droppeth my phone one day
that fall was hard
my hand held the card
caught the phone on my hip
then the card had a chip.
zach, he no understand how
how she can make chip with card
it plastic, so durable, no?
no no no
that card not hit soft flesh
it hit bone hip
card go crackalacklack
truth be
he just mad cuz
cuz it his card
hoo hoo hoo
hah hah hah
11.26.2013
the pie
i didn't really need that pie, you know, or so i thought. after that first offensive bite, i was prepared to let it slide off my plate and onto the floor of the red draped ballroom of my employer, mr. haversham. i had worked for years to gain access to my company's inner circle, and i wasn't about to let a rotten pie make me cough and shoot phlegm in the face's of my superiors. as i continued nodding my head and guffawing intermittently, pretending to be engaged in mr. haversham's colorful story about his precious deformed cat, Little Bear, i slowly tipped my plate to my right to check for potential sliding. my eyes bulged so wide that for a second i thought for sure i would be unduly noticed and caught for giving deaf audience. not even an inch did that pie budge--a sure sign of a butterless crust! giving it a slight poke with my fork, a cloud of desiccated flakes blew out and settled like dust on top of the pie and my closest finger. was haversham's chef really vain enough to leave out the butter? at----what's that, why are you laughing?
yes, that's what i said, a butterless crust! the pie was clearly too dry to allow any movement at all, which was worsened by the fact that haversham's cavalier disposition made it very likely that the china was buffed and rebuffed before serving dessert! now back to the story--try not to interrupt this time--i stood there positively frozen while i contemplated what other recourse i had available to me at that moment. as i considered the possibility of slowly oiling the plate with my finger pad, i realized that there had been a lapse in the conversation, and mr. haversham, along with with the rest of the circle, was waiting for my comment. clearing my throat, i closed my eyes and spoke:
not quick enough to figure out what to do with that pie you say! touche! well listen to what happened next: just as my chuckle was residing, mr. haversham called to the waitstaff to have Little Bear brought out. background chatter from the party ceased, and momentarily Little Bear was produced on a little red pillow. picture a repulsive gray tabby cat splayed out with mismatched eyes, infirm limbs, and neck goiter the size of an apple. a chorus of greatly forced "oos and awws" filled the room.
"please, over here!" shouted mr. haversham, "i want Little Bear to meet his biggest advocate!"
i braced myself for imminent revulsion when my touch would produce no muscle contraction or expansion in this slack kitty--don't roll your eyes--and while i breathed deeply to counteract the onset of nausea, never in my deepest dreams could i have imagined the turn this situation would take. a gasp erupted, i tuned back in, and immediately saw that the pie on my plate had disappeared. you're laughing, and i'll forgive you this time, because it doesn't take a detective to guess who the culprit was. the room went still while that little cat sat there, gurgling down the remainder of the pie through his clogged pipes. and then the cat was on the ground.
"LITTLE BEARRRRR!" mr. haversham shouted, reaching down save his precious pet. but it was too late--Little Bear was convulsing on the floor. i buried my face in my hands, not able to bring myself to face the destruction of this guileless animal. that pie--how did i lack the courage to stalk off and confront that pompous chef! it was my fault, my fault, my fault....
but suddenly someone is shaking me and telling me to look down, and what i saw, mind you, was a miracle. or perhaps just the product of some very dry pie crust. Little Bear's goiter was shrinking, as if all of the fluids were being drained out of it, and his legs were gaining strength, which i can't quite explain except to say that maybe it had something to do with the vitamins in the fruit filling. but what i do know is that in less than a minute of eating that pie, Little Bear Deformed Legs was a changed cat.
now i see you shaking your head, and that's okay with me. there are some things in this world that are too hard to believe unless you witness them firsthand. but promise me this, my friend, if you are given something and don't know what to do with it, do not immediately start devising ways to get rid of it; hold onto it for a while and see if there is a Little Bear in your life that needs help in the most unlikeliest of times.
yes, that's what i said, a butterless crust! the pie was clearly too dry to allow any movement at all, which was worsened by the fact that haversham's cavalier disposition made it very likely that the china was buffed and rebuffed before serving dessert! now back to the story--try not to interrupt this time--i stood there positively frozen while i contemplated what other recourse i had available to me at that moment. as i considered the possibility of slowly oiling the plate with my finger pad, i realized that there had been a lapse in the conversation, and mr. haversham, along with with the rest of the circle, was waiting for my comment. clearing my throat, i closed my eyes and spoke:
Just now I said the prayer for this cat Little Bear and when I finished, I felt a tremor shake my whole body. When it was over, I knew that our Lord had heard my message. I blieve that is a hopeful sign that someday soon little Bear Deformed will be restored to his former self. Amen.that seemed to satisfy the crowd, most of all mr. haversham, who blew his nose loudly and gave me an appreciative blow to my pie-holding arm. thank god, not all was lost for me. i've been told before that i'm quick on my feet. now----uh, there you go again, with that laugh! what's it this time?
not quick enough to figure out what to do with that pie you say! touche! well listen to what happened next: just as my chuckle was residing, mr. haversham called to the waitstaff to have Little Bear brought out. background chatter from the party ceased, and momentarily Little Bear was produced on a little red pillow. picture a repulsive gray tabby cat splayed out with mismatched eyes, infirm limbs, and neck goiter the size of an apple. a chorus of greatly forced "oos and awws" filled the room.
"please, over here!" shouted mr. haversham, "i want Little Bear to meet his biggest advocate!"
i braced myself for imminent revulsion when my touch would produce no muscle contraction or expansion in this slack kitty--don't roll your eyes--and while i breathed deeply to counteract the onset of nausea, never in my deepest dreams could i have imagined the turn this situation would take. a gasp erupted, i tuned back in, and immediately saw that the pie on my plate had disappeared. you're laughing, and i'll forgive you this time, because it doesn't take a detective to guess who the culprit was. the room went still while that little cat sat there, gurgling down the remainder of the pie through his clogged pipes. and then the cat was on the ground.
"LITTLE BEARRRRR!" mr. haversham shouted, reaching down save his precious pet. but it was too late--Little Bear was convulsing on the floor. i buried my face in my hands, not able to bring myself to face the destruction of this guileless animal. that pie--how did i lack the courage to stalk off and confront that pompous chef! it was my fault, my fault, my fault....
but suddenly someone is shaking me and telling me to look down, and what i saw, mind you, was a miracle. or perhaps just the product of some very dry pie crust. Little Bear's goiter was shrinking, as if all of the fluids were being drained out of it, and his legs were gaining strength, which i can't quite explain except to say that maybe it had something to do with the vitamins in the fruit filling. but what i do know is that in less than a minute of eating that pie, Little Bear Deformed Legs was a changed cat.
now i see you shaking your head, and that's okay with me. there are some things in this world that are too hard to believe unless you witness them firsthand. but promise me this, my friend, if you are given something and don't know what to do with it, do not immediately start devising ways to get rid of it; hold onto it for a while and see if there is a Little Bear in your life that needs help in the most unlikeliest of times.
11.20.2013
Toady finds a way
no one ever really liked little Toady. his egg, having been watched over very carelessly by his dolt of a mother, rolled away one day into the river and he was born a tadpole among the wild salmon and the river otter, with no direction on how to be a proper toad.
for a while as a young tad, Toady thought he had found others just like himself. as he was indolently wagging his tail to and fro through the river on the second day of his life, he chanced upon a small underwater alcove brimming with tad activity. not one to be shy, Toady joined the party, and mindlessly swam in circles through the other tads until nightfall settled over the alcove. Toady could not have thought of any other way to be in the world, for he was quite limited in these kinds of faculties. he continued on this way, and would have done so indefinitely, if it had not been for the noticeable changes that were all of a sudden taking place in his body.
you see, while the other tads continued to be tads, Toady was on his way to toademhood. his long rod-like tail was becoming so stout, and to compensate, his previously useless tendrils began to kick a little. Toady had no opinion on these changes, but he was a little miffed when the tads surrounded him and marched him out of their alcove. little did Toady know that he had happened upon the last living pod of panpeter tadpoles, the tads that never grow up, and being in that fragile existence they did not take well to outsiders like Toady.
so Toady swam on down the river, relatively unmoved by the wonders that passed him by. the magnificent salmon swimming upstream against the current had little effect on his fancies, but they did give him a jolt and subsequent bump on his head as he he swam head first into them. the bump would later turn into dent, the damage of which would permanently cause his mouth to hang open ever so slightly. the salmon shouted at him in salmonese, but Toady knew naught of that foreign tongue, so he went on his way, bruised and forgotten.
Toady henceforth spent his time drifting in and out of scenes that belonged to other creatures. after he became full toad he exited the water and took up residence in the woodland forest, where he hopped amongst the fox and the mole. the fox was terribly cruel to him and poked fun of his dent, while the mole was even more oblivious to the world than Toady was. one time Toady saw a baby mole munching on a worm completely care-free while the fox placed leaf after leaf over his head, until the fox grew bored with the mole's complete lack of awareness of the world around him. with something that resembled a toad's resignation, Toady lived on in the woodland forest as best as he knew how.
that is, until one day later in his life he was feeling unusually enterprising and hopped so far that he finally found some other toads, just like himself. when Toady approached the group they were squatting in a protective semi-circle around something on the ground, unseen from Toady's position. without introduction, Toady nudged his way in until his buggy eyes had a good view. what Toady saw had a profound impact on him: it was an old, wrinkled toad! the old toad was lying supine on the ground with a fox skin pillow and cover of leaf, and it looked like it was in unbearable pain.
Toady inched his way closer to get a good look at this venerable creature. suddenly, the old toad spoke to him in a hushed, raspy voice.
"Toady, i am your mother."
Toady's eyes bulged and his mouth dropped down another quarter of an inch. Toady had heard the babble of the fox, the low pitched mumble of the mole and gurgled salmonese, but he had never heard anything he could understand before. without giving him a chance to respond, Toady's mother continued.
"i have missed you more than you will ever know, dear Toady."
somewhere in Toady's heart, a piece of kindling sparked, a sparrow took flight for the first time.
"CROOOOAK, CROAK CROAK CROOAK!" exclaimed Toady.
"what is that, m'boy? speak your mind, Toady!" replied his mother, gathering her strength a bit.
"croak? croak croak??"
Toady turned around to seek help from his brothers and sisters, but they looked just as puzzled.
"Toady, what you say?" shouted sister toad.
Toady let his jaw slack again and slumped a little. damn! he could understand toad, but they couldn't understand toady. Toady waved his webbed fingers in the air--it was no matter. his sudden rush of feeling had subsided, but he still felt a kind of contentment he had never known before. Toady reached down to give his mother a pat, but she had already fallen into a deep sleep.
for days, Toady's brothers and sister fretted over their long lost sibling. they even went as far to hold him down while they kneaded out the dent in his head until it was completely sheer on one side. upon seeing his dashing reflection in a pool of water, Toady contemplated showing his new noggin off to the wild salmon, but he feared they might make a new dent, and he wasn't sure if he would be able to find his way back to his siblings' home.
unfortunately, it was inevitable that the other toads would lose interest in Toady--he couldn't say anything that made any sense to them and they increasingly realized how uncouth he was. to their credit, the siblings tried to overlook his eccentricities, but Toady's sagging mouth and disgusting habits made them feel ashamed. for god's sake, Toady gorged himself on anything set in front of him, always shoveling shoveling shoveling whatever morsel he could find into his mouth, whereas his siblings sat patiently and ate only that which was a delicate tongue's flick away. it was really all too much for those upstanding toads, who had never known what it was like to have been a loan toad fending for him or herself.
as his siblings grew colder, the fire that had been kindled in Toady's heart grew dim. the toads are scum, he thought as he lay awake one night. but Toady had a plan. the next morning at dawn he set off, not with malice but with a kind of toady love, not forgetting the favor his siblings had done him by smoothing out his dented head. that being said, Toady did not look back, and pressed forward with the faint thoughts of a different life in a different place with unspoken creatures.
TO BE CONTINUED....
for a while as a young tad, Toady thought he had found others just like himself. as he was indolently wagging his tail to and fro through the river on the second day of his life, he chanced upon a small underwater alcove brimming with tad activity. not one to be shy, Toady joined the party, and mindlessly swam in circles through the other tads until nightfall settled over the alcove. Toady could not have thought of any other way to be in the world, for he was quite limited in these kinds of faculties. he continued on this way, and would have done so indefinitely, if it had not been for the noticeable changes that were all of a sudden taking place in his body.
you see, while the other tads continued to be tads, Toady was on his way to toademhood. his long rod-like tail was becoming so stout, and to compensate, his previously useless tendrils began to kick a little. Toady had no opinion on these changes, but he was a little miffed when the tads surrounded him and marched him out of their alcove. little did Toady know that he had happened upon the last living pod of panpeter tadpoles, the tads that never grow up, and being in that fragile existence they did not take well to outsiders like Toady.
Toady henceforth spent his time drifting in and out of scenes that belonged to other creatures. after he became full toad he exited the water and took up residence in the woodland forest, where he hopped amongst the fox and the mole. the fox was terribly cruel to him and poked fun of his dent, while the mole was even more oblivious to the world than Toady was. one time Toady saw a baby mole munching on a worm completely care-free while the fox placed leaf after leaf over his head, until the fox grew bored with the mole's complete lack of awareness of the world around him. with something that resembled a toad's resignation, Toady lived on in the woodland forest as best as he knew how.
that is, until one day later in his life he was feeling unusually enterprising and hopped so far that he finally found some other toads, just like himself. when Toady approached the group they were squatting in a protective semi-circle around something on the ground, unseen from Toady's position. without introduction, Toady nudged his way in until his buggy eyes had a good view. what Toady saw had a profound impact on him: it was an old, wrinkled toad! the old toad was lying supine on the ground with a fox skin pillow and cover of leaf, and it looked like it was in unbearable pain.
Toady inched his way closer to get a good look at this venerable creature. suddenly, the old toad spoke to him in a hushed, raspy voice.
"Toady, i am your mother."
Toady's eyes bulged and his mouth dropped down another quarter of an inch. Toady had heard the babble of the fox, the low pitched mumble of the mole and gurgled salmonese, but he had never heard anything he could understand before. without giving him a chance to respond, Toady's mother continued.
"i have missed you more than you will ever know, dear Toady."
somewhere in Toady's heart, a piece of kindling sparked, a sparrow took flight for the first time.
"CROOOOAK, CROAK CROAK CROOAK!" exclaimed Toady.
"what is that, m'boy? speak your mind, Toady!" replied his mother, gathering her strength a bit.
"croak? croak croak??"
Toady turned around to seek help from his brothers and sisters, but they looked just as puzzled.
"Toady, what you say?" shouted sister toad.
Toady let his jaw slack again and slumped a little. damn! he could understand toad, but they couldn't understand toady. Toady waved his webbed fingers in the air--it was no matter. his sudden rush of feeling had subsided, but he still felt a kind of contentment he had never known before. Toady reached down to give his mother a pat, but she had already fallen into a deep sleep.
for days, Toady's brothers and sister fretted over their long lost sibling. they even went as far to hold him down while they kneaded out the dent in his head until it was completely sheer on one side. upon seeing his dashing reflection in a pool of water, Toady contemplated showing his new noggin off to the wild salmon, but he feared they might make a new dent, and he wasn't sure if he would be able to find his way back to his siblings' home.
unfortunately, it was inevitable that the other toads would lose interest in Toady--he couldn't say anything that made any sense to them and they increasingly realized how uncouth he was. to their credit, the siblings tried to overlook his eccentricities, but Toady's sagging mouth and disgusting habits made them feel ashamed. for god's sake, Toady gorged himself on anything set in front of him, always shoveling shoveling shoveling whatever morsel he could find into his mouth, whereas his siblings sat patiently and ate only that which was a delicate tongue's flick away. it was really all too much for those upstanding toads, who had never known what it was like to have been a loan toad fending for him or herself.
as his siblings grew colder, the fire that had been kindled in Toady's heart grew dim. the toads are scum, he thought as he lay awake one night. but Toady had a plan. the next morning at dawn he set off, not with malice but with a kind of toady love, not forgetting the favor his siblings had done him by smoothing out his dented head. that being said, Toady did not look back, and pressed forward with the faint thoughts of a different life in a different place with unspoken creatures.
TO BE CONTINUED....
11.15.2013
the war on christmas
this post may seem a little premature, but with winter quickly approaching i have had this growing tingling sensation in my sciatic nerve, a slight whir in the blood, that can only mean one thing: the war on christmas is ramping up again. this year, i'm ready to fight tooth and bone for whatever side is willing to give me some uncensored air time. i'm learning towards the good people at Fox, because for all the things they suck at, they are damn
good at coming up with pithy little taglines like war on christmas. maybe they can also help me come up with a new name for my blog.
to prepare for the debates, let's see what bill has to say about the war on christmas:
with no other context, these talking points lead me to believe that bill could be referring to those ultra-pious christians who denounce santa claus and the rampant consumerism which has devoured the holiday, and celebrate nothing other than the birth of jesus on christmas. with their lack of christmas spirit, they surely must be the biggest perpetrators of this war.
sometimes though, i think beloved bill gets side-tracked and focuses his attention on the lesser, but more scandalous enemy-- the secularist. are we talking about the average person who goes to church once a year on christmas eve so they can justify the fun they plan to partake in the next day? the people who, during the holy sermon, can only think about whether or not santa will forgive them for having consumed all of the advent calendar chocolate a mere 3 days into december? no, these ones are doin real good. we're talking about those who dared to be vocal enough to say that, for example, maybe a particular religion shouldn't have a federally recognized holiday. although it certainly would not be inconsistent for a religious person to also hold that view, my guess is that Bill labels anyone who is not advancing the triumph of christmas as secular, and probably un-patriotic as well.
if bill could stop his prattle and think for a minute, he might realize that this war has no losers; christmas has spiraled completely out of control and could use a little bit of humility. who knows, maybe if santa wasn't flashing in our faces every 5 seconds during december, christmas might even become a religious holiday again. but in addition to Bill, groups like the american family association wouldn't dare let walmart get away with making advertisements that generically reference "the holidays" rather than christmas. i have two things i don't understand about this. first, why are these groups dying to have a religious holiday manipulated and taken advantage of by marketers so that children become little greedmongers? shouldn't they be happy that marketers are backing off? for two, why are marketers trying to be so PC? their job is to sell shit any way they can. these are very confusing times indeed.
if i ever find myself fighting a war over an imaginary fat man and the proper name for a dead tree that probably has roots in paganism anyhow (c'mon people, holiday tree?!), i will know that my life as a human being making contributions to a productive society is over. i'm not saying that these traditions aren't fun and nice, but let's put things into perspective: just because christmas symbols aren't being shoved down our collective throats, doesn't mean we can't continue christmas traditions, even if that means these traditions are increasingly relegated to the home. are people afraid they lack the will to celebrate without the help of big business? like, wut i do, wut this day for? however, if christmas hinges upon being bombarded with santa and whatnot in the public sphere, then that would be a problem. hmm...
the reason christmas is so tolerated in the public sphere is because its celebration has aspects which, despite its religious undertones, lend itself to being a very secular holiday. in fact, this war is really a war on secular christmas--i don't hear much jesus bashing, it's mainly, "get that f'ing north pole elf out of my face." bill is smart to fight about santa rather than jesus, as the latter would make his case much shakier. there is nothing in the constitution that references the separation between santa and state. but what if the tradition was to sit on jesus's lap and ask for a present at the mall rather than santa's lap? okay, actually i am not going to go any further into that thought because the image makes me feel sick.
but this post has been way too one-sided with only bill and i's thoughts. i want to know what the people think. i've been told that the people are scum, but this is a democracy and they should have a voice in the great war on christmas. i went to debate.org and typed in "should christmas be recognized as a federal holiday?" this is what i found.
of the 5 people who participated in the debate, 20% thought that establishing christmas as a federal holiday is against our constitution, and 80% thought that it was fine as is. of those who thought it should stand, reasoning included because "Christmas is fun" and "There is no good reason for it not to be a federal holiday." there was also this reason:
if you are afraid of the war on christmas, you have let fear mongering get the best of you. i will tell you why: as long as christmas sales represent like a quarter of most company's yearly sales, it will never go away. it may change, and we all know dear bill and friends hate change, but things change for a reason...our culture has to stay up to date. but prattling on about patriots will not stop the zeitgeist, so i say, let 'em war. my weapon of choice? flying elf with dagger nose.
to prepare for the debates, let's see what bill has to say about the war on christmas:
with no other context, these talking points lead me to believe that bill could be referring to those ultra-pious christians who denounce santa claus and the rampant consumerism which has devoured the holiday, and celebrate nothing other than the birth of jesus on christmas. with their lack of christmas spirit, they surely must be the biggest perpetrators of this war.
sometimes though, i think beloved bill gets side-tracked and focuses his attention on the lesser, but more scandalous enemy-- the secularist. are we talking about the average person who goes to church once a year on christmas eve so they can justify the fun they plan to partake in the next day? the people who, during the holy sermon, can only think about whether or not santa will forgive them for having consumed all of the advent calendar chocolate a mere 3 days into december? no, these ones are doin real good. we're talking about those who dared to be vocal enough to say that, for example, maybe a particular religion shouldn't have a federally recognized holiday. although it certainly would not be inconsistent for a religious person to also hold that view, my guess is that Bill labels anyone who is not advancing the triumph of christmas as secular, and probably un-patriotic as well.
if bill could stop his prattle and think for a minute, he might realize that this war has no losers; christmas has spiraled completely out of control and could use a little bit of humility. who knows, maybe if santa wasn't flashing in our faces every 5 seconds during december, christmas might even become a religious holiday again. but in addition to Bill, groups like the american family association wouldn't dare let walmart get away with making advertisements that generically reference "the holidays" rather than christmas. i have two things i don't understand about this. first, why are these groups dying to have a religious holiday manipulated and taken advantage of by marketers so that children become little greedmongers? shouldn't they be happy that marketers are backing off? for two, why are marketers trying to be so PC? their job is to sell shit any way they can. these are very confusing times indeed.
if i ever find myself fighting a war over an imaginary fat man and the proper name for a dead tree that probably has roots in paganism anyhow (c'mon people, holiday tree?!), i will know that my life as a human being making contributions to a productive society is over. i'm not saying that these traditions aren't fun and nice, but let's put things into perspective: just because christmas symbols aren't being shoved down our collective throats, doesn't mean we can't continue christmas traditions, even if that means these traditions are increasingly relegated to the home. are people afraid they lack the will to celebrate without the help of big business? like, wut i do, wut this day for? however, if christmas hinges upon being bombarded with santa and whatnot in the public sphere, then that would be a problem. hmm...
the reason christmas is so tolerated in the public sphere is because its celebration has aspects which, despite its religious undertones, lend itself to being a very secular holiday. in fact, this war is really a war on secular christmas--i don't hear much jesus bashing, it's mainly, "get that f'ing north pole elf out of my face." bill is smart to fight about santa rather than jesus, as the latter would make his case much shakier. there is nothing in the constitution that references the separation between santa and state. but what if the tradition was to sit on jesus's lap and ask for a present at the mall rather than santa's lap? okay, actually i am not going to go any further into that thought because the image makes me feel sick.
but this post has been way too one-sided with only bill and i's thoughts. i want to know what the people think. i've been told that the people are scum, but this is a democracy and they should have a voice in the great war on christmas. i went to debate.org and typed in "should christmas be recognized as a federal holiday?" this is what i found.
of the 5 people who participated in the debate, 20% thought that establishing christmas as a federal holiday is against our constitution, and 80% thought that it was fine as is. of those who thought it should stand, reasoning included because "Christmas is fun" and "There is no good reason for it not to be a federal holiday." there was also this reason:
I believe that Christmas should be a federal holiday. It has been one for quite some time and nobody seems to have a problem with it. Changing this would not be right. Even those that do not celebrate Christmas are okay with it being a federal holiday. I guess they don't mind because its a day they get off from work.speak with more confidence, fellow debater! it's not you "guess they don't mind", it's you know they don't mind. using such apprehensive claims will get you destroyed in a real debate.
if you are afraid of the war on christmas, you have let fear mongering get the best of you. i will tell you why: as long as christmas sales represent like a quarter of most company's yearly sales, it will never go away. it may change, and we all know dear bill and friends hate change, but things change for a reason...our culture has to stay up to date. but prattling on about patriots will not stop the zeitgeist, so i say, let 'em war. my weapon of choice? flying elf with dagger nose.
11.13.2013
sharknado mostly sucks
i was intrigued to learn that sharknado came out on netflix recently, so i decided to see what all the buzz was all about. i went into it with high expectations from hearing everyone express so much enthusiasm for it, but unfortunately, xiao long was not impressed.
admittedly, there were a few fantastic scenes in the movie, such as when the guy uses a chainsaw to brace for impact from an open-mouthed shark falling from the sky, and ends up being swallowed by the shark and chainsawing his way out with a friend who, to her misfortune and fortune, was swallowed alive and whole by the same shark.
it was also excellent when the guy shot a shark out of the sky from a long distance with a hand gun.
beyond this, sharknado's total lack of sincerity made it difficult for me to really enjoy this film--this movie was intentionally bad, and possibly even a parody of itself. how can i mock it when it is already so self aware? i don't actually believe that the director thinks you can shoot something out of the sky with a handgun, and knowing that, i can only say "WHAT!" so many times. but it's still tempting--why, WHY is the house flooded and has a shark in it if the driveway is water-free? if anything, the reactions to sharknado made me realize that as bat shit crazy as some people are, at the core of things we all do agree on how a few things in the world are and should be. a good test of mental hygiene test would be to show someone this movie and gauge their reactions to it: if they see no inconsistencies in the world of sharknado, then they surely are bat shit crazy. but for us, those sane ones, glaring logical inconsistencies cause such outrage and hilarity as sharknado does.
but the writers know this too, so i feel kind of manipulated. if you go beyond the these quirks, and the ridiculous premise of shark-filled tornadoes, there is really nothing there; the dialogue is terrible, the plot is conventional. really, the only good thing about this movie is that a man flies through a shark with a chainsaw, but i have already mentioned that, and that was the climax of the movie anyhow.
now i'm not going to argue that all terrible B horror movies are made in the utmost sincerity, i think a lot of writers/directors probably knows that they are at least slightly ridiculous (unless you are the director of troll 2, who claims that he made a good movie), but in the best ones the jokes are more subtle, the "world" of the movie is better developed, and the characters are more interesting. in these movies it seems like the writer/director actually cared about the product they were making--that it had some aspect of their artistry in it.
i guess...i don't really know what to think about sharknado. on one hand it must be genius, because it hit the right chords with so many people, and is brutally honest about it's stupidity, but on the other, it's really the pits. numbness and apathy are worrisome.
by the way, if you want to watch a truly terrible horror movie, check out "rawhead rex", the 1986 terror of the irish countryside. as my friend put it, "someone took the time." for better or for worse...
admittedly, there were a few fantastic scenes in the movie, such as when the guy uses a chainsaw to brace for impact from an open-mouthed shark falling from the sky, and ends up being swallowed by the shark and chainsawing his way out with a friend who, to her misfortune and fortune, was swallowed alive and whole by the same shark.
it was also excellent when the guy shot a shark out of the sky from a long distance with a hand gun.
beyond this, sharknado's total lack of sincerity made it difficult for me to really enjoy this film--this movie was intentionally bad, and possibly even a parody of itself. how can i mock it when it is already so self aware? i don't actually believe that the director thinks you can shoot something out of the sky with a handgun, and knowing that, i can only say "WHAT!" so many times. but it's still tempting--why, WHY is the house flooded and has a shark in it if the driveway is water-free? if anything, the reactions to sharknado made me realize that as bat shit crazy as some people are, at the core of things we all do agree on how a few things in the world are and should be. a good test of mental hygiene test would be to show someone this movie and gauge their reactions to it: if they see no inconsistencies in the world of sharknado, then they surely are bat shit crazy. but for us, those sane ones, glaring logical inconsistencies cause such outrage and hilarity as sharknado does.
but the writers know this too, so i feel kind of manipulated. if you go beyond the these quirks, and the ridiculous premise of shark-filled tornadoes, there is really nothing there; the dialogue is terrible, the plot is conventional. really, the only good thing about this movie is that a man flies through a shark with a chainsaw, but i have already mentioned that, and that was the climax of the movie anyhow.
now i'm not going to argue that all terrible B horror movies are made in the utmost sincerity, i think a lot of writers/directors probably knows that they are at least slightly ridiculous (unless you are the director of troll 2, who claims that he made a good movie), but in the best ones the jokes are more subtle, the "world" of the movie is better developed, and the characters are more interesting. in these movies it seems like the writer/director actually cared about the product they were making--that it had some aspect of their artistry in it.
i guess...i don't really know what to think about sharknado. on one hand it must be genius, because it hit the right chords with so many people, and is brutally honest about it's stupidity, but on the other, it's really the pits. numbness and apathy are worrisome.
by the way, if you want to watch a truly terrible horror movie, check out "rawhead rex", the 1986 terror of the irish countryside. as my friend put it, "someone took the time." for better or for worse...
11.10.2013
the hour long search for power
what would you do for power? think about it: that pure, ultimate force, raising just as many fools to great heights as to great ruin, but all worth it for that one sweet taste.
i will tell you what i would do for power. i would walk around capitol hill for over an hour searching for it, but i would only feast upon its fruit if it cost less than $2.
i am talking about the power bar here, that calorie-stuffed goodness that, no matter what state you were in before, will leave you cartwheelin' in the streets after consumption.
but i didn't have one, and my body was crying out. i stayed late at work and wanted to spend the rest of my evening swimming at the pool, but i hadn't eaten anything since lunch and didn't want to go home to eat, where the chains of my warm bed would dance around like charmed cobras until i slowly eased into them, preventing me from leaving the house again for the rest of the night. so i did what any rational person would do -- i grabbed $2 from my wallet, locked my car, and sought out the coveted bar to tide me over.
i made my first desperate stop at a liquor store and decided to play it straight, i barged in and demanded to be directed to the food. However, i was presented with a rack of those nasty bugle chips, so I knew that no power was to be found here, save for its lowly cousin, liquid courage. I thanked the shopkeeper for his time and left.
although i was loath to travel even farther away from the pool, the thirst for power drove me on. i walked some more and found a little "marketplace" which i thought looked promising. i couldn't have been more wrong--the cheapest bar in there was $1.99, not including tax. i still thought i might have a chance though, there is a little shop near our house where i have forgotten my wallet before and been told that i could pay another day. but this was not the shop by my house. she told me it was $2.20 with tax, so i made like i couldn't afford it and started to put it back, but she didn't take the bait. i knew i was going to have to be real with her. "listen lady, i only have $2, is there a spare change jar or something here?" "no." .....silence.
i ran out of this stupid "neighborhood" "marketplace" in a huff, determined to find a chain store that would sell bars for a fair price. as i charged forward, i was suddenly accosted by a blond boy with spiky hair who ran out from behind a car and hailed me down. thinking that i was going to get my $2 bar money stolen, i braced for perpetual hunger. honestly it scared the shit out of me, i thought he had a gun in his hand (black cell phone) and i was about to get mugged. instead, he tells me that i'm cute and asks me on a date to get coffee. that was a relief, kind of. using no words i flapped my hand at him and moved on, this was no time for such frivolities. i know i'm a rare beaut but at this moment i was running down the street in a frenzy, waddling because i was holding up my too-long work pants by the fabric at the knees to prevent myself from stepping on them in my pink flip flops, and my cold little sausage toes were sticking out and cursing me for not being more sensible. i think his nose caught the scent of the open air dollars in my pocket, and thought i might be money bags. Sigh.... I was going to have to take a different route back to avoid him.
Dizzy, confused, and with my lifeline dwindling, I staggered onwards: just ahead, a cvs bag. The straight path is often the most difficult. Another cvs bag. How much longer down this road to temptation? The lights, oh those big red letters. Oh the bars and the stars and the cars. itchy pocket, open esophagus.
Scene 3: victoria enters cvs with a flourish. She looks around momentarily, a little bewildered, and then regains her composure and heads straight for counter.
VICTORIA: Evening sir, got any of those bars here?
EMPLOYEE: Sure do ma'am. You're just in luck, we just got a new shipment of all kinds of bars in yesterday during the night delivery. Follow me please.
The employee swings his legs over the counter and together they walk to the other side of the store. When they find the bars, victoria claps her hands once.
VICTORIA: This is quite a selection of bars you got here mister.
EMPLOYEE: Sure is. We take pride in that kind of thing here.
VICTORIA: And only $1.87, what kind of profit are you all running around here anyway?
EMPLOYEE: ma'am, we make ends meet, but we gotta leave some bills in the customer's pocket too.
VICTORIA: you don't say! Well here's $2, keep the change kid, and keep up the good work.
Victoria leaves cvs while the employee looks at the bills, mouth agape. End scene.
Once I exited cvs I ripped open the packaging so greedily that the contents almost spilled onto the ground. But no matter, I had succeeded in my quest and everything was alright again. I even felt confident enough to walk back the way I came, and if I ran into the spiky boy again I would rip off a hunk of bar with my glimmering eye tooth, and then watch him slink back into the shadows.
Well, that never happened because on the way out of cvs I was filled with such blinding mania that I went the wrong way and became utterly lost in capitol hill for at least 20 minutes, a place that I am no stranger to. It was as if all the pieces of capitol hill had been dismantled and rearranged so that everything was both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. Still clutching the wrapper of the bar, I finally sought the assistance of a young "suit" who didn't know where the pool was but said he could check Google maps. I nodded my pumpkin head vigorously. He seemed to think it strange, so I felt compelled to explain that I didn't have a smart phone, which made him aghast and he mocked me while he looked up directions. I bit my tongue to hold my tirade against this suit. In the end he set me on the right course, and I made it to the pool in no time. Yet my mania still lingered over an hour later when I was leaving, as I could not decide which way was home, a route I take at least once a week with no previously recorded troubles. I realized that as strong as I am, it was presumptuous of me to think that I could gallivant around on my lonesome after devouring a power bar. I am no match, no match.
i will tell you what i would do for power. i would walk around capitol hill for over an hour searching for it, but i would only feast upon its fruit if it cost less than $2.
i am talking about the power bar here, that calorie-stuffed goodness that, no matter what state you were in before, will leave you cartwheelin' in the streets after consumption.
but i didn't have one, and my body was crying out. i stayed late at work and wanted to spend the rest of my evening swimming at the pool, but i hadn't eaten anything since lunch and didn't want to go home to eat, where the chains of my warm bed would dance around like charmed cobras until i slowly eased into them, preventing me from leaving the house again for the rest of the night. so i did what any rational person would do -- i grabbed $2 from my wallet, locked my car, and sought out the coveted bar to tide me over.
i made my first desperate stop at a liquor store and decided to play it straight, i barged in and demanded to be directed to the food. However, i was presented with a rack of those nasty bugle chips, so I knew that no power was to be found here, save for its lowly cousin, liquid courage. I thanked the shopkeeper for his time and left.
although i was loath to travel even farther away from the pool, the thirst for power drove me on. i walked some more and found a little "marketplace" which i thought looked promising. i couldn't have been more wrong--the cheapest bar in there was $1.99, not including tax. i still thought i might have a chance though, there is a little shop near our house where i have forgotten my wallet before and been told that i could pay another day. but this was not the shop by my house. she told me it was $2.20 with tax, so i made like i couldn't afford it and started to put it back, but she didn't take the bait. i knew i was going to have to be real with her. "listen lady, i only have $2, is there a spare change jar or something here?" "no." .....silence.
i ran out of this stupid "neighborhood" "marketplace" in a huff, determined to find a chain store that would sell bars for a fair price. as i charged forward, i was suddenly accosted by a blond boy with spiky hair who ran out from behind a car and hailed me down. thinking that i was going to get my $2 bar money stolen, i braced for perpetual hunger. honestly it scared the shit out of me, i thought he had a gun in his hand (black cell phone) and i was about to get mugged. instead, he tells me that i'm cute and asks me on a date to get coffee. that was a relief, kind of. using no words i flapped my hand at him and moved on, this was no time for such frivolities. i know i'm a rare beaut but at this moment i was running down the street in a frenzy, waddling because i was holding up my too-long work pants by the fabric at the knees to prevent myself from stepping on them in my pink flip flops, and my cold little sausage toes were sticking out and cursing me for not being more sensible. i think his nose caught the scent of the open air dollars in my pocket, and thought i might be money bags. Sigh.... I was going to have to take a different route back to avoid him.
Dizzy, confused, and with my lifeline dwindling, I staggered onwards: just ahead, a cvs bag. The straight path is often the most difficult. Another cvs bag. How much longer down this road to temptation? The lights, oh those big red letters. Oh the bars and the stars and the cars. itchy pocket, open esophagus.
Scene 3: victoria enters cvs with a flourish. She looks around momentarily, a little bewildered, and then regains her composure and heads straight for counter.
VICTORIA: Evening sir, got any of those bars here?
EMPLOYEE: Sure do ma'am. You're just in luck, we just got a new shipment of all kinds of bars in yesterday during the night delivery. Follow me please.
The employee swings his legs over the counter and together they walk to the other side of the store. When they find the bars, victoria claps her hands once.
VICTORIA: This is quite a selection of bars you got here mister.
EMPLOYEE: Sure is. We take pride in that kind of thing here.
VICTORIA: And only $1.87, what kind of profit are you all running around here anyway?
EMPLOYEE: ma'am, we make ends meet, but we gotta leave some bills in the customer's pocket too.
VICTORIA: you don't say! Well here's $2, keep the change kid, and keep up the good work.
Victoria leaves cvs while the employee looks at the bills, mouth agape. End scene.
Once I exited cvs I ripped open the packaging so greedily that the contents almost spilled onto the ground. But no matter, I had succeeded in my quest and everything was alright again. I even felt confident enough to walk back the way I came, and if I ran into the spiky boy again I would rip off a hunk of bar with my glimmering eye tooth, and then watch him slink back into the shadows.
Well, that never happened because on the way out of cvs I was filled with such blinding mania that I went the wrong way and became utterly lost in capitol hill for at least 20 minutes, a place that I am no stranger to. It was as if all the pieces of capitol hill had been dismantled and rearranged so that everything was both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. Still clutching the wrapper of the bar, I finally sought the assistance of a young "suit" who didn't know where the pool was but said he could check Google maps. I nodded my pumpkin head vigorously. He seemed to think it strange, so I felt compelled to explain that I didn't have a smart phone, which made him aghast and he mocked me while he looked up directions. I bit my tongue to hold my tirade against this suit. In the end he set me on the right course, and I made it to the pool in no time. Yet my mania still lingered over an hour later when I was leaving, as I could not decide which way was home, a route I take at least once a week with no previously recorded troubles. I realized that as strong as I am, it was presumptuous of me to think that I could gallivant around on my lonesome after devouring a power bar. I am no match, no match.
11.04.2013
7 things that happened during zach and i's 10 year anniversary
it was a decennial anniversary, and important things were bound to happen. one of those being that the inn owner congratulated us on our 10 year wedding anniversary. did i miss something, and why have i not been collecting any tax benefits?
to properly celebrate, we took a weekend trip to the eastern shore of maryland, and stayed in a little town called easton only 1.5 hours away from DC. easton has that small town new england feel to it, which is perfect for halloween. if no witch convictions were made back in the 1700s there is still ample opportunity to complete a few trials with the perfect backdrop.
during this peaceful, reflective weekend, i made a few discoveries and learned a few things that i would like to share. here are 7 things you need to know about zach and i's 10 year anniversary weekend:
1. the stick tree artist is in good company. as if one stick tree wasn't enough, we were fortunate enough to run across a forest and path devised by an artist not unlike our resident gales street one. yet, as i walked that narrow path and pondered further, i thought, is it not the expression of the medium that makes the artist, not the coincidental use of the same object of beauty? i can say that our artist has a much more fastidious aesthetic to him than this stick tree forest dreamer, preferring the lone figure to the field, concentrating his efforts on fashioning that one stick in way he sees fit. instead of washing away the idiosyncrasies of the stick (in the general sense of the word) by closely juxtaposing it with more sticks to create an anonymous brown cluster, our artist forces the viewer to celebrate the little deviances each stick brings to bear; in the case of our artist's subject--a slightly off kilter vertical growth trajectory, a jagged stump of a branch where a clean cut was not possible with such small shears, and so forth. yet, whether expressed as figure or field, the stick continues to be the stuff of artist's fancies. |
| an accidental picture, caused by claustrophobia and subsequent panic in the stick tree forest. |
i was the smallest pumpkin in the pumpkin patch. but i was pure orange--no fleck of yellow, or under ripe green spot. and let me tell you, i was a round little thing. i wanted the man in the straw hat to notice me. i was long past due on that vine, and wanted to sit, painted with black sharpie, on his doorstep. somewhere in between the waiting i lost myself, and my peel started softening. i sat there, helpless, as i slowly rotted into the ground. when only my stem was left, the man in the straw hat finally came for me. he tossed my stem in a pile next to the pumpkin patch, with all the other pumpkin stems from that harvest.seems to me like this abandoned little pumpkin is having an equally poor, if not worse time of it than that overeaten cake.
4. local is bad- having hung around with zach for 10 years, there's not much i don't know about my dark (haired) companion. however, i did learn one interesting tidbit this weekend--he hates local. while most people will froth at the mouth upon hearing even just the first syllable of the word, zach is much more skeptical about the only movement hipsters have been able to rally around. i don't blame him. if one has a fine palette, how can you limit yourself to ingredients only found in the area? if i were a locavore, i would make it my mission to yell at all the people living in northern siberia for not living solely on a diet of snow, their most abundant local asset. that's what it's all about--celebrate the local, and celebrate it good. however, i think the biggest issue with local, ironically, is proximity. how can i eat that cute little pig down the road when i could eat that faceless pig from canada, already vacuum sealed in a package? there is a reason i call that little oinker a pig and not a pork, I NEED SOME SEPARATION HERE. without it, my world crumbles, along with the local movement. i will rally for packaging that specifies if the animal was butchered in radius < or > 100 miles of the point of purchase. for all those gentle souls like me who would prefer to eat someone else's animals rather than your own, you're welcome.
here is a picture of zach and i eating locally sourced dessert:
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| this picture was taken by an intoxicated person in a very fancy restaurant, initiated on their own accord. |
5. the local cemetery is bad- we paid homage to all the animals killed in the movement by visiting the local cemetery where they're buried, situated just west of the town center. the cemetery stretched on for miles in either direction, making me believe that easton has been the quiet epicenter of all things local for a number of years now. as you can see, they are taking down the trees to accommodate the explosion of local. i put a red leaf in my hair, a small (but growing) symbol of the bloodshed that has plagued this otherwise quaint town. 
7. at the end of the world there is a lamp post and a pillar- i am a woman prone to modest extremes. for example, if there is a tip of land, i don't care whether the tip is inhabited by dense forest brush made of cacti or if it's filled with succulent lollipop trees, i must go there. looking off towards the end of the world, i forget all those terrible things in my life--the precious gourds that irresponsible people let go to rot, the sadistic ideals of the locavores, the onset of mania that comes with contemplating the stick tree--and i can concentrate on the good things that make up life. this weekend i got to reflect on my longtime love, a person who got mad at me because i broke my promise to share a suitcase with him to easton. i make this promise to zach now: if you continue to go the end of the world with me, i will share my suitcase with you.
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