All work and no play sucks.
I have never left the country.
In case of mugshot, carry comb.
I am me, you are not.
Laugh it up sucker, you're next.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Free write
Dr. Hook - Cover of the Rolling Stone
Makes me think of the Rolling Stone, obviously. I used to have a subscription. A friend got it for me for my birthday, then got mad at me and cancelled it. And she's all they way in North Carolina, so it's not like I could do anything about it. Haha. Now the big guy's singing. "I got a freaky old lady named Cocaine Katy." Reminds me of my buddy Seth. Big, tall, deep voice. I can just see him on stage singing that part, all stiff-legged and shit. What a schmuck.
$10,000 a show. That would never fly nowadays. I read something last week that said Aerosmith has been ordered by a judge to play a free concert. In Hawaii I think. Maybe something about community service? I wish they would get their shit together. Rumor has it they are coming out with another album later this year. I'd love that. Long live the Toxic Twins!
Indian guru....reminds me Civilization Revolution. It's a video game where you start with a civilization, and try to take over the world. When you pick the Indian civilization, Gandhi is their leader. I always think it's funny when you attack another group. Gandhi up front, leading the charge with his stick. Dumbass.
I actually stole that video game. Well, I guess I didn't steal it, I just rented it and never returned it. I guess I knew someone who worked there, because I never got a bill. Maybe my mom got it. She hides a lot of stuff from me. Once, in high school, I got in a car accident. I was fine, and so was the lady that I hit (well, she hit me, but it was my fault), but she ended up suing my family. For something like neck damage or some shit. She was fine. And her husband owned the Dodge dealership in town, so it's like they had to replace their car. I didn't know they sued us until last year. My mom did that on purpose. She knew I'd feel terrible if I knew that happened, so she didn't tell me. She's pretty cool.
And dumb. Hahah. One time, she flew into the garage and couldn't stop on the wet concrete. She pushed the deep freeze through the wall into the utility room with the front of her S.U.V. No one was hurt. Later, she ripped the hatch off the back by leaving it open and trying to back out of the garage. It caught on the top, broke off, and lifted the S.U.V. in the air. Hahaha. We call her Susan Spacey because she never pays attention. Not because she's married to Kevin. If that was the case, I wouldn't be in college. I'd be in movies. And maybe on the Cover of the Rolling Stone.
Makes me think of the Rolling Stone, obviously. I used to have a subscription. A friend got it for me for my birthday, then got mad at me and cancelled it. And she's all they way in North Carolina, so it's not like I could do anything about it. Haha. Now the big guy's singing. "I got a freaky old lady named Cocaine Katy." Reminds me of my buddy Seth. Big, tall, deep voice. I can just see him on stage singing that part, all stiff-legged and shit. What a schmuck.
$10,000 a show. That would never fly nowadays. I read something last week that said Aerosmith has been ordered by a judge to play a free concert. In Hawaii I think. Maybe something about community service? I wish they would get their shit together. Rumor has it they are coming out with another album later this year. I'd love that. Long live the Toxic Twins!
Indian guru....reminds me Civilization Revolution. It's a video game where you start with a civilization, and try to take over the world. When you pick the Indian civilization, Gandhi is their leader. I always think it's funny when you attack another group. Gandhi up front, leading the charge with his stick. Dumbass.
I actually stole that video game. Well, I guess I didn't steal it, I just rented it and never returned it. I guess I knew someone who worked there, because I never got a bill. Maybe my mom got it. She hides a lot of stuff from me. Once, in high school, I got in a car accident. I was fine, and so was the lady that I hit (well, she hit me, but it was my fault), but she ended up suing my family. For something like neck damage or some shit. She was fine. And her husband owned the Dodge dealership in town, so it's like they had to replace their car. I didn't know they sued us until last year. My mom did that on purpose. She knew I'd feel terrible if I knew that happened, so she didn't tell me. She's pretty cool.
And dumb. Hahah. One time, she flew into the garage and couldn't stop on the wet concrete. She pushed the deep freeze through the wall into the utility room with the front of her S.U.V. No one was hurt. Later, she ripped the hatch off the back by leaving it open and trying to back out of the garage. It caught on the top, broke off, and lifted the S.U.V. in the air. Hahaha. We call her Susan Spacey because she never pays attention. Not because she's married to Kevin. If that was the case, I wouldn't be in college. I'd be in movies. And maybe on the Cover of the Rolling Stone.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
S.A.
I think I'm gonna give the 'ole Quest Narrative style a whirl. Just one question, does it have to be one, single event that we write about, or can it be multiple events? I know we write about a path, but does that path need to be short, like a freshman year in college, or long, like the entire time you've been in college?
P.S. Did ya'll know there's a spellcheck on this thing? F'ing A Cotton.
P.S. Did ya'll know there's a spellcheck on this thing? F'ing A Cotton.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Attack
I was a freshman in high school, and my first period was football. We had practice early, before school started, and we came back into the locker room to shower and get ready for second period. The locker room was away from the main school building, and there was no t.v. or radio or anything. But somehow my friend Ryan Williams had some information.
"Dude," he said laughing, "some idiot just flew his plane into the Pentagon."
"He's got to be fired," I responded.
That how naive we were. It never crossed our minds that someone could attack us. We had no reason to think that.
But once I got into the school building, I knew something was wrong. The halls were quiet, some kids were sobbing, some were mad, some had no expression. I walked into my second period class, physical sciecnce with Mr. Otey Green, and the t.v. was on. Everyone was watching, no one was speaking, and Mr. Green had written something on the board.
Never Forget.
I remember watching the news coverage of the first attack, and watching the second plane hit.
I've never felt so angry and so helpless in my life. There was absolutely nothing I, or any of us, could do.
I'll Never Forget.
"Dude," he said laughing, "some idiot just flew his plane into the Pentagon."
"He's got to be fired," I responded.
That how naive we were. It never crossed our minds that someone could attack us. We had no reason to think that.
But once I got into the school building, I knew something was wrong. The halls were quiet, some kids were sobbing, some were mad, some had no expression. I walked into my second period class, physical sciecnce with Mr. Otey Green, and the t.v. was on. Everyone was watching, no one was speaking, and Mr. Green had written something on the board.
Never Forget.
I remember watching the news coverage of the first attack, and watching the second plane hit.
I've never felt so angry and so helpless in my life. There was absolutely nothing I, or any of us, could do.
I'll Never Forget.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Spring Break
"Danny, I was just calling to make sure you'll still be home Saturday to help that lady move".
My Dad's voice on my cellphone reminded me of just how spectacular my break would start. He knew I'd be there, I told him I would. He just wanted backup.
It sucked, it took all day, but there was one moment that I'll never forget.
My brothers and I were upstairs, trying to muscle-up so we could get the bed downstairs.
"1, 2, oh my god what is that?!"
I stood up and turned around to see what the big deal was. In the corner of the room we all thought was empty except for the bed, was a painting.
It was closest to me, so I picked it up.
No way. There is no way, I just picked up a painting of a naked lady.
But I had. And I couldn't just keep it to myself. I spun it around to show my brothers. Their faces filled with shock and they erupted with laughter.
But that laughter was soon replaced with disbelief. The realization set in. This painting was not here the last trip up. It was put here from somewhere else, by someone else. And the lady looked familiar. Oh my. The lady in the painting is the lady we're helping move.
I wasn't even for sure of the ladies' name! And now I've seen her naked?!
I would write more, but I'm getting a visual.
My Dad's voice on my cellphone reminded me of just how spectacular my break would start. He knew I'd be there, I told him I would. He just wanted backup.
It sucked, it took all day, but there was one moment that I'll never forget.
My brothers and I were upstairs, trying to muscle-up so we could get the bed downstairs.
"1, 2, oh my god what is that?!"
I stood up and turned around to see what the big deal was. In the corner of the room we all thought was empty except for the bed, was a painting.
It was closest to me, so I picked it up.
No way. There is no way, I just picked up a painting of a naked lady.
But I had. And I couldn't just keep it to myself. I spun it around to show my brothers. Their faces filled with shock and they erupted with laughter.
But that laughter was soon replaced with disbelief. The realization set in. This painting was not here the last trip up. It was put here from somewhere else, by someone else. And the lady looked familiar. Oh my. The lady in the painting is the lady we're helping move.
I wasn't even for sure of the ladies' name! And now I've seen her naked?!
I would write more, but I'm getting a visual.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Funny how?
The club is almost totally silent, except for Tommy's voice. He is telling a story, with his group of henchmen crowded around his table. Some have valid looks of interest on their faces, and some have heard this kind of story before, obviously faking their enthusiasm for it.
The club is dimly lit, with the small lamp in the middle of the table illuminating the men's faces. Ray is the closest to Tommy. He is leaned back with his elbow on the table, smoking a cigarette and listening intenty to Tommy. His face is filled with awe and respect for Tommy. Ray hasn't been in the gang for long; he is least tenured member. Cleary, he his trying to gain the respect of Tommy, the most adored, and the most feared, of the group.
Tommy is recalling a conversation he had with a cop during a failed bank robbery some time back. "I'm in the middle of the fucking weeds, laying down." "The cop comes over and says what are you doin'?" "I said I'm resting."
The group laughs everytime Tommy pauses, which isn't often. His diction doesn't allow for breaks in the action, and his Italian accent looms heavy on every word. Tommy is still talking.
"So uh, what are you gonna tell us tough guy?" "I'm gonna tell you my usual, nothing, zero." "No, you're gonna tell me something today, tough guy." "Alright, I'll tell you something. Go fuck your mother."
The group explodes. Ray laughs the loudest, looking around for approval. The laughing is so loud you can barely hear Tommy explaning the sounds of the beating he took from the cop for his comment.
Tommy tells of how he wakes up, and of how the cop was still there. He asked him again to tell him something, but Tommy again so politely refused. Another beating. Another explosion of laughter. Tommy stops his story to take a drink, all the time muttering under his breath about the "prick cop". The laughter dies down, and Ray says quietly, "You're funny. You're reallll funny."
Tommy stops drinking. With a confused smile on his face, he says "What do you mean, I'm funny?" Ray laughs even louder, and explains that the story was funny, that Tommy was a funny guy.
Tommy looks around at the men at the table, all of whom dressed in suits. "What do you mean, the way I talk?" Tommy asks. The table is suddently slient. No more laugher, no more talking. It's just Tommy and Ray. The rest of the table sits nervously.
Ray takes a drink, and sits back in his chair. "You know, it's just funny." "The way you tell the story and everything. It's just funny."
Tommy leans all the way forward in his chair. He looks Ray directly in the eyes and asks sterny, "Funny how?" "What's funny about it?"
A man from the group speaks up behind Ray. "No Tommy, you got it all wrong." Tommy cuts the man off. "Whoa, Anthony, he's a big boy." "He knows what he said." "What you say?"
Ray and Tommy now hold the attention of the entire club. The men and the table no longer make eye contact with anyone, sipping their drinks with their head down. The patrons of the club quit eating and drop their napkins to listen. They've seen this before; they know what Tommy's capable of.
Ray brings his shoulders up to his chin and leaves them there. "You know, you're funny," he stutters as he waves his hands from side to side, not knowing what else to say.
"Okay, let me get this straight, cause I don't know, maybe I'm a little fucked up, but I'm funny how? Like a clown? Do I amuse you? I make you laugh? I'm here to fucking amuse you?" Tommy's voice is becoming more upset, and he is biting his upper lip, quickly losing his patience. "What the, fuck, is so funny about me?" "Tell me, tell me what's so funny."
The entire club is completely slient, and Ray's mouth is open and staying that way. He doesn't blink, he doesn't move, he just stares at Tommy in disbelief and terror. He too, knows that Tommy has no conscious, that Tommy has loyalty to only one man. And that man sure as hell anit Ray.
Ray suddenly smiles, puts his hands up, and says, "Get the fuck outta here Tommy."
"That motherfucker, I almost had him," Tommy points. He looks around, not believing that Ray had fallen for his trick. The table lets out a relieved laugh, and resumes with their drinks. A waiter, who had been standing at the table at the beginning of the conversation, to scared to move, fans himself with the menu he had been holding.
Now this waiter, quietly laughing and nervously smiling, sensing an in, leans down towards Tommy. The conversation between Tommy and Ray had been tense, very tense, but at least it didn't end in violence.
The waiter, however, was not to be so lucky.
The club is dimly lit, with the small lamp in the middle of the table illuminating the men's faces. Ray is the closest to Tommy. He is leaned back with his elbow on the table, smoking a cigarette and listening intenty to Tommy. His face is filled with awe and respect for Tommy. Ray hasn't been in the gang for long; he is least tenured member. Cleary, he his trying to gain the respect of Tommy, the most adored, and the most feared, of the group.
Tommy is recalling a conversation he had with a cop during a failed bank robbery some time back. "I'm in the middle of the fucking weeds, laying down." "The cop comes over and says what are you doin'?" "I said I'm resting."
The group laughs everytime Tommy pauses, which isn't often. His diction doesn't allow for breaks in the action, and his Italian accent looms heavy on every word. Tommy is still talking.
"So uh, what are you gonna tell us tough guy?" "I'm gonna tell you my usual, nothing, zero." "No, you're gonna tell me something today, tough guy." "Alright, I'll tell you something. Go fuck your mother."
The group explodes. Ray laughs the loudest, looking around for approval. The laughing is so loud you can barely hear Tommy explaning the sounds of the beating he took from the cop for his comment.
Tommy tells of how he wakes up, and of how the cop was still there. He asked him again to tell him something, but Tommy again so politely refused. Another beating. Another explosion of laughter. Tommy stops his story to take a drink, all the time muttering under his breath about the "prick cop". The laughter dies down, and Ray says quietly, "You're funny. You're reallll funny."
Tommy stops drinking. With a confused smile on his face, he says "What do you mean, I'm funny?" Ray laughs even louder, and explains that the story was funny, that Tommy was a funny guy.
Tommy looks around at the men at the table, all of whom dressed in suits. "What do you mean, the way I talk?" Tommy asks. The table is suddently slient. No more laugher, no more talking. It's just Tommy and Ray. The rest of the table sits nervously.
Ray takes a drink, and sits back in his chair. "You know, it's just funny." "The way you tell the story and everything. It's just funny."
Tommy leans all the way forward in his chair. He looks Ray directly in the eyes and asks sterny, "Funny how?" "What's funny about it?"
A man from the group speaks up behind Ray. "No Tommy, you got it all wrong." Tommy cuts the man off. "Whoa, Anthony, he's a big boy." "He knows what he said." "What you say?"
Ray and Tommy now hold the attention of the entire club. The men and the table no longer make eye contact with anyone, sipping their drinks with their head down. The patrons of the club quit eating and drop their napkins to listen. They've seen this before; they know what Tommy's capable of.
Ray brings his shoulders up to his chin and leaves them there. "You know, you're funny," he stutters as he waves his hands from side to side, not knowing what else to say.
"Okay, let me get this straight, cause I don't know, maybe I'm a little fucked up, but I'm funny how? Like a clown? Do I amuse you? I make you laugh? I'm here to fucking amuse you?" Tommy's voice is becoming more upset, and he is biting his upper lip, quickly losing his patience. "What the, fuck, is so funny about me?" "Tell me, tell me what's so funny."
The entire club is completely slient, and Ray's mouth is open and staying that way. He doesn't blink, he doesn't move, he just stares at Tommy in disbelief and terror. He too, knows that Tommy has no conscious, that Tommy has loyalty to only one man. And that man sure as hell anit Ray.
Ray suddenly smiles, puts his hands up, and says, "Get the fuck outta here Tommy."
"That motherfucker, I almost had him," Tommy points. He looks around, not believing that Ray had fallen for his trick. The table lets out a relieved laugh, and resumes with their drinks. A waiter, who had been standing at the table at the beginning of the conversation, to scared to move, fans himself with the menu he had been holding.
Now this waiter, quietly laughing and nervously smiling, sensing an in, leans down towards Tommy. The conversation between Tommy and Ray had been tense, very tense, but at least it didn't end in violence.
The waiter, however, was not to be so lucky.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
That's gotta hurt
The day, a Sunday. The time, early afternoon. The place, our kitchen. The men of the family, my dad, two younger brothers, and I were all standing on the linoleum. My brothers were getting ready for a Upward Bound basketball game, a church league basketball operation for ages 12 and under. Tommy was 12, and Joey was 10.
We were having a normal conversation for the time, with Tommy and Joey making fun of each other, Dad telling them to quit, and myself egging the action on.
But this conversation was different. In this conversation, Joey was going to take a stand; he was tired of being the butt of all our jokes. So after one particular comment, (Joey you shoot like a girl), he decided he had had enough of all our shenanigans.
He planned his attack with precision. Waiting until the older and larger Tommy was enjoying a spoonful of vanilla pudding, he struck. With lightening speed and without a word, he pivoted to the left, whipped his left leg across his body with accuracy and authority, and made direct contact with Tommy’s groin. Tommy, obviously caught of guard and in immense pain, let out a yelp and crumpled helplessly to the floor.
I immediately looked at Dad, whose initial reaction was much like Joe Theismann’s when he saw Terrell Owens pull a Sharpie from his sock on Monday Night Football. He laughed. His eyes widened in shock, and he laughed. But the laughter died almost instantly, as Dad switched from funny to pissed in a heartbeat.
His loud voice filled the room, and all but drowned out Tommy’s painful sobs coming from our feet. Dad closed the gap between him and Joey, and let him know that without a doubt that what he did was wrong. Joey was sent to his room, and Tommy was left to recover his comfort and his pride.
We were having a normal conversation for the time, with Tommy and Joey making fun of each other, Dad telling them to quit, and myself egging the action on.
But this conversation was different. In this conversation, Joey was going to take a stand; he was tired of being the butt of all our jokes. So after one particular comment, (Joey you shoot like a girl), he decided he had had enough of all our shenanigans.
He planned his attack with precision. Waiting until the older and larger Tommy was enjoying a spoonful of vanilla pudding, he struck. With lightening speed and without a word, he pivoted to the left, whipped his left leg across his body with accuracy and authority, and made direct contact with Tommy’s groin. Tommy, obviously caught of guard and in immense pain, let out a yelp and crumpled helplessly to the floor.
I immediately looked at Dad, whose initial reaction was much like Joe Theismann’s when he saw Terrell Owens pull a Sharpie from his sock on Monday Night Football. He laughed. His eyes widened in shock, and he laughed. But the laughter died almost instantly, as Dad switched from funny to pissed in a heartbeat.
His loud voice filled the room, and all but drowned out Tommy’s painful sobs coming from our feet. Dad closed the gap between him and Joey, and let him know that without a doubt that what he did was wrong. Joey was sent to his room, and Tommy was left to recover his comfort and his pride.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)