Well, I know I've been MIA for awhile, but as it's Christmas Eve, and as I have a tradition of doing a post every Christmas Eve night, I thought I would pick up here.
Dad is currently watching Celtic Women on TV. I don't understand it, nor do I share this taste, but he just loves the Celtic Women. I catch him watching it all the time, and it's gotten bad enough that he knows which women have left the group to pursue solo careers, and which women put in hair extensions in between numbers. I worry about him sometimes.
Amy is curled up on the couch, puke bucket pulled close. She's been sick since this morning with the flu. We're all hoping she feels better for Christmas. Mom says I can't keep her presents if she doesn't.
I just finished making my study abroad slideshow on iphoto. If you see me on the street, I'll totally stop and show you this slideshow; I put in music and everything.
And now I think I'll settle down in bed with Gone With The Wind.
Tomorrow will be church and prime rib and ping pong on the table my cousins got from Grandma and wondering if I finally got the pony I've been begging for.
Merry Christmas everyone.
Stay gold.
Showing posts with label Animals. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Animals. Show all posts
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Finals Week, Part 1
There are two large snakes housed in the Science Building at UMM. The boa constrictor is named Ramses, and the ball python is 8 Ball. I held 8 Ball once in late October. I happened to be passing by as some of the biology majors were lifting him out of his glass tank. "Why don't you hold him?" a boy asked enticingly, draping the snake about his shoulders as if it were a scaly shawl.
My first inclination was to say no. My second inclination was to say well okay.
8 Ball was heavier than I expected; his long body was thick and muscular. His dry skin slid against mine as he twisted his head around to look at me. He flicking his tongue periodically, me hardly blinking at all, we regarded one another.
He must have decided I was all right (for a human), because he soon resumed wrapping himself tightly around my arms.
Now it's December, and I'm back again to stand in the Science Building and gaze at the snakes. Among the rocks in their enclosures, they hardly move at all. Ramses has a large lump near his throat, and I know that while he lays placidly, inside he is digesting his Sunday dinner. I pity the mouse that didn't have a chance.
I sit down beside the tanks to work on a paper that should have been done yesterday, and suddenly I would give everything good and dear and wonderful about my life to be a snake. To doze inside a warm rectangle all day, only disturbed to eat and drink and to be held by curious students wearing black glasses and hooded sweatshirts. To creep around on my belly, not concerned about getting up or lying down or hurrying or tripping or letting anyone down.
I'd like to be a snake, so I can simply be.
My first inclination was to say no. My second inclination was to say well okay.
8 Ball was heavier than I expected; his long body was thick and muscular. His dry skin slid against mine as he twisted his head around to look at me. He flicking his tongue periodically, me hardly blinking at all, we regarded one another.
He must have decided I was all right (for a human), because he soon resumed wrapping himself tightly around my arms.
Now it's December, and I'm back again to stand in the Science Building and gaze at the snakes. Among the rocks in their enclosures, they hardly move at all. Ramses has a large lump near his throat, and I know that while he lays placidly, inside he is digesting his Sunday dinner. I pity the mouse that didn't have a chance.
I sit down beside the tanks to work on a paper that should have been done yesterday, and suddenly I would give everything good and dear and wonderful about my life to be a snake. To doze inside a warm rectangle all day, only disturbed to eat and drink and to be held by curious students wearing black glasses and hooded sweatshirts. To creep around on my belly, not concerned about getting up or lying down or hurrying or tripping or letting anyone down.
I'd like to be a snake, so I can simply be.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
A Bit of Unpublished
Well, I never got around to entering the August firstlinefiction contest. With school starting, I've been so busy that I've hardly had time to think about writing anything. But here's the beginning of my story, including the Hunter S. Thompson first line.
I won't tell you where exactly I was going with this, in case I decide to use it for something else, but here's a snippet:
We were somewhere around Barstow on the edge of the desert when the drugs began to take hold.
Warn felt it first, of course; he hit the ground hard and fast, clutching his head with both hands and yelling for higher powers who surely couldn’t hear him. Only the dust heard him, and only the heavy black sky saw me fall down next to him, my palms pressed against my ears in a similar fashion.
It wasn’t that we were trying to keep something out. We were trying to keep ourselves in.
Warn was dropped on his head at birth. I mean, literally dropped. How do I know this?
Because I was the one who dropped him, of course.
Now come on; what would you have done if you were three years old and a sticky, butterball of a baby was thrust into your lap? I ask you.
Warn must have told that story a thousand times, using just enough voice inflection and facial expression to make it funny and touching and sarcastic and accusing all at the same time. When I was in the room, he also made sure to shoot me his goofy grin afterwards so I would know he didn’t really blame me.
Storytelling was the only thing Warn was ever really good at, and once the drugs kicked in, he wasn’t good at anything.
I was brushing my teeth when Warn stumbled in, out of breath and clutching a lady’s purse. All of the sudden his toothy grin was reflected next to my face in the mirror, and I think I knew, just from that smirk of his, that we were in some deep shit.
Tossing the purse, which looked to be made from the skin of a foreign reptile, on one of the beds, Warn flopped down on the other. Still showing his stupid buckteeth, he folded his hands behind his head and looked up at me expectantly.
I didn’t bother to spit out the toothpaste before I let him have it: “You stole that didn’t you? Warn! You just got out! You know what…you know what they do to repeat offenders now, don’t you? This is some deep shit you’ve gotten us into!
Warn sat up slowly. The grin was gone now. “You don’t understand, Cassie. You don’t know who I took it from. She could afford to lose it, I swear. She doesn’t need it as much as we do. “
He took a quiet breath. “Anyways, I won’t get caught this time. I was really careful. Gloves, mask, everything.“
I leaned my back against the wall and folded my arms across my chest. I wasn’t melting yet, but I sure as hell wanted to know what had happened. “Well?” I asked him, “who’d you snag it from?”
Just as Warn was about to open his mouth and tell me, just as I was about to hear one of his stories, the police burst in.
As it turned out, I didn’t hear Warn tell it until a month later, in court. Even then he couldn’t help embellishing it a little, describing the way the rich woman’s nose was turned up just so, the way his feet had sounded pounding on the pavement towards her, the way the purse swung against his fingertips with the weight of a stuffed wallet. I heard a few snickers in the back, but the judge was completely solemn.
He delivered the sentence like a pro, waiting until the room was quiet again before saying the words in an echoing voice: “Forced animorphism. Trial period of ninety days. Beginning tomorrow.”
I won't tell you where exactly I was going with this, in case I decide to use it for something else, but here's a snippet:
We were somewhere around Barstow on the edge of the desert when the drugs began to take hold.
Warn felt it first, of course; he hit the ground hard and fast, clutching his head with both hands and yelling for higher powers who surely couldn’t hear him. Only the dust heard him, and only the heavy black sky saw me fall down next to him, my palms pressed against my ears in a similar fashion.
It wasn’t that we were trying to keep something out. We were trying to keep ourselves in.
Warn was dropped on his head at birth. I mean, literally dropped. How do I know this?
Because I was the one who dropped him, of course.
Now come on; what would you have done if you were three years old and a sticky, butterball of a baby was thrust into your lap? I ask you.
Warn must have told that story a thousand times, using just enough voice inflection and facial expression to make it funny and touching and sarcastic and accusing all at the same time. When I was in the room, he also made sure to shoot me his goofy grin afterwards so I would know he didn’t really blame me.
Storytelling was the only thing Warn was ever really good at, and once the drugs kicked in, he wasn’t good at anything.
I was brushing my teeth when Warn stumbled in, out of breath and clutching a lady’s purse. All of the sudden his toothy grin was reflected next to my face in the mirror, and I think I knew, just from that smirk of his, that we were in some deep shit.
Tossing the purse, which looked to be made from the skin of a foreign reptile, on one of the beds, Warn flopped down on the other. Still showing his stupid buckteeth, he folded his hands behind his head and looked up at me expectantly.
I didn’t bother to spit out the toothpaste before I let him have it: “You stole that didn’t you? Warn! You just got out! You know what…you know what they do to repeat offenders now, don’t you? This is some deep shit you’ve gotten us into!
Warn sat up slowly. The grin was gone now. “You don’t understand, Cassie. You don’t know who I took it from. She could afford to lose it, I swear. She doesn’t need it as much as we do. “
He took a quiet breath. “Anyways, I won’t get caught this time. I was really careful. Gloves, mask, everything.“
I leaned my back against the wall and folded my arms across my chest. I wasn’t melting yet, but I sure as hell wanted to know what had happened. “Well?” I asked him, “who’d you snag it from?”
Just as Warn was about to open his mouth and tell me, just as I was about to hear one of his stories, the police burst in.
As it turned out, I didn’t hear Warn tell it until a month later, in court. Even then he couldn’t help embellishing it a little, describing the way the rich woman’s nose was turned up just so, the way his feet had sounded pounding on the pavement towards her, the way the purse swung against his fingertips with the weight of a stuffed wallet. I heard a few snickers in the back, but the judge was completely solemn.
He delivered the sentence like a pro, waiting until the room was quiet again before saying the words in an echoing voice: “Forced animorphism. Trial period of ninety days. Beginning tomorrow.”
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
A Dream With Good Timing
Have to quickly record a really, really strange dream I had last night.
In the dream, I was watching a bad movie. I mean, the entire dream was literally the movie. Here's what I remember of it:
This little boy's mother was getting remarried to an awful guy, of course, and while the wedding preparations were taking place, the boy and his pet/best friend chimpanzee (in the dream I called it a chimpanzee, but it really looked more like an orangutan...) ran away to a jungle in South America.
While they were exploring the jungle, they came upon a wild platypus that was wandering around. They didn't know what it was, had never seen one before, so they decided to go up and pet it. The platypus obviously wasn't too happy about this, and was getting kind of ticked off (this was where tension rose in the movie), but the chimpanzee kept petting it anyway.
All of the sudden, the platypus struck; it turned around and bit the chimpanzee in the face, and then proceeded to start to eat him. The boy shrieked, "He's eating him!" and ran to save his friend. He somehow managed to drag the chimpanzee away and escape.
Meanwhile, back at the house, the wedding was about to take place. The boy's mother and soon-to-be-stepfather weren't too concerned about the fact that the boy was missing. That is, until they realized that they needed him to be in the wedding photographs.
Meanwhile, back in South America, the boy and the chimpanzee were resting by a waterfall, having successfully outrun the platypus. Suddenly, the platypus popped out of the water, and at the same time my alarm went off and I woke up.
In the dream, I was watching a bad movie. I mean, the entire dream was literally the movie. Here's what I remember of it:
This little boy's mother was getting remarried to an awful guy, of course, and while the wedding preparations were taking place, the boy and his pet/best friend chimpanzee (in the dream I called it a chimpanzee, but it really looked more like an orangutan...) ran away to a jungle in South America.
While they were exploring the jungle, they came upon a wild platypus that was wandering around. They didn't know what it was, had never seen one before, so they decided to go up and pet it. The platypus obviously wasn't too happy about this, and was getting kind of ticked off (this was where tension rose in the movie), but the chimpanzee kept petting it anyway.
All of the sudden, the platypus struck; it turned around and bit the chimpanzee in the face, and then proceeded to start to eat him. The boy shrieked, "He's eating him!" and ran to save his friend. He somehow managed to drag the chimpanzee away and escape.
Meanwhile, back at the house, the wedding was about to take place. The boy's mother and soon-to-be-stepfather weren't too concerned about the fact that the boy was missing. That is, until they realized that they needed him to be in the wedding photographs.
Meanwhile, back in South America, the boy and the chimpanzee were resting by a waterfall, having successfully outrun the platypus. Suddenly, the platypus popped out of the water, and at the same time my alarm went off and I woke up.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
The Birds
Work today was an adventure, as always. It was day two of cleaning out the fixture room, and I was happily flinging unwanted cardboard boxes and plastic screws and heavy metal shelves into the large dumpsters left in the parking lot by the remodel construction crew. I had jumped at the chance to perform that specific task; not only was it a joy to be outdoors, to be soaked in sun and wind while working, but it was also fun to toss the various items into the dumpsters. Nobody was watching, so I could throw clothing racks like javelins, toss signs high enough that they floated and flipped in the air, and even whistle. There was nobody in that parking lot to hear me and to be annoyed.
As I was merrily going about my work, I looked up to see a huge flock of seagulls passing overhead. They were, I assumed, the kind of birds that inhabit parking lots across the country, finding comfort in a sea of black tar, and nourishment in empty slushie cups and shredded candy wrappers. Still staring up at them, I suddenly noticed that slimy white bullets were falling from their midst onto the pavement around me. I shrieked and ran for the store, dodging the hail of poop as if I were running across a battlefield through a torrent of bombs.
Once inside, I pawed at my hair and inspected my clothes until I was completely convinced that I had managed to escape the fecal attack unscathed. My coworkers laughed at me, of course. I didn't mind; I'm sure the sight of me bolting across the parking lot screaming was pretty funny. I had a good laugh myself afterwords. Not at my own antics, however, but at what I see as a deliberate practical joke carried out by that flock of seagulls.
And you know what? If I were a bird, I think I would get a kick out of doing the exact same thing.
As I was merrily going about my work, I looked up to see a huge flock of seagulls passing overhead. They were, I assumed, the kind of birds that inhabit parking lots across the country, finding comfort in a sea of black tar, and nourishment in empty slushie cups and shredded candy wrappers. Still staring up at them, I suddenly noticed that slimy white bullets were falling from their midst onto the pavement around me. I shrieked and ran for the store, dodging the hail of poop as if I were running across a battlefield through a torrent of bombs.
Once inside, I pawed at my hair and inspected my clothes until I was completely convinced that I had managed to escape the fecal attack unscathed. My coworkers laughed at me, of course. I didn't mind; I'm sure the sight of me bolting across the parking lot screaming was pretty funny. I had a good laugh myself afterwords. Not at my own antics, however, but at what I see as a deliberate practical joke carried out by that flock of seagulls.
And you know what? If I were a bird, I think I would get a kick out of doing the exact same thing.
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