These Are My Twisted Words

New Hobbies

2010-06-23T12:13:00.000-07:00

I've taken up baking cookies recently. Today I'm trying out chocolate chip cookies with pecans and coconut flakes. Should be good!

I'm watching Whip It for the second time. Love me some Ellen Page.

The Last Vase

2010-05-20T09:25:00.000-07:00

It was the end of March, and so the beginning of spring. He had rearranged the living room furniture and vacuumed the rug. He was taking things off of the mantel and bookcase to be dusted. Lydia was upstairs folding laundry and Adam appreciated that.

When he heard glass break, his mind made a list of possibilities as to what could have happened. When he made for the kitchen, he decided that the dog must have bumped into a table nosing around for a crumb of human food, since Lydia was in their bedroom. But he had walked in only to see Lydia standing opposite him, behind the counter, tears wetting her face.

Then Adam covered the distance between them and looked down at the jagged remains. Strewn across the floor like tiny yellow diamonds were fragments of his mother’s vase, reflecting shapes of amber light onto the white linoleum. He had moved it from the fireplace mantel to the kitchen in the midst of spring cleaning and forgotten to put it back.

His mother had given him the vase at Christmas a few years ago, before rheumatoid arthritis took away her creative abilities. “It’s my last work of genius,” she had said.

Adam found Lydia’s tear-filled eyes with his; they were hard on hers.
He signed “What did you do?”
She responded with rapid-fire hand gestures.
“It wasn’t my fault.” What Adam could convey with words, she could only say with her hands.
“What happened?” Adam asked. Lydia didn’t answer; she just wiped her face on her sleeve.

He did this a lot: overlooked the fact that Lydia had to see his lips moving if he wasn’t going to sign his words. He’d always faced her when communicating, until a few years ago when he didn’t have to anymore. He knew reading lips wasn’t something all deaf people could do, not automatically anyway. It took time and effort. It took courage; a quality Adam admired in Lydia.
He asked her what happened again, signing this time while she watched.

“I don’t know.” Her hands paused as if they were waiting for Lydia to finish her thought, as if they were like they were interpreting her thoughts like extensions of the mind. “The dog was standing behind me and I couldn’t see her. The next thing I knew she ran out in front of me. I was holding the vase and she startled me. That’s when I dropped it.”
“Now what are we supposed put our flowers in?”
“We can buy another vase.”
“I don’t want to keep on buying them. That didn’t have to be the last of the two that came before it.”
“I don’t do these things on purpose.”
“What were you doing with it anyway? I thought you were upstairs folding clothes.” His hands overlapped one another.
“I wanted a drink. When I saw the vase on the counter I picked it up. I love your mother’s work.” Adam balled his hands up into fists and let out an audible groan. Lydia could only study his clenched fingers.
“Shit, Lyd!”
“It was an accident! I can’t exactly help it.”

If Lydia said this, Adam would have heard the aggravation in her voice. Instead she had a set of hand gestures: a pivot of the wrist or sweeping hand that traveled clockwise and then pointed straight at you.

Adam knew she felt bad about breaking another vase and badly because he was judging her. He knew she would feebly plead with him to stop.

“We’ve been over this enough, Lydia. You have options.” He adjusted the piece of plastic in his ear. “The dog used to startle me too.”
“We can afford another vase, ten more if we need.”
Adam shook his head. “Why? So you can break those too?”
“You’re such an asshole.”
“Oh, give me a break. I’m only being honest.”
“I mean it.” She signed each letter this time. “A-S-S-H-O-L-E.”
“Please, Lydia. Help me out a little,” he said.
“You can help me…clean this up.”

Adam got the broom and dustpan, and Lydia brought the dog upstairs so she wouldn’t try to eat the glass. With each pass of the broom he thought about his mother. Emptying the last of the vase into the trash, he thought about how Lydia should listen to him more. Then he stared at the bits of yellow glass swallowed up by the black trash bag and thought that they looked like stars in the night sky.

The Cell Phone Communication Gap

2009-12-06T17:12:00.000-08:00

How in an age with such incredible advancements in technology could there be a communication gap? Wouldn't you think improvements in the development of communication technologies would equal improved communication between people? I did, until recently.

I work weekends as a bank teller, part-time and normally at the drive-up. During the twenty hours or so that I spend at the bank each week I see lots of different customers. We are told to welcome each customer with eye contact, a smile, and a greeting using the bank's name (for those suffering from acute amnesia). Mostly I wait on our regulars and the interactions are routine and pleasant, but there are times that I help someone that I don't know. More often than not, these interactions are not interactions at all. If the car window's not rolled up, they're talking on a cell phone and any attempts on my part at making conversation are rendered feeble. When I first started working at the bank I often took offense to this type of behavior, feeling ignored and unappreciated by my customers.

Americans are notorious for wanting everything to be bigger, better, faster, and stronger so naturally they become impatient when the drive-up lanes at the bank don't move at a pace of their liking; something that is a constant in my mind as I try to please each of them. You can imagine my frustration when I look into their cars, ready to apologize for the wait, and I see a cell phone in their hand. Maybe the gap in distance between teller and customer warrants the use of cell phones while driving, in the minds of customers, but I find it problematic. What if they wrote their account number incorrectly on a deposit slip or made an error in their math? Maybe I need to ask them how they'd like their cash sorted or if they need me to process an additional transaction. Indeed this does make my job a little harder, but I find this new bad habit for Americans more troublesome than anything. Where did our good manners and basic abilities to make small talk go? I once waited on a young girl who walked up to the teller line, handed me her deposit without saying a word, and started texting. The entire time, her eyes and fingers never left that little piece of plastic. She was, I’m afraid, a textaholic. I was surprised. I mean, is it really that hard to say hello, thank you, or have a nice day? If you wouldn't spend a visit at the doctor's office gabbing on your cell phone or texting, maybe you shouldn’t do it at the bank.

Turkey Day

2009-11-25T13:04:00.000-08:00

I'll be baking a squash casserole tonight. Looking forward to spending the day with family tomorrow.

Happy Thanksgiving from lolcats.

Fargo

2009-11-16T11:42:00.001-08:00

Fargo is a dark comedy about an amateur kidnapping that takes a turn for the worse. Set in Minnesota during the winter of 1987, the story follows Jerry Lundegaard, a car salesman who hires two men to kidnap his wife. Similar to other Cohen brother films like The Big Lebowski, The Lady Killers, and Burn After Reading, the plot becomes fraught with slip ups that lead to total chaos, and in true Cohen fashion, a string of murders. Pregnant police woman Marge Gunderson takes the Lundergaard case and sets out to investigate the kidnapping as well as the slew of murders. Marge, played by Frances McDormand, is my favorite character in the film. She's entirely likeable because of her polite demeanor and quirkiness. She represents a real person that viewers can identify with. Even in the face of horrendous murder, she doesn't become overwhelmed. Even more fascinating is that in the midst of all of this, she can maintain her relationship with her husband Norm as well as her hearty appetite.

In the opening credits the film claims, "This is a true story. The events depicted in this film took place in Minnesota in 1987. At the request of the survivors, the names have been changed. Out of respect for the dead, the rest has been told exactly as it occurred." However, the Cohen brothers have clarified that the events in the movie are taken from a combination of different cases that took place over a period of time longer than one year and elsewhere from Minnesota. Still, this in no way detracts from the film; the jokes will keep you laughing while you hold steadily to the edge of your seat.

Stephen King's On Writing

2009-10-26T19:54:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking a lot lately about the major I've decided on and if it's right for me. I've always enjoyed writing but lacked confidence in my skills as a storyteller. Until just recently I thought I would finish my four years of schooling to finally graduate with a bachelor's degree in Computer Information Systems, but reading King's On Writing has awakened a desire in me to read and write a lot more often. When reading sections of the text for homework I find myself reading five or ten extra pages at a time. King's straightforward, no bs attitude is what I like most. Aside from the attraction of King's refreshing honesty is his knowledge of the craft of writing. I find myself trying to absorb all of his wisdom he's gained from over the years, even taking notes here and there. The key piece of advice that continues to stick with me after this week's reading is one of King's many tips to successful writing--to sit in a room without any sort of distraction, shut the door, set a goal for how much you want to write that day and keep the door closed until that goal has been met. I plan on trying this out, but I can't promise I won't bend the rule a little when my stomach starts to growl.

Event assignment

2009-10-04T19:45:00.000-07:00

My event will be the opening of my new nightclub in Boston, MA called Club Darko. My plan is to take an empty parking lot that sits behind a restaurant in China Town, and turn it into an 18+ outdoor nightclub that stays open Friday and Saturday nights. Admission into the club will be $10 per person, and everyone attending must wear Converse high top sneakers.

Club Darko is strategically placed in China Town so that kids can grab a bite to eat before hitting the club for a night of high energy dancing. The nightclub will have four DJ's working every Friday and Saturday night, stationed along the outer rim of the parking lot, all bumping the same electro-pop and space disco tracks. It might be more fun if they each had different music playing, which would essentially create four smaller dance parties inside the club. Trees adorned in white christmas lights will line the outer edge of the parking lot and disco balls will hang from a few necessary structures.

Micro-fiction

2009-09-28T12:57:00.001-07:00

"A Bird in the Hand" by Artist Lisa Rae Winant

Image used by permission of the Artist
12 x 8 / oil on panel

She walked around the outdoor party looking for him. She searched in the shadows cast by the tree’s massive limbs and through the gaps of space between each group of guests. Astrid quickened her pace, darting in and out of the crowd trying to survey the mass of people, scanning for John’s face. Lanterns hanging from tree branches emitted a magical yellow glow that made the backyard come alive against the night sky. It was a shame that she could not enjoy her own housewarming party and instead had to spend it alone, searching for him. She scanned the crowd once more as she reached her front door steps, and finding nothing, went inside. Astrid stood in the dark of her empty house, her feet aching from a night spent standing in four inch heels. She didn’t mind the pain so much tonight; she welcomed any form of distraction that would keep her mind unavailable to focus on the overwhelming knot that now occupied her stomach. They fought occasionally like they did tonight, as any couple in their twenties that was struggling to pay the bills did, but tonight she was worried. Astrid wasn’t worried about where her relationship now stood with John or what he might think of her; he’d told her more times than there are stars in the sky that she was his one and only. No. Astrid was more concerned with finding John upstairs in a pool of his own blood. Last winter he’d tried to kill himself with a kitchen knife after Astrid called off their relationship and walked out of their one bedroom flat, claiming he had already given up on the relationship weeks before with wandering eyes at a sidewalk yard sale. The doctor said he wasn’t serious about killing himself because the cuts on his wrists and forearms ran left-to-right, avoiding most arteries and veins, but his attempt at suicide was pretty convincing that night when she scrubbed the floor tiles until they were white again and she was red from head to toe.

She climbed the staircase to the bedroom hoping to find him sleeping, perhaps exhausted from the shouting match that took place earlier that evening. Climbing higher, she traced their purple flower wallpaper with trembling hands as the distance between her and the thin beam of light under the bedroom door grew smaller with each advance. Astrid’s worried hand hovered above the door handle for a moment and then twisted on the white knob. Opening it, she saw John slouched over on the edge of the bed with his head down. A surge of warmth washed over her, restoring color to her cheeks. He looked up at Astrid as she entered the bedroom and immediately her nerves calmed when she could see that he was alright. He removed a pack of Lucky Strikes from his jean pocket and placed a single cancer stick in his mouth. John sucked on the cigarette letting the smoke pool in his lungs, and contemplated whether he should exhale and continue breathing or hold onto the hot smoke until his eyes rolled up into their respective sockets. He decided on the former and kept his eyes on Astrid’s as he let the smoke exit through his nostrils. He didn’t know if she loved him anymore and neither did she, but he knew that he didn’t want to die and that was enough for the both of them.

Something Smells Good in the Kitchen

2009-09-07T16:17:00.000-07:00

I've been a vegetarian for around three months now, and I've never been more content with my food and how I feel after eating it. In social gatherings my change in eating habits usually comes as a shock to family members and co-workers, and I'm inevitably asked, "What made you become a vegetarian?" It's a rather plain story really. My good friend Kate was a vegetarian (just went back to eating vegan a few days ago) and I was convinced, after taking a peek into her refrigerator to see all of the delicious food she ate, that I wanted to eat as a vegetarian did.

Meat was always a part of my life up until a few months ago. Before this recent change, I ate fast food, drank soda, snacked without discretion, and led a sedentary lifestyle. I was a real couch potato! I never really gave my food much thought; never made a conscious decision as to what I was eating. I was unaware that food could be healthy or fun. Nowadays, I think of my body as a machine that needs the right kind of fuel to properly maintain itself. I try not to put anything into my "machine" that wouldn't have it operating at full capacity - that means sticking mostly to natural foods like fruits and vegetables, cutting back on processed snacks, no more soda, and getting my vitamins. If it's true what they say, that you are what you eat, in the last few months I've become a banana covered in peanut butter.

Becoming a vegetarian has ushered in two lifestyle changes for me: exercising regularly and the development of a new relationship with my parents. I'm a lot more active than I used to be and as a result I've seen positive changes in my body and improvements to my general state of being. I've also taken up a spot in our family kitchen, cooking all of my own meals and at least once a week I make a meal for the whole family. Taking responsibility for dinner and Sunday breakfast each week has changed the relationship I have with my parents because I am finally at a point where I can contribute something to the family.

If you're at all interested in learning more about being a vegetarian or trying some vegetarian dishes, check out this link: http://www.vegcooking.com/

September 1, 2009

2009-09-01T08:09:00.000-07:00

Here's my first post for Media Writing.
Looking forward to learning a lot this semester.