New Hobbies

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

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

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

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

Happy Thanksgiving from lolcats.

Fargo

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

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

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.