Original post is below this one, but lastnight I came up with an entry based on Jason's picture. Actually, these two fools began to chat inside my head and I just wrote down what they said. It's rough and unpolished, but 249 words and unfutzed around with. (My original entry was taken from my journal and was not a creative piece of fiction although the comments I received were nice ones at the contest) So, based on the photo above, I bring you (and no offense to Jason, you'll get it when you read the last line):
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The Mothership
“I don’t quite know what to say,” Ned leaned out the window of the Photo Hut.
“Then just answer me this … are there round orbs of light?” Vern asked, expectantly.
“Yep, I’d say that’s about right. Little blurry though.”
“Damn it! Not again.” Vern punched at his bike seat.
“Now, Vern, not too blurry. Fact I’d say anyone who looked at your photo would know exactly what they were seeing.”
“Ned, don’t shit me on this.”
“Buddy, I shit you not.”
“All those years gettin' laughed at. All those bitches who left cause I couldn’t get no ‘real’ job …”
“Yeah, yeah, Vern, I know, I know. Come on now, it ain’t gonna open itself.”
“I know that, but … I been doing this most ‘o my life. This here’s been a long row to hoe. It ain’t easy bein’ the only guy in town chasin’ UFOs ‘stead o’ women. But old Vern’s not so stupid no more, is he? And just last week you were talking 'bout me moving out on account of yer old lady. You mighta missed out …,” Vern flicked open the envelope, turned the picture over, and stammered, “on … wait, this is … it’s my …”
“That my smart old buddy, ain’t no mothership ... it’s yer damn bike! And Vern, while I got yer ear, I want yer jagged ass off my couch by tomorrow. I mean, what kind of fool takes a picture while driving a bike, anyhow?"
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at Jason's place. The picture did nothing for me, but I had something written in a journal long ago that fit, so I cut about 400 words from it to create my piece.
It's the first time I used something pre-written for one of these and this personal. All of my entries are completely made up so this one probably one even get many comments. Oh well, I needed a nice break from the summer doldrums. I'd appreciate you reading and commenting here: http://clarityofnight.blogspot.com/2008/07/entry-10.html as the purpose of these contests are for Jason to increase his statistics and get a better writing community going.
Forgot to mention, and this was the most important part -- if you ever wanted to write or have the hankering to write or are already writing, but not "out there" about it, these contests are really great for anyone, at any level. A lot of first timers with no real writing aspirations place the highest. If you don't care about awards like me, but need a pleasant distraction, then this is a GREAT break from those slow summers too. There's so many bloggers I interact with that I would LOVE to see in these contests. I actually can't think of one I wouldn't want to read in this setting ... so I thought if I could convince you with a paragraph, this would be the one. Convinced yet? =)
A few nights ago, I did the unusual and had a dinner of mostly vodka, tonic, and limes. Feeling very tipsy and unable to read a book with words that wouldn't stay still, I wrote this in my journal instead. I re-typed it here and apologize for all the blurred tenses and everything else:
"Leg, They Name is Hollow"
And spinning, they name is bedroom. I admit it, I'm drunk. Fact is, I have social anxiety and hubby, son and I were trying out a new restaurant tonight -- something Roadside. Ed's Roadside. Ed's Road Kill. Praying not. Whatever it was, due to the fact that the new waitress didn't know we're big tippers, she set us smack dab in the middle of the room. Social phobics need corner tables, but are too scared to request them. Quite a quandary.
Thankfully, after being seated at the wrong table, I had the sudden courage to request a large alcoholic beverage. Vodka tonic with a lime twist, to be exact. Not just one, but 3. And they were HUGE -- over 16 ounces of pure beverage, tiny smidgen of ice.
After that much alcohol was ingested within 20 minutes on an empty stomach, who the hell knows what I had for dinner? Something peppery that needed a bit of salt, but I was too busy freebasing a straw the size of a mosquito's proboscis to care. Ooooooh, then it hit. That magical tingly delicious feeling the learned folk call TIPSY. Oh, Joyous Tipsy ... how you make my husband a rare comic genius and the odd new restaurant with an overwhelming amount of knotty pine and chairs made out of twigs now seem charming. A table in the middle of the room frightening? Au contraire mon fraire, all the better to see all the pretty people surrounding me!
The drinks and time go by so quickly. Dinner is done and when my son asks me to ask the waitress for a small plastic sword just like the one he has in his celery sticks, Drunk Brain yells out with college frat boy zest, "Why the hell not?"
"Would you like the check?" Waitress asks before I can claim the booty. Drunk Brain thinks, "How can I give the barman my life savings? Most barman give you much tonic, little vodka, glass full of ice, but not this fantastic barman. This soldier of spirits does just the opposite and I LOVE him for it.
"I need a plastic sword," I tell Waitress who has been waiting while I mused over new found love for barman.
"Excuse me?" Waitress now confused and can't keep up with Drunk Brain.
"Ha ha ha ha," I laughed, "A little one, like you gave my son ... you see, I need one ..."
"Oooh, yes, ha ha, of course ..." Waitress answers, like she actually "gets it."
"Yes, the little ones, yellow, just like his ..."
"Yes, right away," Waitress says, happy to leave my scary gaze, and yet in seconds bravely reappears again with the spoils of war, not one but two, and a gigantic smile all for me as well ... as if I'm an idiot or a small child or a small idiotic child. I grabbed at those swords like I'm Henry VIII and it's a turkey leg, then smiled triumph. My son whispered, "I was joking. My God, I didn't think you'd actually do it."
And Drunk Brain looks at the Stuart Little swords and then at your empty glasses, the last of which is a mason jar. This is when my affable and wonderful, sober, coffee-drinking husband says, "There's something completely wrong about drinking a vodka tonic out of a mason jar." And Drunk Brain realizes it IS in fact a mason jar so I try to say something clever and end up saying, "People who drink alcohol out of these scare me." What!?!
Ride home. At least a pint of vodka is in longer in your stomach and husband is following a small motorcycle holding average sized male and omfg in heaven super-sized female whose ass cheeks look like 2 hams trying to attack the back tire. I blink and look over at husband who is not sure if I'm drunk enough for him to make a comment about a plus-sized gal without getting hit. You let him off the hook with a, "That's odd." Husband's so grateful you're not being PC tonight says, "That's too much weight for that bike!"
"What?" Drunk Brain asks.
"See the tires. The fender's almost on the tire."
You laugh. I mean, it IS a comical sight. Tiny bike, 200 lb male, 350 lb female (I'm being kind), it makes Drunk Brain giggle a bit.
Husband amazed he has you laughing says seriously, "They need a cruiser." Then goes on to explain how cruisers are for "heavy weights" ... built for comfort and for bigger butts.
Drunk Brain finds this absolutely hysterical, but it doesn't know why. Out of the blue I say, "Most mopeds have a 187 pound weight limit." Did I just make that up and spit it out as fact? Yes, I think I did and it made me love Drunk Brain and how knowledgeable it is and then husband says, "Jesus, if you're going to take HER for a ride, you'd better put the tailgate down and back up into her."
Forget it. I can't breathe. I'm officially hysterical with laughter. At home now, I'm purple with laughter, not breathing, and even more so when confused son is being told the joke step by step by father with visual aid of my truck's tailgate, husband's tiny ass sliding back onto it.
Oh, Drunk Brain, I love you. You are THE BEST.
(By the way, during the night I HATED Drunk Brain as it wouldn't let me sleep and the next morning, I absolutely loathed Drunk Brain because it had joined forces with evil Killer Headache. Blargh.)
I have insomnia. It's not your fault or anything. In fact, since you turned religious, which meant dumping vampire stories for Jesus tales, you haven't made me lose a wink of sleep. So, don't think the insomnia thing is directed at you. This first paragraph is just me telling you why I'm writing you at after 1 AM, EST.
First I think I should say, I was born on Halloween. No, maybe that's not right at all. This letter really has nothing to do with being born on Halloween. What really needs to be said is ... I have always loved vampires. (And no, I'm not one of those kooks dressing up like the undead and role playing down at the local Take a Big Bite Bar. I know vampires aren't real, thank you very much.) Yet, the first book I ever purchased from the book mobile at my terribly abusive elementary school was Bram Stoker's Dracula. It seemed huge, there were lots of tiny letters, no pictures, and many pages. It seemed much too adult for me at the time, but that never stopped me from doing anything before, so I persevered and ended up loving it. REALLY loving it. Loving it like, "Hey, now I can be a kid with insomnia who is afraid every shadow is a vampire getting ready to suck my neck" love. I've covered my neck with a blanket and/or sheet every night of my life since. I'm 37. I still do not leave my neck open to the perils of the night. Old habits die hard. (Like potato chips and that "no one can eat just one" thing, which admittedly gets me every time.)
But to get back to the point, Mrs. Rice, I loathe you. There, I said it. You see, since Bram's novel I have read vampire stories. I read a lot of other things as well too, but yes, the vampire reading lust was there. My brother was into vampires as well and would give me all of his vampire books after he finished with them. My mother was also into vampires and had me watching vampire film very early on -- since I was in a crib, in fact. I was the strange child who used to bite at her crib during the night like a rabid rat trying to free itself. In 1970, this was okay. No one cared about lead paint or splinters. Nibble away, Beth ... at least you're being relatively quiet and hey, you'll sharpen those fangs perhaps.
Once again, I'll get back to the rub. I found your books long after the first vampire novel of yours came out, but who cares? I found them, didn't I? I'm a library junkie, so no, you didn't make a lot of money off of me (I bought Vittorio and the film "Interview with the Vampire, but that was it) ... yet I still read you. Religiously. One after another. I read you and said to people, "THIS is writing! This is how vampire tales should be told. Anne Rice doesn't just write about vampires, she lets you live the experience. When Anne Rice writes about Egypt, you can feel the dust in your throat. No silly Buffy crap or Forever Knight bull, no quirky vampires who are also half werewolf and like to have sex. Blech. Total shite. Anne Rice gives us classic literature to a vampire drum beat. Delicious. She is the master of the genre and everything else pales in comparison."
Don't get me wrong, I watch "Buffy the Vampire Slayer ... still. Two episodes a week. I watch "Angel" 15 minutes every morning, Monday through Friday. Hell, I even watch that slop on Fridays better known as "Moonlight." ::hanging head in shame:: Hey, I'm trying to support the genre over here and keep it going on television, so yeah, I've watched the silly vampire stuff and even loved it and sure, I've read a few vampire novels not written by you in my time, even those in the ::gulp:: young adult section, but Anne, please, homo-eroticism aside (as I find myself strangely turned off by it) ... those other authors simply are not you. Those other stories can't hold a candle to your in depth writing and research, your characters, your stories, your beautiful words, and dark deeds. A novel that takes you through hundreds of years seamlessly without all the silly jibes and "Oh, I'm such a clever writer" buttering their own bread bullshit. You were the only one doing justice to the vampire novel and now what?
Jesus? Jesus!?! Are you kidding? No offense to Jesus, I mean, even my son calls him the greatest superhero to have ever lived. (walking on water, giving the blind sight, wine out of water ... if you believe that stuff, it really can't be topped ...)
I mean, yes, great, you're religious and you've found God. I get it. Terrific. But does this mean every penny made writing about darker subjects has now been donated to the Catholic church or have you decided, "Nah, I'll keep the money, but just atone by never writing about them again."
Who are you hurting by not giving the world more Lestat? Satan? No, Anne, you're hurting ME and thousands like me who haven't read a decent vampire novel since 2003. 2003! Can this be right? Yet, you've put two Jesus Christ novels out there since then. TWO. Zero to Lestat, two to Jesus. Humph.
Look, I don't mean to be sulking or a prat, but I've heard it through the grapevine you just might take your faith and run with it, make Lestat some super Jesus Christ hero and redeem him or some such thing. Fine, I can do redemption. Can't wait, in fact. Seriously, I CANNOT WAIT! Pump that turd out already and give those of us who are awake way past their bedtime something else to do besides write you stupid letters on their blogs. This is my one and only and yes, final plea.
Now that everything is growing in my garden, I thought you all would like to see some pictures of this year's progress. If not, well, then ... who needs ya?
I have no idea what the flower on the left is below, but perhaps you do? It started growing in even rows in my two triangular beds, so I'm pretty sure it's not a weed, but since it was a couple of years ago since I planted Thomas Jefferson seeds, it could be anything. This one below is taller than me! The next one is of course, a rose (a huge Dahlia is beyond that), and it's my first bud of the season (since taking this there are many more showing their color, it happens so quick!). If you look closely, you can see a spider peeking on the side of the rose and a web, which I let stay put as he's keeping my bushes pretty much pest free. =)
Here's my own patch of Dianthus in full bloom. This huge patch, which is roughly a foot tall and a foot wide started from one small 2" flower I received in a Styrofoam cup with a ribbon around it from my son a few years ago for Mother's Day. It's one of my favorites in the garden. The other is a close up shot of the petunias I chose for my hanging planters I have on either side of the front doorway. They're nice against our cedar shingle siding.
On to some veg, yeah? These are my first tomatoes, two of them about the size of a nickel each, off a plant that it's a tin container. All of my veg is now being done right in my flower beds or in these old tin cans. I'm not a tomato fan and neither is anyone else in my family EXCEPT my son, but I have 8 plants all looking nice. Eat up boy, there's too much to go around. Since the salmonella scare, I'll also be sharing these with the rest of the family too -- the extended family.
And then we have my broccoli plants, I have quite a few of them, nestled between my Alpine strawberry plants from President Jefferson, once again. I am trying to use up all the "wasted" space in my garden by doing these dual plantings areas in one bed and mulching it all to keep weeds at bay. So far, so good. It was a wacky idea that now, I'm actually kind of digging. A break from tradition, yeah, but I get more bang for my area.
Well, I hope you enjoyed short this tour of the garden. I left out a LOT of flowers/herbs and a whole lot of veg, but this is just a sampling for this week. They'll be others. In truth, uploading is just a giant pain in the arse. So, anyone else planting out there? Anyone still eating tomatoes even though they could kill you? Discuss.
to vote. My beautiful daughter wants to pierce her nose and then wear a tiny diamond "chip." Although I had mine pierced as a kid, before it was cool or "in" as daughter keeps reminding me, I don't want my daughter doing the same. After her recent break-up with her stupid ex-boyfriend of 14 months, she seems to be going through many changes and I don't want her doing anything out of sadness or anger or just on a mindless whim. This is my attempt at democracy and rational thinking, but I will have the final say along with my husband, of course. =) (By the way, the picture of piercings I posted is no one I know, but my personal nightmare of daughter's face if I say "yes" to just one.)
Since I can't get a real poll to work on here, I'm doing it the old-fashioned way. So, away we go:
Would You Give Your 15 Year Old Daughter Permission to Pierce Her Nose (not by herself, but at some wacky tattoo place that also pierces)?
A.) Yes, most definitely. B.) Yes, but only after a 3 month waiting period. C.) No, absolutely not.
One of my favorite things is asking my daughter a straight question, only to have her put on an Italian accent and answer, "Yessss, yesssss, I mean, noooo, noooooo." (It's from an episode of "Angel" we once saw.)
This Monday in lieu of updating you on the trials and tribulations of the Neurotic household, I would instead ask a kind of question that encapsulates my daughter's favorite response.
So, in my best Italian: Yes, yes, what television show (or book) have you found that you absolutely adore when it seems everyone else around you doesn't even know it exists?
And: No, no, no matter how much other people tell you of about this TV show (or book), you just won't hop on the bandwagon. You really cannot stand it at all.
Happy Monday, All!
*My answers are, of course, "Dexter" on Showtime. (which I'm happy after mentioning it to 24Crayons, her and her husband began watching and loving as well) Book would be Kate Fennigate by Booth Tarkington. A classic, I believe, but not well known.
*Answer for second is ANY crime or hospital drama on TV. There's just too many. I'm open to any book so long as it isn't trashy romance.
*Meeting with school officials occurred and some justice was had. Teacher who saw boy's behavior went to meeting at our request and told everyone there the boy did shove my daughter twice. School officials would not interview witnesses who saw daughter being thrown, but we have it on record of the names, what happened, and that the SCHOOL, not us wouldn't do the interviewing. I also wrote all teachers involved with my daughter regarding the ridiculous behavior of school/principal and one of the boy's football coaches received it. He went to the principal and to this boy to tell him if one more incident of ANY kind occurs with my daughter, he is off the football team. This is on record as well. (This is a huge blow to this kid as his father would probably disinherit him if he didn't play and a big win for us.) We're drafting a letter this weekend of the entire events and sending it to all appropriate channels so the Board of Schools on up knows exactly what went on here and then we are putting this to bed. Thanks for all comments. Just so you know, you cannot sue a school unless your child's injuries require hospital care. Many of told us to do this and we contacted many lawyers, from big firms to private practices with the same answer. Thanks again for letting me use this place to vent. I'm looking forward to a peaceful summer!*
As you can see, I'm now using my blog to promote my latest obsession -- Dexter. A Showtime Original that airs Sundays at 9pm. So good, NBC is running a tamed down version as well.
Dexter is a what 24Crayons called "a missionary killer." Sure, he loves to kill, he IS a serial killer, loves blood, and to hunt, BUT he only kills other killers, pedophiles, rapists -- your basic garbage in society. And as a personal aside, he looks soooo hot taking out the trash. And since these people are "bad" people, who cares? Cut them up, I say.
This brings me to my latest familial plight. My daughter was pushed ("thrown down" as witnesses described) down to the ground by her ex-boyfriend in school AFTER he threw a cup of ranch dressing on her last Friday. He ruined a shirt, a purse, but more importantly, skinned her knee and threw out her hip. After all, she's only 105 pounds, he's 230. More than double her weight.
Apparently, since he is also what the principal told me "a future football star," he was not given the full punishment nor was he even admonished. I actually had to sit and listen to this bizarre and ridiculous woman tell me about the "future football star" for about 10 minutes. I would try to say, "Excuse me ... you're not actually listening to me ... you're just talking right over me." This big boy was given one day out of school suspension (for apparently just "fighting back"). My daughter was given one day in school suspension. Why was she punished? For spreading rumors about him and even though she was told the rumors were "true," it's still not nice to talk about someone. I agree, but isn't it worse to abuse a girl? I mean, even the teacher who had her in in-school suspension for the day yesterday told her, "I've never seen anyone punished for rumors ... ever. And what they gave to [ex-boyfriend] wasn't right."
Needless to say, my husband and I have been dealing with quite a mess. Now the superintendent has been informed that we will be seeking legal action. This man assures me that if anyone did not punish this boy because of football, he will. He's reinvestigating and that means actually asking witnesses that saw my daughter's ex do what he did instead of believing his word against hers.
But it's day two, he still hasn't called back and I know for a fact no one was called down to the office for additional investigation. And the boy's parents let him go to a party over the weekend AND took him shopping all day yesterday. What punishment! Of course, they believe their son did nothing but defend himself ... against my tiny daughter.
This is one of those times I could use a Dexter. A nice clean-cut fellow who would pay this boy a visit, stick a needle in his neck to subdue him, strap him onto a table, cut him into pieces, bag him and throw all those messy pieces away -- just like garbage.
Even the superintendent not being a rat bastard and actually possessing common sense would be good.
