This isn't supposed to be my family, just for the record. This is mostly just to show off my awesome drawing skills, which aren't at all like a 12-year-old's.
Tuesday, June 07, 2011
Family (Sketch)
This isn't supposed to be my family, just for the record. This is mostly just to show off my awesome drawing skills, which aren't at all like a 12-year-old's.
Saturday, June 04, 2011
Barton Shows Up Drunk To Her House
Late August. On his 21st birthday, Barton shows up drunk to her house. They both are working for the same lawfirm this summer - he dropped out of school after a month three years ago and now does clerical work there full-time; she'll be completing her major in political science with a concentration in legal studies a semester early this coming December.
Barton? Sarah says.
Yep, he says in return - neck tilted down and back, lids heavy - and then he throws up on her doorstep. Doesn't even bother trying to turn his head a little bit, just all over the mat, just like that. And then he starts crying.
But her parents are out of town so what does any of it matter anyway? She'll never see him again after this summer, and it's not like after tonight they'll act anything different from the mildly friendly way they did earlier today. The story won't get mentioned so it might have never have happened, none of it - the way she takes him upstairs and cleans him up and puts him in her brother's bed, the way he keeps talking and she keeps quietly murmuring her assents, the way she brushes his hair back and kisses him kind of softly. We had to cheat to find these details out right, but it's a nice story, anyway.
Barton? Sarah says.
Yep, he says in return - neck tilted down and back, lids heavy - and then he throws up on her doorstep. Doesn't even bother trying to turn his head a little bit, just all over the mat, just like that. And then he starts crying.
But her parents are out of town so what does any of it matter anyway? She'll never see him again after this summer, and it's not like after tonight they'll act anything different from the mildly friendly way they did earlier today. The story won't get mentioned so it might have never have happened, none of it - the way she takes him upstairs and cleans him up and puts him in her brother's bed, the way he keeps talking and she keeps quietly murmuring her assents, the way she brushes his hair back and kisses him kind of softly. We had to cheat to find these details out right, but it's a nice story, anyway.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Reasons to Lie Still in Bed
1. You are in the back of a pickup truck, green and not too worn-in, wrapped head-to-toe in a blanket wrapped in a carpet and covered by garden tools and old violin cases and battered end tables. The darkness is consuming and warm, like felt, like warm felt. Your best friend is driving, his girlfriend sits shotgun, and they are approaching a checkpoint.
2. You are in a sledding race that starts on the top of a mountain so high it takes a day and night to get to the finish line. The sled is totally enclosed and designed to be ridden on your stomach - your head goes in front; there is not enough room to change position. You are approaching the portion of the race where the track is straight and the incline is easy - where the snow hums low under the wooden slats, where participants are encouraged to try to get some rest.
3. You are in your bed. The top bunk. Your roommate is below you and he has an early class.
2. You are in a sledding race that starts on the top of a mountain so high it takes a day and night to get to the finish line. The sled is totally enclosed and designed to be ridden on your stomach - your head goes in front; there is not enough room to change position. You are approaching the portion of the race where the track is straight and the incline is easy - where the snow hums low under the wooden slats, where participants are encouraged to try to get some rest.
3. You are in your bed. The top bunk. Your roommate is below you and he has an early class.
Sunday, May 08, 2011
Little Things
This will happen to you too: after the hard part, after all the terrible dinner small talk and the name games, after you've given up on some high school friends and worked hard to keep a choice few, after you've lost your campus map. After all that, I mean, you will start to notice the similarities. The way the rugby captain - the one who let the team set fire to his car in honor of their victory at regionals - smiles in the same way as your eternally nervous finger-picking co-captain from knowledge bowl; the way that sophomore in your a capella group shakes you by the shoulders and grits his teeth after a bad pun just like your best friend from back home; the way the girl down the hall orders Subway like your ex: a six-inch meatball on italian with provolone cheese and nothing else, thanks.
Sunday, May 01, 2011
Seasons, Drinking
It's come to this.
1.
The fall is firework displays in colors bright and brash,
A veritable light show to be raked and hauled and trashed.
Yes nothing quite beats days that grow as short as they are cold.
If I said Fall was crappy I don't think that would be bold.
2.
Now winter, that's an easy one, with all the cold and ice,
And though you'll come by people who will say the snow is nice,
Whose eyes will sparkle listening of Santa and his elves
I think that all the car crashes can speak fine for themselves.
3.
The birds sing in the morning and you whine they wake you up.
I understand the problem given what was in your cup.
My friend and I discussed it and decided here's the thing:
These birds are just another reason why we hate the spring.
4.
And finally there's summer, days of heat, and dry, and sweat,
Of traffic jams on Fridays and of cell phones cracked and wet,
Of searing sandy sunburns and of sailboats lost at sea,
I guess the fact is frankly there's no season that's for me.
1.
The fall is firework displays in colors bright and brash,
A veritable light show to be raked and hauled and trashed.
Yes nothing quite beats days that grow as short as they are cold.
If I said Fall was crappy I don't think that would be bold.
2.
Now winter, that's an easy one, with all the cold and ice,
And though you'll come by people who will say the snow is nice,
Whose eyes will sparkle listening of Santa and his elves
I think that all the car crashes can speak fine for themselves.
3.
The birds sing in the morning and you whine they wake you up.
I understand the problem given what was in your cup.
My friend and I discussed it and decided here's the thing:
These birds are just another reason why we hate the spring.
4.
And finally there's summer, days of heat, and dry, and sweat,
Of traffic jams on Fridays and of cell phones cracked and wet,
Of searing sandy sunburns and of sailboats lost at sea,
I guess the fact is frankly there's no season that's for me.
Monday, April 11, 2011
This
One day I will write something with a plot and characters and everything, the works, a grand story arc about the nature of identity and love and coming of age in America, and I will take a photograph that is so related and beautiful it will just make you cry. In the mean time, though, I'm probably going to keep doing this random scene posts that are really and transparently just mildly exaggerated moments from my own life written in the third person,
he said.
AND THEN SHARKS ETCETERA.
he said.
AND THEN SHARKS ETCETERA.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
March
Tuesday night he goes out driving. It's spring break and no one's home and everything's closed and so something's got to keep him from picking at his fingers, anyway. He gets as far as the state line before he stops at the gas station to marvel at how low the prices of cigarettes are, and then he looks up and calls it a night. He's not going to get far enough away from the city for the ugly orange glow to stop blocking out the stars, so what's the point really?
He considers it again on Wednesday a little after midnight, but eventually he gives it up. A band-aid will do just fine to cover up that blister on his right thumb, and there's nothing wrong with staying inside for an entire day.
He considers it again on Wednesday a little after midnight, but eventually he gives it up. A band-aid will do just fine to cover up that blister on his right thumb, and there's nothing wrong with staying inside for an entire day.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Briefly Imagined Conversations
2:30 AM, a dark dorm room. SAM is getting into bed.
SAM
Alright body, it's pretty late and I have a midterm pretty early tomorrow. Time to go to sleep.
BODY
Nah.
SAM
What?
BODY
Nah, not really feeling the whole sleep thing right now.
SAM
What do you mean you're "not really feeling the whole sleep thing right now"?
BODY
I'm just not really tired. It's not sleep time.
SAM
It's 2:30 in the morning.
BODY
Yeah, I know, we'll sleep later. I got you, bud.
SAM
No, I have class later! We have to sleep now.
BODY
No, no man. Sleep later. This is the "lie horizontally in the dark and be alert and worrying about the future" time. Should last about forty-five minutes I'd say.
SAM
Forty-five minutes?
BODY
Yeah, and then we'll sleep for like a good nine hours. Shit will be so cash.
SAM
No, no, listen to me: we can't sleep later. I have to be up early tomorrow. This is when we have to do this.
BODY
No, remember that twenty minute nap you took at 4:00? That means we can't sleep for another 11 hours.
SAM
What?
BODY
Yep.
SAM pauses for thought. He turn onto his back. His roommate sniffs.
SAM
Okay, look: I'm just going to lie completely still until you get tired. Please, please, please try to do it as soon as you can.
Another beat. SAM lies completely still.
BODY
I'm hungry.
SAM
Alright body, it's pretty late and I have a midterm pretty early tomorrow. Time to go to sleep.
BODY
Nah.
A beat. SAM freezes.
SAM
What?
BODY
Nah, not really feeling the whole sleep thing right now.
SAM
What do you mean you're "not really feeling the whole sleep thing right now"?
BODY
I'm just not really tired. It's not sleep time.
SAM
It's 2:30 in the morning.
BODY
Yeah, I know, we'll sleep later. I got you, bud.
SAM
No, I have class later! We have to sleep now.
BODY
No, no man. Sleep later. This is the "lie horizontally in the dark and be alert and worrying about the future" time. Should last about forty-five minutes I'd say.
SAM
Forty-five minutes?
BODY
Yeah, and then we'll sleep for like a good nine hours. Shit will be so cash.
SAM
No, no, listen to me: we can't sleep later. I have to be up early tomorrow. This is when we have to do this.
BODY
No, remember that twenty minute nap you took at 4:00? That means we can't sleep for another 11 hours.
SAM
What?
BODY
Yep.
SAM pauses for thought. He turn onto his back. His roommate sniffs.
SAM
Okay, look: I'm just going to lie completely still until you get tired. Please, please, please try to do it as soon as you can.
Another beat. SAM lies completely still.
BODY
I'm hungry.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Friday, March 11, 2011
In Death, as in Life
Mayford County, Georgia: In death, as in life, Gladys Lee Pierce wakes up early to make breakfast for her husband Joe.
There was an understanding between them that he would be the first to go - she was stronger; she was born to play the affable, white-haired southern matriarch - and so when she got run down in the Kroger parking lot down by 78 Joe was understandably upset. The funeral came and went, and, now, finally and weeks later, he runs out of the tuna salad and roast beef his children brought him upon his wife's passing. They fly home. He watches a lot of TV.
And then Joe wakes up one morning and there's an omelette in front of his spot at the kitchen table - ham and celery, his favorite. This persists for the next week straight: raisin bran with a banana cut in, oatmeal and brown sugar, french toast. No explanation, and yet it is undeniably Gladys' cooking.
On Thursday he sets an alarm and wakes up early and she's not there but there's a plate of grits waiting; on Friday he stays up late and when he finally passes out on the old recliner a strawberry shortcake sneaks onto the counter.
And I mean that's it. Joe never sees her again. He takes up fly fishing again, he spends his evenings at the billiards hall down the street. And when his family asks him how he's doing he tells them: I'm eating alright.
There was an understanding between them that he would be the first to go - she was stronger; she was born to play the affable, white-haired southern matriarch - and so when she got run down in the Kroger parking lot down by 78 Joe was understandably upset. The funeral came and went, and, now, finally and weeks later, he runs out of the tuna salad and roast beef his children brought him upon his wife's passing. They fly home. He watches a lot of TV.
And then Joe wakes up one morning and there's an omelette in front of his spot at the kitchen table - ham and celery, his favorite. This persists for the next week straight: raisin bran with a banana cut in, oatmeal and brown sugar, french toast. No explanation, and yet it is undeniably Gladys' cooking.
On Thursday he sets an alarm and wakes up early and she's not there but there's a plate of grits waiting; on Friday he stays up late and when he finally passes out on the old recliner a strawberry shortcake sneaks onto the counter.
And I mean that's it. Joe never sees her again. He takes up fly fishing again, he spends his evenings at the billiards hall down the street. And when his family asks him how he's doing he tells them: I'm eating alright.
Sunday, March 06, 2011
Office Hours
Oh, Timmy! Please come in.
No, it's no trouble at all, that's what office hours are for. What part specifically were you having trouble with?
The blocks, of course. When I saw you knock down Clarissa's tower and then stomp on her juice box I figured you might be encountering some difficulties. Let's just take them out here and see what we've got so far.
Okay, see, right away, you're trying to start out with this triangle piece as the base of your structure. That's going to be a problem because- well, try to balance this other block on top.
Exactly! So what could you maybe use instead?
You know we don't mix the blocks and the play-dough.
Yes! The square block would be perfect. Give that a try.
Well, I'm just glad I could help you out. Is there anything else you wanted to go over?
Sure, we could do that. Let's just see what your notes look like, did you bring your- yeah, see, again, right away, Batman isn't a month. What could-
There's no need to be vulgar, Timmy.
No, it's no trouble at all, that's what office hours are for. What part specifically were you having trouble with?
The blocks, of course. When I saw you knock down Clarissa's tower and then stomp on her juice box I figured you might be encountering some difficulties. Let's just take them out here and see what we've got so far.
Okay, see, right away, you're trying to start out with this triangle piece as the base of your structure. That's going to be a problem because- well, try to balance this other block on top.
Exactly! So what could you maybe use instead?
You know we don't mix the blocks and the play-dough.
Yes! The square block would be perfect. Give that a try.
Well, I'm just glad I could help you out. Is there anything else you wanted to go over?
Sure, we could do that. Let's just see what your notes look like, did you bring your- yeah, see, again, right away, Batman isn't a month. What could-
There's no need to be vulgar, Timmy.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
The Bat-Mobile (Revisited)
This is a pun I posted a couple weeks ago re-illustrated by the amazingly talented Molly. A lot of people didn't get the original because of my unbelievably poor drawing skills, so I asked her to draw me a new version. She took the time to do so, and I have to say that I really love how it came out. Thanks Molly!
Friday, February 18, 2011
A Great Flood
Wednesday: Sam writes a story about Jesse which goes like this: a huge storm rages over the Berkshires for 40 days and 40 nights and the whole place ends up underwater. While his friends try to keep afloat, Jesse hovers above them inexplicably - they tread water, soaked and freezing and desperate, and he just looks down at them sadly - I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
Thursday: It starts raining.
Thursday: It starts raining.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Setting Alarms
Little things, Alex thinks, her head under her desk as it moves around her room in the dark. Writing sticky notes, taking photographs, setting alarms. Do they do that too? Do they get frustrated when their sheets slip off in the night? Do they smile?
I mean you can't blame her for this, that she stayed. When word first hit the college's online forums, when the army was still trying to get it together, people started leaving and then never came back. She called her parents; they didn't call back. She stayed.
And they - they - hadn't been around these parts for so long. She had gotten lonely and then accustomed and then sloppy. She turned lights on at night. She played music out loud.
It touches the bed that used to belong to her roommate. Alex remembers this, mainly: that they had a fight about reading too late at night, and then Alex saw her get devoured on the lawn in front of the chapel. It was an unusual start to the spring term.
She makes a quick list: four generators, one pocket knife (in the desk above her, she knows it's too far away, it is so fast), one radio, one winter coat. There wasn't much point in even bothering. The clock was ticking, see, and she had set an alarm.
I mean you can't blame her for this, that she stayed. When word first hit the college's online forums, when the army was still trying to get it together, people started leaving and then never came back. She called her parents; they didn't call back. She stayed.
And they - they - hadn't been around these parts for so long. She had gotten lonely and then accustomed and then sloppy. She turned lights on at night. She played music out loud.
It touches the bed that used to belong to her roommate. Alex remembers this, mainly: that they had a fight about reading too late at night, and then Alex saw her get devoured on the lawn in front of the chapel. It was an unusual start to the spring term.
She makes a quick list: four generators, one pocket knife (in the desk above her, she knows it's too far away, it is so fast), one radio, one winter coat. There wasn't much point in even bothering. The clock was ticking, see, and she had set an alarm.
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