The Walmart Monopoly game choices were all foreign to me. "Wall Street", "Ms. Monopoly" and "World of Warcraft Monopoly". After some contemplation, I went with "Ms", figuring Monopoly is Monopoly, right? I haven't played since I was a kid, but it can't be that difficult to remember.
We ordered out from Jose O'Shea's, and then opened the game. We immediately assigned Jim the title of banker, since he's an accountant and your job in a game should match your job in life. Harper was the boss of all the "properties", which in this game are female inventions instead of real estate. Weird. I was the boss of drinking margaritas. Again: your job in the game should match your job in life.
I opened the rules, assuming I would have to just brush up. But it turns out I never really understood Monopoly. Harp immediately asked how you win, and I had no answer. Jim said "When everyone else is bankrupt," and Harp said "That'll take forever," and Jim and I just laughed. Our generation played this damned game forever, and we're not sure anyone actually knows how it ends.
I scoured the rules and discovered the bankrupt thing wasn't far off. You win when all the inventions are purchased, then you collect your rent from the bank and whoever has the most cash wins.
The "Ms" also means that women get $240 to pass go, men get $200. Also, women start off with more cash than men.
There was a white top hat, wrapped separately from the game pieces, with no explanation. Harper would not let me have it, declaring that it was special. It is not listed in the game guide or online. We don't know what it's for.
I was always the iron. It's flat and moves the best. Needless to say, in "Ms" there is no iron. There is a pen and paper, a wine goblet, watch, airplane and a hand weight---none of which are mentioned as female inventions in the game, but are clearly better than the original pieces which included a dog, an iron, a race car, a wheelbarrow, a thimble and a TOP HAT. Just saying.
Starting us off with more money and giving us more money to pass go meant nothing, as the one male in our trio still ended up owning most of the inventions, AND he got the "Get Out Of Jail Free" card. So it did us no good at all to start ahead. Because it's a board game, and it's up to chance, you can't load the odds for or against anyone. You still have to pay rent on the invention when you land, and there is no control over how many times you land. It's a silly premise.
Every time Harp landed on an invention she would declare "YES, I WANT IT." The rules state that you must buy it when you land, but I let her think she was winning something by spending her money. She was drunk, anyway, and we were having fun.
I also cannot read dice after three margaritas, and began to declare loudly that a five and a four equaled eight. Instead I would count spaces for each die, one at a time, as adding them became too amusing for my family.
Thirty minutes and several margaritas into the game, Harper declared "This game is too long." This again prompted looks from Jim and I. Yes. Yes it is.
To appease Harp who was quickly losing interest, we decided the game would be won by whoever had a property in each color scheme. It was looking like Jim for a long time, but then Harp rolled a four and got the last pink invention, "winning" the game.
Which was fine. We had fun.
It's still Monopoly, drunk or sober, "Ms" or not. Monopoly is monopoly, guys. Whoever has the most money wins. But playing drunk makes it infinitely more fun, that is a true statement.
Monday, March 23, 2020
12 March to 22 March 2020 WEEK ONE (ish)
12 March 2020.
We are at school, contemplating the virus and what we are hearing. During fifth period, my Theaco, the announcement comes that all after school activities are cancelled until 6 April. Being who I am, the information indicated that not only was our musical canceled, but the district was going to allow the rental to continue. I spent the last hours in my building with the music teacher trying to get info out of the Athletic Director, who was waiting to hear from the rental, not the district. This annoys me. The rental called and cancelled an hour later. Well, good, 'cause I was getting pretty mohawk-y.
Announcement after school: district says pack your stuff, unclear what will happen after spring break. Teachers, pack up everything you may need, we dunno how long this will be. Students, clean out your lockers, take your chrome books.
District sends email at 4 pm announcing extended spring break.
Shit Just Got Real.
13 Friday:Work day. Sleep late, go in because I need to do online training for the district and I don't know how to enable popups on my laptop.I need a person. Rehearse song with building "teacher choir". Our choir teacher is too cute for color TV, trying to get everyone to Do A Thing. I'm on board 'cause she's my colleague, and why not.
I leave school, go buy some groceries. No toilet paper. Have weird panic attack in the grocery store. Toilet paper is wiped out, what is going on? Why is that a thing? There's plenty of Tylenol Cold and Flu. I get a few things 'cause I can't really focus and I'm starting to feel dizzy. I begin to say things using my ouside voice that are hilarious to me, like reciting the portion of Hitchikers Guide to the Galaxy when he doesn't grasp the fact that the earth is gone until he thinks "There are no more McDonalds" and passes out cold. I chortle and quote and realize I'm being stared out. I consider feigning loss of consciousness to make the story better when I tell it later, but instead I just laugh and continue to stand in the frozen food aisle, chanting "There is no more toilet paper" and not comprehending what I am looking at or knowing what I am looking for.
I text my Jeffco colleague Eric to see what they're doing,he's going to remote teaching starting Monday. We ponder how this "online learning" will go for me. We conclude it will not go well, and laugh and cancel our plans next week.
Laundry.
Vacuum. Mop floors.
Go to the liquor store, get a six pack.
14 Saturday. I hear restaurants may close. Mayor Hancock has intimated as much. If Denver closes, Lakewood will follow.
Mayor Hancock seems to mumble things in front of a microphone that are what he wishes would happen. Polis is governor, he's the boss of the state. Hancock, you're the boss of Denver, you do you. Stop mumbling.
Go to the liquor store, get a six pack. Not sure why I won't just buy a twelve pack, but I won't do it.
Vacuum. Mop floors.
Make blueberry muffins.
The neighborhood St. Patrick's party is cancelled as the hosts have ten pounds of corned beef and "limited" toilet paper. Hoooorah.
Try to take G out for a drink for her birthday cause she works tomorrow, but she is crestfallen. She and her boyfriend have been working toward getting a place ever since returning from Durango. They found a house with a yard, a roommate, and all three are solidly employed. But yesterday the roommate returned from Iceland and was put in isolation due to a cough. Unclear if he has CoVid, but his dad is at risk, so he cannot work this week. There goes moving out. She's devastated and there's nothing anyone can do.
15 Sun: Last night at Westrail. Six feet apart from each of the ten of us who are there. Bartender says she thinks they're closing. She says she's fine, she bought 3 bags of dog food and she and her boyfriend know they'll likely blow through their savings, but she believes they will be fine for a few weeks. A few weeks. Everyone is saying a few weeks.
Our friend Alyson arrives, after harassing me on Facebook for being at the pub and threatening to call the governor on me. She is toting her Lysol wipes and thoroughly cleansing the bar stool and her bar area before ordering a drink. I do not mock her, her dad is one of the last surviving Tuskegee airmen and she sees him daily. She's being responsible.
16 Polis closes all restaurants and bars except for take out and delivery.
Grocery run. No toilet paper at Safeway or King Soopers. I thought all the stuff on social media was panicked hyperbole. My friend in Highlands Ranch tells me Target has some if you get there first thing in the morning, but if I need any she has some she will bring me.
Harp and I decide to do the family thing we've done since she was little, "Let's drive to Evergreen for no reason." The three of us made this journey for years when money was tight. We'd listen to John Denver, and upon arrival stop to visit Ted and Tina, two marmots near the stream, get an ice cream, or later a coffee. She's now 22, so we stop at the Conifer bar called The Well At Bradford Junction. There is a cute general store next door, but it's closed. The bar owner and two regulars are present. We have a couple of beers and chat with the owner, Leslie, asking if she's going to be able to stay open. "As long as they let me, this is all I have. My husband passed this year." We tip her well and promise to return if she's able to stay open.
Online district SEL training modules 1-2. Whoot.
I make Guinness stew for dinner, after visiting the liquor store for Guinness...and a six pack of Beck's.
17 Monday, maybe Tuesday. St. Patrick's day. Look at photos from trip to Dublin last year when we got to see the parade. SIGH.
8 am, as I ventured out on my daily quest for toilet paper, I entered Target to discover three, twelve pack rolls. But between myself and the treasure were two women, one with a cart, chatting at the aisle entrance.
Polis closes schools until 17 April.
Sheesh.
Laundry. Vacuum. Mop floors.
Make banana nut muffins.
I make potato soup for dinner.
18 Days no longer matter.
We contemplate the take out options. I am not a cook by any stretch, but I'm trying.
Go to the liquor store.
Days of the week become meaningless. I'm on regular spring break, Harp is still in school at Metro, via remote.
Somewhere in here Genoa's spa closed. She's now unemployed.
Launder all bedding. Vacuum. Mop floors.
19 Today's quest is eggs. At least the egg shortage makes more sense than toilet paper. But still...up two mornings on my quest. Each depleted item comes with rumors: "I got eggs at Walgreens....I heard Safeway got a shipment....I hear there are no zombies at Pacific Playland". It’s funny and sad and I feel like an addict, listening to the word on the street to learn where to search next for my fix.
Michelle, who has cut our family's hair for more than ten years, calls to close her salon for the time being. She is devastated, but can't in good conscience remain open and possibly spread the virus.
Launder all blankets, couch and chair covers. Vacuum. Mop floors.
Finish online SEL learning modules. Whoot.
Liquor store.
Grocery store. At this point we go to see what there is,not get what we need.
On Facebook unknown author: Two households both alike in quarantine,
In fair Corona, where we lay our scene.
20 My day in bullet points:
20 dates have no meaning
Jim off, 'snow day".
Polis closes all hair salons.
Supplies, liquor store. Supply runs are no longer what we need, but "what do they have?"I said that already. Realize I'm repeating myself a lot. More of a concern is that it took me 30 minutes to complete a 49 piece Lion King puzzle. I was sober.
Launder things I find around the house. Will dog fit in washing machine? Vacuum. Mop floors.Make cranberry muffins.No more order to bullet points, need structure though, but what's the point?
Stephanie texts: From ancient germ break new immunity,
Where civil coughs make civil hands unclean.
This Day
Polis says restaurants can deliver alcohol. We kinda knew that,Jose O'Sheas was running a take out quarantine special with margaritas and one roll of toilet paper
We hear we may be on lockdown Monday. Get to Jose Osheas, order take out. Doing our part to help local businesses.
We decide to play the Ms. Monopoly procured at Walmart. "Ms". apparently means that all women start with more money than the men, and instead of properties the stops are inventions by women. We ate our Mexican food and slurped margaritas and learned that women invented a lot of stuff. Harp declares "This game is too long," thirty minutes in. Jim and I laugh and roll our eyes, as 70's and 80's kids played this thing for hours with no complaints and no alcohol.
kryssi texts: From forth the fatal bug-brought pandemos,
The segregation feels like it's for life.
Today
Polis says liquor stores can deliver.
Doubtful we're going on lockdown if he's making these decrees.
Facetime my sister until the wifi glitches, then just talk. She's out of a job starting Monday.
Harp keeps us updated with conspiracy theories.
And The Band Played On...
.....
Can we talk about how well I'm sleeping? Deeply, great, powerful, vivid dreams that are so realistic I wake up convinced they happened. I feel physically well, even though I haven't made a schedule and I still haven't started yoga again. Man, I feel invigorated.
We are at school, contemplating the virus and what we are hearing. During fifth period, my Theaco, the announcement comes that all after school activities are cancelled until 6 April. Being who I am, the information indicated that not only was our musical canceled, but the district was going to allow the rental to continue. I spent the last hours in my building with the music teacher trying to get info out of the Athletic Director, who was waiting to hear from the rental, not the district. This annoys me. The rental called and cancelled an hour later. Well, good, 'cause I was getting pretty mohawk-y.
Announcement after school: district says pack your stuff, unclear what will happen after spring break. Teachers, pack up everything you may need, we dunno how long this will be. Students, clean out your lockers, take your chrome books.
District sends email at 4 pm announcing extended spring break.
Shit Just Got Real.
13 Friday:Work day. Sleep late, go in because I need to do online training for the district and I don't know how to enable popups on my laptop.I need a person. Rehearse song with building "teacher choir". Our choir teacher is too cute for color TV, trying to get everyone to Do A Thing. I'm on board 'cause she's my colleague, and why not.
I leave school, go buy some groceries. No toilet paper. Have weird panic attack in the grocery store. Toilet paper is wiped out, what is going on? Why is that a thing? There's plenty of Tylenol Cold and Flu. I get a few things 'cause I can't really focus and I'm starting to feel dizzy. I begin to say things using my ouside voice that are hilarious to me, like reciting the portion of Hitchikers Guide to the Galaxy when he doesn't grasp the fact that the earth is gone until he thinks "There are no more McDonalds" and passes out cold. I chortle and quote and realize I'm being stared out. I consider feigning loss of consciousness to make the story better when I tell it later, but instead I just laugh and continue to stand in the frozen food aisle, chanting "There is no more toilet paper" and not comprehending what I am looking at or knowing what I am looking for.
I text my Jeffco colleague Eric to see what they're doing,he's going to remote teaching starting Monday. We ponder how this "online learning" will go for me. We conclude it will not go well, and laugh and cancel our plans next week.
Laundry.
Vacuum. Mop floors.
Go to the liquor store, get a six pack.
14 Saturday. I hear restaurants may close. Mayor Hancock has intimated as much. If Denver closes, Lakewood will follow.
Mayor Hancock seems to mumble things in front of a microphone that are what he wishes would happen. Polis is governor, he's the boss of the state. Hancock, you're the boss of Denver, you do you. Stop mumbling.
Go to the liquor store, get a six pack. Not sure why I won't just buy a twelve pack, but I won't do it.
Vacuum. Mop floors.
Make blueberry muffins.
The neighborhood St. Patrick's party is cancelled as the hosts have ten pounds of corned beef and "limited" toilet paper. Hoooorah.
Try to take G out for a drink for her birthday cause she works tomorrow, but she is crestfallen. She and her boyfriend have been working toward getting a place ever since returning from Durango. They found a house with a yard, a roommate, and all three are solidly employed. But yesterday the roommate returned from Iceland and was put in isolation due to a cough. Unclear if he has CoVid, but his dad is at risk, so he cannot work this week. There goes moving out. She's devastated and there's nothing anyone can do.
15 Sun: Last night at Westrail. Six feet apart from each of the ten of us who are there. Bartender says she thinks they're closing. She says she's fine, she bought 3 bags of dog food and she and her boyfriend know they'll likely blow through their savings, but she believes they will be fine for a few weeks. A few weeks. Everyone is saying a few weeks.
Our friend Alyson arrives, after harassing me on Facebook for being at the pub and threatening to call the governor on me. She is toting her Lysol wipes and thoroughly cleansing the bar stool and her bar area before ordering a drink. I do not mock her, her dad is one of the last surviving Tuskegee airmen and she sees him daily. She's being responsible.
16 Polis closes all restaurants and bars except for take out and delivery.
Grocery run. No toilet paper at Safeway or King Soopers. I thought all the stuff on social media was panicked hyperbole. My friend in Highlands Ranch tells me Target has some if you get there first thing in the morning, but if I need any she has some she will bring me.
Harp and I decide to do the family thing we've done since she was little, "Let's drive to Evergreen for no reason." The three of us made this journey for years when money was tight. We'd listen to John Denver, and upon arrival stop to visit Ted and Tina, two marmots near the stream, get an ice cream, or later a coffee. She's now 22, so we stop at the Conifer bar called The Well At Bradford Junction. There is a cute general store next door, but it's closed. The bar owner and two regulars are present. We have a couple of beers and chat with the owner, Leslie, asking if she's going to be able to stay open. "As long as they let me, this is all I have. My husband passed this year." We tip her well and promise to return if she's able to stay open.
Online district SEL training modules 1-2. Whoot.
I make Guinness stew for dinner, after visiting the liquor store for Guinness...and a six pack of Beck's.
17 Monday, maybe Tuesday. St. Patrick's day. Look at photos from trip to Dublin last year when we got to see the parade. SIGH.
8 am, as I ventured out on my daily quest for toilet paper, I entered Target to discover three, twelve pack rolls. But between myself and the treasure were two women, one with a cart, chatting at the aisle entrance.
Blocking my way.
I imagined they asked my favorite color, shouted “blue... no green”into their vacuous faces, and lept over the cart, securing my grail. I snapped a photo as I exited, as proof of my adventure.
And that’s how I’m doing.Sheesh.
Laundry. Vacuum. Mop floors.
Make banana nut muffins.
I make potato soup for dinner.
We contemplate the take out options. I am not a cook by any stretch, but I'm trying.
Go to the liquor store.
Days of the week become meaningless. I'm on regular spring break, Harp is still in school at Metro, via remote.
Somewhere in here Genoa's spa closed. She's now unemployed.
Launder all bedding. Vacuum. Mop floors.
19 Today's quest is eggs. At least the egg shortage makes more sense than toilet paper. But still...up two mornings on my quest. Each depleted item comes with rumors: "I got eggs at Walgreens....I heard Safeway got a shipment....I hear there are no zombies at Pacific Playland". It’s funny and sad and I feel like an addict, listening to the word on the street to learn where to search next for my fix.
Michelle, who has cut our family's hair for more than ten years, calls to close her salon for the time being. She is devastated, but can't in good conscience remain open and possibly spread the virus.
Launder all blankets, couch and chair covers. Vacuum. Mop floors.
Finish online SEL learning modules. Whoot.
Liquor store.
Grocery store. At this point we go to see what there is,not get what we need.
On Facebook unknown author: Two households both alike in quarantine,
In fair Corona, where we lay our scene.
20 My day in bullet points:
• 12.30 began the supply quest. Late but needed to sleep. Loudly loved the take out restaurants for being open and NOT price gouging while driving all over town.
•Found eggs at the King Soopers at Kipling and Belleview( thank you Rachel Herring Finley).•No TP or eggs: Lakewood Kings,Vitamin Cottage or Safeway, Ken Caryl Walmart, Aurora Walmart.• Puzzles and Monopoly at Walmart.•As we are driving and I pontificate on the goodness of humans who don’t gouge , Harp pipes in that Door Dash and Uber Eats are using “Surge” pricing, aka gouging. I am momentarily saddened but not surprised. Ass Hats.•Drop Kleenex at my mom’s House in Lakewood.•H Mart Asian Market in Aurora has toilet paper. It is not good toilet paper,it is restaurant/Office one ply. One per customer. $14 for a 12 pack. Ass Gnomes.• I am now officially disappointed in humanity for gouging, and more annoyed that the ASIAN market has toilet paper AND are over charging. You get me.•Drive the TP to Castle Pines for my in laws.
* Stop at liquor store on way home.•5 pm arrive home. Hate greed. Make stir fry and watch Dumb and Dumber.
Scene.
Jim off, 'snow day".
Polis closes all hair salons.
Supplies, liquor store. Supply runs are no longer what we need, but "what do they have?"I said that already. Realize I'm repeating myself a lot. More of a concern is that it took me 30 minutes to complete a 49 piece Lion King puzzle. I was sober.
Launder things I find around the house. Will dog fit in washing machine? Vacuum. Mop floors.Make cranberry muffins.No more order to bullet points, need structure though, but what's the point?
Stephanie texts: From ancient germ break new immunity,
Where civil coughs make civil hands unclean.
This Day
Polis says restaurants can deliver alcohol. We kinda knew that,Jose O'Sheas was running a take out quarantine special with margaritas and one roll of toilet paper
We hear we may be on lockdown Monday. Get to Jose Osheas, order take out. Doing our part to help local businesses.
We decide to play the Ms. Monopoly procured at Walmart. "Ms". apparently means that all women start with more money than the men, and instead of properties the stops are inventions by women. We ate our Mexican food and slurped margaritas and learned that women invented a lot of stuff. Harp declares "This game is too long," thirty minutes in. Jim and I laugh and roll our eyes, as 70's and 80's kids played this thing for hours with no complaints and no alcohol.
kryssi texts: From forth the fatal bug-brought pandemos,
The segregation feels like it's for life.
Today
Polis says liquor stores can deliver.
Doubtful we're going on lockdown if he's making these decrees.
Facetime my sister until the wifi glitches, then just talk. She's out of a job starting Monday.
Harp keeps us updated with conspiracy theories.
And The Band Played On...
.....
Can we talk about how well I'm sleeping? Deeply, great, powerful, vivid dreams that are so realistic I wake up convinced they happened. I feel physically well, even though I haven't made a schedule and I still haven't started yoga again. Man, I feel invigorated.
Saturday, March 14, 2020
Theatres And Closures Briefly
I believe in the ghost light in theatres on a spiritual level. Of course, it is for safety, but it is also to remind us that we shall prevail. We are not shuttered forever. I realized while thinking of this blog that the reason theatre and I are so close is that we both have two middle fingers and a mohawk. That image represents my favorite movie phrase "Never give up, never surrender". Here is what occurred to me this morning, to prove that it takes a strong will to endure as a theatre person: The ghost light is the spirit of theatre, our collective mohawk that shines as a beacon to our souls. It is a symbol of our strength.
The Greek theatre survived being conquered by Rome, who then stole the Greek gods and theatre.The Greeks infected their conquering nation with their own culture.That's so punk rock.
In 1592 the Globe theatre was closed by plague. No biggie, they reopened afterwords and kept on going. Never mind that the players themselves then burned the place to the ground by firing a cannon during a show in 1613, they rebuilt it. Again with the mohawk, you can't stop theatre even with your own stupidity. Of course it was then closed by uptight Puritans in 1642 for "lascivious mirth and levity". Yep, that's us. How dare we have a good time. Partying like the punks we are, and holding a mirror up to society to force them to see how they are is usually misinterpreted and twisted into "lascivious mirth and levity." We enjoy mocking society, and watching society not comprehend that they are being mocked. Until they do, and then they shut us down.
The Globe still stands, by the way, even if it is in a different location.
The Russian theatres were closed by Bubonic plague in 1771, and also stood witness to the riots that ensued. Yet Chekov's Moscow Arts Theatre -founded a hundred years later, granted- is still standing. I may not be able to line up Russian theatre exactly with plagues and mohawks at this red hot moment, but I am also not wrong.
I'm just sayin', you cannot stop theatre.
I just jumped on google to check on my dates, and found this on SparkNotes: Aside from the city authorities, the chief enemies of the theaters were Puritan reformers, who believed that theatrical entertainment in itself represented a blight on the moral life of the city. One preacher, Thomas White, went so far as to make a direct link between plays and the plague: “The cause of plague is sinne . . . and the cause of sinne are playes: therefore the cause of plagues are playes.”
That was written regarding the shuttering of the Globe.See how we are?
Remember the black out last year in NYC? The cast of Hadestown took the show to the street. Mohawk. Two middle fingers. "The Show Must Go On", etc etc.
As I try to get my thoughts out here, with a fat fluffy cat pounding her head on my hand, I realize I've made my point. Theatre is not buildings. Theatre is people. Which I'm pretty sure is grammatically incorrect, or at least sounds it. As I chanted for four years as I was being bullied out of my own theatre: You can shove me out of my theatre, but you'll never take theatre out of me. I'm a theatre kid. Always have been.
Theatre people are the ones who endure. We adjust, change schedules, switch venues, move outdoors, hop districts, or, in the case of a plague, we sit and write and prepare for the buildings to reopen. Yes, This Sucks. This is costing millions in revenue, and lost wages,and putting insurance and car payments and mortgage payments at risk. It. Sucks. Ass.
But it will end. And we'll be ready.
'Cause the building may be closed, but the ghost light is still burning.
Thursday, January 23, 2020
Things Fall Apart.
I have taught this poem before, sometimes on its own, and sometimes with the novel that borrowed the line. I know the poem because Stephen King used it in The Stand, and everything I know about literature I learned from Stephen King. Here is Yeats' poem for your reference.
The Second Coming
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
I have, over the years, pondered this piece. from every angle. In 2008, and for a few years, I contemplated "What rough beast, its hour come round at last, slouches toward Bethlehem to be born?" I found it to be a chilling omen, a warning to politicians and countries who worship their leaders.
This piece, coupled with "I Am Waiting" by Ferlinghetti and The Zoo Story by Edward Albee, have infused and educated and buoyed and vexed and depressed me, sometimes like waves kissing the shore, sometimes like a high wind blowing my lawn chairs into the fence at two a.m., but always present. I am waiting. For what, I had no idea, but I was waiting.
I believe that I still am.
I believe that I still am.
Things fall apart. The center does not hold.
2016-2019 were a shit show, a time of great googley change, exhaustion and finally, 2019 was over. I believed that it couldn't last forever, that I/we/world were being broken, and that 2020, based on nothing more than the balance of the numbers, would be when it was put back together again. But first, it has to finish a burn. There is something else coming. And then the pieces will be collected and reformed into something new. The center will hold, because it's the center. Even if the Super Flu kills 99.9% of the population, the center holds. Humanity endures, good triumphs and in the battle you lose a beloved character.
It depends on what you define as "the center". In The Stand, a general is using the poem to reference the power of the military and bio-warfare. The center cannot hold, there is always a glitch, a leak, a mistake. The center of military science, the center of the military industrial complex cannot hold-not when a biological flu is unleashed on the world. But the center---humanity---holds. The .001% core left behind must choose up sides and fight for their beliefs. Nobody is allowed to be a bystander. You must participate in your own salvation. You must participate in your own survival. There is no stadium seating, no audience. You are in the coliseum and you must face the enemy. Your true center will hold, but the military complex or public education system will not. Things fall apart. You will not. Your center will hold.
That is how the center holds. When you realize it's just you and your demons.
No spectators.
No Facebook. No You Tube. No Cell phone.
No Blog.
You must allow yourself to travel a great distance in the wrong direction in order to come back a short distance correctly. (Regular readers know my reference, my beloved Mr. Albee.)
Once you do that and you return: you're alone, center stage, awaiting the entrance of your foe.
What rough beast is slouching toward you?
It looks familiar. It sounds familiar.
It should. It's yours.
Your center will hold, but you have to fight. Stop giving up your power. Know the truth and wield it like a broad sword, a vorpol blade that snicker snacks. If the system is going to fall apart, you can't stop it, so you may as well move it along more quickly so you can get to the point. Like the Tootsie Pop, you'll never know how many licks it takes for the center to fall apart, because you took a huge bite out of it.
Sheesh, I need a runaway metaphor ramp. The gravel on the ramp is made of allusions and similes to help slow you down, much as you've stopped reading this rant.
The center that does not hold is not yours. It's only relevant to things like paying your bills or sustaining friendships. Your center, your true center, will hold. And the bills will get paid. And the relationships will heal or not, whatever.
Just stop that rough beast en route to Bethlehem.
Scene.
The center that does not hold is not yours. It's only relevant to things like paying your bills or sustaining friendships. Your center, your true center, will hold. And the bills will get paid. And the relationships will heal or not, whatever.
Just stop that rough beast en route to Bethlehem.
Scene.
n/a
I'M BAAAAAAAAAACK (and pretty rusty, so be patient)
Hello
Let me catch you up so we can continue:
I'm no longer teaching lang arts at a suburban high school.
I'm now teaching theatre at an urban high school.
I'm directing the musical at said urban high school.
I'm also directing a musical at an engineering college.
I'm now teaching theatre at an urban high school.
I'm directing the musical at said urban high school.
I'm also directing a musical at an engineering college.
Now you're caught up!
Today's rant is about air fryers. If one is not a person who cooks, anyway, the Keto diet is a challenge. I managed, somehow, to function on this diet for almost nine months and I lost 25 pounds. I do, however, doubt it was the food or my body "achieving Ketosis"-I never did the pee in a cup test, so I can neither confirm nor deny such a claim, but more likely it was due to my own inability to function in the kitchen. There was a lot of stuffed, baked chicken and Keto pizzas. I think of Goldie Hawn in Seems Like Old Times in her robe, hair askew, surrounded by dogs on the floor and pots on the stove trying desperately to replicate Aurora's chicken pepperoni. When asked how it's going she says "The dogs are half dead from tasting it." This is how I imagine Jim and Harper felt. They were pretty tired of stuffed, baked chicken. But they are adults, and if they didn't like it they could cook something else.
I was unable to perfect any sort of breading in Keto. Almond flour just doesn't do it, and breadcrumbs and Penko breading contain my daily quantity of carbs. My almond flour breading is lumpy and sticks to the pan. The pan, you say? Yes, oven baked because that's what I had: an oven.
Jim was gifted an air fryer at Christmas, much to my joy. I know people who swear by them and I was excited to give it a try. Of course, being off Keto meant using Penko breading for the chicken strips. The first round were a bit weird, dried out because I cooked them too long. The cookbook that came with the fryer said 14 minutes, so I did 14 minutes, but it dried out the chicken itself. So I adjusted to 11 and it was perfect, and it was cooked all the way through -stop thinking I poisoned everyone, including the dogs, I never under cook chicken.The air fryer is fantastic as long as you have something breaded, but again, I cannot manage the breading part.
I decided to try fried cheese last night. Jim bought string cheese, and I carefully egg washed and dipped them in the Penko and almond flour---Penko has crunch but no flavor, I've become fond of the flavor of almond flour. Harper says it makes everything smell like cake. I did not look at the recipe because how hard can it be? I just looked at the time. I placed the dipped cheese sticks in the basket and started the fryer. Ten minutes later I opened the flyer to a basket of melted cheese mush with a breading blanket.
The recipe clearly says to freeze the dipped cheese first.
Too bad I didn't read the recipe.
No problem, it's Saturday night and I have no other plans. I dip and freeze the cheese sticks for an hour. I then place them in the basket at the prescribed temperature and the prescribed time.
And open the basket and....at least this time, the melted cheese mush had lumps in it.
So this morning, I dipped and breaded and placed the cheese sticks in the freezer to make later tonight. My hope is that several hours of freezing will help with the issue of melted cheese lumps. If not, please feel free to come over and I'll make you some lumpage!
I dunno, every time I think I can do a cooking or baking thing it turns out that I can't do cooking or baking things. My children didn't starve, Jim cooks, and I can manage four things: meatloaf, any type of noddle and meat and cheese casserole, grilled cheese smammiches and pot roast. Nobody starved, but I also take no joy in cooking or baking things. It's frustrating because it never comes out the way it should, even if I follow the recipe exactly. It's like the recipe knows it's me and the ingredients conspire to screw me up, like band kids switching instruments on the sub.
Jim believes we can make fried cheese work with egg roll wrappers.
.....
I dunno, every time I think I can do a cooking or baking thing it turns out that I can't do cooking or baking things. My children didn't starve, Jim cooks, and I can manage four things: meatloaf, any type of noddle and meat and cheese casserole, grilled cheese smammiches and pot roast. Nobody starved, but I also take no joy in cooking or baking things. It's frustrating because it never comes out the way it should, even if I follow the recipe exactly. It's like the recipe knows it's me and the ingredients conspire to screw me up, like band kids switching instruments on the sub.
Jim believes we can make fried cheese work with egg roll wrappers.
.....
Monday, September 30, 2019
This Is Why I'm Like This: Duck Lady, Boy Perspective 1972
Part two of my writing assignment for LA 11. This is second person, present tense with a horror genre. We'll see how it goes....thank you so much for indulging me.
You don't know why you agree to stay over with Tim on Friday nights. His parents stay out late, which is awesome, you can do whatever you want, but they get up early on Saturday and start working on the lawn and it's stupid loud. You ave no idea how he sleeps through it, although you do have certain vampire-esque suspicions. You don't sleep through it, because you are not the undead, and you wake up and then sit down here in his room and stare at him until his creepy eyes open. They are always black when he first opens them, you swear they are. His mom always yells down asking if you want eggs, and you always say no even though you love eggs. Your mom never makes eggs. She makes cinnamon rolls, because her mom made her cinnamon rolls, so you guess she loved them, she thinks you love them, but you don't. You just eat them. She's a nice lady and you'll need her when Tim finally flips out and murders someone. You'll need a character witness. Also, there is a such thing as too much sugar. You get headaches when you eat too much. Which you heard from Brian meant you committed suicide in a past life, but he's probably making that up because he's diabetic and can't have sugar.
You stayed up last night and watched Creature Features which you love. This time there was a possessed bird that attacked, but it did a body snatchers thing where it took over the person, so they went crazy and acted like the bird and killed people. It was like watching a zombie bird person, they moved like birds but they were people.There was that movie The Birds that was on a few weeks ago and your old man made you watch it, swearing it was his favorite when he was a kid. What was wrong with those birds? That was terrifying, why would they all gang up on people like that?
Creature Features has stories about a lot of animals, birds and snakes a lot, too. There are a lot of possessed animal movies, you swear you and Tim have seen them all. But something was up with this bird thing last night, and you had nightmares. People turning into pelicans, ducks, geese, ostriches! OK, the movie had ostriches but that was dumb, where are there ostriches in Colorado? You live in the suburbs, there are birds everywhere. And ducks, you have a lot of ducks and geese, the ponds are right down the street and there are geese in the ditch when you walk home. You had one run after you one day, you didn't scream you tried to kick it, but Tim just laughed his head off like it was the funniest thing he'd ever seen and chased the goose across the park. Sometimes you wonder about Tim. You wonder a lot. His parents are hardly ever home, and when they are they don't pay a lot of attention to him. In fact, there have been times you've been convinced the whole family could be vampires, as they're out all night, and there's a lot of noise in the morning with lawn stuff, but you never see them. You've never said yes to eggs partly because you're afraid to go up there and see the Munsters for yourself. But you smell cigarette smoke, so you know somebody's smoking, and you hate that smell, so you say no to eggs so you don't have to sit in a dark kitchen with cigarette smoking vampires. Although your mom is always saying "When in Rome..." and then she laughs. You just figure she's having a stroke and she'll be dead soon. You have no idea what she's talking about most of the time, but nobody in your house smokes, or is a vampire, for that matter. Your little sister is a monkey sometimes, but that's it.
The thing with those movies is they don't show you how it happens. They show you the eyes of the animal, and the eyes of the person, and the eyes of the animal, and the eyes of the person, and then there's a scream. That's it. Eyes and scream and the next thing you know Marge from the diner is waddling and quacking and killing people.
So Tim came down with a plate of eggs and some toast. That's the other reason you say "No thank you" when his mom asks, you know he's gonna bring some down, anyway. She makes the eggs over medium, they're perfect. You don't look in his eyes, though, because they're black with a spot of red in them before he eats his eggs.
"What're we doing today?" he asks. He always asks you, and then he just tells you what you're doing. You don't care, but usually he has some good ideas. There's a swamp by the park at the end of Garrison three blocks west, between the church and the ranch. Usually there's a dumped washing machine or car battery there he can mess around with. Nobody bothers with that side of the swamp, it's right next to this nice park with a sweet dock built by the pond, which is crazy. Whose idea was it to build such a nice park next to a barren, dirt patch next to a swamp? People just dump stuff on the dirt path between the two like they're supposed to, like it's an actual dump. You've seen the guy who owns the ranch on the north side of the park on Sundays cleaning it up. He loads whatever was dumped into his truck and hauls it off, you guess to a real dump. It's not even his property, it's not his problem, but you bet he can see that mess from the top floor of his house.
"Wanna go to Jewell park? See if any little kids need a lesson?" Since he's awake and eaten eggs his eyes aren't as black, they're more brown. Now they have a red rim around them.
You shrug. You don't like teaching little kids a lesson.The rumor about Smear Day keeps them pretty much in line, but occasionally Tim gets a hair up his butt and he needs to go stare them down on the monkey bars. He never touches them, he doesn't even talk, he just stares. You wonder about Tim. Not just Tim, but why do these little kids all freeze or run home when he stares at them? Do they see something you don't? Like that poem, "The Raven", only it's not the bird that's staring at them, it's Tim.
"Nah. Too many birds, man," you shrug.
"That movie get to you?" He laughs, but you know him. You know it bothered him, too. Or gave him ideas, you aren't really sure which. Why are you friends with him, again? The birds in Tbe Birds were black crows, and nobody likes those things. But last night they were ducks. Ducks are not supposed to attack and possess. Ducks are just ducks. That was just weird. Also, the duck stickers in his bathtub, the one downstairs in his room, are black. Where do you get black duck bath slippy stickers?
"It bothered you too," you shoot back. "Ducks who possess people and attack? What is that?"
"It was so fake, those people were not ducks, man. They ran like them, but weird people can run like that, anyway:Zombies. Retards. Second graders. Most of those actors were zombies on the show last week, I recognized them." He grins, and you feel your skin goose pimple. "I recognize some from my family, man." He throws his head back and laughs. You are frozen to your spot. Is he kidding?
You wonder about Tim. You wonder a lot.
"Whatever, let's just go outside."
You are on the sidewalk when you muster the nerve to ask, "You have family that are actors?"
"No, why would I?"
"Because you said on the show last night you recognized your family..."
Tim just laughs. He stares straight ahead. "Ghouls, man. Ghouls are my family."
You suppose Tim's your best friend. You've known each other since kindergarten, and you live two blocks away from each other. You have a trampoline in your backyard and he has a basketball net in his driveway, so you just sorta became friends. You went to elementary school at the cottages, right across from his house, until third grade. Now you're at the main building, in fifth grade. Next year is your last year there, and you'll probably get smeared by the 7th graders on the last day of 6th. Which is fair, 'cause you smeared the third graders when they went to the main building for fourth grade. You stole your mom's lipstick and chased them down the street. You could have caught one, but they're just so scared and you have a little sister. When she gets to that age, you'll punch anyone who comes near her. But in sixth, they say, the seventh graders carry razor blades. You have a whole year to worry about it, and you probably will. You worry a lot.
You take your time walking to the park, kicking a rock along the sidewalk and not paying attention. When you look up you're at Jewell park, not the swamp. "Dude...." you say, as he laughs.
"Immersion therapy," he laughs. "I read it in one of my dad's college text books. Throw you in the pond with the ducks, you won't be such a pussy about ducks any more."
You should just go home. You really don't know why you're even friends. You try to stay behind him, away from the pond. There are ducks all over the pond. Yellow ones, white ones, brown ones, black ones. And they're all looking at you. Silently. They're just staring at you. Trying to get into your head and infect your brain. You can feel them, their duck eyes burning through your skull.
Tim picks up a handful of rocks. "C'mon, see?" he chucks a rock at a duck, who flaps his wings and quacks. "Just a dumb duck."
You watch the animal closely, waiting for it to charge, like it did in the movie. You think it's looking right at you, it's just you and the duck: eye contact person, eye contact duck, eye contact person, eye contact duck- when you hear a scream coming from the monkey bars. You look at the duck, because you think he's screaming at you and looking right at you. Your eyes are locked with the bird and you are sure he's screaming inside of your head.
"That duck lady last night was crazy, huh?" he chucks another rock at the duck. "I wish they'd show how she killed those motorcycle gang guys, though. They always pussy out and they never show how they do it."
Tim has now turned toward the scream, like he's just now hearing it, and is laughing. The scream is not coming from the duck, who is still staring at you. Tim chucks another rock at the duck and yells at the little girl who is charging toward you.
It's a little girl. You've seen her before walking to school. She's got a freckle face and looks like that Opey kid on Andy Griffith except blonde, and she's a girl. She walks to school every morning with her head looking at the ground, but now...she's charging right at you.
Charging.
Her head is forward and her arms are behind her, and her legs are short so she's kind of waddling/running and she looks like a duck.
And she's looking right into your eyes. Her eyes, your eyes, her eyes, your eyes-scream.
Tim looks at you. "Remember that Duck Lady in the movie? Muwahhhhhh!" Then he starts laughing.
"She killed three people, Tim. She was possessed." Your eyes are still locked with the little girl's.
You hear her quack. In your head. Is she quacking or is it in your head? Or is she really quacking? You can't tell, your eyes are locked.
"Duck Lady!!" You scream at her and start running back toward Tim's house. "Tim, she's gonna kill us. Move it."
Tim holds his spot for a moment, and waits until she gets a little closer. He's used to staring down little kids and having them run away. She keeps coming, so he spits words at her "I know you. I'll get you on smear day." But she keeps running. You grab his shirt and pull him. "I'll get you Duck Lady!" he screams over his shoulder as you run off.
You stop at the edge of the neighborhood, and look back. Your chest is heaving and Tim is either laughing or crying, and there's spit coming out of his mouth and tears from his black eyes. You turn to make sure the girl isn't right behind you.
The crazy little duck girl has stopped at the edge of the pond and is talking to the duck, who has swum over to her.
"See?" You shake your finger at the pond, "The duck is controlling her. He's telling her what to do. We gotta go."
"The hell she is, she's just a little girl," he says as he looks at her. His eyes are fully black again.Your skin goose pimples again and you swear you feel a cold breeze, but it's coming from Tim. He is rooted to the spot, like he does when he teaches little kids a lesson.
She looks up. She looks right at Tim, and her eyes are black,too, with a little dot of red in the center. She stares at Tim. But unlike when he teaches a lesson, she seems to be in charge. Tim looks like he's listening to something inside his head. She looks like she is reading his mind, and then the duck comes out of the pond and stands next to her.
Then the duck turns and both of them look at us.
Tim screams and runs.
I was one step ahead of him.
You don't know why you agree to stay over with Tim on Friday nights. His parents stay out late, which is awesome, you can do whatever you want, but they get up early on Saturday and start working on the lawn and it's stupid loud. You ave no idea how he sleeps through it, although you do have certain vampire-esque suspicions. You don't sleep through it, because you are not the undead, and you wake up and then sit down here in his room and stare at him until his creepy eyes open. They are always black when he first opens them, you swear they are. His mom always yells down asking if you want eggs, and you always say no even though you love eggs. Your mom never makes eggs. She makes cinnamon rolls, because her mom made her cinnamon rolls, so you guess she loved them, she thinks you love them, but you don't. You just eat them. She's a nice lady and you'll need her when Tim finally flips out and murders someone. You'll need a character witness. Also, there is a such thing as too much sugar. You get headaches when you eat too much. Which you heard from Brian meant you committed suicide in a past life, but he's probably making that up because he's diabetic and can't have sugar.
You stayed up last night and watched Creature Features which you love. This time there was a possessed bird that attacked, but it did a body snatchers thing where it took over the person, so they went crazy and acted like the bird and killed people. It was like watching a zombie bird person, they moved like birds but they were people.There was that movie The Birds that was on a few weeks ago and your old man made you watch it, swearing it was his favorite when he was a kid. What was wrong with those birds? That was terrifying, why would they all gang up on people like that?
Creature Features has stories about a lot of animals, birds and snakes a lot, too. There are a lot of possessed animal movies, you swear you and Tim have seen them all. But something was up with this bird thing last night, and you had nightmares. People turning into pelicans, ducks, geese, ostriches! OK, the movie had ostriches but that was dumb, where are there ostriches in Colorado? You live in the suburbs, there are birds everywhere. And ducks, you have a lot of ducks and geese, the ponds are right down the street and there are geese in the ditch when you walk home. You had one run after you one day, you didn't scream you tried to kick it, but Tim just laughed his head off like it was the funniest thing he'd ever seen and chased the goose across the park. Sometimes you wonder about Tim. You wonder a lot. His parents are hardly ever home, and when they are they don't pay a lot of attention to him. In fact, there have been times you've been convinced the whole family could be vampires, as they're out all night, and there's a lot of noise in the morning with lawn stuff, but you never see them. You've never said yes to eggs partly because you're afraid to go up there and see the Munsters for yourself. But you smell cigarette smoke, so you know somebody's smoking, and you hate that smell, so you say no to eggs so you don't have to sit in a dark kitchen with cigarette smoking vampires. Although your mom is always saying "When in Rome..." and then she laughs. You just figure she's having a stroke and she'll be dead soon. You have no idea what she's talking about most of the time, but nobody in your house smokes, or is a vampire, for that matter. Your little sister is a monkey sometimes, but that's it.
The thing with those movies is they don't show you how it happens. They show you the eyes of the animal, and the eyes of the person, and the eyes of the animal, and the eyes of the person, and then there's a scream. That's it. Eyes and scream and the next thing you know Marge from the diner is waddling and quacking and killing people.
So Tim came down with a plate of eggs and some toast. That's the other reason you say "No thank you" when his mom asks, you know he's gonna bring some down, anyway. She makes the eggs over medium, they're perfect. You don't look in his eyes, though, because they're black with a spot of red in them before he eats his eggs.
"What're we doing today?" he asks. He always asks you, and then he just tells you what you're doing. You don't care, but usually he has some good ideas. There's a swamp by the park at the end of Garrison three blocks west, between the church and the ranch. Usually there's a dumped washing machine or car battery there he can mess around with. Nobody bothers with that side of the swamp, it's right next to this nice park with a sweet dock built by the pond, which is crazy. Whose idea was it to build such a nice park next to a barren, dirt patch next to a swamp? People just dump stuff on the dirt path between the two like they're supposed to, like it's an actual dump. You've seen the guy who owns the ranch on the north side of the park on Sundays cleaning it up. He loads whatever was dumped into his truck and hauls it off, you guess to a real dump. It's not even his property, it's not his problem, but you bet he can see that mess from the top floor of his house.
"Wanna go to Jewell park? See if any little kids need a lesson?" Since he's awake and eaten eggs his eyes aren't as black, they're more brown. Now they have a red rim around them.
You shrug. You don't like teaching little kids a lesson.The rumor about Smear Day keeps them pretty much in line, but occasionally Tim gets a hair up his butt and he needs to go stare them down on the monkey bars. He never touches them, he doesn't even talk, he just stares. You wonder about Tim. Not just Tim, but why do these little kids all freeze or run home when he stares at them? Do they see something you don't? Like that poem, "The Raven", only it's not the bird that's staring at them, it's Tim.
"Nah. Too many birds, man," you shrug.
"That movie get to you?" He laughs, but you know him. You know it bothered him, too. Or gave him ideas, you aren't really sure which. Why are you friends with him, again? The birds in Tbe Birds were black crows, and nobody likes those things. But last night they were ducks. Ducks are not supposed to attack and possess. Ducks are just ducks. That was just weird. Also, the duck stickers in his bathtub, the one downstairs in his room, are black. Where do you get black duck bath slippy stickers?
"It bothered you too," you shoot back. "Ducks who possess people and attack? What is that?"
"It was so fake, those people were not ducks, man. They ran like them, but weird people can run like that, anyway:Zombies. Retards. Second graders. Most of those actors were zombies on the show last week, I recognized them." He grins, and you feel your skin goose pimple. "I recognize some from my family, man." He throws his head back and laughs. You are frozen to your spot. Is he kidding?
You wonder about Tim. You wonder a lot.
"Whatever, let's just go outside."
You are on the sidewalk when you muster the nerve to ask, "You have family that are actors?"
"No, why would I?"
"Because you said on the show last night you recognized your family..."
Tim just laughs. He stares straight ahead. "Ghouls, man. Ghouls are my family."
You suppose Tim's your best friend. You've known each other since kindergarten, and you live two blocks away from each other. You have a trampoline in your backyard and he has a basketball net in his driveway, so you just sorta became friends. You went to elementary school at the cottages, right across from his house, until third grade. Now you're at the main building, in fifth grade. Next year is your last year there, and you'll probably get smeared by the 7th graders on the last day of 6th. Which is fair, 'cause you smeared the third graders when they went to the main building for fourth grade. You stole your mom's lipstick and chased them down the street. You could have caught one, but they're just so scared and you have a little sister. When she gets to that age, you'll punch anyone who comes near her. But in sixth, they say, the seventh graders carry razor blades. You have a whole year to worry about it, and you probably will. You worry a lot.
You take your time walking to the park, kicking a rock along the sidewalk and not paying attention. When you look up you're at Jewell park, not the swamp. "Dude...." you say, as he laughs.
"Immersion therapy," he laughs. "I read it in one of my dad's college text books. Throw you in the pond with the ducks, you won't be such a pussy about ducks any more."
You should just go home. You really don't know why you're even friends. You try to stay behind him, away from the pond. There are ducks all over the pond. Yellow ones, white ones, brown ones, black ones. And they're all looking at you. Silently. They're just staring at you. Trying to get into your head and infect your brain. You can feel them, their duck eyes burning through your skull.
Tim picks up a handful of rocks. "C'mon, see?" he chucks a rock at a duck, who flaps his wings and quacks. "Just a dumb duck."
You watch the animal closely, waiting for it to charge, like it did in the movie. You think it's looking right at you, it's just you and the duck: eye contact person, eye contact duck, eye contact person, eye contact duck- when you hear a scream coming from the monkey bars. You look at the duck, because you think he's screaming at you and looking right at you. Your eyes are locked with the bird and you are sure he's screaming inside of your head.
"That duck lady last night was crazy, huh?" he chucks another rock at the duck. "I wish they'd show how she killed those motorcycle gang guys, though. They always pussy out and they never show how they do it."
Tim has now turned toward the scream, like he's just now hearing it, and is laughing. The scream is not coming from the duck, who is still staring at you. Tim chucks another rock at the duck and yells at the little girl who is charging toward you.
It's a little girl. You've seen her before walking to school. She's got a freckle face and looks like that Opey kid on Andy Griffith except blonde, and she's a girl. She walks to school every morning with her head looking at the ground, but now...she's charging right at you.
Charging.
Her head is forward and her arms are behind her, and her legs are short so she's kind of waddling/running and she looks like a duck.
And she's looking right into your eyes. Her eyes, your eyes, her eyes, your eyes-scream.
Tim looks at you. "Remember that Duck Lady in the movie? Muwahhhhhh!" Then he starts laughing.
"She killed three people, Tim. She was possessed." Your eyes are still locked with the little girl's.
You hear her quack. In your head. Is she quacking or is it in your head? Or is she really quacking? You can't tell, your eyes are locked.
"Duck Lady!!" You scream at her and start running back toward Tim's house. "Tim, she's gonna kill us. Move it."
Tim holds his spot for a moment, and waits until she gets a little closer. He's used to staring down little kids and having them run away. She keeps coming, so he spits words at her "I know you. I'll get you on smear day." But she keeps running. You grab his shirt and pull him. "I'll get you Duck Lady!" he screams over his shoulder as you run off.
You stop at the edge of the neighborhood, and look back. Your chest is heaving and Tim is either laughing or crying, and there's spit coming out of his mouth and tears from his black eyes. You turn to make sure the girl isn't right behind you.
The crazy little duck girl has stopped at the edge of the pond and is talking to the duck, who has swum over to her.
"See?" You shake your finger at the pond, "The duck is controlling her. He's telling her what to do. We gotta go."
"The hell she is, she's just a little girl," he says as he looks at her. His eyes are fully black again.Your skin goose pimples again and you swear you feel a cold breeze, but it's coming from Tim. He is rooted to the spot, like he does when he teaches little kids a lesson.
She looks up. She looks right at Tim, and her eyes are black,too, with a little dot of red in the center. She stares at Tim. But unlike when he teaches a lesson, she seems to be in charge. Tim looks like he's listening to something inside his head. She looks like she is reading his mind, and then the duck comes out of the pond and stands next to her.
Then the duck turns and both of them look at us.
Tim screams and runs.
I was one step ahead of him.
Friday, September 27, 2019
This Is Why I'm Like This: The Duck Lady.1972
This is coming from a place that is new. I'm making my LA11 kids write a multi genre, multi voice memoir. As I always do, even with theatre, I join them so I can use my own garbage as an example. This is my attempt to tell the story, stream of consciousness, from my seven year old first person perspective.
YAY, Saturday! Immma go over to Jeffy’s house and see if he’s up yet. We can watch
The Bugaloos together at my house, mom bought Super Sugar Smacks and chocolate milk.
Usually I don't need the chocolate milk, especially if it's Count Chockula because that turns
into chocolate milk, and if you put chocolate milk in that it's just chocolate soup. Super Sugar
Smacks and chocolate milk make sugar sludge. Which is the best, but I have to go outside
after cartoons or I just go back to sleep with an upset tummy.
Jeffy’s mom said he’s still sleeping, he had an upset tummy last night, so she’ll
send him up after cartoons if he’s better. I went home and watched The Bugaloos and
ate my cereal but Jeffy never came over. My sisters weren't up yet, or they were up and
being secret in their room which they do, I'm not invited. One time I broke my sister's
Barbie Camper by riding it around the house. I bet that's why I'm never invited into
their secret mornings. Mom and Dad weren't up, either, but that never matters, I just
go play after cartoons. I decided to walk down to the park. I’m not allowed to
cross Jewell, luckily the park is on my side of the street.
There’s nothing to do if Jeffy isn’t with me, we play on the monkey bars and skip stones
and feed the ducks, but we're always together. I hardly go alone at all, but sometimes I'll
see friends from school there and we'll play. It's fine, as long as the ducks are out. I love
the ducks. They’re so pretty and calm, and they only quack when they’re grumpy. Or
warning against predators, I learned that last year. Bunnies do that by flashing their
white tails, and ducks and geese quack. Humans yell I guess, though it’d be cooler
if we quacked. Ducks just glide along the water, like their legs aren’t paddling under the
water like wild. When I was little I didn't know ducks had legs, I thought they just floated,
like bath tub duckies. I saw one walk out of the water onto the shore and started screaming
and pointing, mom couldn't figure out what I was saying, because I was like two and
nobody uses their words when they're two. But I remember it, and I learned in
school that their feet paddle like crazy under the water where you can't see it, but their bodies
float all calm and pretty on the water. I like that, I think it’s how I’d like to be when I grow up.
Nobody knows how hard I’m working because I am pretty and gliding along the pond. I want
to be pretty when I grow up. I’m not pretty now, I have freckles everywhere and my hair is
cut short. My mom cuts my hair with the kitchen scissors, and it’s fine, just sometimes my
bangs are uneven or there’s a chunk missing. I use my safety scissors in my room to even
it out sometimes, if it bothers me. Mom says I’m a “Tomboy”, I’m not sure if that’s because
I like to ride bikes with Jeffy or because I’m not pretty. I think "Tomboy" is a way to say
you aren’t pretty without being mean.
I get to the park, and it’s one of those perfect Colorado days that you can’t explain to anyone
who doesn’t live here. That's what my Nana says, and I didn't understand until I was six
what she was talking about. How can you not explain something to someone? But now
that I'm older and I'm writing stories and learning about science, I understand. I can't
explain why I understand, which is frustrating, but I do. It’s September. I can see the
duck family on the pond, mom said I shouldn’t give them bread any more, so I went
to the library and looked up “ducks” and learned that they eat lettuce and corn. Also,
our backdoor kitty corner neighbors have a duck. Her name is “Quackline”. It was
“Quackers”, but then she laid eggs and they changed her name. They go to a special
store in Wheatridge to get duck food, but they also give her corn and lettuce from their
garden, so I think it’s OK. I wanted to give them carrots, because we have a lot of carrots
in our garden, but mom said they wouldn’t eat them, and Mrs. Eckley said it would make
them sick and if they weren’t shaved really thin they could choke. Last November Quackline
flew away and I thought she ran away, but she came back in April. Mrs. Eckley said she
guessed she wanted to migrate with the flock, but she doesn’t have a flock, she has a
backyard and the Eckleys. I learned about migration this year, and it’s confusing to me.
How do they know what pond to go to? How do they find their way back from Florida?
Dad says they go to Florida,which is also where Jeffy’s grandparents are. Mine are in
Genoa, on their farm. I don’t know why people go to Florida when they could stay in
Colorado. Unless you migrate there with the ducks, that’d be OK. I miss them in the winter.
Sometimes they stay until the water freezes and I watch them float between the ice and it
makes me sad because their friends left them. Mrs. West says it’s because people feed
them and they don’t know when to leave. I don’t feed them after September because
I want them to go to Florida with their friends.
There are two bigger boys at the edge of the duck pond. I know them from my walk to
school, they live on my way and they go to the main building, they’re fifth graders. I go
to the cottages, we only go through third grade there. I’m in second grade. I love my teacher
Mr. Weisheit and my music teacher Mrs. West. These boys both live on the block across
the street from the cottages, I see them on my way to school and on my way home
sometimes.They never talk to me,which is fine with me because I think they’re scary.
I don't like older boys. I always walk home with friends because older boys scare me. When
you leave sixth grade to go to the junior high, the older kids from the junior high will
chase you on the last day of school, "Smear Day", and some kids get cut with razor blades.
I heard they even do it when you leave the cottages to go to the main building. I'm really
scared for next year.
I heard they even do it when you leave the cottages to go to the main building. I'm really
scared for next year.
I'm afraid of big kids.
At Halloween they put on their mom’s lipstick as clown makeup and go trick or treating
At Halloween they put on their mom’s lipstick as clown makeup and go trick or treating
with pillow cases. Mom says I can’t do that, I have to use my pumpkin. She says it’s greedy
to use a pillow case. I don’t want to go anywhere near those boys or any big kids, they’ve
never done anything or said anything but I don’t like them. I don't have to do anything I don't
want to, and I don't have to talk to anyone I don't want to.
I stand on the playground at the park, my Super Sugar Smacks and chocolate
milk swishing around in my tummy, and wish Jeffy was here. I see the older boys are
throwing something in the pond. They’re throwing rocks. At the ducks! At the duck family.
“Hey!” I yell, before I realize what I’m doing. They turn around. One has a rock in his hand.
I think he’s going to throw it at me.
“What?” he says, turning to throw his rock at the duck.
“Stop throwing rocks at the ducks,” I say. Without me realizing it, my feet have started
walking toward them. I don’t want to walk toward them, they’ll throw rocks at me! I’m still
walking, now I’m running and I’m yelling and I can’t hear anything,it sounds like when the
TV isn’t on a station in my ears. Static. It sounds like static. I can’t see very well, either,
my eyes have started to tear up.
“Stop it. Leave. The. Ducks. Alone.” I’m screaming at them, and as I charge towards them,
they drop their rocks and start to walk away.”Duck Lady!” they yell at me, but I keep
charging, head forward, arms back. I can’t hear myself over the static in my head, but I know
I’m not using words any more.
charging, head forward, arms back. I can’t hear myself over the static in my head, but I know
I’m not using words any more.
I’m quacking.
I am running full on at older boys, and I am quacking.
I am almost at the pond’s edge, and the boys have run off toward the neighborhood.
I can hear them yelling “Duck Lady!” from a block away.
I can hear them yelling “Duck Lady!” from a block away.
I stop at the edge of the pond and look at the duck family. The dad duck is swimming
toward me. He’s so pretty. All ducks are pretty, it doesn’t matter if they’re boys or girls,
they’re just pretty. I rub my eyes, which are itchy and filled with tears, which is weird,
‘cause I’m not sad, I’m mad. The sound of the static in my ears is going away, but I can
still hear “Duck Lady!” I can’t tell if I have supersonic hearing or if it’s just an echo in my brain.
I smile at the duck and tell him how pretty he is, and that it’s going to be OK. I have some
corn in my pocket, I always carry some to the park with me. I make this clicking noise with
my teeth and tongue, I do it to all animals, though it sounds a lot like a horsie “giddyup”
sound. The dad comes up on the shore, and there are babies behind him.I know he’s the
dad because he flapped at the mom and babies to warn them when the boys threw rocks,
and the mom swam away with them. They know I have corn, I bet they can smell it. I wish
Jeffy was here, he would have chased those boys away so I didn’t have to. Why would
anyone throw rocks at a pretty duck?
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