* again, I know we did these a long time ago but I didnt want to accidentally exclude something that might count as a blog.*
My eyes slowly open. Hesitantly they adjust to the ever changing natural light that is so typical of late Texas afternoons. I lie in bed watching my room switch gradually from light to dark wondering what causes this strange phenomenon. The autumn wind hisses violently outside my bedroom window, but, instead of fear, I am confused. My world is filled with questions. I don’t understand anything yet and my only experiences are either joyful or bewildering. My thoughts are still blurred from sleep when I hear a familiar voice singing far away. I become focused; I see only glimpses of pink wall and gold doorknob as I stumble out of bed and unsteadily make my way to the top of the stairs. I can hear the voice even clearer now, I recognize the words but they stay simply as known sounds in my head, refusing to reassemble themselves into any meaning. I look down to my goal far beneath me. I know that voice, it belongs to the kind face I can clearly see in my head but that person remains nameless and I have no way of vocalizing my desire to ascend the slope before me. My curiosity and desire finally supply me with enough courage to attempt the stairs. I turn around and slide down to a flat landing where I can see around the walled bend in the stair. I take in a big bright room and long curly blonde hair bobbing around and singing. I am shocked and again perplexed. This is not the form that I had hoped to see. The source of this familiar voice is not the person I had expected. I sit here for a second or two more and then carefully make my way down the rest of the mountainous stair case on my stomach. My hopes were dashed, yet I still continued hoping that my eyes were lying. They were not. I wondered for a long time where the person I had hoped to see had gone and why an, equally dear yet, unexpected person possessed that same sound.
I distinctly remember the scene I described above, not because of my surprise or disappointment but, simply because I was filled with an overwhelming sense of confusion. I remember puzzling over this unexpected turn out for a long time and eventually crying because I could make no sense of my mistake.
Looking back on this occurrence now, I realize that it was my grandmother’s voice that I thought I was hearing. I know that when I was younger my grandmother came to stay with us because my mother was very close to giving birth to my younger brother. I always associate my grandmother with singing. All throughout my childhood she was never quiet. She was usually either talking a mile a minute or singing at the top of her lungs. I think that during this visit while my mother was pregnant she must have been singing a lot too. My mom has told me many times that I loved to sing along with my grandmother and would follow her everywhere, hanging on to every word she spoke. This must have been why I decided to forego the comforting warmth of my toddler’s bed and venture downstairs seeking the source of that wonderful voice.
I now also realize that it was my mother’s voice that I had mistaken for my grandmother’s. I remember from previous experiences that whenever my grandmother had to return home after a visit, my mother would sing the same songs as my grandmother in attempt not to miss her so much. I can still see my mom dancing around the kitchen on a typical afternoon after my grandmother had left, her big blonde Texas hair fanning out behind her bobbing head. This image mingles with the one I have of my grandmother in the same place except this time it is silky strawberry blonde hair that bounces on her shoulders as she cleans the kitchen and belts out gospel music in her strong yet gentle voice.
In many ways my mother and my grandmother blur together. Their voices and mannerisms are so similar that as a little child, I am told, I often referred to them interchangeably. This explains why I truly believed that I would find my grandmother in the kitchen after awaking from my afternoon nap and venturing down the stairs.
While I believe that the scene I described at the beginning was the first time that I ever mistook my mother’s voice for my grandmother’s, it was certainly not the last. I have many memories from my early childhood of waking up early in the morning or after a nap to the sound of what I thought was my grandmother’s voice in the kitchen. I would always hurry out of bed and rush down the stairs sure that I would see my grandmother’s face smiling up at me. Every time that this happened, though, it was only my mother singing.
I have never told anyone about the many times that I rushed downstairs hoping to see my grandmother. This is most likely because, even in my little child’s mind, I thought that my mother would be hurt if she knew that I only jumped out of bed because I thought that my grandmother was here. Over time I have been able to make sense of that earliest memory because of the many times that I was doomed to repeat that same blunder and the various bits of information that have filled in some of the gaps I missed as a young toddler. Even now, I can still see my mother’s bright hair and perfect smile looking up at me from the bottom of the stairs. I feel my disappointment acutely for only a moment and then I join her in the kitchen comforted by the pure joy that is always emanating from her.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
family tradition essay
* ok. so im not sure if these essays count for our blogs but I decided that it would be better to include it just in case *
“Lauren, what are your exact goals for this week and how do you plan on executing them?” My whole family is staring at me. I can clearly see the relief on my younger brother’s face as he slowly exhales, thankful that he was not the one called upon. My dad is eagerly awaiting an answer to his question and I rack my brain for a reply that won’t disappoint him. I honestly don’t have any “exact goals” for the week, I can’t even recall what assignments are due but I know that if I don’t have something concrete to talk about then my dad will feel bad. “Um, I hope to clean and organize my room this week as well as create a recipe folder of my favorite recipes from Mom’s cookbooks. I plan to start cleaning by first organizing my clothing drawers and then I’ll clean my bathroom and from there do the vacuuming and dusting of my bedroom. Also in order to compile this recipe booklet I will first need to decide which recipes I want and then make copies of them, from there I will organize them by meal and then cross reference them alphabetically.” I pause waiting to see if my answer is sufficient or if my dad requires more. He nods his approval and asks if there is anything that the rest of the family can help with before moving on to the next person.
While this particular scene I described makes my father sound strict and demanding, in reality this is far from the truth. My dad was a captain in the Army for four or five years and rapidly climbed the corporate ladder after his service. He has always been accustomed to leading a company either of soldiers or of focused men in suits.
Contrary to his serious occupation, my dad is actually very fun and humorous. He is always ready to try something new and exciting like bungee jumping or eating a snake meat sausage. When my brothers and I were younger he would play all sorts of games with us when he came home from work. Sometimes we would wrestle with him, the three of us trying desperately to pin him down while ducking to avoid his flailing arms. I remember playing two-hand touch football in the fall with the whole family and beating my dad at chess three times in a row. My dad is always joking around. He likes to sneak up on people and surprise them, something that I have never gotten used to, and he usually has something strange on his head like a folded napkin or some sort of lid that he pretends is a hat. Even when he is being serious my dad is lighthearted, supporting me and my brothers in whatever we decide to do. It is only in our “family meetings” that I described earlier that he ever becomes critical or rigid, a persona I assume was/is reserved for ordering his men or assigning responsibilities at a board meeting.
I think it must be his previous military service and current occupation that cause him to attempt to run our family like a business. We have family meetings at least once a week, typically on Saturday morning. My dad opens the meeting with a few words of praise for our accomplishments over the past week and encouragement for the week to come. He begins by giving a detailed yet numberless description of our family’s financial status as well as an update on where we are concerning our goals as a family. While he is delivering his opening speech the rest of the family is advised to take notes which my dad peruses after the meeting has closed. I usually take notes in a somewhat sarcastic manner which my dad does not seem to find amusing. I scribble down things like “we have a lot of money right now so its okay to buy Jimmy Choo shoes this week” or “we are ahead of schedule on operation yard clean-up so go ahead and slack off for a couple of days.” While I am aware that this is pretty immature, I just can’t pass up the chance to mess with my dad a little bit and it helps keep me amused instead of becoming annoyed and bored. After the opening updates, the floor is open for announcements that anyone would like to share concerning their recent triumphs or momentous events that have taken place over the last week. My mom always has a positive announcement to contribute at this time and usually this encourages everyone else to share something as well. After announcement time, my dad likes to ask each person what their specific goals are for the week and what their plan of action is concerning those goals. As I mentioned at the beginning, this process is usually pretty tense because everyone dreads being called upon before they have a good answer and no one wants to say something that will make my dad realize that this meeting really was not necessary. After we talk about our goals for a little while my dad talks about any current issues going on with our family and extended family. Next, he and my mom discuss the meal plan for the week and pretend to take suggestions from the kids on what we should eat for dinner. Typically my mom will mention that broccoli casserole or lentil burritos sounds good, my dad will second that and then I throw in a comment that goes something like, “that would be fine except maybe we could try something new, maybe something that has meat like pork chops and rice or baked potatoes and beef.” My mom and dad look at each other and say something to the effect of “that doesn’t sound very exciting or different, I like beans and vegetables, meat is so over rated, maybe we’ll eat that next week.” After this short exchange my dad quickly changes the subject to an update on our grades. Usually he would get this information from “Powerschool” online but since I graduated from high school I get to simply relax and sympathize with my brothers as they go through this unfortunate ordeal. The meeting closes with my dad good naturedly congratulating us all on a successful week and encourages us to accomplish our goals in the upcoming week.
While I have described these family meetings in a somewhat negative tone, I really don’t harbor any feelings of hatred or dread toward them. I am actually quite amused by the goings on and I often find it hard not to break out laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation. I completely understand why my dad insists upon having these meetings and it really is a great way of staying connected to each other especially when everyone is so busy all the time. The truth is, I love my dad and I respect him so much especially in our family meetings. Even though the method he uses to stay involved in my brothers and my lives is a little too stiff and formal for my liking, I truly appreciate the amount of care he has for us and the interest he takes in our lives. There is a part of me that loves to sit down at the kitchen table with my mom on my left side and my youngest brother on my right elbowing me in the side whenever my dad says something that is entirely too serious. I like being there with my family my pen poised for note-taking and my mind racing to find something that will be an appropriate goal to discuss.
These meetings aren’t entirely useless either. The fact that my dad requires us to come up with some goals for the week has actually helped me to be more focused and driven instead of being bombarded by my many responsibilities. I also like to know what we are having for dinner each night because that information greatly contributes to my decision on whether or not I come home that evening.
While I began this essay by painting a picture of the most tense section of our family meetings, the more accurate scene that I associate with them has a completely different feel. I see the four faces I know best in the world gathered around me in a circle. I feel the assuring warmth of my mom’s hand on my knee and the sharp stab of my brother’s elbow in my ribs. I look across the table and notice the sincere focused expression on my other brother’s face as he diligently scribbles down notes, only looking up for a second to flash me a quick understanding smile. Finally, I take in my dad, excited to hear about his family’s week and help them accomplish their goals in the week to come. He glances around the table, taking us all in before opening the meeting. His expression is, on the surface, serious, but a closer look reveals his normal playful smile flitting across his mouth threatening to disclose the immense joy that he is deriving from this familiar exercise he loves so much. I see myself, sitting there, taking it all in, and I know that, no matter how jokingly I relate to them, these meetings define my family and in some ways myself.
“Lauren, what are your exact goals for this week and how do you plan on executing them?” My whole family is staring at me. I can clearly see the relief on my younger brother’s face as he slowly exhales, thankful that he was not the one called upon. My dad is eagerly awaiting an answer to his question and I rack my brain for a reply that won’t disappoint him. I honestly don’t have any “exact goals” for the week, I can’t even recall what assignments are due but I know that if I don’t have something concrete to talk about then my dad will feel bad. “Um, I hope to clean and organize my room this week as well as create a recipe folder of my favorite recipes from Mom’s cookbooks. I plan to start cleaning by first organizing my clothing drawers and then I’ll clean my bathroom and from there do the vacuuming and dusting of my bedroom. Also in order to compile this recipe booklet I will first need to decide which recipes I want and then make copies of them, from there I will organize them by meal and then cross reference them alphabetically.” I pause waiting to see if my answer is sufficient or if my dad requires more. He nods his approval and asks if there is anything that the rest of the family can help with before moving on to the next person.
While this particular scene I described makes my father sound strict and demanding, in reality this is far from the truth. My dad was a captain in the Army for four or five years and rapidly climbed the corporate ladder after his service. He has always been accustomed to leading a company either of soldiers or of focused men in suits.
Contrary to his serious occupation, my dad is actually very fun and humorous. He is always ready to try something new and exciting like bungee jumping or eating a snake meat sausage. When my brothers and I were younger he would play all sorts of games with us when he came home from work. Sometimes we would wrestle with him, the three of us trying desperately to pin him down while ducking to avoid his flailing arms. I remember playing two-hand touch football in the fall with the whole family and beating my dad at chess three times in a row. My dad is always joking around. He likes to sneak up on people and surprise them, something that I have never gotten used to, and he usually has something strange on his head like a folded napkin or some sort of lid that he pretends is a hat. Even when he is being serious my dad is lighthearted, supporting me and my brothers in whatever we decide to do. It is only in our “family meetings” that I described earlier that he ever becomes critical or rigid, a persona I assume was/is reserved for ordering his men or assigning responsibilities at a board meeting.
I think it must be his previous military service and current occupation that cause him to attempt to run our family like a business. We have family meetings at least once a week, typically on Saturday morning. My dad opens the meeting with a few words of praise for our accomplishments over the past week and encouragement for the week to come. He begins by giving a detailed yet numberless description of our family’s financial status as well as an update on where we are concerning our goals as a family. While he is delivering his opening speech the rest of the family is advised to take notes which my dad peruses after the meeting has closed. I usually take notes in a somewhat sarcastic manner which my dad does not seem to find amusing. I scribble down things like “we have a lot of money right now so its okay to buy Jimmy Choo shoes this week” or “we are ahead of schedule on operation yard clean-up so go ahead and slack off for a couple of days.” While I am aware that this is pretty immature, I just can’t pass up the chance to mess with my dad a little bit and it helps keep me amused instead of becoming annoyed and bored. After the opening updates, the floor is open for announcements that anyone would like to share concerning their recent triumphs or momentous events that have taken place over the last week. My mom always has a positive announcement to contribute at this time and usually this encourages everyone else to share something as well. After announcement time, my dad likes to ask each person what their specific goals are for the week and what their plan of action is concerning those goals. As I mentioned at the beginning, this process is usually pretty tense because everyone dreads being called upon before they have a good answer and no one wants to say something that will make my dad realize that this meeting really was not necessary. After we talk about our goals for a little while my dad talks about any current issues going on with our family and extended family. Next, he and my mom discuss the meal plan for the week and pretend to take suggestions from the kids on what we should eat for dinner. Typically my mom will mention that broccoli casserole or lentil burritos sounds good, my dad will second that and then I throw in a comment that goes something like, “that would be fine except maybe we could try something new, maybe something that has meat like pork chops and rice or baked potatoes and beef.” My mom and dad look at each other and say something to the effect of “that doesn’t sound very exciting or different, I like beans and vegetables, meat is so over rated, maybe we’ll eat that next week.” After this short exchange my dad quickly changes the subject to an update on our grades. Usually he would get this information from “Powerschool” online but since I graduated from high school I get to simply relax and sympathize with my brothers as they go through this unfortunate ordeal. The meeting closes with my dad good naturedly congratulating us all on a successful week and encourages us to accomplish our goals in the upcoming week.
While I have described these family meetings in a somewhat negative tone, I really don’t harbor any feelings of hatred or dread toward them. I am actually quite amused by the goings on and I often find it hard not to break out laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation. I completely understand why my dad insists upon having these meetings and it really is a great way of staying connected to each other especially when everyone is so busy all the time. The truth is, I love my dad and I respect him so much especially in our family meetings. Even though the method he uses to stay involved in my brothers and my lives is a little too stiff and formal for my liking, I truly appreciate the amount of care he has for us and the interest he takes in our lives. There is a part of me that loves to sit down at the kitchen table with my mom on my left side and my youngest brother on my right elbowing me in the side whenever my dad says something that is entirely too serious. I like being there with my family my pen poised for note-taking and my mind racing to find something that will be an appropriate goal to discuss.
These meetings aren’t entirely useless either. The fact that my dad requires us to come up with some goals for the week has actually helped me to be more focused and driven instead of being bombarded by my many responsibilities. I also like to know what we are having for dinner each night because that information greatly contributes to my decision on whether or not I come home that evening.
While I began this essay by painting a picture of the most tense section of our family meetings, the more accurate scene that I associate with them has a completely different feel. I see the four faces I know best in the world gathered around me in a circle. I feel the assuring warmth of my mom’s hand on my knee and the sharp stab of my brother’s elbow in my ribs. I look across the table and notice the sincere focused expression on my other brother’s face as he diligently scribbles down notes, only looking up for a second to flash me a quick understanding smile. Finally, I take in my dad, excited to hear about his family’s week and help them accomplish their goals in the week to come. He glances around the table, taking us all in before opening the meeting. His expression is, on the surface, serious, but a closer look reveals his normal playful smile flitting across his mouth threatening to disclose the immense joy that he is deriving from this familiar exercise he loves so much. I see myself, sitting there, taking it all in, and I know that, no matter how jokingly I relate to them, these meetings define my family and in some ways myself.
First creative essay rewrite
* This is the first creative essay rewrite that we did. I rewrote Sam's essay on the mysterious golf cart that showed up on his front porch. The essay Sam wrote was true but I added some things and changed the ending so mine is kind of mixed with truth. I feel that this is the way the story should have gone.*
I awoke for Bible Study early Wednesday morning and headed towards the front door. My housemate Daniel, who had stayed up all night studying, said goodbye to me as I opened the door. But as I gazed through the glass door, I beheld what was perhaps the most unusual thing I had ever seen.
“Daniel, why is there a golf cart on our porch steps?” I asked.
“What are you talking about, Sam?” He got up and walked to the door. Sure enough, there was a golf cart perched on the slope of our porch’s steps, front wheels on the porch and back wheels on the ground. We went down to inspect the vehicle. It was a deluxe six-seat golf cart that boasted an impressive twelve feet in length. “Oh my goodness Sam, we have a golf cart!”
We attempted to hide it in clever places in our front yard, but we had to settle for half-cover behind a tree. My first thought was that one of our friends had left it on our steps as a prank, and Daniel’s list of potential culprits was very similar to my own. The next thought that crossed my mind was the question of who it belonged to. We knew that the University of Memphis is only a block from our house, but we preferred to believe that whoever it belonged to chose to leave it on our front steps as a gift. We decided to pursue this latter line of thinking.
Daniel cleared out half of the garage to store it, and my housemates scoured the vehicle for identification or proof of ownership. None was found, but that my have partly been because it had been spray painted over where some insignia had apparently been. We called all of our friends that could have done it, but no one claimed to have pulled off the prank. We instantly began to conjure up grand visions of what this golf cart would do for us. We decided that we should keep it stored in the garage until the spring semester; we would then be able to drive it around without fear of someone actively looking for what may very well be a stolen golf cart.
We had to come up with a story for how we got it, so Daniel agreed that he would tell others that his grandfather, whom we would say was an avid golfer, had given it to Daniel shortly before he died. This story having been agreed upon, I devised the name “Pappy’s Pride” for the vehicle. We had ideas to paint it bright red, install carpet on its floors and rear-view mirrors, and hang curtains around the rear. We set aside Saturday morning for our day of customizing.
Pappy’s Pride immediately found its way into our hearts and everyone in the house grew very attached to it. After we had “pimped it over” as I like to say, Pappy’s Pride looked incredibly authentic. Bright candy apple red glossed the sides of the cart and plush cream carpet covered the floor. Some might suggest that the crushed black velvet curtains that cloaked the interior and the flashy square foot side mirrors we added made Pappy’s Pride look a little cheesy and ridiculous but I didn’t really care. To me, Pappy’s Pride had come alive. I ceased to view Pappy’s Pride as stolen property most likely, judging from the scraped off and painted over U of M decals, taken from my own university, and began to believe that it really had belonged to Daniel’s grandfather.
I could vividly see ole’ Pappy driving along the golf course paths with his visor jauntily askew and his set of golf clubs in the back seat each with a different colored cover. He was always the talk of the country club and all the old men wanted to take a ride in Pappy’s Pride. I visualized ole’ Pappy washing his golf cart every night and reverently putting him to bed in a dusty cluttered garage that most grandparents seem to have. I forgot the shady history of Pappy’s Pride and knew only of the glorious past that I had created for him.
I began to spread the word to all of our friends that Daniel had been given his grandfather’s golf cart and bragged that we would soon be offering rides to anyone who wanted one. I now whole-heartedly believed that Pappy’s Pride was a providential gift from God. But, just when I had completely forgotten that Pappy had ever been anything other than my wildest dreams come true, threatening things started happening.
At first it had just been casual remarks from a friend here and there that our golf cart was in danger. Then I got a call late one afternoon from my housemate Cam who said that he didn’t want to drop any names, but he knew that some guys were going to break into our garage and steal Pappy’s Pride. I reacted to this news quickly and ran home to sit in Pappy with my girlfriend and her brother to wait for the potential thieves to appear. I must have scared them off or maybe Cam warned them but, either way, Pappy’s Pride was safe for another day. This safety was short lived though for a few days later some of our friends began to ask us to give them Pappy’s Pride. They reasoned that we weren’t driving him around and said that if we gave Pappy to them then they would actually drive him because they live over in Cordova. We declined, there was no way Daniel or I could ever part with our Pappy.
A week or so later, we had a house meeting and realized that we would have to give Pappy up. My housemate Drew mentioned that if Pappy’s Pride really was stolen then we would get in huge trouble for not turning it in to the police. We discussed the issue and came to the conclusion that if someone stole Pappy from our house and then the police found him, our story would not be very believable. We knew that if we weren’t the ones to report Pappy to the police then no one would believe that he had just magically appeared on our front lawn one day. No one in the house wanted to risk being charged with auto theft so we reluctantly agreed to turn Pappy in the next morning.
On my last night with Pappy’s Pride I sat in the front seat and played guitar. I talked to Pappy for a little while and I might have even cried a little knowing that I would probably never have a golf cart like him ever again. Pappy had become real to me and I thought of him only as the golf cart of Daniel’s ole’ Pappy. I fell asleep with my head resting on the fur trimmed steering wheel we had fashioned for Pappy’s Pride. The next morning I woke up to find all three of my housemates asleep on the expansive floor and three benches that Pappy possessed. We all said our good-byes to Pappy and then called the police.
Within minutes the Memphis Police department sent out an officer who informed us that the university had been missing a six seat golf cart that had been stolen the night before Pappy’s Pride had mysteriously appeared on our front lawn. The officer was very confused by the cart’s customized look and asked us if we had found it this way. We responded truthfully that we had actually transformed Pappy into the magnificent vehicle he was looking at. The officer was so impressed with our “Pimp My Ride” skills and our farfetched lawn story that he let us keep Pappy. He did decide, though, to drive the golf cart over to the U of M and show it to the golf cart people so that he would be able to affirm that they said it didn’t look anything like the golf cart they were missing. Everyone was so overjoyed that we decided to camp out in Pappy that night. The next morning we were able to ride Pappy’s Pride to class and his mysterious past was never spoken of again.
I awoke for Bible Study early Wednesday morning and headed towards the front door. My housemate Daniel, who had stayed up all night studying, said goodbye to me as I opened the door. But as I gazed through the glass door, I beheld what was perhaps the most unusual thing I had ever seen.
“Daniel, why is there a golf cart on our porch steps?” I asked.
“What are you talking about, Sam?” He got up and walked to the door. Sure enough, there was a golf cart perched on the slope of our porch’s steps, front wheels on the porch and back wheels on the ground. We went down to inspect the vehicle. It was a deluxe six-seat golf cart that boasted an impressive twelve feet in length. “Oh my goodness Sam, we have a golf cart!”
We attempted to hide it in clever places in our front yard, but we had to settle for half-cover behind a tree. My first thought was that one of our friends had left it on our steps as a prank, and Daniel’s list of potential culprits was very similar to my own. The next thought that crossed my mind was the question of who it belonged to. We knew that the University of Memphis is only a block from our house, but we preferred to believe that whoever it belonged to chose to leave it on our front steps as a gift. We decided to pursue this latter line of thinking.
Daniel cleared out half of the garage to store it, and my housemates scoured the vehicle for identification or proof of ownership. None was found, but that my have partly been because it had been spray painted over where some insignia had apparently been. We called all of our friends that could have done it, but no one claimed to have pulled off the prank. We instantly began to conjure up grand visions of what this golf cart would do for us. We decided that we should keep it stored in the garage until the spring semester; we would then be able to drive it around without fear of someone actively looking for what may very well be a stolen golf cart.
We had to come up with a story for how we got it, so Daniel agreed that he would tell others that his grandfather, whom we would say was an avid golfer, had given it to Daniel shortly before he died. This story having been agreed upon, I devised the name “Pappy’s Pride” for the vehicle. We had ideas to paint it bright red, install carpet on its floors and rear-view mirrors, and hang curtains around the rear. We set aside Saturday morning for our day of customizing.
Pappy’s Pride immediately found its way into our hearts and everyone in the house grew very attached to it. After we had “pimped it over” as I like to say, Pappy’s Pride looked incredibly authentic. Bright candy apple red glossed the sides of the cart and plush cream carpet covered the floor. Some might suggest that the crushed black velvet curtains that cloaked the interior and the flashy square foot side mirrors we added made Pappy’s Pride look a little cheesy and ridiculous but I didn’t really care. To me, Pappy’s Pride had come alive. I ceased to view Pappy’s Pride as stolen property most likely, judging from the scraped off and painted over U of M decals, taken from my own university, and began to believe that it really had belonged to Daniel’s grandfather.
I could vividly see ole’ Pappy driving along the golf course paths with his visor jauntily askew and his set of golf clubs in the back seat each with a different colored cover. He was always the talk of the country club and all the old men wanted to take a ride in Pappy’s Pride. I visualized ole’ Pappy washing his golf cart every night and reverently putting him to bed in a dusty cluttered garage that most grandparents seem to have. I forgot the shady history of Pappy’s Pride and knew only of the glorious past that I had created for him.
I began to spread the word to all of our friends that Daniel had been given his grandfather’s golf cart and bragged that we would soon be offering rides to anyone who wanted one. I now whole-heartedly believed that Pappy’s Pride was a providential gift from God. But, just when I had completely forgotten that Pappy had ever been anything other than my wildest dreams come true, threatening things started happening.
At first it had just been casual remarks from a friend here and there that our golf cart was in danger. Then I got a call late one afternoon from my housemate Cam who said that he didn’t want to drop any names, but he knew that some guys were going to break into our garage and steal Pappy’s Pride. I reacted to this news quickly and ran home to sit in Pappy with my girlfriend and her brother to wait for the potential thieves to appear. I must have scared them off or maybe Cam warned them but, either way, Pappy’s Pride was safe for another day. This safety was short lived though for a few days later some of our friends began to ask us to give them Pappy’s Pride. They reasoned that we weren’t driving him around and said that if we gave Pappy to them then they would actually drive him because they live over in Cordova. We declined, there was no way Daniel or I could ever part with our Pappy.
A week or so later, we had a house meeting and realized that we would have to give Pappy up. My housemate Drew mentioned that if Pappy’s Pride really was stolen then we would get in huge trouble for not turning it in to the police. We discussed the issue and came to the conclusion that if someone stole Pappy from our house and then the police found him, our story would not be very believable. We knew that if we weren’t the ones to report Pappy to the police then no one would believe that he had just magically appeared on our front lawn one day. No one in the house wanted to risk being charged with auto theft so we reluctantly agreed to turn Pappy in the next morning.
On my last night with Pappy’s Pride I sat in the front seat and played guitar. I talked to Pappy for a little while and I might have even cried a little knowing that I would probably never have a golf cart like him ever again. Pappy had become real to me and I thought of him only as the golf cart of Daniel’s ole’ Pappy. I fell asleep with my head resting on the fur trimmed steering wheel we had fashioned for Pappy’s Pride. The next morning I woke up to find all three of my housemates asleep on the expansive floor and three benches that Pappy possessed. We all said our good-byes to Pappy and then called the police.
Within minutes the Memphis Police department sent out an officer who informed us that the university had been missing a six seat golf cart that had been stolen the night before Pappy’s Pride had mysteriously appeared on our front lawn. The officer was very confused by the cart’s customized look and asked us if we had found it this way. We responded truthfully that we had actually transformed Pappy into the magnificent vehicle he was looking at. The officer was so impressed with our “Pimp My Ride” skills and our farfetched lawn story that he let us keep Pappy. He did decide, though, to drive the golf cart over to the U of M and show it to the golf cart people so that he would be able to affirm that they said it didn’t look anything like the golf cart they were missing. Everyone was so overjoyed that we decided to camp out in Pappy that night. The next morning we were able to ride Pappy’s Pride to class and his mysterious past was never spoken of again.
Story rewrite
*This is the creative story rewrite that we were supposed to post a while back. i was just looking through my recent blogs and realized that i hadnt done that. Mine is a rewrite of phil's rewrite of Adam's zombie story.*
All was silent. The stillness that surrounded me was not that of death but of unspent potential. The gentle wind caressing my face seemed to whisper rebirth. Upon entering the garden I was mildly surprised at the warmth emanating from the soil and the misty vapors clinging to these other worldly plants. This was, after all, Alaska, but when I pursued my thoughts further I realized that I hadn’t really expected anything else.
I had spent years searching for this mystical oasis in the heart of the Alaskan Tundra. For as long as I can remember I had known about this magical place. As the war that would eventually consume the entire globe crept nearer and nearer to the secluded dwelling of my family, we had held on to the hope that one day someone would discover the original breeding ground of this unspeakable terror and somehow put an end to the vicious nightmare that was slowly engulfing humanity. Unfortunately no one did come across the root of this evil and little by little the whole world succumbed to the mindless bodies that had risen up against them.
I stand here now, utterly alone. I watched and waited as the world around me was destroyed by the living dead. Everything that was ever good or wholesome was contaminated by their unknowing sin. Just as they were dead in their farse of life so also had that army of mindless brutes been separated from their souls and humanity in general. They had not been able to comprehend the beauty in nature, the warmth of relationships, or the pleasure of purity. They surrendered to the most carnal desires and gave worth to only to what could be enjoyed by the flesh. Like a flood, their kind filled the earth, wiping out every last glimpse of decency. Again I watched and waited for the entire world to be destroyed by the base immorality that defined them. The rest of my family died during this drawn out wait but finally the end came.
The disease ridden populace dwindled daily, decomposing in such a way that decayed their bodies, extinguishing any chance of another resurrection. Eventually the entire earth was clean again. I emerged from my isolation with a desire to start anew.
I traversed the world in search of this garden, the root of all evil, and now I had found it. While it may seem strange that the birthplace of living death would be my destination, I knew that it was not the garden itself that possessed evil but the twisted desires of the human who had misused this sacred place.
I wandered slowly through the colorful flora breathing deeply of the heavenly aroma that infused everything around me. As I made my way to the center of the garden I noticed that the air grow sweeter. Thus far I had encountered only the types of vegetation that I was accustomed to except perfect and much larger. Now I noticed that a low hedge of deep red vines surrounded the source of that sickly sweet scent. Beyond the hedge there grew an exotic tree with flowers that looked like nothing I had ever seen before. Smooth black purple bark covered the curving trunk of the tree branching up and out into twisted limbs teeming with shimmering iridescent leaves. The flowers perched upon the branches were mesmerizing. Smooth slender snow white petals feathered out from the center revealing blood red liquid encompassed by a sheer yellow film. The smell beckoned me, the leaves glowed with an other worldly light, and most of all the flowers lay perfectly open, ripe for the plucking. All I had to do was reach out and touch the dark center and my thinking would cease, mindless bliss would engulf my body, I would be free. I felt myself raise my arm, I slowly leaned forward already tasting my sweet reward when my whole body shuddered. I jerked back. In that instant, my mind regained control. I remembered the depravity of the living bodies with dead souls. I knew my hope lay in the formation of a new humanity, one who would stand strong against the baseness of flesh and uphold the purity of spirit.
I knew the truth about those beautiful flowers. I saw them in a different light. Yes they glowed with an enticing gleam but in that perfect beauty I saw ugliness. The scent they emitted grew rank and the blood red centers I had so foolishly coveted now seemed to embody death itself. The man who succumbed to their allure just as I almost had must have seen only the perfection and felt only his greed. There were so many other perfect flowers and fruits in the garden, why covet this useless tree.
I would again watch and wait here for I knew there must be some others who had evaded the decimation of our society and they, like myself, would be drawn to this mystical oasis. I would struggle against the temptation of that deathly tree my whole life but I would not submit. Now I knew the truth and the truth would set me free.
All was silent. The stillness that surrounded me was not that of death but of unspent potential. The gentle wind caressing my face seemed to whisper rebirth. Upon entering the garden I was mildly surprised at the warmth emanating from the soil and the misty vapors clinging to these other worldly plants. This was, after all, Alaska, but when I pursued my thoughts further I realized that I hadn’t really expected anything else.
I had spent years searching for this mystical oasis in the heart of the Alaskan Tundra. For as long as I can remember I had known about this magical place. As the war that would eventually consume the entire globe crept nearer and nearer to the secluded dwelling of my family, we had held on to the hope that one day someone would discover the original breeding ground of this unspeakable terror and somehow put an end to the vicious nightmare that was slowly engulfing humanity. Unfortunately no one did come across the root of this evil and little by little the whole world succumbed to the mindless bodies that had risen up against them.
I stand here now, utterly alone. I watched and waited as the world around me was destroyed by the living dead. Everything that was ever good or wholesome was contaminated by their unknowing sin. Just as they were dead in their farse of life so also had that army of mindless brutes been separated from their souls and humanity in general. They had not been able to comprehend the beauty in nature, the warmth of relationships, or the pleasure of purity. They surrendered to the most carnal desires and gave worth to only to what could be enjoyed by the flesh. Like a flood, their kind filled the earth, wiping out every last glimpse of decency. Again I watched and waited for the entire world to be destroyed by the base immorality that defined them. The rest of my family died during this drawn out wait but finally the end came.
The disease ridden populace dwindled daily, decomposing in such a way that decayed their bodies, extinguishing any chance of another resurrection. Eventually the entire earth was clean again. I emerged from my isolation with a desire to start anew.
I traversed the world in search of this garden, the root of all evil, and now I had found it. While it may seem strange that the birthplace of living death would be my destination, I knew that it was not the garden itself that possessed evil but the twisted desires of the human who had misused this sacred place.
I wandered slowly through the colorful flora breathing deeply of the heavenly aroma that infused everything around me. As I made my way to the center of the garden I noticed that the air grow sweeter. Thus far I had encountered only the types of vegetation that I was accustomed to except perfect and much larger. Now I noticed that a low hedge of deep red vines surrounded the source of that sickly sweet scent. Beyond the hedge there grew an exotic tree with flowers that looked like nothing I had ever seen before. Smooth black purple bark covered the curving trunk of the tree branching up and out into twisted limbs teeming with shimmering iridescent leaves. The flowers perched upon the branches were mesmerizing. Smooth slender snow white petals feathered out from the center revealing blood red liquid encompassed by a sheer yellow film. The smell beckoned me, the leaves glowed with an other worldly light, and most of all the flowers lay perfectly open, ripe for the plucking. All I had to do was reach out and touch the dark center and my thinking would cease, mindless bliss would engulf my body, I would be free. I felt myself raise my arm, I slowly leaned forward already tasting my sweet reward when my whole body shuddered. I jerked back. In that instant, my mind regained control. I remembered the depravity of the living bodies with dead souls. I knew my hope lay in the formation of a new humanity, one who would stand strong against the baseness of flesh and uphold the purity of spirit.
I knew the truth about those beautiful flowers. I saw them in a different light. Yes they glowed with an enticing gleam but in that perfect beauty I saw ugliness. The scent they emitted grew rank and the blood red centers I had so foolishly coveted now seemed to embody death itself. The man who succumbed to their allure just as I almost had must have seen only the perfection and felt only his greed. There were so many other perfect flowers and fruits in the garden, why covet this useless tree.
I would again watch and wait here for I knew there must be some others who had evaded the decimation of our society and they, like myself, would be drawn to this mystical oasis. I would struggle against the temptation of that deathly tree my whole life but I would not submit. Now I knew the truth and the truth would set me free.
Monday, November 19, 2007
the high price on wings
* I wrote this at 8:00 this morning but didnt have internet access till now so keep in mind that I wrote this blog while i was still somewhat asleep*
So a few minutes ago I realized that I had not even thought about blogging in quite some time. As this thought came into my head I also felt like I was falling and suffocating at the same time. Right now I am sitting on an incredibly comfortable recliner chair and I honestly feel like there are metal bars sticking out of this chair and poking me all over my back. My fingers are shaking as I type and I know that it won’t be long before my arms and eventually my legs begin to shake as well. My stomach is making the strangest noises I think I have ever heard and my head feels like its just floating a couple of inches above my recently numb neck.
There are so many people and circumstances that I would like to thank for this excruciating and strange sensation that I am currently experiencing but I think that I can honestly really only blame myself. It all started when Sam and I told our friend William that we would throw him a retirement party to celebrate the end of his high school football career. About the same time that Sam and I offered to host this party we also received an invitation to a much anticipated dinner with one of Sam’s bestfriends and the guy’s girlfriend. Also, we decided in this same time frame that we would need to drive down to my hometown, Hendersonville, N.C., on Tuesday morning after finding out that grandmother needed to have surgery and would not be able to do all the thanksgiving preparations or even drive by herself. Shortly after this decision was made Sam and I also realized that we would have to go by his parents house at least for lunch so they wouldn’t be too upset about us leaving for Thanksgiving. So after realizing that we had made plans to throw a somewhat complicated party, have dinner with friends, prepare to leave town and go to lunch with Sam’s parents we did the responsible smart thing and planned out our busy weekend. At this time we didn’t know about all the unacceptable language that we could not incorporate into our synthesis essays. Anyway, we planned to spend time on our essays and various other papers that were due around the same time Thursday after class knowing that we would have no time on Friday because we would have to set up and everything for Williams party on Saturday night and go to dinner with our friends that Friday night. Maybe the smart thing to do would have been to cancel our dinner plans but this thought didn’t even occur to me or Sam until later and even though I feel like crap right now we did have an amazing weekend so I guess its worth it. Anyway, we also scheduled time for school work on Saturday morning and decided that we could finish any extra work on the ten hour drive to Hendersonville.
So this was our plan. It wasn’t fabulous or anything, we knew we would be rushing to finish everything in time but we also thought that this plan would give us enough time to sleep and eat so it seemed to be pretty good. This was all Wednesday night and our plans came crumbling down around us on Thursday. On Thursday we realized that this synthesis essay was going to be hard, also on Thursday William’s grandmother died. Sam and I tried to start on our essays but we had tons of other hw due Friday and William needed support so needless to say we just didn’t have a chance. On Friday I rushed around after classes buying party stuff and baking when my brakes on my car failed and I had to get it taken to some car place to get it fixed. It was ready later on that day but unfortunately I had already lost a lot of time and my list of things I was pushing back to Saturday was growing huge. Sam and I were able to have a wonderful and somewhat relaxing dinner with our friends before we resumed our preparations and I ended up baking a cake at 1:00 in the morning. Also, on Friday night we found out that the funeral for Williams grandmother was going to be on Saturday morning during the time that we had planned on writing or Synthesis Essays. Needless to say we went to the funeral and pushed back our essays once again, this time for Sunday afternoon. We rushed around some more and somehow got all the food and stuff together in time for Williams retirement party which he absolutely loved so at least Sam and I accomplished something important this weekend. We once again were up late, around 2:30 am this time, cleaning up Sam’s house and putting stuff away. The next morning we had church and then lunch with Sam’s parents and then we had some last minute errands to run before we leave town. We got back to my parents house on Sunday around 5, got a quick bite to eat, and then started our Synthesis essays. We realized before we even began the essays that this was going to be an all night thing. We knew that we couldn’t count on internet access in Hendersonville and we also knew that we wouldn’t have a lot of time to finish on Monday. We decided to stay up all night Sunday night so that we would at least be able to get some sleep Monday night before we drove for nine hours on Tuesday. Anyway, having realized this we bought some Red Bull and sour skittles and camped out at the kitchen table, barely even able to keep our eyes open after the hectic weekend we had. We read and typed and wrote notes and talked about our notes and ideas until about midnight. We were unable to even form proper sentences anymore so we decided that it was time for our Red Bulls. This helped immensely. Suddenly Sam and I regained brain power and could speak coherently again. We were able to keep this up till about 4:00 in the morning before I finally stumbled into my room and Sam stayed up a couple more hours typing stuff in the guest room. We got the hard part out of the way. Both of us have detailed outlines and examples from the texts and everything ready. All we have to do now is flush out our rough drafts with sentences and the exact quotes and stuff like that. This really isn’t the hard part, I’m guessing that it’ll take us a couple of hours but I know that we will get it done today.
The point of this drawn out story is… Red Bull. I know that the reason I feel so incredibly strange is because of the Red Bull I drank. My body is dead tired, my eyes are closing, and my limbs are now shaking but my brain is surprisingly functional. I am thinking clearly right now but my body feels like I just fell off of a cliff. Maybe that’s kind of what happened in a sense. I guess the Red Bull gave me such a huge burst of energy when I needed it and now my body is just crashing to a completely energyless state. I’m actually not sure if this horrible feeling I have right now was worth the necessary brain power that got me through the night. Never mind, I take that back. Without Red Bull I would probably be at my house sleeping through my alarm and anticipating a long day of packing and essay writing. I’m still anticipating that but at least I know that its going to get done.
So a few minutes ago I realized that I had not even thought about blogging in quite some time. As this thought came into my head I also felt like I was falling and suffocating at the same time. Right now I am sitting on an incredibly comfortable recliner chair and I honestly feel like there are metal bars sticking out of this chair and poking me all over my back. My fingers are shaking as I type and I know that it won’t be long before my arms and eventually my legs begin to shake as well. My stomach is making the strangest noises I think I have ever heard and my head feels like its just floating a couple of inches above my recently numb neck.
There are so many people and circumstances that I would like to thank for this excruciating and strange sensation that I am currently experiencing but I think that I can honestly really only blame myself. It all started when Sam and I told our friend William that we would throw him a retirement party to celebrate the end of his high school football career. About the same time that Sam and I offered to host this party we also received an invitation to a much anticipated dinner with one of Sam’s bestfriends and the guy’s girlfriend. Also, we decided in this same time frame that we would need to drive down to my hometown, Hendersonville, N.C., on Tuesday morning after finding out that grandmother needed to have surgery and would not be able to do all the thanksgiving preparations or even drive by herself. Shortly after this decision was made Sam and I also realized that we would have to go by his parents house at least for lunch so they wouldn’t be too upset about us leaving for Thanksgiving. So after realizing that we had made plans to throw a somewhat complicated party, have dinner with friends, prepare to leave town and go to lunch with Sam’s parents we did the responsible smart thing and planned out our busy weekend. At this time we didn’t know about all the unacceptable language that we could not incorporate into our synthesis essays. Anyway, we planned to spend time on our essays and various other papers that were due around the same time Thursday after class knowing that we would have no time on Friday because we would have to set up and everything for Williams party on Saturday night and go to dinner with our friends that Friday night. Maybe the smart thing to do would have been to cancel our dinner plans but this thought didn’t even occur to me or Sam until later and even though I feel like crap right now we did have an amazing weekend so I guess its worth it. Anyway, we also scheduled time for school work on Saturday morning and decided that we could finish any extra work on the ten hour drive to Hendersonville.
So this was our plan. It wasn’t fabulous or anything, we knew we would be rushing to finish everything in time but we also thought that this plan would give us enough time to sleep and eat so it seemed to be pretty good. This was all Wednesday night and our plans came crumbling down around us on Thursday. On Thursday we realized that this synthesis essay was going to be hard, also on Thursday William’s grandmother died. Sam and I tried to start on our essays but we had tons of other hw due Friday and William needed support so needless to say we just didn’t have a chance. On Friday I rushed around after classes buying party stuff and baking when my brakes on my car failed and I had to get it taken to some car place to get it fixed. It was ready later on that day but unfortunately I had already lost a lot of time and my list of things I was pushing back to Saturday was growing huge. Sam and I were able to have a wonderful and somewhat relaxing dinner with our friends before we resumed our preparations and I ended up baking a cake at 1:00 in the morning. Also, on Friday night we found out that the funeral for Williams grandmother was going to be on Saturday morning during the time that we had planned on writing or Synthesis Essays. Needless to say we went to the funeral and pushed back our essays once again, this time for Sunday afternoon. We rushed around some more and somehow got all the food and stuff together in time for Williams retirement party which he absolutely loved so at least Sam and I accomplished something important this weekend. We once again were up late, around 2:30 am this time, cleaning up Sam’s house and putting stuff away. The next morning we had church and then lunch with Sam’s parents and then we had some last minute errands to run before we leave town. We got back to my parents house on Sunday around 5, got a quick bite to eat, and then started our Synthesis essays. We realized before we even began the essays that this was going to be an all night thing. We knew that we couldn’t count on internet access in Hendersonville and we also knew that we wouldn’t have a lot of time to finish on Monday. We decided to stay up all night Sunday night so that we would at least be able to get some sleep Monday night before we drove for nine hours on Tuesday. Anyway, having realized this we bought some Red Bull and sour skittles and camped out at the kitchen table, barely even able to keep our eyes open after the hectic weekend we had. We read and typed and wrote notes and talked about our notes and ideas until about midnight. We were unable to even form proper sentences anymore so we decided that it was time for our Red Bulls. This helped immensely. Suddenly Sam and I regained brain power and could speak coherently again. We were able to keep this up till about 4:00 in the morning before I finally stumbled into my room and Sam stayed up a couple more hours typing stuff in the guest room. We got the hard part out of the way. Both of us have detailed outlines and examples from the texts and everything ready. All we have to do now is flush out our rough drafts with sentences and the exact quotes and stuff like that. This really isn’t the hard part, I’m guessing that it’ll take us a couple of hours but I know that we will get it done today.
The point of this drawn out story is… Red Bull. I know that the reason I feel so incredibly strange is because of the Red Bull I drank. My body is dead tired, my eyes are closing, and my limbs are now shaking but my brain is surprisingly functional. I am thinking clearly right now but my body feels like I just fell off of a cliff. Maybe that’s kind of what happened in a sense. I guess the Red Bull gave me such a huge burst of energy when I needed it and now my body is just crashing to a completely energyless state. I’m actually not sure if this horrible feeling I have right now was worth the necessary brain power that got me through the night. Never mind, I take that back. Without Red Bull I would probably be at my house sleeping through my alarm and anticipating a long day of packing and essay writing. I’m still anticipating that but at least I know that its going to get done.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
No Regrets
* Okay, so I meant to post this blog last weekend but I completely forgot and so since I already wrote it I decided to go ahead and post it anyway. *
Last Friday night I went to an ECS football game. Maybe for other people this really wouldn’t be very remarkable but, in my case, I never thought that this would happen. First of all I don’t like football. I know most of ya’ll reading this probably think I’m crazy or something, but I honestly never understood the game. Usually, I will just stare blankly at the field and cheer whenever everyone else does. This can also be quite risky because, occasionally, I’ll hear the other side start cheering and accidentally yell some sort of encouraging phrase along with them. Needless to say, the people standing around me will glance over, looking at me as if I am absolutely insane and usually say something to that effect. I’m not against all sports though, just football. I don’t like the hitting and the confusing rules. I do enjoy watching soccer and basketball and even baseball sometimes, but football is just beyond me.
Now for reason two why I never thought I would go back to one of my high school’s football games. I really cannot stand the majority of the people in my grade at ECS. Also, most of the people that I could actually tolerate were guys and they were either on the football team or incredibly interested in the game. I usually went to every game though when I went to ECS. This is because if, for some odd reason, you did not go to the game, everyone in every one of your classes would accusingly ask you why on earth you weren’t there and then give you a detailed description of each point we scored and the different cheers we did. Most people would end this drawn-out play by play by encouraging you to attend next time and ensuring you that the team needed your support. Now, maybe it’s not like this at other schools, but ECS people are insane when football is concerned. I seriously doubt that “the team” would have played any better if I had been present and when I went to ECS I don’t think that the football team ever lost a game. Now that I think about this, its kind of interesting. I graduated from high school after 11th grade and before I left most of the football guys were like “how are we gonna win if you aren’t there to support us” and “If you leave now we’ll probably lose a lot” and stuff like that. This is interesting because now that I have left the ECS football team has had a pretty bad season this year compared to the last three years when I actually went to school there. Maybe I am lucky. Anyway, I didn’t enjoy going to the games because it was always either incredibly hot outside or freezing cold and I would usually just stand around talking to people that I didn’t like. Also, there are only so many times that you can go to the bathroom to apply lip gloss or check your hair before people begin to look at you strangely.
Okay, reason three. Every time that I went to a football game something bad happened to me. The first ECS football game I ever went to, in ninth grade, I got yelled at for quite some time by my best friend’s mom. I had lent her a non-trashy tube top and a pair of jeans before we went and when she arrived at the game her mother freaked out and blamed me for “leading her astray.” At another game my boyfriend at the time decided that he wanted to break things off and instead of telling me he decided to ignore me and avoid the “unnecessary confrontation.” One time I actually got food poisoning from a hotdog that I got at the game and spent the majority of the night trying to stand in spite of the intense stomach cramping and waves of nausea that I was experiencing. There were so many other unfortunate things that happened to me at football games and these things that I have mentioned are definitely not the worst, they are simply the occurrences that I am not to embarrassed to write about.
So anyway, I was at the ECS vs Briarcrest game last Friday night and I was wondering why on earth I consented to come. Sam’s best friend William plays for briarcrest and he asked us to come and support him with a big banner that said “The Bateman #16” on it. Sam and I had not been having very much success displaying this banner on the Briarcrest side so we decided to see if we could get the enthusiastic ECS student section to cheer for William. I guess it wasn’t that weird for Sam to talk to the ECS people because the people from his grade weren’t there but for me it was really strange. I saw my whole grade as seniors cheering in the stands and I knew that I was right in assuming that coming back to a game after I graduated early wasn’t a good idea. Sam and I stayed until the end of the game so we could talk to William. And in the meantime we were actually able to convince the ECS student section to hold up the banner and chant “William Bateman.” Just seeing ECS chant for a Briarcrest player was worth the whole awkward experience of seeing my grade again. I actually had a nice time talking to some various ECS people and that was really surprising. As Sam and I drove home though, we both agreed that we never wanted to go to an ECS football game again unless it was absolutely necessary. I think some good came out of this experience though. As I saw the people from the grade that I should have been in this year placing so much importance on a football game and behaving in the same way that they always have, I was reassured once again and for the most likely the last time that I did the right thing in graduating after 11th grade. I realized that I really don’t miss anything about high school and definitely am not missing out on anything by foregoing my senior year.
Last Friday night I went to an ECS football game. Maybe for other people this really wouldn’t be very remarkable but, in my case, I never thought that this would happen. First of all I don’t like football. I know most of ya’ll reading this probably think I’m crazy or something, but I honestly never understood the game. Usually, I will just stare blankly at the field and cheer whenever everyone else does. This can also be quite risky because, occasionally, I’ll hear the other side start cheering and accidentally yell some sort of encouraging phrase along with them. Needless to say, the people standing around me will glance over, looking at me as if I am absolutely insane and usually say something to that effect. I’m not against all sports though, just football. I don’t like the hitting and the confusing rules. I do enjoy watching soccer and basketball and even baseball sometimes, but football is just beyond me.
Now for reason two why I never thought I would go back to one of my high school’s football games. I really cannot stand the majority of the people in my grade at ECS. Also, most of the people that I could actually tolerate were guys and they were either on the football team or incredibly interested in the game. I usually went to every game though when I went to ECS. This is because if, for some odd reason, you did not go to the game, everyone in every one of your classes would accusingly ask you why on earth you weren’t there and then give you a detailed description of each point we scored and the different cheers we did. Most people would end this drawn-out play by play by encouraging you to attend next time and ensuring you that the team needed your support. Now, maybe it’s not like this at other schools, but ECS people are insane when football is concerned. I seriously doubt that “the team” would have played any better if I had been present and when I went to ECS I don’t think that the football team ever lost a game. Now that I think about this, its kind of interesting. I graduated from high school after 11th grade and before I left most of the football guys were like “how are we gonna win if you aren’t there to support us” and “If you leave now we’ll probably lose a lot” and stuff like that. This is interesting because now that I have left the ECS football team has had a pretty bad season this year compared to the last three years when I actually went to school there. Maybe I am lucky. Anyway, I didn’t enjoy going to the games because it was always either incredibly hot outside or freezing cold and I would usually just stand around talking to people that I didn’t like. Also, there are only so many times that you can go to the bathroom to apply lip gloss or check your hair before people begin to look at you strangely.
Okay, reason three. Every time that I went to a football game something bad happened to me. The first ECS football game I ever went to, in ninth grade, I got yelled at for quite some time by my best friend’s mom. I had lent her a non-trashy tube top and a pair of jeans before we went and when she arrived at the game her mother freaked out and blamed me for “leading her astray.” At another game my boyfriend at the time decided that he wanted to break things off and instead of telling me he decided to ignore me and avoid the “unnecessary confrontation.” One time I actually got food poisoning from a hotdog that I got at the game and spent the majority of the night trying to stand in spite of the intense stomach cramping and waves of nausea that I was experiencing. There were so many other unfortunate things that happened to me at football games and these things that I have mentioned are definitely not the worst, they are simply the occurrences that I am not to embarrassed to write about.
So anyway, I was at the ECS vs Briarcrest game last Friday night and I was wondering why on earth I consented to come. Sam’s best friend William plays for briarcrest and he asked us to come and support him with a big banner that said “The Bateman #16” on it. Sam and I had not been having very much success displaying this banner on the Briarcrest side so we decided to see if we could get the enthusiastic ECS student section to cheer for William. I guess it wasn’t that weird for Sam to talk to the ECS people because the people from his grade weren’t there but for me it was really strange. I saw my whole grade as seniors cheering in the stands and I knew that I was right in assuming that coming back to a game after I graduated early wasn’t a good idea. Sam and I stayed until the end of the game so we could talk to William. And in the meantime we were actually able to convince the ECS student section to hold up the banner and chant “William Bateman.” Just seeing ECS chant for a Briarcrest player was worth the whole awkward experience of seeing my grade again. I actually had a nice time talking to some various ECS people and that was really surprising. As Sam and I drove home though, we both agreed that we never wanted to go to an ECS football game again unless it was absolutely necessary. I think some good came out of this experience though. As I saw the people from the grade that I should have been in this year placing so much importance on a football game and behaving in the same way that they always have, I was reassured once again and for the most likely the last time that I did the right thing in graduating after 11th grade. I realized that I really don’t miss anything about high school and definitely am not missing out on anything by foregoing my senior year.
Saturday, November 3, 2007
Eddy is my Amika
I can’t think of anything to blog about right now so I’m just going to talk about the only other mildly interesting thing that has happened to me this weekend other than attending my high school’s football game last night which I will talk about in my next post. Anyway, I was at the Oak Court mall getting lunch with Sam after class and we had been talking about how much we enjoyed talking to people who aren’t from the U.S. We were finishing up our lunch of Chinese food which is what sparked this conversation.
Before we had purchased our food, we were walking over to Subway when a Chinese lady stopped us and offered us a sample of chicken from the Malibu Wing (yes, that’s really the name of the place) right behind her. We took it just to be polite and then Sam said a couple of things to her in Chinese which she seemed to understand. This was a huge relief because a lot of times Sam will say something in Chinese to an Asian person and they get really offended because they aren’t Chinese. We were so happy that Sam was able to converse with this woman without offending her that we decided to go ahead and get Chinese food from the restaurant. I was pretty hesitant to do this because I’m always freaked out that our food will have a bunch a MSG in it or something even worse, but the food was good and I feel fine so I guess I was worried for no reason.
Ok, back to what I was originally talking about. We were so excited about talking to the nice Chinese lady and Sam was really happy because Coach Calipari was sitting at the table right next to us with a bunch of tall athletic-looking men, that we decided to walk around the mall for a little bit before going home to finish some homework and paint a banner for the ECS vs. BCHS game. We got some chocolate at the Godiva store which further elated me and as we were leaving this guy from a hair straightener kiosk approached me. He asked me what kind of hair straightener I used and I was about to just kind of ignore him and walk past when I decided to be nice and talk to him for a little bit. Usually I don’t talk to these kiosk guys because most of them are freaky looking and I can barely understand them because they are always from some where like Israel or Egypt or something. Also, the only time I ever decided to listen to one of them pitch their product I got sucked in to the whole thing and was convinced to buy this overpriced nail care set which isn’t very remarkable.
Anyway, this guy seemed really nice and I let him tell me about the superiority of his straightener. At this time I really wasn’t hooked or anything but I decided to let him straighten my hair with it because I was getting kind of frizzy and I needed a new straightener. Sam started talking to the guy about where he was from and why he started this business while he was straightening my hair and he turned out to be really interesting. The guy is from Israel and he just came to Memphis two weeks ago. He said he was hoping to go to U of M and study finance when he got enough money. He kept on asking us if his English was okay and we assured him truthfully that it was great. I was so surprised when I looked back in the mirror and my hair looked great. Not only did the thing straighten my hair but it actually improved my split ends and made my hair really shiny. The guy showed me a couple of other things that the straightener could do before he made his final pitch. He did this weird thing where he wound my hair around the straightener then slid it to the ends of my hair and it made this perfect bouncy curl. I know I’ve been going on way too much about this straightener but other than homework my weekend has been surprisingly uneventful.
Finally, after showing me all the amazing stuff that the Amika straightener could do he told us the price. It cost $250. Sam was floored but I had been expecting this so I acted normal. I told the guy that there was no way I could afford this right now and instead of acting rude and blowing us off he actually said he understood and gave me his card. The name on the card was Eddy which I don’t quite believe and he gave me a coupon for 50% off the product. Sam talked to Eddy for a bit more about Israel and about places he should go in Memphis before we left.
I just read this post through and it is really dull so I am sorry to whoever is reading this. I am exhausted and have tons of other work to do so somehow this story didn’t come out as interesting as it seemed after it happened. Anyway, I am currently saving up to buy this hair straightener and I encourage any girls reading this (or even guys) to talk to the Amika kiosk guy because the straightener really is incredible.
Before we had purchased our food, we were walking over to Subway when a Chinese lady stopped us and offered us a sample of chicken from the Malibu Wing (yes, that’s really the name of the place) right behind her. We took it just to be polite and then Sam said a couple of things to her in Chinese which she seemed to understand. This was a huge relief because a lot of times Sam will say something in Chinese to an Asian person and they get really offended because they aren’t Chinese. We were so happy that Sam was able to converse with this woman without offending her that we decided to go ahead and get Chinese food from the restaurant. I was pretty hesitant to do this because I’m always freaked out that our food will have a bunch a MSG in it or something even worse, but the food was good and I feel fine so I guess I was worried for no reason.
Ok, back to what I was originally talking about. We were so excited about talking to the nice Chinese lady and Sam was really happy because Coach Calipari was sitting at the table right next to us with a bunch of tall athletic-looking men, that we decided to walk around the mall for a little bit before going home to finish some homework and paint a banner for the ECS vs. BCHS game. We got some chocolate at the Godiva store which further elated me and as we were leaving this guy from a hair straightener kiosk approached me. He asked me what kind of hair straightener I used and I was about to just kind of ignore him and walk past when I decided to be nice and talk to him for a little bit. Usually I don’t talk to these kiosk guys because most of them are freaky looking and I can barely understand them because they are always from some where like Israel or Egypt or something. Also, the only time I ever decided to listen to one of them pitch their product I got sucked in to the whole thing and was convinced to buy this overpriced nail care set which isn’t very remarkable.
Anyway, this guy seemed really nice and I let him tell me about the superiority of his straightener. At this time I really wasn’t hooked or anything but I decided to let him straighten my hair with it because I was getting kind of frizzy and I needed a new straightener. Sam started talking to the guy about where he was from and why he started this business while he was straightening my hair and he turned out to be really interesting. The guy is from Israel and he just came to Memphis two weeks ago. He said he was hoping to go to U of M and study finance when he got enough money. He kept on asking us if his English was okay and we assured him truthfully that it was great. I was so surprised when I looked back in the mirror and my hair looked great. Not only did the thing straighten my hair but it actually improved my split ends and made my hair really shiny. The guy showed me a couple of other things that the straightener could do before he made his final pitch. He did this weird thing where he wound my hair around the straightener then slid it to the ends of my hair and it made this perfect bouncy curl. I know I’ve been going on way too much about this straightener but other than homework my weekend has been surprisingly uneventful.
Finally, after showing me all the amazing stuff that the Amika straightener could do he told us the price. It cost $250. Sam was floored but I had been expecting this so I acted normal. I told the guy that there was no way I could afford this right now and instead of acting rude and blowing us off he actually said he understood and gave me his card. The name on the card was Eddy which I don’t quite believe and he gave me a coupon for 50% off the product. Sam talked to Eddy for a bit more about Israel and about places he should go in Memphis before we left.
I just read this post through and it is really dull so I am sorry to whoever is reading this. I am exhausted and have tons of other work to do so somehow this story didn’t come out as interesting as it seemed after it happened. Anyway, I am currently saving up to buy this hair straightener and I encourage any girls reading this (or even guys) to talk to the Amika kiosk guy because the straightener really is incredible.
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