Privileged is a new show on basic cable about a quirky redhead named Megan. She's a writer who moves in with the rich to tutor two girls.
Seriously.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Writing Workshop (...with wine!)
I truly meant to make the six copies of my short story during the weekend. I had every intention of being prepared two days in advance. Regardless, my efforts began shortly before 5:30pm leaving me ninety minutes before the workshop begins with or without me. I scrambled to find my old flash drive, loaded it with the essential, hopped on my bike, and darted for Staples. Two blocks later, I crossed a busy avenue during rush hour and it seems sensible to travel via sidewalk. Unfortunately, an older woman with two bag fulls of groceries got in my way. Damn pedestrians and their sidewalks. Didn't their mommas teach them to share? And what about watching for traffic? I distinctly remember screaming WATCH OUT before running over her with my 10-speed. Consequentially, I flew over my handlebars. The momentum sent me to the pavement and two somersaults later, I'm lying there worried about a skinned elbow - moaning and groaning like the big baby that I am. I heard the woman scramble to my side and ask if I was alright. Considering I have just busted every single one of her fresh eggs, I'm thinking she's a saint for even showing me the slightest bit of concern. Damn pedestiran . . . Now she's gone and made me feel guilty. I leapt to my feet and apologized sincerely three times, maybe four, lunged for the over-turned sack of groceries, and returned the question. "Are you ok?!" Damn pedestrian . . . She hugged me.
With a mild burning sensation coming from my left knee, I stood in line at Staples. Two heads in front of me, a heavy Brooklyn accent scolded the clerk I so desperately needed to see and with the large clock on the wall, I was all too aware of time. 5:47! Sure, the subway directory webiste said it would only take thirty-six minutes to get there, but that doesn't include the time it will take me to recover from getting lost! And I still haven't even made the copies of my story, thanks to the lady in large gold hoop earrings and her loud accent.
At 5:57, I shoved the stapled manuscripts into an unagreeable heap at the bottom of my purse, hopped back on the barely-functioning bicycle, and pedaled hard for the train station.
Having never been to Cobble Hill before, I knew it would happen. As I wound in and out of neighborhoods, I patted myself on the back for leaving extra early. I was lost, as anticipated. Nevertheless, I was the first to arrive - fifteen minutes early. The conductor, Rachel, sat near the front window amoung five empty chairs and greeted me as I came in. I found her to be surprisingly young and attractive, which may have been a contributing factor to our quick ability to get lost in conversation. As a twenty-something young female, she was relatable, which was easy to appreciate.
Three more females showed up - all in their twenties. But don't worry. The lack of diversity turned out to be a good thing as we found ourselves very comfortable with each other in no time at all. At the end, after two glasses of wine each, one of the writers suggested continuing the night with a slumber party, which sent us all into giggles.
Rachel had us do two writing exercises. The first exercise was to spend 20 minutes writing about two every-day people (any people) sharing a meal together (a life changing meal). Where are they? What's the discussion? What are they eating? And what's the risk? All questions needed to be answered.
This is what poured out of me:
The two-top seemed an unlikely setting for Thurston to meet his father. It was placed on a small patio along a barron city sidewalk with nothing more than a ketchup bottle and one salt shaker to offer the guests. No pepper. Perhaps the beads of sweat on his furrowed brow would have been less noticable if there were more pedestrians crowding the atmosphere, customers dining at dusk, or pesky servers pushing for an order in hopes of moving their mundane workshift along. Alas, ("Alas"??? I'm not sure what I was thinking with that word) the burger joint was slow causing Thurstron's resentment to boil. How could he be late? How can a man go through such great lengths to contact his son, a son left to the wolves as a defensless infant, only to leave him high and dry yet again?
A drop of water fell from the awning where rain had gathered only hours before and landed on Thurston's fidgetting hand. A voice reeking of emphazima growled from behind the young man, "Hello." Thurston turned to face the surprisingly short man.
"Hi. I almost ordered for you," Thurston quickly began, "but the waiter hasn't been around. They've got good burgers here. I figure everyone likes a good burger, yeah? They've got one with feta cheese that's alright, if you like feta."
Thurston's obvious nervous babble placed a warm smile on his estranged father's face, "I'm not all that hungry." He lit a cigarette, took a seat in front of Thurston, and continued to smile as he looked into his child's eyes for the first time in twenty-six years.
"So how come you wanna do this? Why now?"
"Good. I'm not looking to shoot the shit either, small-talk and all that... I'll go ahead and spell it out for you, my boy--"
"My boy?"
"My name, as you know, is Lou. It sure is nice to finally meet you. You see, I'm not looking for money, but I'm not no dying rich man looking to send an inheritance your way either. I'm not looking to say I'm sorry. I don't really feel all that guilty. If you wanna hate someone, hate your momma. I'm not looking for a young buddy, to feed off your youth... See now, I'm just a big fan! And I hear you and your Sonic Youth buddies are looking for a drummer. And it just so happens I've got a kit back home in the garage."
One girl wrote about a woman leaving her husband after twenty-some-odd years of marriage, another wrote about a clingy mother and her sympathtic boy, and the third wrote about a woman and her teenaged daughter at the clinic awaiting the results from a pregnancy test. The last line revealed the mother's name was Sarah Palin. We all rolled with laughter.
Our next exercise was to express an emotion using one of the characters from the previous exercise using a beach as the setting. The catch was... we weren't allowed to use the word or any of its synonyms. We were each handed a word in private and after reading our paragraphs allowed, the others would try to guess the emotion we attempted to express.
I wrote:
Lou stabbed one bare ingrown toe into the loose sand and crossed his meaty arms. His basset hound cheeks were sagging even more than usual following the underturned corners of his mouth. As his beer belly grew tense from the fit of nerves inside, a bit of flatulence escaped from the sagging Levi's and floated up to his slumped shoulders. The Budweiser mixed with his churning gut created a moist scent even he turned his nose up at, but the ocean breeze quickly swept it away, leaving Lou alone with the bitter taste of rejection between his grinding teeth.
(I'll tell you the word I was given at the end of this post.)
We handed each other the copies of our short stories, the stories we all hope will evolve into published pieces shortly after the conclusion of this workshop. Over the next week, we'll read each story and include our thoughts in red ink along the way. Next week, we'll share. We finished our last sips of wine and walked with each other to the train. Upon saying our goodbyes, I hustled home to relieve my employers for a date night while thinking fondly of my first experience with a New York writing workshop. However, I watched closely for the little old ladies.
(My word: distraught)
With a mild burning sensation coming from my left knee, I stood in line at Staples. Two heads in front of me, a heavy Brooklyn accent scolded the clerk I so desperately needed to see and with the large clock on the wall, I was all too aware of time. 5:47! Sure, the subway directory webiste said it would only take thirty-six minutes to get there, but that doesn't include the time it will take me to recover from getting lost! And I still haven't even made the copies of my story, thanks to the lady in large gold hoop earrings and her loud accent.
At 5:57, I shoved the stapled manuscripts into an unagreeable heap at the bottom of my purse, hopped back on the barely-functioning bicycle, and pedaled hard for the train station.
Having never been to Cobble Hill before, I knew it would happen. As I wound in and out of neighborhoods, I patted myself on the back for leaving extra early. I was lost, as anticipated. Nevertheless, I was the first to arrive - fifteen minutes early. The conductor, Rachel, sat near the front window amoung five empty chairs and greeted me as I came in. I found her to be surprisingly young and attractive, which may have been a contributing factor to our quick ability to get lost in conversation. As a twenty-something young female, she was relatable, which was easy to appreciate.
Three more females showed up - all in their twenties. But don't worry. The lack of diversity turned out to be a good thing as we found ourselves very comfortable with each other in no time at all. At the end, after two glasses of wine each, one of the writers suggested continuing the night with a slumber party, which sent us all into giggles.
Rachel had us do two writing exercises. The first exercise was to spend 20 minutes writing about two every-day people (any people) sharing a meal together (a life changing meal). Where are they? What's the discussion? What are they eating? And what's the risk? All questions needed to be answered.
This is what poured out of me:
The two-top seemed an unlikely setting for Thurston to meet his father. It was placed on a small patio along a barron city sidewalk with nothing more than a ketchup bottle and one salt shaker to offer the guests. No pepper. Perhaps the beads of sweat on his furrowed brow would have been less noticable if there were more pedestrians crowding the atmosphere, customers dining at dusk, or pesky servers pushing for an order in hopes of moving their mundane workshift along. Alas, ("Alas"??? I'm not sure what I was thinking with that word) the burger joint was slow causing Thurstron's resentment to boil. How could he be late? How can a man go through such great lengths to contact his son, a son left to the wolves as a defensless infant, only to leave him high and dry yet again?
A drop of water fell from the awning where rain had gathered only hours before and landed on Thurston's fidgetting hand. A voice reeking of emphazima growled from behind the young man, "Hello." Thurston turned to face the surprisingly short man.
"Hi. I almost ordered for you," Thurston quickly began, "but the waiter hasn't been around. They've got good burgers here. I figure everyone likes a good burger, yeah? They've got one with feta cheese that's alright, if you like feta."
Thurston's obvious nervous babble placed a warm smile on his estranged father's face, "I'm not all that hungry." He lit a cigarette, took a seat in front of Thurston, and continued to smile as he looked into his child's eyes for the first time in twenty-six years.
"So how come you wanna do this? Why now?"
"Good. I'm not looking to shoot the shit either, small-talk and all that... I'll go ahead and spell it out for you, my boy--"
"My boy?"
"My name, as you know, is Lou. It sure is nice to finally meet you. You see, I'm not looking for money, but I'm not no dying rich man looking to send an inheritance your way either. I'm not looking to say I'm sorry. I don't really feel all that guilty. If you wanna hate someone, hate your momma. I'm not looking for a young buddy, to feed off your youth... See now, I'm just a big fan! And I hear you and your Sonic Youth buddies are looking for a drummer. And it just so happens I've got a kit back home in the garage."
One girl wrote about a woman leaving her husband after twenty-some-odd years of marriage, another wrote about a clingy mother and her sympathtic boy, and the third wrote about a woman and her teenaged daughter at the clinic awaiting the results from a pregnancy test. The last line revealed the mother's name was Sarah Palin. We all rolled with laughter.
Our next exercise was to express an emotion using one of the characters from the previous exercise using a beach as the setting. The catch was... we weren't allowed to use the word or any of its synonyms. We were each handed a word in private and after reading our paragraphs allowed, the others would try to guess the emotion we attempted to express.
I wrote:
Lou stabbed one bare ingrown toe into the loose sand and crossed his meaty arms. His basset hound cheeks were sagging even more than usual following the underturned corners of his mouth. As his beer belly grew tense from the fit of nerves inside, a bit of flatulence escaped from the sagging Levi's and floated up to his slumped shoulders. The Budweiser mixed with his churning gut created a moist scent even he turned his nose up at, but the ocean breeze quickly swept it away, leaving Lou alone with the bitter taste of rejection between his grinding teeth.
(I'll tell you the word I was given at the end of this post.)
We handed each other the copies of our short stories, the stories we all hope will evolve into published pieces shortly after the conclusion of this workshop. Over the next week, we'll read each story and include our thoughts in red ink along the way. Next week, we'll share. We finished our last sips of wine and walked with each other to the train. Upon saying our goodbyes, I hustled home to relieve my employers for a date night while thinking fondly of my first experience with a New York writing workshop. However, I watched closely for the little old ladies.
(My word: distraught)
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Life As I Know It
With school now in full swing, my routine has changed a bit. My employers and I take turns with the morning shift (getting the girls fed, dressed, packed, and walked to school). In which case, two or three mornings out of the week, I'm permitted to sleep in until 10:45! Once I scoop up the little one from pre-school, we have four hours just for the two of us. Sometimes we go to the park until she's ready for lunch and then we head back for the house. After she's had her fill of chicken noodle soup, she embarks on an imaginative adventure in her bedroom while I lie around in my room, occasionally eavesdropping. By three o'clock, it's time to pick up the big sister. We stop for icecream on the way home, settle in for homework, and then watch a little TV or play seriously thought out games of make-believe. (I'm often playing the part of a wicked witch or a michevious classmate.) Before I know it, my "work" day has come to an end. Suddenly, five o'clock rolls around and everyone is home, chatting about our day and sharing the interesting details that made it special. It's a rare occasion when I don't join the clan for dinner, but soon after, I'm typically getting ready for a night out with Morgan (my closest gal-pal in Brooklyn), or hopping in my PJs for movie night (which often includes having a beer or two with the adults).
When the weekend rolls around, there seem to be endless opporunities, despite my social cirlce being so small. I've decided to keep an open mind and try whatever comes my way. For instance, last Friday night, a friend called to say, "Hey! It's Fashion Week. There's a party on the lower east side."
"Does this mean I have to take extra care in what I wear?"
He could hear the apprehension in my voice, "Just be yourself."
"Is this the kind of club where they turn girls away at the door if they don't look the part?"
"Well, yes. But don't worry, you're with me," says the socialite.
"I suppose this is going to be an experience. . ."
Six hours later I'm walking slowly through the pouring rain, searching for an entrance to the F train, and pining for my cozy bed. I'm thinking, 'At least I wore boots.'
. . . It was not much of an experience after all.
Nevertheless, I'm game for just about anything. The weather has been incredible and its imperative that I spend as much time outside as possible.
Sunday rolls around and I fight the urge to lie around. Laundry must get done.
Am I getting any writing done? NO - I'm not. As soon as I submitted my payment and registration form for this damn workshop, I lost all drive to think productively. However, my finances are ship-shape. Go figure, eh? Who moves to New York City and manages to pay off old bills? (I have my over-accomodating employers to thank for this.) I had four maxed-out credit cards when I got here. Two have been paid off since then and a third will be paid off at the end of this month.
(Making Momma proud.)
I'm happy and things are good. I have no complaints. However, I can't held but feel an itchy sensation on the soles of my feet. I'm getting anxious, dreaming about the Pacific Northwest, finding myself jealous of friends in Europe, and wishing I had my camping equipment on-hand. Exactly what would I do with it here in New York? Not sure... But the urge is there.
I'm mad about this family and its clear they want me here for a considerate amount of time, but I'm feeling rushed to see the world. I'm not quite sure what the pressure is all about. I keep reminding myself I'm only twenty-three, but I often feel as if everyone else is passing me up. I want to see it all and I want to see it all RIGHT NOW!
My boss just came in to share a cigarette and a night cap with me on my fire escape. . .
You see, we had company this weekend. Aunt, Uncle, and their two boys. The aunt mentioned an old friend here in NY that she'd like to catch up with and my boss, being the considerate hostess that she is, suggested throwing a dinner party. A couple in their early thirties joined us for pasta tonight and as soon as dinner was over, I quickly did my part with clean-up and excused myself for some alone time. Now with everyone gone, the misses and I catch up on the tidbits I missed out on while hiding out in my room. Apparently, the devil was in my living room tonight. One of our guests announced proudly that she is a news writer for none other than FOX News!
I love that she and I can get giggles together over things like that.
Ugh - SEE? Do you see my delimma? I'm attatched. I love these people! How can I ever leave them after they've been so good to me? Obviously I can't stay forever, but even another nine months seems like an eternity when I could be galavanting around the world.
This post is all over the place. My applogies for the lack of structure, but I feel like that's where my mind is at right now, despite my comfortable routine.
Advice?
When the weekend rolls around, there seem to be endless opporunities, despite my social cirlce being so small. I've decided to keep an open mind and try whatever comes my way. For instance, last Friday night, a friend called to say, "Hey! It's Fashion Week. There's a party on the lower east side."
"Does this mean I have to take extra care in what I wear?"
He could hear the apprehension in my voice, "Just be yourself."
"Is this the kind of club where they turn girls away at the door if they don't look the part?"
"Well, yes. But don't worry, you're with me," says the socialite.
"I suppose this is going to be an experience. . ."
Six hours later I'm walking slowly through the pouring rain, searching for an entrance to the F train, and pining for my cozy bed. I'm thinking, 'At least I wore boots.'
. . . It was not much of an experience after all.
Nevertheless, I'm game for just about anything. The weather has been incredible and its imperative that I spend as much time outside as possible.
Sunday rolls around and I fight the urge to lie around. Laundry must get done.
Am I getting any writing done? NO - I'm not. As soon as I submitted my payment and registration form for this damn workshop, I lost all drive to think productively. However, my finances are ship-shape. Go figure, eh? Who moves to New York City and manages to pay off old bills? (I have my over-accomodating employers to thank for this.) I had four maxed-out credit cards when I got here. Two have been paid off since then and a third will be paid off at the end of this month.
(Making Momma proud.)
I'm happy and things are good. I have no complaints. However, I can't held but feel an itchy sensation on the soles of my feet. I'm getting anxious, dreaming about the Pacific Northwest, finding myself jealous of friends in Europe, and wishing I had my camping equipment on-hand. Exactly what would I do with it here in New York? Not sure... But the urge is there.
I'm mad about this family and its clear they want me here for a considerate amount of time, but I'm feeling rushed to see the world. I'm not quite sure what the pressure is all about. I keep reminding myself I'm only twenty-three, but I often feel as if everyone else is passing me up. I want to see it all and I want to see it all RIGHT NOW!
My boss just came in to share a cigarette and a night cap with me on my fire escape. . .
You see, we had company this weekend. Aunt, Uncle, and their two boys. The aunt mentioned an old friend here in NY that she'd like to catch up with and my boss, being the considerate hostess that she is, suggested throwing a dinner party. A couple in their early thirties joined us for pasta tonight and as soon as dinner was over, I quickly did my part with clean-up and excused myself for some alone time. Now with everyone gone, the misses and I catch up on the tidbits I missed out on while hiding out in my room. Apparently, the devil was in my living room tonight. One of our guests announced proudly that she is a news writer for none other than FOX News!
I love that she and I can get giggles together over things like that.
Ugh - SEE? Do you see my delimma? I'm attatched. I love these people! How can I ever leave them after they've been so good to me? Obviously I can't stay forever, but even another nine months seems like an eternity when I could be galavanting around the world.
This post is all over the place. My applogies for the lack of structure, but I feel like that's where my mind is at right now, despite my comfortable routine.
Advice?
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Palin's Speech
Election years are too much fun! ...I'll be the first to admit that, when Bush was first elected, I was more concerned with convincing my mom to buy me a pair of Doc Martin boots and whether or not Dawson would finally tell Joey he loved her on the next episode of Dawson's Creek. But by the time '04 came around, I was all ears. I had been running with a new crowd, with folks that wore campaign t-shirts and spit out political banter over a Friday night BBQ. Considering I was lucky enough to have parents with a similar take on the whole shebang, I was able to regurgitate my mother's ventings during these intellectually driven conversations. Thanks to Mom, I was able to hold my own among the eclectic college co-ed party scene.
Now, however, it's a whole different ballgame! I can't tear my eyes away. I nolonger need Mom's opinions to front my phoney contributions. I'm actaully captivated. Why anyone wouldn't want to cash in on this entertainment value is beyond me. We've got the black man running for prez on the left and the potential female VP on the right. Either way, this is it! This is history in the making! So of course I watched as Palin introduced herself to the country today as McCain's choice VP. I found it especially hard to avoid CNN tonight considering the controversy that seems to follow this Palin chick. I couldn't wait to see if she would address the home-grown drama or not.
Here's my opinion:
I kinda like the broad! I mean, here's a woman that can bust out with a zinger or two! (Grandma, this "zinger" I speak of is new slang for a clever punch-in-the-gut insult.) (And yes, the credit should really be given to whoever wrote the speech, but nevertheless, I was impressed with her ability to deliver it so well.) And she's got this down-to-earth appeal. I love how she brushed off the controversial focus the media has had on her family and a moment later, the camera spots her little girl cradling that baby boy, slapping spit on the palm of her hand and adjusting the baby boy's disheveled hair. Sure, she didn't say anything very substantial. The few things that stood out (i.e. how she got rid of the Governor's private jet to save $ and the story about McCain's torturous experience while serving with a thumbs up... I'd like to know how much of that was actually true.) Aside from that, she failed to cover the question we've all been dying to get answered in regard to her foreign affairs experience. Still, she had me smiling. I gotta give it to her. She's got charisma!
This election has me bright eye'd and bushy-tailed. Unfortunately, if I want to continue collecting my unemployment checks, I can't register to vote in NY. So, as I said before, this can be nothing more to me than entertainment value - and what a lovely source of entertainment it is!
Thanks America!
Now, however, it's a whole different ballgame! I can't tear my eyes away. I nolonger need Mom's opinions to front my phoney contributions. I'm actaully captivated. Why anyone wouldn't want to cash in on this entertainment value is beyond me. We've got the black man running for prez on the left and the potential female VP on the right. Either way, this is it! This is history in the making! So of course I watched as Palin introduced herself to the country today as McCain's choice VP. I found it especially hard to avoid CNN tonight considering the controversy that seems to follow this Palin chick. I couldn't wait to see if she would address the home-grown drama or not.
Here's my opinion:
I kinda like the broad! I mean, here's a woman that can bust out with a zinger or two! (Grandma, this "zinger" I speak of is new slang for a clever punch-in-the-gut insult.) (And yes, the credit should really be given to whoever wrote the speech, but nevertheless, I was impressed with her ability to deliver it so well.) And she's got this down-to-earth appeal. I love how she brushed off the controversial focus the media has had on her family and a moment later, the camera spots her little girl cradling that baby boy, slapping spit on the palm of her hand and adjusting the baby boy's disheveled hair. Sure, she didn't say anything very substantial. The few things that stood out (i.e. how she got rid of the Governor's private jet to save $ and the story about McCain's torturous experience while serving with a thumbs up... I'd like to know how much of that was actually true.) Aside from that, she failed to cover the question we've all been dying to get answered in regard to her foreign affairs experience. Still, she had me smiling. I gotta give it to her. She's got charisma!
This election has me bright eye'd and bushy-tailed. Unfortunately, if I want to continue collecting my unemployment checks, I can't register to vote in NY. So, as I said before, this can be nothing more to me than entertainment value - and what a lovely source of entertainment it is!
Thanks America!
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