This isn't a traditional video inspiration because there isn't an official video that goes with this song. I have always just loved the imagery of his lyrics.
So here's my short story inspiration that this song gave me:
(Sorry but you have to go to this link. I couldn't find an embed)
http://iloverap.tumblr.com/post/263359590/jay-z-meet-the-parents-produced-by-just-blaze
“This is going to be hard to say to you Ms. Isis, but know that it’s coming from a friend.” There was a silent pause after the statement, which prompted Isis to focus. She turned the television completely off and tapped her cigarette out on an orange plate. Flashes of faces crossed her mind, knowing the voice on the other end would tell her of someone she knew. She leaned forward off the couch and braced herself for Tommy’s message. Tommy, the city morgue’s favorite messenger.
“Isis, I’m afraid it’s your boy. Sean’s dead.” His voice was soft just like the calming rain outside. His words were eerie like the grey skies. He continued talking and explaining but somehow his language seemed too foreign for her to comprehend. The phone receiver dropped from her grasp and landed beside her right foot, knocking down the cocaine mirror on its way.
“I…I can’t…why…” She couldn’t hold it together. Her words were stumbling through her tears, which fought their way through her slobbering sobs. Tommy called her name, through the speaker on the floor, countless times to exhaustion then eventually hung up after understanding that she would never return to the phone.
Sean was her only son. Her eighteen year old baby. It was just the two of them, always had been. Chris, his father, had only seen him once and dismissed the responsibility without a second guess. Isis rocked back and forth on the teal colored couch, half struggling to breathe, half fighting down her anger. Several minutes passed and she came to a decision. She got up and tore out of the house, slamming the screen door behind her and marching purposely up the street. Neighbors gawked, neighbors laughed, neighbors were used to seeing the haggard, coke head walking around with no shoes on and gripping her tattered, holey brown sweater.
“Where’s Chris?” She yelled. “Where’s that bastard of a man? Somebody better tell me!” By the time she was four blocks down, a little crowd had gathered behind her, anxious to see what was going on. Most assumed Isis was just on a drug craving though…had to be if she was yelling for the most notorious drug dealer in the neighborhood. Chris was leaning against a telephone pole talking to some younger drug dealers and giving them their stash for the day. He had on clean, white sneakers, heather grey sweatpants and a crisp white t-shirt. The rain had halted but the air was still muggy.
“Isis baby, what’s up? You need something?” He asked, flashing a million-dollar smile.
“Last night you were in that back alley over there arguing and fussing with somebody. I saw you from Candace’s window. I couldn’t see who you were arguing with because they had they back turned to me.”
“So what. What do you want?” Chris asked, but darted his eyes around in a paranoid-like way.
“So I know you shot that somebody while ya’ll was arguing.”
“Look Isis-,” he said and gripped her up by her collar. “You don’t know nothing and don’t go spreading rumors like that you druggie.” Isis kept her expression calm and pulled the gun out from her sweater.
“You use these young boys to sell your stuff, but you never look them in their eyes. You never really see them Chris. That boy you shot last night was my son. I know it now because he didn’t come home last night. That boy you shot last night was your son.”
10/01/2012
Video Inspiration - Chris Brown + Colin Tilley
This video has been lurking around in the back of my head for several weeks now. To me, that is an involuntary inspiration and a sign that I should just go with it.
Now we all know that Chris Brown is just an average singer. Nothing to sneeze about, and someone we will all forget in a few months...my sarcasm is fantastic. ;-)
And of course we all know that Colin Tilley has directed the worst videos ever, for the most no name of artists:
Lil Wayne & Rick Ross - John
Jeremih & 50 Cent - Down on Me
J.Cole & Missy Elliot - Nobody's Perfect
Justin Beiber - Never Let You Go
Tyga & Lil Wayne - Faded
I mean really...who has ever heard of those people?
Seriously, here's the video from Chris and Colin that inspired my short story (sidebar - while I've thought of this video I never actually wrote the story until my recent, weekend writing retreat):
Here's the story:
His Saturdays were usually routine. After watching David and Xavier’s baseball game, he dropped them off at their friend’s and went grocery shopping. He would wander aimlessly in and out of the aisles thinking about what life would be like if Marlena wasn’t so wrapped up in all her glorious bullshit. If she didn’t ooze bullshit from her thighs and stomach, neck and face. It was disgusting. After the week’s worth of groceries were packed away in their Honda van, he would carry them home to put away and start on the laundry. That was it. Kids, food and dirty clothes. His Saturday nights couldn’t get more depressing. Tonight, however, was different. Not because certain events were unusual but because Paul had willed it to be different. He was in the bread aisle outwardly dissecting the difference between the 100% wheat and 100% butter top wheat yet inwardly challenging himself to do it, to walk over there and say something. A whole minute passed by while he studied the bread. A whole minute had passed by and she was still standing at the far end of the aisle. Carin was every man’s fantasy, including Paul’s. She was that neighbor whose smile draped with flirtiness. The neighbor who seductively leaned over her petunias, letting one breast peep so gently out of her low cut shirt. Now she was standing at the edge of the hot dog bun shelf, licking her lips and looking his way.
“So, what are you going to do, write a report on the bread or what?”
“Oh hi Carin! I didn’t see you there. I…um…I’m trying to make sure I get the heartiest kind-,”
“And then what are you going to do?” She interrupted.
“Well go home I guess.” But he didn’t want to go home. Even the words tasted sour coming out of his mouth. His wife Marlena was waiting for him at home. She was the reason for all his imaginary excuses for staying at work late and lingering in this supermarket. He didn’t want to go home to her or her bullshit.
“Why don’t you come home with me?” Carin asked. Paul started sweating.
“Come on. You know I’m married. Don’t say things like that.” He picked up a pack of Stoneground 100% wheat and placed it in the cart. She strutted her way down the aisle and ended up right next to him, face to face.
“114 E. French Boulevard. Apartment 13D.” And with that she was gone. Paul couldn’t pay for his items any faster than he could blink. He stumbled out of the store, dropping his keys and clumsily throwing the bags into the backseat.
“Hey honey, h-how’s it going?” He wiped the perspiration from his forehead, which had formed at the mere thought of driving in the direction of Carin’s apartment. At this point in his life, Paul couldn’t care less about Marlena. Her bullshit was always getting in the way. He needed a break from it.
“When will you be home?” She asked.
“Soon…er, well actually I’m headed to work to work on something. So, you probably don’t need to wait up.”
“Did you even get the groceries you dimwit? I’m hungry. I want my dinner.” She was beginning to annoy him and ruin the mood he created just for Carin.
“Okay I have to go. We’ll talk about it later.”
“Paul! You can’t just hang up on me like that. We are not done-,”
“Gotta go honey. Bye.” He ended the call quickly and made a sharp left turn, running through a yellow light. The phone rang again with Marlena’s name flashing in bright neon. He ignored it. Only four more streets to go. His mind wandered to when Marlena’s bullshit began. It was definitely after they had Xavier, and became worse after David was born. The boys were almost teenagers now. Time seemed like it stopped but her bullshit just grew and grew. Carin was perfect. Not an ounce of bullshit on her. Finally, he pulled up in front of the 114 E. French Boulevard apartment building.
Now we all know that Chris Brown is just an average singer. Nothing to sneeze about, and someone we will all forget in a few months...my sarcasm is fantastic. ;-)
And of course we all know that Colin Tilley has directed the worst videos ever, for the most no name of artists:
Lil Wayne & Rick Ross - John
Jeremih & 50 Cent - Down on Me
J.Cole & Missy Elliot - Nobody's Perfect
Justin Beiber - Never Let You Go
Tyga & Lil Wayne - Faded
I mean really...who has ever heard of those people?
Seriously, here's the video from Chris and Colin that inspired my short story (sidebar - while I've thought of this video I never actually wrote the story until my recent, weekend writing retreat):
Here's the story:
His Saturdays were usually routine. After watching David and Xavier’s baseball game, he dropped them off at their friend’s and went grocery shopping. He would wander aimlessly in and out of the aisles thinking about what life would be like if Marlena wasn’t so wrapped up in all her glorious bullshit. If she didn’t ooze bullshit from her thighs and stomach, neck and face. It was disgusting. After the week’s worth of groceries were packed away in their Honda van, he would carry them home to put away and start on the laundry. That was it. Kids, food and dirty clothes. His Saturday nights couldn’t get more depressing. Tonight, however, was different. Not because certain events were unusual but because Paul had willed it to be different. He was in the bread aisle outwardly dissecting the difference between the 100% wheat and 100% butter top wheat yet inwardly challenging himself to do it, to walk over there and say something. A whole minute passed by while he studied the bread. A whole minute had passed by and she was still standing at the far end of the aisle. Carin was every man’s fantasy, including Paul’s. She was that neighbor whose smile draped with flirtiness. The neighbor who seductively leaned over her petunias, letting one breast peep so gently out of her low cut shirt. Now she was standing at the edge of the hot dog bun shelf, licking her lips and looking his way.
“So, what are you going to do, write a report on the bread or what?”
“Oh hi Carin! I didn’t see you there. I…um…I’m trying to make sure I get the heartiest kind-,”
“And then what are you going to do?” She interrupted.
“Well go home I guess.” But he didn’t want to go home. Even the words tasted sour coming out of his mouth. His wife Marlena was waiting for him at home. She was the reason for all his imaginary excuses for staying at work late and lingering in this supermarket. He didn’t want to go home to her or her bullshit.
“Why don’t you come home with me?” Carin asked. Paul started sweating.
“Come on. You know I’m married. Don’t say things like that.” He picked up a pack of Stoneground 100% wheat and placed it in the cart. She strutted her way down the aisle and ended up right next to him, face to face.
“114 E. French Boulevard. Apartment 13D.” And with that she was gone. Paul couldn’t pay for his items any faster than he could blink. He stumbled out of the store, dropping his keys and clumsily throwing the bags into the backseat.
“Hey honey, h-how’s it going?” He wiped the perspiration from his forehead, which had formed at the mere thought of driving in the direction of Carin’s apartment. At this point in his life, Paul couldn’t care less about Marlena. Her bullshit was always getting in the way. He needed a break from it.
“When will you be home?” She asked.
“Soon…er, well actually I’m headed to work to work on something. So, you probably don’t need to wait up.”
“Did you even get the groceries you dimwit? I’m hungry. I want my dinner.” She was beginning to annoy him and ruin the mood he created just for Carin.
“Okay I have to go. We’ll talk about it later.”
“Paul! You can’t just hang up on me like that. We are not done-,”
“Gotta go honey. Bye.” He ended the call quickly and made a sharp left turn, running through a yellow light. The phone rang again with Marlena’s name flashing in bright neon. He ignored it. Only four more streets to go. His mind wandered to when Marlena’s bullshit began. It was definitely after they had Xavier, and became worse after David was born. The boys were almost teenagers now. Time seemed like it stopped but her bullshit just grew and grew. Carin was perfect. Not an ounce of bullshit on her. Finally, he pulled up in front of the 114 E. French Boulevard apartment building.
9/03/2012
The evolution of creativity
I still like the hardback, newspaper, magazine and audibook...ebook - I've skipped over that. Enhanced book - I'm getting there. Question mark - I'm inventing that. :-)
7/06/2012
7/04/2012
Video Inspiration - Frank Ocean + Nabil Elderkin
Early this morning (July 4th), singer Frank Ocean boldly posted a message on his Tumblr page that announced he was bisexual. It wasn't just a post, but a story of when he first fell in love with another man and the emotions that followed.
I love Frank's music and his voice. My favorite video of his is "Swim Good" directed by Nabil Elderkin. As far as music videos go, Nabil's done a few small insignificant things like:
Seal – Change is Gonna Come
Kanye West – Paranoid
GOOD Music – Mercy
John Legend – P.D.A.
Bruno Mars – Grenade
I mean, small things, nothing to sneeze about ;-)
Anyway, this collaboration with Frank Ocean is a creative dream come true.
This video inspired this short story interpretation:
I loved her like no other. So much so I would kill for her. But there always comes a day when your love is tested. On that day, I left work early, routinely stopping by the Nihonto antique store to admire their latest findings of samurai swords. Every fourth Thursday of the month they would display whatever traditional find they had authenticated and mount it high in a bullet proof glass case in the front window. Three months ago, I had my eye on a rare Shinogi Katana. The grip was a little worn, but the deep blue leather was still sturdy. I saved a whole year for that piece and when the time came, I choked before closing the deal. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Something so precious, so beautiful, didn’t deserve my possession I thought. But not this day. This day I walked in there with courage, with a glint in my eye. She had told me I had earned it. Earlier that morning, I swear she kissed me on the cheek and told me so. And I believed her because I loved her like no other. This time around I didn’t even look in the display case. I went right for the Tachi sword hoisted behind the counter. I handed my man four thousand dollars in cash and drove right home to her.
Thursdays were also a routine for her. She didn’t go to work on Thursdays. She woke early to catch the train to some flower depot up state then returned by mid-afternoon to work at home. She was a museum curator and knew any and everything there was to know about history. I could only imagine the look on her face when I brought home this 1344 Tachi antique. My baby.
There were so many signs I missed. So many signs pointing me to turn around, to not stand on the tracks and watch the train that ultimately hit me. I opened the unlocked door and entered our home. Even though strong scents of alcohol and food lingered, I still kept the smile on my face. I drew the sword out of its case and walked to the back towards our bedroom. I gripped the flowers in my left hand and stepped over the clothes in the hallway, pushing the door aside.
“What have you done?” I whispered. It was the only thing I thought to say. My cracked voice startled them and they sat up gripping our silk sheets. Our silk sheets. Her long, black hair was beautiful even in its most traitorous state. My brain switched off.
“No!” She screamed. He put his arm up to shield her, to protect her, to anger me. My sword came down on him first. Quick and clean. She, however, didn’t deserve the same.
“I love you.” She managed to say and smoothly extended her legs over the bed to get up. She stood in front of me. She was always so bold, so fearless.
“I finally bought it.” I said.
“I know. You deserve it.”
“I know.” I raised it to her neck.
Now I’ve got this black suit on. It was my grandfather’s suit. The same one he wore at his wedding. My father never married my mother. The hope was on my shoulders but I’ve thrown it off. I was on my way to the funeral, but that’s too risky. Being lonely is hard. Being alone is hard. The best thing is to try and start over. Cleanse my sin in the ocean. Without her, the only thing I can do is swim good.
I love Frank's music and his voice. My favorite video of his is "Swim Good" directed by Nabil Elderkin. As far as music videos go, Nabil's done a few small insignificant things like:
Seal – Change is Gonna Come
Kanye West – Paranoid
GOOD Music – Mercy
John Legend – P.D.A.
Bruno Mars – Grenade
I mean, small things, nothing to sneeze about ;-)
Anyway, this collaboration with Frank Ocean is a creative dream come true.
This video inspired this short story interpretation:
I loved her like no other. So much so I would kill for her. But there always comes a day when your love is tested. On that day, I left work early, routinely stopping by the Nihonto antique store to admire their latest findings of samurai swords. Every fourth Thursday of the month they would display whatever traditional find they had authenticated and mount it high in a bullet proof glass case in the front window. Three months ago, I had my eye on a rare Shinogi Katana. The grip was a little worn, but the deep blue leather was still sturdy. I saved a whole year for that piece and when the time came, I choked before closing the deal. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Something so precious, so beautiful, didn’t deserve my possession I thought. But not this day. This day I walked in there with courage, with a glint in my eye. She had told me I had earned it. Earlier that morning, I swear she kissed me on the cheek and told me so. And I believed her because I loved her like no other. This time around I didn’t even look in the display case. I went right for the Tachi sword hoisted behind the counter. I handed my man four thousand dollars in cash and drove right home to her.
Thursdays were also a routine for her. She didn’t go to work on Thursdays. She woke early to catch the train to some flower depot up state then returned by mid-afternoon to work at home. She was a museum curator and knew any and everything there was to know about history. I could only imagine the look on her face when I brought home this 1344 Tachi antique. My baby.
There were so many signs I missed. So many signs pointing me to turn around, to not stand on the tracks and watch the train that ultimately hit me. I opened the unlocked door and entered our home. Even though strong scents of alcohol and food lingered, I still kept the smile on my face. I drew the sword out of its case and walked to the back towards our bedroom. I gripped the flowers in my left hand and stepped over the clothes in the hallway, pushing the door aside.
“What have you done?” I whispered. It was the only thing I thought to say. My cracked voice startled them and they sat up gripping our silk sheets. Our silk sheets. Her long, black hair was beautiful even in its most traitorous state. My brain switched off.
“No!” She screamed. He put his arm up to shield her, to protect her, to anger me. My sword came down on him first. Quick and clean. She, however, didn’t deserve the same.
“I love you.” She managed to say and smoothly extended her legs over the bed to get up. She stood in front of me. She was always so bold, so fearless.
“I finally bought it.” I said.
“I know. You deserve it.”
“I know.” I raised it to her neck.
Now I’ve got this black suit on. It was my grandfather’s suit. The same one he wore at his wedding. My father never married my mother. The hope was on my shoulders but I’ve thrown it off. I was on my way to the funeral, but that’s too risky. Being lonely is hard. Being alone is hard. The best thing is to try and start over. Cleanse my sin in the ocean. Without her, the only thing I can do is swim good.
6/29/2012
Yes, Chef. You Deserve this Memoir
Marcus Samuelsson. I know you've heard of him...no? Maybe you need to identify him by a picture:
He is a renowned chef who has been featured on CNN, Top Chef, Today Show and Iron Chef America (among other shows). To me, his name became of importance when he served as the guest chef for the first state dinner of our POTUS (President of the United States for our less than savvy readers). The dinner was mostly vegetarian dishes, and being the wannabe vegetarian that I am, it caught my attention. Since then, he's done a million other things including opening a restaurant called The Red Rooster.
This is definitely the best time for him to pen a memoir. He's no ordinary chef. His food is phenomenal, of course, but his journey and backstory will make you appreciate his food (if you ever go to his restaurant) ten times more.
Snippet from Amazon.com:
It begins with a simple ritual: Every Saturday afternoon, a boy who loves to cook walks to his grandmother’s house and helps her prepare a roast chicken for dinner. The grandmother is Swedish, a retired domestic. The boy is Ethiopian and adopted, and he will grow up to become the world-renowned chef Marcus Samuelsson. This book is his love letter to food and family in all its manifestations.
Marcus Samuelsson was only three years old when he, his mother, and his sister—all battling tuberculosis—walked seventy-five miles to a hospital in the Ethiopian capital city of Addis Adaba. Tragically, his mother succumbed to the disease shortly after she arrived, but Marcus and his sister recovered, and one year later they were welcomed into a loving middle-class white family in Göteborg, Sweden. It was there that Marcus’s new grandmother, Helga, sparked in him a lifelong passion for food and cooking with her pan-fried herring, her freshly baked bread, and her signature roast chicken. From a very early age, there was little question what Marcus was going to be when he grew up.
GO BUY IT!!!!
He is a renowned chef who has been featured on CNN, Top Chef, Today Show and Iron Chef America (among other shows). To me, his name became of importance when he served as the guest chef for the first state dinner of our POTUS (President of the United States for our less than savvy readers). The dinner was mostly vegetarian dishes, and being the wannabe vegetarian that I am, it caught my attention. Since then, he's done a million other things including opening a restaurant called The Red Rooster.
This is definitely the best time for him to pen a memoir. He's no ordinary chef. His food is phenomenal, of course, but his journey and backstory will make you appreciate his food (if you ever go to his restaurant) ten times more.
Snippet from Amazon.com:
It begins with a simple ritual: Every Saturday afternoon, a boy who loves to cook walks to his grandmother’s house and helps her prepare a roast chicken for dinner. The grandmother is Swedish, a retired domestic. The boy is Ethiopian and adopted, and he will grow up to become the world-renowned chef Marcus Samuelsson. This book is his love letter to food and family in all its manifestations.
Marcus Samuelsson was only three years old when he, his mother, and his sister—all battling tuberculosis—walked seventy-five miles to a hospital in the Ethiopian capital city of Addis Adaba. Tragically, his mother succumbed to the disease shortly after she arrived, but Marcus and his sister recovered, and one year later they were welcomed into a loving middle-class white family in Göteborg, Sweden. It was there that Marcus’s new grandmother, Helga, sparked in him a lifelong passion for food and cooking with her pan-fried herring, her freshly baked bread, and her signature roast chicken. From a very early age, there was little question what Marcus was going to be when he grew up.
GO BUY IT!!!!
6/28/2012
National Anthem - Vote for A$AP and Lana
It was in January that I said A$AP Rocky was already going to pluck my nerve because he was getting too much recognition too fast. I needed him to give me more evidence of his greatness before I could jump on that bandwagon. In the past six months, I've dissected his album LiveLoveA$AP, I've watched all the interviews of him and his crew and I've tried to understand his purpose in hip hop. I'm getting better at not passing judgment on the first round. Now I think it's safe to say...he's got it.
National Anthem.
A song by Lana Del Rey featuring Rocky, but not in the way of a typical rap feature, oh no. Rocky isn't providing 8-bars to spice up her song or give her any genre credibility. Lana has her lane covered on her own. [Side note: I was sold on her talents with Blue Jeans and Born to Die]
This new video has the definition of creative splashed across it. A$AP is a loose representation of President JFK and Lana is his first lady. The themes of interracial relationships, sex, politics and history are so damn convincing. What a great way to start your morning right?
National Anthem.
A song by Lana Del Rey featuring Rocky, but not in the way of a typical rap feature, oh no. Rocky isn't providing 8-bars to spice up her song or give her any genre credibility. Lana has her lane covered on her own. [Side note: I was sold on her talents with Blue Jeans and Born to Die]
This new video has the definition of creative splashed across it. A$AP is a loose representation of President JFK and Lana is his first lady. The themes of interracial relationships, sex, politics and history are so damn convincing. What a great way to start your morning right?
6/08/2012
Farenheit 451 Author Dies
I know, I know. Ray Bradbury has authored many more novels than just Farenheit 451, but honestly, you know in your heart that this was his best. I read that novel in middle school and I distinctly remember thinking what a tragedy it would be if physical books were no longer a part of our society. Now that I think about it...I probably shed a tear or two. Okay maybe that was a bit much. Anyway, rest in peace Ray Bradbury, and trust, I personally will make sure that your make believe, science fiction world of burning books never happens in my lifetime.
I ALWAYS do my part...
I ALWAYS do my part...
5/26/2012
Random writing prompt
I found a writing prompt the other day and decided to challenge myself. A prompt is when you are given a story setup and must complete an X number word count story. For example: Your a little girl, whose mother sent you on a journey to your grandmom's house. Along the way, you come face to face with a big, bad wolf...see? Anyway, I got a prompt and wrote this little quickie in about half hour. Let me premise though...I haven't mastered endings.
“I don’t know why it’s so hard to clean week-old spaghetti sauce from marble kitchen floors. But here I am, scraping away on my hands and knees. God Dylan! Can’t you learn to wipe your spills when they happen?” A 10-year old Dylan sat atop the counter island watching his mother utilize all her fancy yet impractical clean up gadgets, while licking the last of his Snickers ice cream bar.
“It makes absolutely no sense I tell you!” She said then removed her smock and gloves. She pushed her hair back, out of her face and straightened her dress before answering the doorbell.
“Good afternoon ma’am, are you Lila Wright?”
“No I’m not, sorry.” Although she noticed the stretch Maybach and at the end of the driveway, it didn’t peak her curiosity enough to let this tall, dark suited man continue his conversation. She shut the door. He rang the bell two more times.
“Yes?” She asked irritatingly.
“Does Lila Wright live here? I’m sure we are at the right address.”
“And I’m sure I know who I am. What is your business anyway?” She peeked behind him at the window of the Maybach slowing rolling down but it was too far away to make out the figure exactly.
“It’s confidential and Mr. Washington does not like to wait. If you know where we can find this woman, perhaps she is a neighbor or something?”
“Mr. Washington who?” Now curiosity was getting the best of her.
“Denzel Washington.”
“Wait. Did you say Lila? I’m sorry, but it’s pronounced Lee-la. The ‘i’ has an ‘e’ sound.”
“It does?”
“Yes, yes, I’m so sorry that you had to play such a hard game of name that girl.” She giggled. “It’s just that people always mess up my name and I never know who to trust. Why don’t you come in, or do you want me to come out?” She was clearly winging it but thoroughly enjoying it. Denzel Washington! Imagine that! If what was happening was seriously a reality and not the outcome of cleaning chemical fumes floating around in her brain, then Lila…Leela…Wright was who she was about to be.
“Since you and Mr. Washington are scheduled for a 12:30 lunch, if you’re ready then we can head out.”
“Oh. Oh, okay, yes. Let me grab my things and I’ll, oh my, lunch? Okay, give me a minute.” She left the door open and bee-lined for the stairs. Dylan had come around the corner, down the hallway and witnessed the whole thing before taking the last bite of his ice cream bar. The tall man returned to the car and informed that “Lila” would be out soon. Upstairs, she could be heard stomping, yelling and flinging things about. Three minutes later, Dylan met her at the bottom of the stairway with sticky hands and chocolate on his cheeks.
“Honey, oh my god! Do you know who is in that car out there? Do you know this is mommy’s dream come true? All that praying has finally paid off and that $200 I gave the church last week…woohoo!”
“But mom you’re not the girl they’re looking for.”
“This is a good time to teach you a very important lesson.” She bent down and grabbed his shoulders. “Sometimes, like that spaghetti sauce, you have to enjoy what’s in front of you and worry about cleaning up the messes later. Even if I don’t get any further than down the block, I will never regret this lie. Ha ha!” She kissed his forehead and rushed out the door.
**By the way here was my prompt:
The person of your dreams shows up on your doorstep, asking if you'd like to go out for coffee. You are suprised and confused, but you say yes. At the coffee shop as he/she is talking, you discover that he/she thinks you are someone else. Instead of coming clean, you go with it. - The Writers Digest
“I don’t know why it’s so hard to clean week-old spaghetti sauce from marble kitchen floors. But here I am, scraping away on my hands and knees. God Dylan! Can’t you learn to wipe your spills when they happen?” A 10-year old Dylan sat atop the counter island watching his mother utilize all her fancy yet impractical clean up gadgets, while licking the last of his Snickers ice cream bar.
“It makes absolutely no sense I tell you!” She said then removed her smock and gloves. She pushed her hair back, out of her face and straightened her dress before answering the doorbell.
“Good afternoon ma’am, are you Lila Wright?”
“No I’m not, sorry.” Although she noticed the stretch Maybach and at the end of the driveway, it didn’t peak her curiosity enough to let this tall, dark suited man continue his conversation. She shut the door. He rang the bell two more times.
“Yes?” She asked irritatingly.
“Does Lila Wright live here? I’m sure we are at the right address.”
“And I’m sure I know who I am. What is your business anyway?” She peeked behind him at the window of the Maybach slowing rolling down but it was too far away to make out the figure exactly.
“It’s confidential and Mr. Washington does not like to wait. If you know where we can find this woman, perhaps she is a neighbor or something?”
“Mr. Washington who?” Now curiosity was getting the best of her.
“Denzel Washington.”
“Wait. Did you say Lila? I’m sorry, but it’s pronounced Lee-la. The ‘i’ has an ‘e’ sound.”
“It does?”
“Yes, yes, I’m so sorry that you had to play such a hard game of name that girl.” She giggled. “It’s just that people always mess up my name and I never know who to trust. Why don’t you come in, or do you want me to come out?” She was clearly winging it but thoroughly enjoying it. Denzel Washington! Imagine that! If what was happening was seriously a reality and not the outcome of cleaning chemical fumes floating around in her brain, then Lila…Leela…Wright was who she was about to be.
“Since you and Mr. Washington are scheduled for a 12:30 lunch, if you’re ready then we can head out.”
“Oh. Oh, okay, yes. Let me grab my things and I’ll, oh my, lunch? Okay, give me a minute.” She left the door open and bee-lined for the stairs. Dylan had come around the corner, down the hallway and witnessed the whole thing before taking the last bite of his ice cream bar. The tall man returned to the car and informed that “Lila” would be out soon. Upstairs, she could be heard stomping, yelling and flinging things about. Three minutes later, Dylan met her at the bottom of the stairway with sticky hands and chocolate on his cheeks.
“Honey, oh my god! Do you know who is in that car out there? Do you know this is mommy’s dream come true? All that praying has finally paid off and that $200 I gave the church last week…woohoo!”
“But mom you’re not the girl they’re looking for.”
“This is a good time to teach you a very important lesson.” She bent down and grabbed his shoulders. “Sometimes, like that spaghetti sauce, you have to enjoy what’s in front of you and worry about cleaning up the messes later. Even if I don’t get any further than down the block, I will never regret this lie. Ha ha!” She kissed his forehead and rushed out the door.
**By the way here was my prompt:
The person of your dreams shows up on your doorstep, asking if you'd like to go out for coffee. You are suprised and confused, but you say yes. At the coffee shop as he/she is talking, you discover that he/she thinks you are someone else. Instead of coming clean, you go with it. - The Writers Digest
5/09/2012
Everybody else is DOING IT - Fifty Shades of Grey
The topic on the lips of book lovers (and even those who aren't) is the book Fifty Shades of Grey written by E.L. James, and its current ban in some libraries. In my opinion, the ban raises the question of how uptight should we or should we not be in America. They are deeming this erotic fiction novel, as straight porn. That's a strong description. But of course, if it's in the genre of erotic fiction, it probably would be porn!
This whole fiasco reminds me of when The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo first came out. The bondage and BDSM sexual plots were a pretty little surprise for the average fiction reader. Actually, see my post on that...here. And the outrage with the 1958 publishing of "Lolita" by Vladimir Nabokov is along the same shaky line. There are many novels that were considered "provocative" when they came out, yet are mild, child's play now. Does that mean society keeps coming to a point where it's more tolerant with sexual exposure and sex fetishes? I'm sure a decade from now, Fifty Shades of Grey will be just a puff of smoke in the debate on rapturous literature.
So...if you want to see what all the fuss is about, don't go to your neighborhood library. You better head to the closest Barnes & Noble since librarians apparantly have their buns pulled too tight and their shirts buttoned all the way up!
From Wikipedia:
The plot traces the relationship between recent college graduate Anastasia Steele and manipulative billionaire Christian Grey. Steele is required by Grey to sign a contract allowing him complete control over her life. As she gets to know him she learns that his sexual tastes involve bondage, domination and sadism, and that childhood abuse left him a deeply damaged individual. In order to be his partner she agrees to experiment with BDSM, but struggles to reconcile who she is (a virgin who has never previously had a boyfriend) with whom Christian wants her to be: his submissive, to-do-with-as-he-pleases partner in his "Red Room of Pain."
This whole fiasco reminds me of when The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo first came out. The bondage and BDSM sexual plots were a pretty little surprise for the average fiction reader. Actually, see my post on that...here. And the outrage with the 1958 publishing of "Lolita" by Vladimir Nabokov is along the same shaky line. There are many novels that were considered "provocative" when they came out, yet are mild, child's play now. Does that mean society keeps coming to a point where it's more tolerant with sexual exposure and sex fetishes? I'm sure a decade from now, Fifty Shades of Grey will be just a puff of smoke in the debate on rapturous literature.
So...if you want to see what all the fuss is about, don't go to your neighborhood library. You better head to the closest Barnes & Noble since librarians apparantly have their buns pulled too tight and their shirts buttoned all the way up!
From Wikipedia:
The plot traces the relationship between recent college graduate Anastasia Steele and manipulative billionaire Christian Grey. Steele is required by Grey to sign a contract allowing him complete control over her life. As she gets to know him she learns that his sexual tastes involve bondage, domination and sadism, and that childhood abuse left him a deeply damaged individual. In order to be his partner she agrees to experiment with BDSM, but struggles to reconcile who she is (a virgin who has never previously had a boyfriend) with whom Christian wants her to be: his submissive, to-do-with-as-he-pleases partner in his "Red Room of Pain."
5/04/2012
Video Inspiration #3 - Kelis + Paul Hunter
So, I broke the promise I just made below. Whatever.
Anyway, this is my all time favorite video by Kelis and any other Kelis fan out there (it's only a few of us) would totally agree. This video was at the time when Kelis's signature hairstyle was her wild locks. So, to see it long and straight, was breathtaking.
The video was directed by Paul Hunter and he is known for directing other minor, little videos such as:
Aaliyah - One in a Million
Notorious BIG - Hypnotize
Puffy - All about the Benjamins
Lenny Kravitz - Again
Jennifer Lopez - Love Don't cost a Thing
Jay-Z ft. Pharrell - Frontin
Jeremih - Birthday Sex
Justin Timberlake - My Love
And the list goes on and on and on and on...
Please watch this awesome video, then read my awesome short story. (And this one is really short. I was inspired by a short, general idea. Maybe one day I'll flush it out more.) Thanks much.
"If he hits you one more time, you have to kill him." She said aloud to her mirrored reflection. The index and middle finger on her right hand gently stroked the bubble of puffiness around her eye and swiped the blood that trickled from the open split. She washed her hands off in the sink, then dipped her son's Batman washcloth into the soapy water to clean the rest of the cuts and bruises that lined up on her face, shoulders and arms.
"Baby...you okay in there?"
"Leave me alone."
"I know you're upset with me but I'm really sorry. I didn't mean it.” The door rocked a little when his back slumped against it. “You just can’t do shit like that. You know it makes me get black-headed.” Black-headed. That’s what he always referred to as blacking out and punching her repeatedly in the face, ribs and chest.
“You’re a broken record Tom.” She managed to say before bursting into tears.
“Come on don’t cry. Let me in. We can talk about it, but not with the door between us. Come on. Come on.” His words got louder. “You know you need me. Shit, talking about a broken record, you always come back though don’t you? Open this damn door!”
“I said leave me alone.” She whispered. She took the bottom of her dress and lightly wiped the tears that had already stained. It was one of her favorite dresses: Burgundy with yellow polka dots at the top and yellow stripes at the bottom. Such a unique design. Burgundy was her favorite color. Now the dress matched her eyes and arms. She tucked a side of her long, blonde hair behind her ear, then took a seat on the edge of the tub.
“I was just trying to make you happy. I don’t know what’s so wrong with that.”
“I am happy.” He said, in a low muffled voice. “What are you doing in there? Why can’t I come in? Look, I’ll buy you whatever you want to make up for it okay?” She kept quiet, but stared at the door.
“I’ll get you a better car okay? A newer one. And some new dresses. Don’t you like dresses?”
“I don’t need a new car.”
“Then a trip? How about we fly back down to Mexico?”
“I don’t need a trip.”
“What the hell do you want then? I’ll tell you what I want, for you to stop acting childish and come out of this bathroom.” Suddenly his fist pounded on the door. The reverberation shook her to standing upright. She wrapped her arms around her body as tight as she could, as he continued to pound on the door. It wasn’t big, but it was definitely something noticeable. A wooden splint in the door that faced her side was poking out just so. Out of fear, her heart skipped a beat. She leaned in to peer closer.
“Open up!” He shouted, rocking the door again. She jerked back.
“Tom, stop it! You know what I want? You know what you can do for me?” The pounding stopped. She gave in. “Don’t do it again okay? Just…don’t.”
“I love you.” He said. She turned the doorknob and opened it. He stood in front of her, flush faced and sweating.
“I don’t need anything from you. Can’t you see that?” She caressed his face. “Let me be here for you. Let me love you. I don’t matter. Nothing else matters. I just wanna get along with you.”
“I know.” They embraced.
Anyway, this is my all time favorite video by Kelis and any other Kelis fan out there (it's only a few of us) would totally agree. This video was at the time when Kelis's signature hairstyle was her wild locks. So, to see it long and straight, was breathtaking.
The video was directed by Paul Hunter and he is known for directing other minor, little videos such as:
Aaliyah - One in a Million
Notorious BIG - Hypnotize
Puffy - All about the Benjamins
Lenny Kravitz - Again
Jennifer Lopez - Love Don't cost a Thing
Jay-Z ft. Pharrell - Frontin
Jeremih - Birthday Sex
Justin Timberlake - My Love
And the list goes on and on and on and on...
Please watch this awesome video, then read my awesome short story. (And this one is really short. I was inspired by a short, general idea. Maybe one day I'll flush it out more.) Thanks much.
"If he hits you one more time, you have to kill him." She said aloud to her mirrored reflection. The index and middle finger on her right hand gently stroked the bubble of puffiness around her eye and swiped the blood that trickled from the open split. She washed her hands off in the sink, then dipped her son's Batman washcloth into the soapy water to clean the rest of the cuts and bruises that lined up on her face, shoulders and arms.
"Baby...you okay in there?"
"Leave me alone."
"I know you're upset with me but I'm really sorry. I didn't mean it.” The door rocked a little when his back slumped against it. “You just can’t do shit like that. You know it makes me get black-headed.” Black-headed. That’s what he always referred to as blacking out and punching her repeatedly in the face, ribs and chest.
“You’re a broken record Tom.” She managed to say before bursting into tears.
“Come on don’t cry. Let me in. We can talk about it, but not with the door between us. Come on. Come on.” His words got louder. “You know you need me. Shit, talking about a broken record, you always come back though don’t you? Open this damn door!”
“I said leave me alone.” She whispered. She took the bottom of her dress and lightly wiped the tears that had already stained. It was one of her favorite dresses: Burgundy with yellow polka dots at the top and yellow stripes at the bottom. Such a unique design. Burgundy was her favorite color. Now the dress matched her eyes and arms. She tucked a side of her long, blonde hair behind her ear, then took a seat on the edge of the tub.
“I was just trying to make you happy. I don’t know what’s so wrong with that.”
“I am happy.” He said, in a low muffled voice. “What are you doing in there? Why can’t I come in? Look, I’ll buy you whatever you want to make up for it okay?” She kept quiet, but stared at the door.
“I’ll get you a better car okay? A newer one. And some new dresses. Don’t you like dresses?”
“I don’t need a new car.”
“Then a trip? How about we fly back down to Mexico?”
“I don’t need a trip.”
“What the hell do you want then? I’ll tell you what I want, for you to stop acting childish and come out of this bathroom.” Suddenly his fist pounded on the door. The reverberation shook her to standing upright. She wrapped her arms around her body as tight as she could, as he continued to pound on the door. It wasn’t big, but it was definitely something noticeable. A wooden splint in the door that faced her side was poking out just so. Out of fear, her heart skipped a beat. She leaned in to peer closer.
“Open up!” He shouted, rocking the door again. She jerked back.
“Tom, stop it! You know what I want? You know what you can do for me?” The pounding stopped. She gave in. “Don’t do it again okay? Just…don’t.”
“I love you.” He said. She turned the doorknob and opened it. He stood in front of her, flush faced and sweating.
“I don’t need anything from you. Can’t you see that?” She caressed his face. “Let me be here for you. Let me love you. I don’t matter. Nothing else matters. I just wanna get along with you.”
“I know.” They embraced.
4/17/2012
4/02/2012
National Poetry Month
April is National Poetry Month - And I know that you are super excited, but please contain yourself for a moment.
It should go without saying, that Nikki Giovanni is the best poet ever in life...
Okay fine, I'll put my personal opinion aside and just write the post already.
If you know anything about me, one of the main things you know is my obsession with Edgar Allan Poe's short stories: The Fall of the House of Usher, The Tale-Tell Heart, Hop Frog, The Purloined Letter, and it goes on and on and on. Although most people don't associate him with poems and since this is the perfect month to showcase one...here we go:
A Dream Within A Dream (1850)
Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow --
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand --
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep -- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
And how can you talk about National Poetry Month without mentioning Maya Angelou? You can't. But, since her poems tend to run very long, I'll give the following so that you can go explore on your own:
Biography
Official Website
List of Poems
It should go without saying, that Nikki Giovanni is the best poet ever in life...
Okay fine, I'll put my personal opinion aside and just write the post already.
If you know anything about me, one of the main things you know is my obsession with Edgar Allan Poe's short stories: The Fall of the House of Usher, The Tale-Tell Heart, Hop Frog, The Purloined Letter, and it goes on and on and on. Although most people don't associate him with poems and since this is the perfect month to showcase one...here we go:
A Dream Within A Dream (1850)
Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow --
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand --
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep -- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
And how can you talk about National Poetry Month without mentioning Maya Angelou? You can't. But, since her poems tend to run very long, I'll give the following so that you can go explore on your own:
Biography
Official Website
List of Poems
3/27/2012
For The Greater Good - Literary Goodies
You can celebrate the joy of reading in any way you wish; I choose to wear it on my back and put it to my ear...
"The Color Purple" T-shirt
"Edgar Allan Poe" Pop Art iPhone case
"The Color Purple" T-shirt
"Edgar Allan Poe" Pop Art iPhone case
3/26/2012
Video Inspiration #2 - Kanye + Spike Jonze
I listen to music...alot. I watch music videos...even more. Sometimes I watch a video that sparks a story in my mind. It happened once before...HERE. And it happened again recently.
I know this song is rather old but that should make no difference. Good music is good music. Good video directing is good video directing.
I...LOVE...THIS...SONG!! Between this one and Addiction, I'm the biggest Kanye fan ever. But, since Vashtie Kola did a cover video for Addiction, I thought it would be overkill to do a story to it too.
There were 3 seperate videos made for the Flashing Lights song, but the one below is the third and final version. Spike Jonze and Kanye did the directing for this one. I have always been inspired by the simplicity of these visuals yet the depth of the song and so I wrote a short story about it...like to hear it? Hear ya go:
Penelope was my real name, but no one ever called me that, especially not him. His names for me were something we shared in secret and they almost always were adjectives. Gorgeous, Sexy, Adorable, Delectable. I really liked the last one. He was creative in that way. Every Thursday, he came cruising by in one of those expensive, hard to pronounce cars of his to pick me up. The first time I met him, he told me we were in the backseat of a Landaulet. The second time, a Pagani is what drove us to the hotel downtown. By the 5th Thursday, I was a pro at identifying Andrei Gikhlov, Russian billionaire, from 100 yards away.
“Turn around and face me.”
“Like this?”
“Yes, now take the rest of your clothes off.” He commanded. I did what he wanted then looked out our villa window and examined the blue waves, rocking and splashing against one another. It looked electric and surreal. We had taken his private plane to Florida for the weekend and although it was my first time on a plane, I tried my best to hide the nervousness. Andrei said this was a special occasion and it would also be worth my time so I stepped out of my comfort zone.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” He asked.
“Of course. What I don’t understand is how your wife doesn’t appreciate something like this?” The sky was getting dark but the beach dwellers didn’t budge. I removed my black, lace brassiere but he wasn’t paying attention.
“There’s no tangible value in this, that’s why.” He said to himself, staring at the wedding band on his left finger. “If she can’t take that black sand, that clear water, that orange sunset home and brag about how much it cost, she has no need for it.”
“Sounds like a spoiled bitch to me. Not someone who can do the things that I can do for you.” I crawled across the bed sheets and planted myself between his legs.
“Remember I said we needed to talk about us?” His tone became serious.
“I remember. That’s the whole point of this trip isn’t it?” I giggled in response. He got up and put his shirt and pants back on.
“I’ll be right back.” He said and quickly left the room. I dived to the other side of the bed, reaching for the phone.
“Hey. Are you sleep?” I asked Shayla after dialing her number.
“Sort of. What do you want?”
“I’m at his villa.”
“And?”
“And, he just left the room. I think he’s going to propose when he gets back. I told you my time was coming. You gotta pay your dues, that’s what I always say.” I couldn’t stop smiling. Who knew this was the way my life would turn out. I was born to a drug addicted mother and when I was fourteen, she and my eleven year old brother both died from an overdose. I became a runaway instead of a ward of the state. A week after I turned fifteen, I saved this woman from a brutal beating by a “customer” and that same day she took me in and treated me like a little sister, eventually showing me how to make my own money.
“Honey, I told you I don’t think he’s going to do that.”
“Why else do you think he would bring me all the way out here?”
“To kill you maybe. Not to propose. You’re not the wifey type.”
“I deserve this. It’s gonna happen. I can’t keep living with you for the rest of my life. So, your jealousy needs to just take a back seat.” I told her.
“What was it he said exactly, Miss I Got it All Figured Out?” Shayla asked.
“I told you. Last night, he said it was wonderful spending time with me and he wished the night would never end.”
“And you translate that to ‘I want to marry you’? Was it before or after your…um…lovemaking?” At first she burst into laughing until realizing that I only remained silent on the other end.
“Listen to me. I put a knife in your purse before you left. The one that cute little man gave me with his initials on it.”
“The one you stole from that cute little man.” I corrected.
“Watch yourself honey.” Just as she hung up, Andrei returned to the room with a bottle of water. My hand was in my bag, checking to see if Shayla was telling the truth.
“I have a business meeting in the morning, then a flight back to Russia, back to my wife. Damn, why can’t life always be this easy. I hope you liked it here. I wanted our last night to be fun.”
“Last night? Fun?” I smiled weakly and darted my eyes all around the room. I looked for a ring box, some flowers, something that indicated this moment would display the significance it was supposed to. But he just stood at the door, bottled water in hand, black suit pants unbuttoned and white collared shirt open.
“You still want to marry me right? We still love each other and you’re not leaving without me?” I asked.
“What are you talking about? You thought I loved you?”
“You said that, didn’t you mean it?”
“Pretty girl, I never said I loved you. You’re a prostitute.” He said in an almost gentle tone. I fell down on the edge of the bed, then slid to the floor. It took several seconds before the tears flowed visibly.
“I’m supposed to just continue living like this? Cold as stone?” He didn’t speak. He didn’t even look at me. He was too busy pulling money from his wallet and putting his shoes back on. He placed 8 - $100 dollar bills next to my ear, on the bed, kissed my forehead and headed toward the door.
“Oh by the way beautiful, there’s a plane ticket for you at the front desk under the name ‘Lovely’. I think it leaves in an hour. I’m going down to the bar. It was fun…really.” I took a deep breath and wiped my face. I rose and walked to him with confidence. I kissed his lips softly, then shoved the monogrammed carving knife into his side and dragged it across his stomach. Behind me I heard the sound of the calming ocean violently thrashing its waves onto the shore.
I know this song is rather old but that should make no difference. Good music is good music. Good video directing is good video directing.
I...LOVE...THIS...SONG!! Between this one and Addiction, I'm the biggest Kanye fan ever. But, since Vashtie Kola did a cover video for Addiction, I thought it would be overkill to do a story to it too.
There were 3 seperate videos made for the Flashing Lights song, but the one below is the third and final version. Spike Jonze and Kanye did the directing for this one. I have always been inspired by the simplicity of these visuals yet the depth of the song and so I wrote a short story about it...like to hear it? Hear ya go:
Penelope was my real name, but no one ever called me that, especially not him. His names for me were something we shared in secret and they almost always were adjectives. Gorgeous, Sexy, Adorable, Delectable. I really liked the last one. He was creative in that way. Every Thursday, he came cruising by in one of those expensive, hard to pronounce cars of his to pick me up. The first time I met him, he told me we were in the backseat of a Landaulet. The second time, a Pagani is what drove us to the hotel downtown. By the 5th Thursday, I was a pro at identifying Andrei Gikhlov, Russian billionaire, from 100 yards away.
“Turn around and face me.”
“Like this?”
“Yes, now take the rest of your clothes off.” He commanded. I did what he wanted then looked out our villa window and examined the blue waves, rocking and splashing against one another. It looked electric and surreal. We had taken his private plane to Florida for the weekend and although it was my first time on a plane, I tried my best to hide the nervousness. Andrei said this was a special occasion and it would also be worth my time so I stepped out of my comfort zone.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” He asked.
“Of course. What I don’t understand is how your wife doesn’t appreciate something like this?” The sky was getting dark but the beach dwellers didn’t budge. I removed my black, lace brassiere but he wasn’t paying attention.
“There’s no tangible value in this, that’s why.” He said to himself, staring at the wedding band on his left finger. “If she can’t take that black sand, that clear water, that orange sunset home and brag about how much it cost, she has no need for it.”
“Sounds like a spoiled bitch to me. Not someone who can do the things that I can do for you.” I crawled across the bed sheets and planted myself between his legs.
“Remember I said we needed to talk about us?” His tone became serious.
“I remember. That’s the whole point of this trip isn’t it?” I giggled in response. He got up and put his shirt and pants back on.
“I’ll be right back.” He said and quickly left the room. I dived to the other side of the bed, reaching for the phone.
“Hey. Are you sleep?” I asked Shayla after dialing her number.
“Sort of. What do you want?”
“I’m at his villa.”
“And?”
“And, he just left the room. I think he’s going to propose when he gets back. I told you my time was coming. You gotta pay your dues, that’s what I always say.” I couldn’t stop smiling. Who knew this was the way my life would turn out. I was born to a drug addicted mother and when I was fourteen, she and my eleven year old brother both died from an overdose. I became a runaway instead of a ward of the state. A week after I turned fifteen, I saved this woman from a brutal beating by a “customer” and that same day she took me in and treated me like a little sister, eventually showing me how to make my own money.
“Honey, I told you I don’t think he’s going to do that.”
“Why else do you think he would bring me all the way out here?”
“To kill you maybe. Not to propose. You’re not the wifey type.”
“I deserve this. It’s gonna happen. I can’t keep living with you for the rest of my life. So, your jealousy needs to just take a back seat.” I told her.
“What was it he said exactly, Miss I Got it All Figured Out?” Shayla asked.
“I told you. Last night, he said it was wonderful spending time with me and he wished the night would never end.”
“And you translate that to ‘I want to marry you’? Was it before or after your…um…lovemaking?” At first she burst into laughing until realizing that I only remained silent on the other end.
“Listen to me. I put a knife in your purse before you left. The one that cute little man gave me with his initials on it.”
“The one you stole from that cute little man.” I corrected.
“Watch yourself honey.” Just as she hung up, Andrei returned to the room with a bottle of water. My hand was in my bag, checking to see if Shayla was telling the truth.
“I have a business meeting in the morning, then a flight back to Russia, back to my wife. Damn, why can’t life always be this easy. I hope you liked it here. I wanted our last night to be fun.”
“Last night? Fun?” I smiled weakly and darted my eyes all around the room. I looked for a ring box, some flowers, something that indicated this moment would display the significance it was supposed to. But he just stood at the door, bottled water in hand, black suit pants unbuttoned and white collared shirt open.
“You still want to marry me right? We still love each other and you’re not leaving without me?” I asked.
“What are you talking about? You thought I loved you?”
“You said that, didn’t you mean it?”
“Pretty girl, I never said I loved you. You’re a prostitute.” He said in an almost gentle tone. I fell down on the edge of the bed, then slid to the floor. It took several seconds before the tears flowed visibly.
“I’m supposed to just continue living like this? Cold as stone?” He didn’t speak. He didn’t even look at me. He was too busy pulling money from his wallet and putting his shoes back on. He placed 8 - $100 dollar bills next to my ear, on the bed, kissed my forehead and headed toward the door.
“Oh by the way beautiful, there’s a plane ticket for you at the front desk under the name ‘Lovely’. I think it leaves in an hour. I’m going down to the bar. It was fun…really.” I took a deep breath and wiped my face. I rose and walked to him with confidence. I kissed his lips softly, then shoved the monogrammed carving knife into his side and dragged it across his stomach. Behind me I heard the sound of the calming ocean violently thrashing its waves onto the shore.
2/10/2012
Magazine Idols
Even as the magazine world is practically vaporizing and the physical print is disappearing, I still have love for the journalists and editors that made the culture what it virtually is today.
I have several magazine idols that I'm inspired by and have admiration for: And yes, these are ranked in order.
1. Toure (Awesome journalist!!!!!!)
2. Elliot Wilson (formerly EIC of XXL Magazine)
3. Noah Callahan-Bever (Complex Magazine)
4. Samantha Moeller - founder of MissBehave Magazine (although it's not in circulation anymore)
Toure is the mofo man!!! He has been around the block and circled it three times over. Earning his stars and stripes from Rolling Stone, The Village Voice, Vibe magazine and now multimedia outlets such as BET, he is the epitome of what I deem a successful journalist. I look to his words of wisdom often and have attempted to follow in his footsteps.
Toure
For some reason unknown to me, his website is now nonexistent but here's a sample of some of his work...here.
Elliot
Now, let me premise by saying that I didn't follow everything that Elliot did before going to the XXL Magazine. But once he was named Editor in Chief, I did my little research back into his prior accomplishment and must say, I was thoroughly impressed. (Source Magazine, Ego Trip)
Noah
I don't know if I have the space to inform you on how great of a writer and creative visionary he is. This man has been in the hip hop arena for 1,000 years and still continues to hold it down strong. Currently, he is the Editor in Chief of Complex Magazine (which I absolutely love) and has been holding down the hip hop journalism since about 1997. He has an entire website dedicated to his prior work as a journalist, before Complex, and many of his entries would be intriguing for the 90s hip hop loving era...here.
Samantha
A time before her time. She came through with MissBehave Magazine when it was most needed. Due to communication problems among the big dogs, she ended up leaving and dipping into the online frenzy with The Hipster Mom followed by Family Freakout. She is super cool, super trendy and a person to look out for.
I have several magazine idols that I'm inspired by and have admiration for: And yes, these are ranked in order.
1. Toure (Awesome journalist!!!!!!)
2. Elliot Wilson (formerly EIC of XXL Magazine)
3. Noah Callahan-Bever (Complex Magazine)
4. Samantha Moeller - founder of MissBehave Magazine (although it's not in circulation anymore)
Toure is the mofo man!!! He has been around the block and circled it three times over. Earning his stars and stripes from Rolling Stone, The Village Voice, Vibe magazine and now multimedia outlets such as BET, he is the epitome of what I deem a successful journalist. I look to his words of wisdom often and have attempted to follow in his footsteps.
Toure
For some reason unknown to me, his website is now nonexistent but here's a sample of some of his work...here.
Elliot
Now, let me premise by saying that I didn't follow everything that Elliot did before going to the XXL Magazine. But once he was named Editor in Chief, I did my little research back into his prior accomplishment and must say, I was thoroughly impressed. (Source Magazine, Ego Trip)
Noah
I don't know if I have the space to inform you on how great of a writer and creative visionary he is. This man has been in the hip hop arena for 1,000 years and still continues to hold it down strong. Currently, he is the Editor in Chief of Complex Magazine (which I absolutely love) and has been holding down the hip hop journalism since about 1997. He has an entire website dedicated to his prior work as a journalist, before Complex, and many of his entries would be intriguing for the 90s hip hop loving era...here.
Samantha
A time before her time. She came through with MissBehave Magazine when it was most needed. Due to communication problems among the big dogs, she ended up leaving and dipping into the online frenzy with The Hipster Mom followed by Family Freakout. She is super cool, super trendy and a person to look out for.
1/14/2012
Video Inspiration - Kendrick & Vashtie
When I first saw this Vashtie Kola-directed video for Kendrick Lamar's song, ADHD, I was inspired to start writing a short story about it. I never finished it though. It was a short burst of inspiration, then I left it alone. Well, I just found it the other day and decided to work on it.
The neat thing is that I wanted to do something super creative with it. It's a quick story and one that didn't involve a difficult plot by far. So, I decided to write the whole thing through dialogue. Whoa right?
Sorry that it's not timely, but I'll stick with the saying "better late than never" as my excuse. Or maybe I just want you to watch the Kendrick Lamar video one more time (as my 65 million other posts and twitter updates didn't do it for you.) Enjoy. Or not.
Miranda: “We were the peppers in a field of salt. Even in this millennium there were still schools with 95% Caucasian student bodies and oh how fortunate and indebted we all were to land at this one. Ronson was the “black quarterback”, Rochelle, the chemist, Bunny, the mathematician, Jeremiah, the swimmer, Vegas, the artist and I, the writer. Labeled the cream of the crop. We stuck together like our lives depended on it. On a typical Saturday night, I always asked Ronson to come over, which meant Jeremiah, Vegas, Rochelle and Bunny had to come too. Sometimes I hated when Ronson dismissed me like I didn’t matter, but after all this time, I’ve learned to understand. We argue. He’s overprotective and I’m jealous, but in the end, I know that he would die for me. Most of the time we had fun together and I couldn’t think of anyone else I’d want to date. And, we had been dating for almost a year before it happened. That particular night, his crew had all biked to my house and Bunny and Rochelle were already here.
“Hey guys.”
“What’s up Miranda!”
“Keep it moving Jeremiah. Hey babe. What, your boyfriend can’t get kisses now?”
“Of course you can!”
“Yo.”
“Hey Vegas. Come in.”
“Rochelle, can you grab me a beer and Bunny what’s up with the music? I swear Miranda, where would you guys be if it weren’t for me? Everything okay with you love?”
“I’m fine. Just remind them not to break anything. My parents will be back early in the morning and I’m not trying to be Esther the Explainer.”
“I know. Give me another kiss.”
“Ronson, I need help with the drinks over here.”
“Why does Rochelle always act so helpless around you? And why do you keep feeding into it?”
“You tell me Miranda. She’s your friend. Aww, don’t pout. I’m not interested in Rochelle, her flashy red lipstick or her attention-seeking tight clothes.”
“Yet, you’re always smiling in her face, sitting next to her in class and setting up her lines for her.”
“Listen to Miss Perfect. Rattling about her displeasure at our drug use like she’s a saint.”
“Stop it Ronson.”
“Can’t take the heat?”
“Where are you going? Go ahead, walk away, that’s the man thing to do!”
“So, what’s new?”
“Vegas move, I have to go talk to Ronson.”
“In a minute.”
“Since when did you learn how to talk?”
“I asked what’s new with you?”
“Nothing Vegas geesh. What’s up with you these days? You didn’t come out to the game last night. Ronson scored three touchdowns.”
“I heard. I had an art thing. Thanks for letting us crash Miranda. We kind of don’t even ask anymore.”
“No you don’t. And what’s with this new you? I mean, it’s nice to hear your voice, but it’s unexpected. Foreign even.”
“Can I talk to you in the kitchen?”
“Huh?”
“The kitchen Miranda. You don’t have to be so shocked. I’m not a psycho, I’m not going to murder you or anything.”
“Maybe not today.”
“That hurt.”
“I’m sorry. But Vegas you’re usually really quiet. We all know you’re smart and super creative and so much of all these things sometimes, that it can be weird.”
“Just come in here please.”
“I know where my kitchen is, you don’t have to guide me like a child. So, what’s up Vegas, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong.”
“Then why do you look so sad? Is it the dying artist inside? Ha! Ha ha! But really, your eyes are always so sad.”
“I don’t know why.”
“Well spill it. I’m sure someone’s going to come in here any minute.”
“No they won’t. We could sit in here for hours and they would never notice.”
“Yes they-”
“No they won’t and you know it. As long as they have their vices, they won’t.”
“Is that why you disappear all the time? Whenever we have a party? Do you run off into a little corner and partake of your vices too?”
“My only vice is to watch.”
“Yeah, that’s not weird at all.”
“I’m being honest. My abstract charcoal drawing in the main hall of the school is really of Bunny snorting a line of coke. The cross-hatching image in the library-,”
“The one when you became the youngest recipient of the Guggenheim Award?”
“Is a close-up of Rochelle’s hand when she tried and failed to put ecstasy in Ronson’s vodka one night.”
“What? What!”
“But that’s besides the point.”
“Then what is the damn point already!”
“Why are you with him?”
“With who?”
“Don’t look away.”
“Because you know, I like him a lot.”
“After a year and all you do is ‘like him a lot’?”
“Because it’s been a year that’s why. What’s the point of ending it now? And what does it matter to you. Suddenly you get the nerve to talk to me after all these years as friends and I have to pour my feelings out to you? Vegas, I don’t have time for this.”
“I want to be with you and he doesn’t.”
“What? Come on.”
“I want to be with you and he doesn’t.”
“You’ve said that already and it’s not going to happen. Don’t stand so close. And why are you saying these things? You’re supposed to be his friend. All of ours.”
“I’ve never been a friend to anyone but you.”
“Lies. You support Jeremiah at his swim meets and you helped Bunny prepare for her math dissertation.”
“We’re the only black kids at this college. How can I not?”
“You’re very interesting, I’ll give you that. But ‘be with you’, yeah that’s a bit of a stretch.”
“I’m being honest.”
“Pssh.”
“I’m okay with you pushing me away, your touch is the softest.”
“I’m not doing it to give you pleasure. Stop. Stop! Vegas…I…you can’t…oh my.”
“I’m sorry.”
“That was…your lips are so soft…and warm.”
“Say it. Say you want to be with me too.”
“Um…I can’t…it’s kind of,”
“What are you two doing in here? Get the hell away from her!”
“Don’t push me again.”
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Stop Ronson, it’s nothing. We were just talking.”
“Why were you so close to her Vegas? You better start talking.”
“I said stop pushing me.”
“Or what?”
“Ronson stop! You’re high, you need to pull it together!”
“Yo! Stop it! Ronson this is your boy.”
“Get off me Jeremiah, you didn’t see what I saw.”
Jeremiah attempted to interject but he was knocked down too. Vegas took it. He deserved it and knew so. But while he was face down on the floor with Ronson beating the back of his head, something happened. It was instant; an upheaval of something buried deep inside. He suddenly rose with immeasurable strength, knocking Ronson on his back. He grabbed a Hanaita Damascus knife from the counter and without thought, thrust it deep into Ronson’s chest. It sounded more like it was plunging into a grapefruit. It was a surreal moment. Something out of a movie. Something you only hear about but never experience. He took the knife out, punctured the chest again and again and again. In the background, he was sure there were screams and gestures and voices, but in his head he heard nothing. Just the squishing sound of the knife going in and out. When he stopped, the knife dropped to the floor and he backed away from Ronson’s dying body. He slid down the cabinet door and he watched him die. He watched him all the way until the police showed up. He had to. After all, it was his vice.
The neat thing is that I wanted to do something super creative with it. It's a quick story and one that didn't involve a difficult plot by far. So, I decided to write the whole thing through dialogue. Whoa right?
Sorry that it's not timely, but I'll stick with the saying "better late than never" as my excuse. Or maybe I just want you to watch the Kendrick Lamar video one more time (as my 65 million other posts and twitter updates didn't do it for you.) Enjoy. Or not.
Miranda: “We were the peppers in a field of salt. Even in this millennium there were still schools with 95% Caucasian student bodies and oh how fortunate and indebted we all were to land at this one. Ronson was the “black quarterback”, Rochelle, the chemist, Bunny, the mathematician, Jeremiah, the swimmer, Vegas, the artist and I, the writer. Labeled the cream of the crop. We stuck together like our lives depended on it. On a typical Saturday night, I always asked Ronson to come over, which meant Jeremiah, Vegas, Rochelle and Bunny had to come too. Sometimes I hated when Ronson dismissed me like I didn’t matter, but after all this time, I’ve learned to understand. We argue. He’s overprotective and I’m jealous, but in the end, I know that he would die for me. Most of the time we had fun together and I couldn’t think of anyone else I’d want to date. And, we had been dating for almost a year before it happened. That particular night, his crew had all biked to my house and Bunny and Rochelle were already here.
“Hey guys.”
“What’s up Miranda!”
“Keep it moving Jeremiah. Hey babe. What, your boyfriend can’t get kisses now?”
“Of course you can!”
“Yo.”
“Hey Vegas. Come in.”
“Rochelle, can you grab me a beer and Bunny what’s up with the music? I swear Miranda, where would you guys be if it weren’t for me? Everything okay with you love?”
“I’m fine. Just remind them not to break anything. My parents will be back early in the morning and I’m not trying to be Esther the Explainer.”
“I know. Give me another kiss.”
“Ronson, I need help with the drinks over here.”
“Why does Rochelle always act so helpless around you? And why do you keep feeding into it?”
“You tell me Miranda. She’s your friend. Aww, don’t pout. I’m not interested in Rochelle, her flashy red lipstick or her attention-seeking tight clothes.”
“Yet, you’re always smiling in her face, sitting next to her in class and setting up her lines for her.”
“Listen to Miss Perfect. Rattling about her displeasure at our drug use like she’s a saint.”
“Stop it Ronson.”
“Can’t take the heat?”
“Where are you going? Go ahead, walk away, that’s the man thing to do!”
“So, what’s new?”
“Vegas move, I have to go talk to Ronson.”
“In a minute.”
“Since when did you learn how to talk?”
“I asked what’s new with you?”
“Nothing Vegas geesh. What’s up with you these days? You didn’t come out to the game last night. Ronson scored three touchdowns.”
“I heard. I had an art thing. Thanks for letting us crash Miranda. We kind of don’t even ask anymore.”
“No you don’t. And what’s with this new you? I mean, it’s nice to hear your voice, but it’s unexpected. Foreign even.”
“Can I talk to you in the kitchen?”
“Huh?”
“The kitchen Miranda. You don’t have to be so shocked. I’m not a psycho, I’m not going to murder you or anything.”
“Maybe not today.”
“That hurt.”
“I’m sorry. But Vegas you’re usually really quiet. We all know you’re smart and super creative and so much of all these things sometimes, that it can be weird.”
“Just come in here please.”
“I know where my kitchen is, you don’t have to guide me like a child. So, what’s up Vegas, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong.”
“Then why do you look so sad? Is it the dying artist inside? Ha! Ha ha! But really, your eyes are always so sad.”
“I don’t know why.”
“Well spill it. I’m sure someone’s going to come in here any minute.”
“No they won’t. We could sit in here for hours and they would never notice.”
“Yes they-”
“No they won’t and you know it. As long as they have their vices, they won’t.”
“Is that why you disappear all the time? Whenever we have a party? Do you run off into a little corner and partake of your vices too?”
“My only vice is to watch.”
“Yeah, that’s not weird at all.”
“I’m being honest. My abstract charcoal drawing in the main hall of the school is really of Bunny snorting a line of coke. The cross-hatching image in the library-,”
“The one when you became the youngest recipient of the Guggenheim Award?”
“Is a close-up of Rochelle’s hand when she tried and failed to put ecstasy in Ronson’s vodka one night.”
“What? What!”
“But that’s besides the point.”
“Then what is the damn point already!”
“Why are you with him?”
“With who?”
“Don’t look away.”
“Because you know, I like him a lot.”
“After a year and all you do is ‘like him a lot’?”
“Because it’s been a year that’s why. What’s the point of ending it now? And what does it matter to you. Suddenly you get the nerve to talk to me after all these years as friends and I have to pour my feelings out to you? Vegas, I don’t have time for this.”
“I want to be with you and he doesn’t.”
“What? Come on.”
“I want to be with you and he doesn’t.”
“You’ve said that already and it’s not going to happen. Don’t stand so close. And why are you saying these things? You’re supposed to be his friend. All of ours.”
“I’ve never been a friend to anyone but you.”
“Lies. You support Jeremiah at his swim meets and you helped Bunny prepare for her math dissertation.”
“We’re the only black kids at this college. How can I not?”
“You’re very interesting, I’ll give you that. But ‘be with you’, yeah that’s a bit of a stretch.”
“I’m being honest.”
“Pssh.”
“I’m okay with you pushing me away, your touch is the softest.”
“I’m not doing it to give you pleasure. Stop. Stop! Vegas…I…you can’t…oh my.”
“I’m sorry.”
“That was…your lips are so soft…and warm.”
“Say it. Say you want to be with me too.”
“Um…I can’t…it’s kind of,”
“What are you two doing in here? Get the hell away from her!”
“Don’t push me again.”
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Stop Ronson, it’s nothing. We were just talking.”
“Why were you so close to her Vegas? You better start talking.”
“I said stop pushing me.”
“Or what?”
“Ronson stop! You’re high, you need to pull it together!”
“Yo! Stop it! Ronson this is your boy.”
“Get off me Jeremiah, you didn’t see what I saw.”
Jeremiah attempted to interject but he was knocked down too. Vegas took it. He deserved it and knew so. But while he was face down on the floor with Ronson beating the back of his head, something happened. It was instant; an upheaval of something buried deep inside. He suddenly rose with immeasurable strength, knocking Ronson on his back. He grabbed a Hanaita Damascus knife from the counter and without thought, thrust it deep into Ronson’s chest. It sounded more like it was plunging into a grapefruit. It was a surreal moment. Something out of a movie. Something you only hear about but never experience. He took the knife out, punctured the chest again and again and again. In the background, he was sure there were screams and gestures and voices, but in his head he heard nothing. Just the squishing sound of the knife going in and out. When he stopped, the knife dropped to the floor and he backed away from Ronson’s dying body. He slid down the cabinet door and he watched him die. He watched him all the way until the police showed up. He had to. After all, it was his vice.
1/05/2012
Learning my Lesson with Fables
I had a little book of Aesop's fables when I was a kid, but of course being a kid, the book was very basic and had a small number of the actual fables. They were the popular ones like: the Fox and the Grapes, the Ant and the Grasshopper, the Boy who cried Wolf, etc.
Recently, my fascination for the fables crept up again and I was able to read all 584 of them. (They are really short so don't think I'm a fancy scholar or anything!)
I wanted to share a couple that were not only a great story but provided a great lesson as well:
The Lion and the Farmer's Daughter
A story about a lion and a young woman, which teaches us not to indulge our desires.
A lion who had fallen in love with a young woman went to the woman's father to ask for her hand in marriage. The father was afraid to refuse the lion's offer, but asked him first to have his teeth and claws taken out; otherwise the lion could only arouse his daughter's terror. The lion was so in love with the woman that he agreed to the bargain. When the lion came back and approached the farmer, now naked and defenceless, the farmer clubbed him to death.
If you follow your enemies' advice, you will run into danger.
The Man and the Golden Eggs
A man had a hen that laid a golden egg for him each and every day. The man was not satisfied with this daily profit, and instead he foolishly grasped for more. Expecting to find a treasure inside, the man slaughtered the hen. When he found that the hen did not have a treasure inside her after all, he remarked to himself, "While chasing after hopes of a treasure, I lost the profit I held in my hands!"
The fable shows that people often grasp for more than they need and thus lose the little they have.
The Lion, the Rooster and the Donkey
A donkey and a rooster lived together on a farm. A lion who had noticed the donkey crept up and was about to pounce when the rooster let loose a squawk. This frightened the lion (for they say that lions are terrified of the rooster's crowing) and he turned tail and ran. The donkey was elated at the thought of the lion running away from the rooster. He took off in pursuit of the lion but when the donkey had gone some distance away from the farm, the lion turned around and ate him.
The same thing happens to people: when someone sees his enemies humbled, he becomes presumptous, and this makes it possible for his enemies to destroy him before he even realizes what is happening.
Stories courtesy of Perry's index
Recently, my fascination for the fables crept up again and I was able to read all 584 of them. (They are really short so don't think I'm a fancy scholar or anything!)
I wanted to share a couple that were not only a great story but provided a great lesson as well:
The Lion and the Farmer's Daughter
A story about a lion and a young woman, which teaches us not to indulge our desires.
A lion who had fallen in love with a young woman went to the woman's father to ask for her hand in marriage. The father was afraid to refuse the lion's offer, but asked him first to have his teeth and claws taken out; otherwise the lion could only arouse his daughter's terror. The lion was so in love with the woman that he agreed to the bargain. When the lion came back and approached the farmer, now naked and defenceless, the farmer clubbed him to death.
If you follow your enemies' advice, you will run into danger.
The Man and the Golden Eggs
A man had a hen that laid a golden egg for him each and every day. The man was not satisfied with this daily profit, and instead he foolishly grasped for more. Expecting to find a treasure inside, the man slaughtered the hen. When he found that the hen did not have a treasure inside her after all, he remarked to himself, "While chasing after hopes of a treasure, I lost the profit I held in my hands!"
The fable shows that people often grasp for more than they need and thus lose the little they have.
The Lion, the Rooster and the Donkey
A donkey and a rooster lived together on a farm. A lion who had noticed the donkey crept up and was about to pounce when the rooster let loose a squawk. This frightened the lion (for they say that lions are terrified of the rooster's crowing) and he turned tail and ran. The donkey was elated at the thought of the lion running away from the rooster. He took off in pursuit of the lion but when the donkey had gone some distance away from the farm, the lion turned around and ate him.
The same thing happens to people: when someone sees his enemies humbled, he becomes presumptous, and this makes it possible for his enemies to destroy him before he even realizes what is happening.
Stories courtesy of Perry's index
1/04/2012
Fear of Going Blind
I love watching the FearNet channel (for those in different states, it's just a channel that shows nothing but scary movies and shows - hence "fear"). I especially love their old movies. Recently, I caught a black and white episode of the Twilight Zone which left me thinking about a horrible future.
It's called "Time Enough At Last", starring Burgess Meredith and it first aired November 20, 1959.
Synopsis : A man loved to read. All the time, everyday, almost anything. He worked at a bank and was married as well. His wife was annoyed that he read so much and so was his boss. He even read while customers were standing in front of him! Long story condensed, he snuck into the bank vault one day to eat his lunch and read some magazines. Suddenly, a meteor (or something like it) hit the world and wiped out everyone...except this dude sitting in the armored vault. He escapes, wanders around looking for food and other people. Eventually, he comes upon a library where all the books have been blown out of the building. He is so super excited and dances all around the books, laughing and building piles to read for later. He bends over a little too far and knocks his glasses off of his face, shattering them to pieces! Oh no!! We then get to see the view from his perspective...he is practically blind without those glasses. Everything is so blurry. He picks up a book and can't make out a single word. Oh the horror!!!
Luckily, I don't wear glasses.
It's called "Time Enough At Last", starring Burgess Meredith and it first aired November 20, 1959.
Synopsis : A man loved to read. All the time, everyday, almost anything. He worked at a bank and was married as well. His wife was annoyed that he read so much and so was his boss. He even read while customers were standing in front of him! Long story condensed, he snuck into the bank vault one day to eat his lunch and read some magazines. Suddenly, a meteor (or something like it) hit the world and wiped out everyone...except this dude sitting in the armored vault. He escapes, wanders around looking for food and other people. Eventually, he comes upon a library where all the books have been blown out of the building. He is so super excited and dances all around the books, laughing and building piles to read for later. He bends over a little too far and knocks his glasses off of his face, shattering them to pieces! Oh no!! We then get to see the view from his perspective...he is practically blind without those glasses. Everything is so blurry. He picks up a book and can't make out a single word. Oh the horror!!!
Luckily, I don't wear glasses.
1/03/2012
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