I paced back and forth down the Religion aisle in Barnes and Noble. Eyes and nose red, dried snot above my lip and tears still rolling down my cheeks. I didn't care that everyone I passed stared at me or even followed me to the Spirituality aisle. I bet they were waiting for some kind of breakdown.
They were too late.
On my most recent quest to find myself I decided to start by redefining my faith.
I was Catholic by default as a child. Pentecostal Christian as a teen out of obligation. As an adult I considered myself agnostic out of laziness, for lack of a better word.
I ran my fingers across the binds of Bibles and Quar'ans. Titles like "Living Beautifully," "Peace is every step," and "Taking the Leap" made me double check that I wasn't in the Self Help Aisle.
I had no idea what I was looking for. Something to speak to me, something to stand out. Anything to make me feel better. There were an overwhelming amount of things going on in my life, too much for me to handle alone. It was time to believe in something. So my quest began, a competition to see what belief system could win my soul. I was a hard headed being so it was going to take some convincing. But I was an open book, for once, I wanted to believe.
Once I found a book that sparked my interest, I was pleasantly surprised at how fast I started to feel better. It wasn't so much about what I was reading, even though it really gave me hope. It was more about the fact that I was taking control of my life. Taking steps to feel better.
"Spiritual practice is more about holding questions than finding answers. Seeking one correct answer often comes from a wish to make life- which is basically fluid- into something certain and fixed." I completely related and really needed to hear that.
I got what I came for in just the first chapter of the first book I opened. An understanding that I was looking for something and that I knew I was worth taking time to figure it out. To research.
"Abandon negative emotion; create perfect virtue; subdue your own mind. This is the teaching of Buddha."
Showing posts with label Essay Class. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Essay Class. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
WRI 2730 Essay #7 Taylor Zabloski
"It's a part of who I am, even though it sounds cheesy."- Taylor Zabloski
I was the most organized person I knew...that is, until I met Taylor Zabloski, 19, Amherst, VA.
Taylor managed to lay low from the social scene during the introductions of freshman last Fall. My only association for a while was that he was my friend's roommate. Taylor started becoming known as a "boss" to me and my friends. The adjectives "beast and swag" found themselves in our descriptions of "Taylor sightings." This stemmed from Taylor's business casual attire and dry sense of humor. Somewhere, a level of respect was established and Taylor became untouchable.
As luck would have it, Taylor is a front row goer, like myself, in class. He sits right beside me so I get to see first-hand just how truly organized he really is.
Why Taylor sits in the front row:
"It's a psychological thing I guess. It helps me feel like I'm paying attention more. I get called out when I am slacking off, plus I develop more of a relationship with the teacher, 'cause they see my face first, and know when I'm missing. It also has to do with me wanting to get the most out of my education. I'm paying all this money, and have this opportunity to learn. Why would I sit in the back and watch youtube videos, and miss out? I'm working towards finding ways to be more present in my own life, and it's just another small step in being more engaged, as well as using all the resources I'm offered at school."
When did you notice organization become so important?:
"Before I went to college, in high school, especially in the "deciding on colleges" process. Just because there was so much that I had to do in that alone. I applied to six places so it was a lot to keep up with. I made this giant calendar that's on my wall that I still use."
How is it going to help in Producing (being your first choice)?
"Assembling everything and making sure everyone is on the same page and doing the same thing. For example, before you got here I was scheduling out what we're going to do for the sixteen weeks before we actually shoot. I'm trying to put it together. I feel like that's the main part of the job, actually, is just figuring out the plan for everybody and making sure it all gets executed."
"I feel good when everything is organized and figured out and it all works according to plan. When other people are like, "the sun sets over that hill and how it looks, I don't have that eye, but I can make sure everybody's there to get that."
[My class is the largest in the history of the film school. 90 students started the program last fall. Since then the film school has had to make adjustments to their second year program and we have really been suffering for it. Our seven minute project was lacking in the organization of groups and schedules so Taylor stepped up and took control.]
What was the reason you wanted to get a grip on the seven minutes?
"I felt like everybody wanted it. I felt like it needed it to be done and with me wanting things to be organized that, in a more selfish way, it kind of helped me be organized as well. And I couldn't figure out what I needed to do so I was kind of just like "whoa" we need to figure all this out before I can figure out that stuff."
[As suspected, when asked how he would handle a zombie apocalypse, without hesitation, Taylor replies:]
If a zombie apocalypse occurred how would you handle it?
"I would definitely tell somebody to drive me to the county, where I lived before because the city is the worse place. In the county, everyone has a supply shelter just for disasters. They also all have a ton of weapons and now how to use them. They know survival skills and population density is less, so you may encounter less people that are infected."
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
WRI 2730 Essay #6 Artistic Issue
I'm afraid of what's under my bed.
Under my bed stores my old uniforms, paperwork, name tags, tax information, pay stubs, aprons, graded papers and show programs of jobs passed. At first I was really proud of all of the cool things I was accumulating until the day came that I realized what it really was. It's proof that I can't make up my mind, that I can't settle and that I really don't finish anything. Finally doing something I love has made it a lot easier to commit to, sleep and a social life suffer for it. But once a film has wrapped, I have never felt more accomplished.
I don't look under my bed all that much, I just shove more things under there until the day comes that I can let it go.
*
My first job was at Pizza Hut when I was sixteen years old. Since then I've worked at an Italian Restaurant, a bank, as a nanny, with a professional baker, at a Regional theatre, for a film festival and at a high school. My qualifications and resume are pretty impressive.
So why am I back in college?
Because I'm an artist.
My first time around in college was for a degree in History with a minor in Art History, then a minor in Political science, then a minor in Education, then finally a minor in Spanish. The degree in History was for many reasons:
favorite subject in high school
favorite topic of discussion
favorite channel on television
it's something that will never change
and most importantly, I wanted to work for the National Geographic. To get an internship with NatGeo you must have 2/3 degrees: History, Photography/Film and Journalism. I was on the right track.
Until I got off track.
Once I graduated college, I had a decent job as a waitress and my husband just joined the Coast Guard. We move to California in 2008 [I wouldn't stop living out of a suitcase until 2011 because of moving around]. With many excuses I didn't get my Masters or a "real" job at this time.
Do I go to school for Film or Journalism?
After a couple of years really giving it some thought I decided on Film. I can learn to write in Film school, but can I learn about film while getting a journalism degree?
I've had to make so many big decisions in the last few years it's nice not to worry too much about the fact that a degree in film might not help me get a full time job that isn't film related once the school loan bill starts. (note the sarcasm).
Friday, October 5, 2012
WRI 2730 Long essay #1 A road-trip named Desire
A road-trip named Desire
Good Morning
6:00 am alarm goes off, the sun is not quite up yet. I gathered everything I packed late last night and peek in to see if Jess is up. She’s in the shower which puts us right on schedule. I crack open the front door hoping that it’s not too cold, the sun pierces through and warms my face. I struggle with a suitcase, a duffel bag, a laptop bag, a pillow and the car keys. I always take things to the car as though I can only take that trip once. There is a wet dew blanketing everything outside, and a twinkling gloss lays over the windshield. I feel a cold chill that starts at my shoulders, and travels all the way down my spine. I’m grateful that it is early summer, not too hot on the East Coast, and just hot enough on the West Coast. Perfect morning for a cigarette, banana and the delectable stylings of Mrs. Corinne Bailey Ray. Jess, my road trip partner and dear friend, saunters outside with a travel mug of fresh steaming coffee, she looks calm, which is great because she suffers from anxiety.
Speeding Ticket
There is no one else I wanted to take this trip with other than Jess, we’ve been friends for years, we met working at the same restaurant. I start the car, roll the windows down, set the GPS (Savannah, GA to El Paso, TX) and hit shuffle on the ipod. An hour has passed and Jess sleeps quietly in the passenger seat. I honk my horn as we reach Alabama. It startles Jess and we giggle as we take in the sights in the surrounding small town. It’s the kind of town with church messages like, “What’s missing in Ch_ch? U R.” I let my mind surf for a minute while I jam to some mindless euro-pop song circa 1990 and don’t notice my speed. I clear the top of a hill just in time to see a police officer driving toward me in the opposite direction. Out of instinct I look down at my speed, 50 mph. Not bad. “Do you know the speed limit?” I ask Jess without enough concern to worry her. “I think, 35?”
Shit.
Sure enough, the Officer U-turns, illegally might I add, and flies behind me and throws on his lights. I pull over to a gas station on the right and reach for my registration. As you can see, I’ve done this before. He’s not one of those officers a girl knows she can get out with. He’s older, who’s daily highlight is ticketing speeding hoodlums in his quiet town.
Without disrespect I accept my ticket.
“If this is the worse that can happen, then we are golden.” That may have been the moment I jinxed our trip?
I look at the ticket, which states I was going 55mph in a 35mph zone. We pull out of the gas station and start driving in silence. There is a healing period after getting a ticket. A period of self-punishment. That lasted about 10 minutes.
Flat tire
It’s getting dark and we are just outside of Dallas, Texas. We have covered all of our favorite memories from the last few years and gossiped a little about some of our friends. Just as we enter the Lone-star State, I reach a short creek bridge and at the peak of the bridge, the rear passenger side tire blows and jerks my car around the highway for a couple of seconds. I immediately take control of the wheel and pull it over just after the bridge. I’m remembering just yesterday when I bragged to Jess about not worrying if we get a flat tire, that I knew how to change one!
And I did know, but I’ve never done it by myself. I can see the workings of a panic attack over Jess’ face.
I need to fix this quick.
I start to empty out the trunk, putting our suitcases and boxes on the dirt beside the car. I lift the bed of the jeep and struggle to pull out the spare tire and the jack that looks entirely to small to lift a Jeep Patriot. I angle the jack just right and start turning it, the jeep wobbles for a little and the jack pops off and falls over. I try again, I angle the jack again and start turning it slowly. The Jeep slowly lifts higher and higher and we are home free, I life the tire off, put the spare on, tighten the bolts and lower the Jeep.
With oil on my hands, mud on my knees, and a strain in my back we finally get back on the road.
Texas, be good to us.
Kamikaze Jacks
It was about that time to switch pilots, 3:00 am. I warn Jess about a certain gas station we should fill up at before we hit the long stretch of highway that separates El Paso and Mexico. The road is empty, no one is sharing it with us this night.
A couple of hours have passed and I wake up to a nauseating sensation. My stomach rises to my throat and plops back down. This happens a couple of times before I am able to squint my eyes and try to regain focus on the highway ahead.
Once the broke white lines are broken and not solid I notice something jet across the road in front of us.
“What the heck was that?!,” I ask.
“I can’t tell, but there are a few just sprinting across like Japanese kamikazes” Jess replies.
E
I watch the shoulder lane and just catch glimpses of little sets of holographic marbles here and there. Then I see a rabbit head pop up from a patch of grass. The bunny takes off and runs, not hops, runs across the highway. They are everywhere! Jess swerves to miss one and almost hits another. I catch one hopping along side the car as we drive 35 mph, these suckers are fast. They are slender like a cat, and stand on their hind legs.
Jack rabbits.
Jack #1 fakes a left, while Jack #2 sprints in front of the Jeep, Jess swerves to the right. Exasperated, Jess has enough so I offer to drive, the fun is over. We are both exhausted, we have been on the road for 22 hours.
I notice the tank, less than a quarter, I don't know how to tell her we passed the last gas station a long long time ago...
I'm lost in my thoughts, playing out all possibilities in case we do run out of gas. Suddenly there is an explosion under the car. The front of the car lifts lightly, and a slight burning stench comes from the AC vents. Jess slows to a stop with a look of terror on her face.
“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT? It smells like burning!”
I imagine a ball of fur and blood entangled in the engine or radiator. That can’t be good but what choice do we have but to keep trucking on?
The Jack rabbits are now few and far between and we have spent the last several minutes looking for gas stations on the GPS. There’s a slight jerk in the car. Then a slight tug. Then slowly everything shuts down. It is not instant, it is gradual and peaceful.
This is it. This is the moment we run out of gas and end up stranded on the side of a highway with crazy jack rabbits near by. Surrounding us is nothing but space, we can see miles out in every direction with mountains in the distance.
Mexico, I think.
It is 4 am. We are an hour out of my dad’s house in El Paso and about a mile away from the nearest gas station that we aren’t convinced is open. Neither of us have AAA, so I call my dad and ask him to bring us enough gas to get to a gas station. It will take him an hour or so.
We sit and wait, it’s starting to get cold. I pull clothes out of the suitcase to lay on ourselves to warm up. It is clear that conversation at this point would not make anything better, so we sit in silence. The only audible thing is Jess’ rumbling belly.
“Gassy?” I ask.
“No... poopy.”
“I have napkins in the glove compartment,” I reply.
I imagine a jack rabbit running up and startling Jess or a desert snake stinging her right on my ass.
“Maybe if you hold on to the back bumper and angle your ass out, you could go and you wouldn’t get anything on you. But then you’d have to balance yourself with one hand and wipe with the other? Up for it?”
“I guess so...”Jess replies hesitantly.
“I’ll be your look out!” I yell as she makes her way to the rear of the car.
I look out the passenger window to make sure I don’t see an animal charge the car. About 4 minutes pass and I see Jess turn the corner from the back bumper. She opens the driver side door and climbs in. For a second I wonder what to say to break the ice, because our friendship was now on a whole new level. But I don’t have to say a word, when she shuts her door she looks over and we just burst out in laughter. Insane laughter, gasping for air. The whole day’s events just flood in and we laugh and laugh. Laughing just relaxes me enough to realize I have to poop too. Once the laughter dies down I ask,
“Okay, Jess, explain to me how you did it.”
She replies, "Well, I kind of ‘leaned’ on the right side of the bumper, so you should take the left side. Just reach underneath, make sure you get a good grip and pull your pants down. Spread your legs and lean out. Balance is key.“
I open the door and get hit with a sharp cool breeze. I reach the back of the car and try really hard not to look at the ground on the right side. I unbutton my pants and lower them. I squat and feel the cold Texas air on my derriere.
This is not right.
This is not natural!
I close my eyes and say a little prayer that I don't end up some animal’s dinner or that I don’t make a terrible mess. I skillfully reach around, a little proud of myself for thinking of doing that in the first place. I take the walk of shame to the passenger door and climb in. It’s warm inside and this time we don’t laugh, we just slouch into our chairs and snuggle to my random pieces of clothing laid around us.
6am, the sun is rising and I realize my dad should be there any minute. It’s been 24 hours without decent sleep. Just tiny naps here and there for each of us throughout the day. I see my dads car coming toward us on the highway. He slows as he approaches and slowly passes my car. He turns around and pulls up about 20 feet behind us.
We are both speechless. What do we do? It is inevitable that he will walk to the car from behind and see our little prize pieces. Shit. Shit. Shit.
He seems to be walking in slow motion, I swear I see a tumbleweed roll by. Once he reaches my door on the passenger side, I roll the window down and smile.
“Hey, daddy.”
“Hey, Baby.”
I get out, Jess gets out of the driver’s side. We walk around to the back of the car. I stand straddling one pile, blocking my dad from seeing it as he walks to his car to get the gas tank. He returns and starts to unlock the gas cap. Jess stands beside me and we are obnoxiously close to his work space. I know we are acting suspicious. He finishes pouring and tries to set the gas tank down exactly where I stood. The logical thing would have been to move over but I stood still like a statue. He sets the tank on the ground beside me and turns the car on, it sputters for a second but turns on. I climb in behind the wheel, blare the heat on my frozen toes and wait for my dad to reach his car. The feeling of the car rumble under my feet restored my faith in this road-trip.
Tailgate
He passes my car and I follow closely behind. After about 2 minutes driving I hear the siren of a police car and look in my rear view mirror to see an officer pulling me over. There is no way I am speeding, I didn’t even reach 40mph. I pull over and my dad pulls over in front of me about 100 ft. away. The cop walks to my window and asks for my license and registration. I ask why I was pulled over and he points to my dads car and says,
“You were following awfully close to that car in front of you.”
“Yeah, that’s my dad. We were broken down for the night without gas and he just brought us some so I was following him closely so he’d see if anything happened.”
He looks inside the car, in the back seat and again at us and walks away. He returns with my paperwork and a ticket.
For tailgating.
He walks away to his car and I wait for it to pass me, my dad starts his car and we continue. I follow my dad about a mile to the nearest gas station. We fill the tank up, and while we are inside the mini store I muscle up the courage to ask if he knew.
“Dad, I don’t even know how to ask. I’m so embarrassed, and I know Jess is humiliated but we ran out of options...”I rambled for a few minutes while we stood in line to pay. He just looked ahead, and occasionally at me. Then said,
“I don’t know what you are talking about, baby.”
And left it that.
Apparently there are some things a father does not talk about with his daughter. I don’t mind.
“You were following awfully close to that car in front of you.”
“Yeah, that’s my dad. We were broken down for the night without gas and he just brought us some so I was following him closely so he’d see if anything happened.”
He looks inside the car, in the back seat and again at us and walks away. He returns with my paperwork and a ticket.
For tailgating.
He walks away to his car and I wait for it to pass me, my dad starts his car and we continue. I follow my dad about a mile to the nearest gas station. We fill the tank up, and while we are inside the mini store I muscle up the courage to ask if he knew.
“Dad, I don’t even know how to ask. I’m so embarrassed, and I know Jess is humiliated but we ran out of options...”I rambled for a few minutes while we stood in line to pay. He just looked ahead, and occasionally at me. Then said,
“I don’t know what you are talking about, baby.”
And left it that.
Apparently there are some things a father does not talk about with his daughter. I don’t mind.
We leave and make our way the hour drive to my dads house. We get there at 8 am. Jess and I decide to find a place that sells tires to replace the donut we’ve been driving on. Then we would shower and sleep. We leave the house and drive to the tire place. We go to the lobby and discuss the idea of napping in shifts, but replacing a tire shouldn’t take that long.
It was 10am.
Around 11:30 I get up a little disoriented, I look out the window to see if the Jeep is still sitting where I parked it. It sure is.
“Jess, they haven’t even started on it.”
I just want to get this done and lay my head down on a pillow and sleep. This is the longest road trip I have ever taken.
12:20 I get up and look out the window, the Jeep is gone. Okay, replacing a tire takes minutes.
“Jess, they are working on it now.”
I get distracted with an episode of Cops, it ends and I look up to see that it is 1:00. I decided to go to the counter and ask for an update. The employee steps away from the desk for a minute and returns. “Mrs. Hurley, your car was just pulled up to be washed. It shouldn’t be too much longer.”
“I didn’t ask for my car to get washed, I just needed a new tire!” I cried.
“It’s complimentary here.”
It was obvious I wasn’t grateful. At 1:20 I see my Jeep pull up by the window, I don’t think we spoke a word the whole way home. I dropped everything I was carrying and let the weight leave my body and fall into the bed.
It was dark when I wake up. I have a splitting headache but I push my aching fatigued body up to check and see if Jess was still alive. I cracked open her door and see her lay there motionless, she cracked open her eye and smiled.
“That good, huh?”
It was 10am.
Around 11:30 I get up a little disoriented, I look out the window to see if the Jeep is still sitting where I parked it. It sure is.
“Jess, they haven’t even started on it.”
I just want to get this done and lay my head down on a pillow and sleep. This is the longest road trip I have ever taken.
12:20 I get up and look out the window, the Jeep is gone. Okay, replacing a tire takes minutes.
“Jess, they are working on it now.”
I get distracted with an episode of Cops, it ends and I look up to see that it is 1:00. I decided to go to the counter and ask for an update. The employee steps away from the desk for a minute and returns. “Mrs. Hurley, your car was just pulled up to be washed. It shouldn’t be too much longer.”
“I didn’t ask for my car to get washed, I just needed a new tire!” I cried.
“It’s complimentary here.”
It was obvious I wasn’t grateful. At 1:20 I see my Jeep pull up by the window, I don’t think we spoke a word the whole way home. I dropped everything I was carrying and let the weight leave my body and fall into the bed.
It was dark when I wake up. I have a splitting headache but I push my aching fatigued body up to check and see if Jess was still alive. I cracked open her door and see her lay there motionless, she cracked open her eye and smiled.
“That good, huh?”
My dad prepares a feast of steak and potatoes, topped off with the best tequila south of the border had to offer. Why the hell not? It was well earned for the day we had. We sit around the table and recap the whole day. We laugh about it all. My dad sits, entertained, telling us similar travel stories. His stories either got funnier and funnier or I got drunker and drunker. Either way, it was a nice night and end to a long day. We take the party to the back patio, smoke a couple of cigarettes and continue to drink. We decide not to set an alarm and just wake up when we want. It was only about a 12 hour drive to San Diego from El Paso.
Hot as Hades
I wake up and feel great. No hangover, and no sign of the last couple of days. I find my dad swooshing around the kitchen with a spatula in one hand and a cigarette in the other.
“Morning, baby.”
You would never know he stayed up all night drinking tequila with his 22 year old daughter and friend. “Morning, dad.” “You going to eat breakfast before you leave?”
“Morning, baby.”
You would never know he stayed up all night drinking tequila with his 22 year old daughter and friend. “Morning, dad.” “You going to eat breakfast before you leave?”
“Yeah, but we’ll need to go shortly after, I’m ready to get there.”
Jess and I feast on an amazing breakfast, overdose on coffee, pack the car and say goodbye.
The drive is fairly easy, no traffic and we are able to maintain a healthy 10 miles over the speed limit. We reach Tucson and open the windows for a little to save gas. Getting closer to Phoenix we decide to blast the AC to cool off since the heat has our thighs sticking together. I turn the knob from low to high, nothing but hot air blows. I push the button with the snowflake, first off then on again. Nothing but hot air blows. Jess turns the knob from low to high quickly, over and over.
Phoenix, AZ. Temperature: 103 degrees.
The windows all the way down only means that the oven hot air is blowing faster and harder, directly on us. Sweat drips down my back from my neck, down my chest from my face. There is a glaze over our faces and a look of misery. My hands slide across the steering wheel and my cigarette breaks from the sweat on my fingers. The coolest part of my body was my upper lip when my cool breath left my nostrils.
Phoenix, AZ. Temperature: 103 degrees.
The windows all the way down only means that the oven hot air is blowing faster and harder, directly on us. Sweat drips down my back from my neck, down my chest from my face. There is a glaze over our faces and a look of misery. My hands slide across the steering wheel and my cigarette breaks from the sweat on my fingers. The coolest part of my body was my upper lip when my cool breath left my nostrils.
We need gas so I pull over and get out. There on the drivers seat is the indention of my body outline. Embarrassed by the huge sweat stains on my back and legs I hurry the pumping and jump in the car. A few hours later we feel a cool breeze blowing through the car.
We are in Yuma, we can see the Mexican border to the left. We are almost home. We reach the winding mountains of California there is nothing but clean fresh air drying our soaking bodies. I’m glad to report the car did not over heat. In the journey through the mountains I could feel the speed of the car get progressively faster as I thought about the mere distance that kept us from home. The Indian Reservations started getting familiar.
GPS: “In 28 miles take exit 17 to I 5.” I 5 means that we are less than half an hour away.
We are in Yuma, we can see the Mexican border to the left. We are almost home. We reach the winding mountains of California there is nothing but clean fresh air drying our soaking bodies. I’m glad to report the car did not over heat. In the journey through the mountains I could feel the speed of the car get progressively faster as I thought about the mere distance that kept us from home. The Indian Reservations started getting familiar.
GPS: “In 28 miles take exit 17 to I 5.” I 5 means that we are less than half an hour away.
As I make my final highway exit and drive down the busy downtown streets to get to my apartment in Chula Vista, California, I think about Brandon standing in the drive way waiting to hug me, eager and excited. The car is still in motion when I throw it in park and jump out to hug him. I never want to drive that Jeep again in my life. I never wanted to take another road trip again.
We spend the night drinking and talking about the trip. I am relieved to be home, never to drive again.
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
WRI 2730 Essay #5 Travel/Place: A road-trip named Desire
A road-trip named Desire
(Excerpt)
(Excerpt)
It was about that time to switch pilots, 3:00 am. I warn Jess about a certain gas station we should fill up at before we hit the long stretch of highway that separates El Paso and Mexico. The road is empty, no one is sharing it with us this night.
A couple of hours have passed and I wake up to a nauseating sensation. My stomach rises to my throat and plops back down. This happens a couple of times before I am able to squint my eyes and try to regain focus on the highway ahead.
Once the broke white lines are broken and not solid I notice something jet across the road in front of us.
“What the heck was that?!,” I ask.
“I can’t tell, but there are a few just sprinting across like Japanese kamikazes” Jess replies.
I watch the shoulder lane and just catch glimpses of little sets of holographic marbles here and there. Then I see a rabbit head pop up from a patch of grass. The bunny takes off and runs, not hops, runs across the highway. They are everywhere! Jess swerves to miss one and almost hits another. I catch one hopping along side the car as we drive 35 mph, these suckers are fast. They are slender like a cat, and stand on their hind legs.
Jack rabbits.
“What the heck was that?!,” I ask.
“I can’t tell, but there are a few just sprinting across like Japanese kamikazes” Jess replies.
I watch the shoulder lane and just catch glimpses of little sets of holographic marbles here and there. Then I see a rabbit head pop up from a patch of grass. The bunny takes off and runs, not hops, runs across the highway. They are everywhere! Jess swerves to miss one and almost hits another. I catch one hopping along side the car as we drive 35 mph, these suckers are fast. They are slender like a cat, and stand on their hind legs.
Jack rabbits.
Jack #1 fakes a left, while Jack #2 sprints in front of the Jeep, Jess swerves to the right. Exasperated, Jess has enough so I offer to drive, the fun is over. We are both exhausted, we have been on the road for 22 hours.
I notice the tank, less than a quarter, I don't know how to tell her we passed the last gas station a long long time ago...
I notice the tank, less than a quarter, I don't know how to tell her we passed the last gas station a long long time ago...
I'm lost in my thoughts, playing out all possibilities in case we do run out of gas. Suddenly there is an explosion under the car. The front of the car lifts lightly, and a slight burning stench comes from the AC vents. Jess slows to a stop with a look of terror on her face.
“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT? It smells like burning!”
I imagine a ball of fur and blood entangled in the engine or radiator. That can’t be good but what choice do we have but to keep trucking on?
“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT? It smells like burning!”
I imagine a ball of fur and blood entangled in the engine or radiator. That can’t be good but what choice do we have but to keep trucking on?
The Jack rabbits are now few and far between and we have spent the last several minutes looking for gas stations on the GPS. There’s a slight jerk in the car. Then a slight tug. Then slowly everything shuts down. It is not instant, it is gradual and peaceful.
This is it. This is the moment we run out of gas and end up stranded on the side of a highway with crazy jack rabbits near by. Surrounding us is nothing but space, we can see miles out in every direction with mountains in the distance.
Mexico, I think.
It is 4 am. We are an hour out of my dad’s house in El Paso and about a mile away from the nearest gas station that we aren’t convinced is open. Neither of us have AAA, so I call my dad and ask him to bring us enough gas to get to a gas station. It will take him an hour or so.
Mexico, I think.
It is 4 am. We are an hour out of my dad’s house in El Paso and about a mile away from the nearest gas station that we aren’t convinced is open. Neither of us have AAA, so I call my dad and ask him to bring us enough gas to get to a gas station. It will take him an hour or so.
We sit and wait, it’s starting to get cold. I pull clothes out of the suitcase to lay on ourselves to warm up. It is clear that conversation at this point would not make anything better, so we sit in silence. The only audible thing is Jess’ rumbling belly.
“Gassy?” I ask.
“No... poopy.”
“I have napkins in the glove compartment,” I reply.
I imagine a jack rabbit running up and startling Jess or a desert snake stinging her right on my ass.
“Maybe if you hold on to the back bumper and angle your ass out, you could go and you wouldn’t get anything on you. But then you’d have to balance yourself with one hand and wipe with the other? Up for it?”
“I guess so...”Jess replies hesitantly.
“I’ll be your look out!” I yell as she makes her way to the rear of the car.
I look out the passenger window to make sure I don’t see an animal charge the car. About 4 minutes pass and I see Jess turn the corner from the back bumper. She opens the driver side door and climbs in. For a second I wonder what to say to break the ice, because our friendship was now on a whole new level. But I don’t have to say a word, when she shuts her door she looks over and we just burst out in laughter. Insane laughter, gasping for air. The whole day’s events just flood in and we laugh and laugh. Laughing just relaxes me enough to realize I have to poop too. Once the laughter dies down I ask,
“Okay, Jess, explain to me how you did it.”
She replies, "Well, I kind of ‘leaned’ on the right side of the bumper, so you should take the left side. Just reach underneath, make sure you get a good grip and pull your pants down. Spread your legs and lean out. Balance is key.“
I open the door and get hit with a sharp cool breeze. I reach the back of the car and try really hard not to look at the ground on the right side. I unbutton my pants and lower them. I squat and feel the cold Texas air on my derriere.
This is not right.
This is not natural!
I close my eyes and say a little prayer that I don't end up some animal’s dinner or that I don’t make a terrible mess. I skillfully reach around, a little proud of myself for thinking of doing that in the first place. I take the walk of shame to the passenger door and climb in. It’s warm inside and this time we don’t laugh, we just slouch into our chairs and snuggle to my random pieces of clothing laid around us.
“Okay, Jess, explain to me how you did it.”
She replies, "Well, I kind of ‘leaned’ on the right side of the bumper, so you should take the left side. Just reach underneath, make sure you get a good grip and pull your pants down. Spread your legs and lean out. Balance is key.“
I open the door and get hit with a sharp cool breeze. I reach the back of the car and try really hard not to look at the ground on the right side. I unbutton my pants and lower them. I squat and feel the cold Texas air on my derriere.
This is not right.
This is not natural!
I close my eyes and say a little prayer that I don't end up some animal’s dinner or that I don’t make a terrible mess. I skillfully reach around, a little proud of myself for thinking of doing that in the first place. I take the walk of shame to the passenger door and climb in. It’s warm inside and this time we don’t laugh, we just slouch into our chairs and snuggle to my random pieces of clothing laid around us.
6am, the sun is rising and I realize my dad should be there any minute. It’s been 24 hours without decent sleep. Just tiny naps here and there for each of us throughout the day. I see my dads car coming toward us on the highway. He slows as he approaches and slowly passes my car. He turns around and pulls up about 20 feet behind us.
We are both speechless. What do we do? It is inevitable that he will walk to the car from behind and see our little prize pieces. Shit. Shit. Shit.
He seems to be walking in slow motion, I swear I see a tumbleweed roll by. Once he reaches my door on the passenger side, I roll the window down and smile.
“Hey, daddy.”
“Hey, Baby.”
I get out, Jess gets out of the driver’s side. We walk around to the back of the car. I stand straddling one pile, blocking my dad from seeing it as he walks to his car to get the gas tank. He returns and starts to unlock the gas cap. Jess stands beside me and we are obnoxiously close to his work space. I know we are acting suspicious. He finishes pouring and tries to set the gas tank down exactly where I stood. The logical thing would have been to move over but I stood still like a statue. He sets the tank on the ground beside me and turns the car on, it sputters for a second but turns on. I climb in behind the wheel, blare the heat on my frozen toes and wait for my dad to reach his car. The feeling of the car rumble under my feet restored my faith in this road-trip. Onto California!
My dad and I would wait a couple of years before talking about this morning.
We are both speechless. What do we do? It is inevitable that he will walk to the car from behind and see our little prize pieces. Shit. Shit. Shit.
He seems to be walking in slow motion, I swear I see a tumbleweed roll by. Once he reaches my door on the passenger side, I roll the window down and smile.
“Hey, daddy.”
“Hey, Baby.”
I get out, Jess gets out of the driver’s side. We walk around to the back of the car. I stand straddling one pile, blocking my dad from seeing it as he walks to his car to get the gas tank. He returns and starts to unlock the gas cap. Jess stands beside me and we are obnoxiously close to his work space. I know we are acting suspicious. He finishes pouring and tries to set the gas tank down exactly where I stood. The logical thing would have been to move over but I stood still like a statue. He sets the tank on the ground beside me and turns the car on, it sputters for a second but turns on. I climb in behind the wheel, blare the heat on my frozen toes and wait for my dad to reach his car. The feeling of the car rumble under my feet restored my faith in this road-trip. Onto California!
My dad and I would wait a couple of years before talking about this morning.
Thursday, September 13, 2012
WRI 2730 Essay #3 Eating little Angels
Eating little Angels
The cupcakes were the size of my face. Mini cakes is what they should be called. Each one iced to perfection with a little decorative edible topping.
I've had cupcakes plenty of times before, but never this beautiful, never on a plate and never with a fork. They were almost too beautiful to eat, like little works of art. They sold mini cupcakes that were about a bite each. Dozens of flavors to choose from, I didn't know which flavor to begin my journey with.
Strawberry.
The biggest adult move of my life was to San Diego, CA. Volunteering for a film festival I met my best friend, Jen Petrini. The day we met we strolled through downtown talking about movies, books and food. It was the best first date. We were both new to the area and were looking for some neat new places. Thats' when we came across Heavenly Cupcake, a gourmet cupcake shop.
The year was 2008, Cupcake shops were non existent. As a matter of fact, they were just peeling back the decal on the front window. I peered in and admired the glass case that housed dozens of rows of martial colorful cupcakes ready for war.
We entered the shop to a warm and grateful greeting from the boulangere. The air had a texture to it, floating powdered sugar looking to cling to my nose hair.
"Would you care to sample our signature Snickers Cupcake?"
"Why yes, I would to."
There were little halos on each and every cupcake. It was like eating little angels.
I'll never forget the best cupcake I ever had. A vanilla cupcake with flecks of edible gold in the batter, a butter cream icing perfectly sweetened. Dipped in a chocolate ganache. Jen's favorite, a pink champagne cupcake atop with a champagne infused icing. We never got the same and we always shared.
This interest we shared would prevail the most difficult obstacle: proximity. I moved back to NC after a few short years which ended our discovery adventures but we stayed in touch. Every fall I would return to San Diego to work for the Film Festival with Jen.
It takes a little while for West Coast trends to find it's way to the East, but it wasn't long that my hometown, Fayetteville, opened it's first Cupcake shop: The Cupcake Gallery. Who was there opening day? Yours truly.
Each bakery we've been to seems better than the previous and they only seem to get better and better. But we always find ourselves returning to Heaven. Heavenly Cupcake that is, it was the first and it never let us down.
Thursday, September 6, 2012
WRI 2730 Essay #2- America is my country and Paris is my hometown
“America is my country and Paris is my hometown.” -Gertrude Stein
Did you know Paris is the most visited city in the world?ª
It may be the way Paris is perceived by the hopeless romantic. How it is depicted in romantic comedies, or how it is written by famous writers and poets. Regardless, I cant remember a time I wasn't consumed by the charm the French culture offers. I am a French Enthusiast. An enthusiast, by definition, is a person who is highly interested in a particular subject, and I am very interested in France. While I was in high school or getting my undergrad, I was occasionally assigned a report for various classes on a country. It never failed, I always chose Paris. I had an elaborate poster board with glitter and pictures and even a pop out Eiffel Tower. I used a CD that played Louise Armstrong's La Vie en Rose. I had all the knowledge in the world about this city, but lacked the actual experience of ever having been there.
Did you know France produces over 400 types of cheeses?ª
Cheese may very well be my favorite edible thing in the world. As a kid I could finish an entire block of cheddar cheese; as an adult, I know better. But that there can be 400 variations of cheese and in one country? That makes me want to try everyone. French cuisine is most foreign to me. Growing up in a Puerto Rican household, I ate rice not couscous. We ate flan not soufflé. But I look for it. Any chance I get at a restaurant, I'll order it just to try it.
Cheese may very well be my favorite edible thing in the world. As a kid I could finish an entire block of cheddar cheese; as an adult, I know better. But that there can be 400 variations of cheese and in one country? That makes me want to try everyone. French cuisine is most foreign to me. Growing up in a Puerto Rican household, I ate rice not couscous. We ate flan not soufflé. But I look for it. Any chance I get at a restaurant, I'll order it just to try it.
“An artist has no home in Europe except in Paris.” - Friedrich Nietzche
Did you know the first film(s) were created in France?
When learning the fundamentals of film we are taught that some pioneers to cinema were The Lumiere Brothers and Georges Meilies. I’ve always known there was more artist in me than scientist. Any form of art felt cathartic when I was younger. There wasn’t any one thing I was great at, just good at a lot of little things. So as I got older an fell more and more in love with film, so did my love and obsession for Paris.
“If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast.” - Ernest Hemingway
Did you know it’s illegal to kiss on railways in France?ª
Spring break 2004. I was going to Paris. We had 10 days to travel in Europe and the first stop was Paris, then Germany, then Rome. We were on the first plane leaving RDU on its way to Dulles Airport when the pilot, over the intercom, explains that we are turning around because the engine is overheating and needs tending to. Not a problem, we’ll just get on the next flight and hope the connecting flights aren't too affected by this.
Of course, there is no flight out that will make connecting flights to Germany to meet my dad until 3 days later. We still made it to Europe, only the France portion of our trip had to be sacrificed. I kept my chin up as much as I could accepting there was nothing we could do, but a dark cloud hung over my trip.
A post I wrote recently about Paris
http://christenes-dailies.blogspot.com/2012/07/paris-je-taime-2006.html
A post I wrote recently about Paris
http://christenes-dailies.blogspot.com/2012/07/paris-je-taime-2006.html
The following are the sites I found with fun facts about France. There is a chance none of them are true. But this piece wasn't about the facts. It's about possibility so put that in your back pocket.
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
WRI 2730- Essay # 1: Self-Contained Underwater Breathing Apparatus
Self-contained Underwater Breathing Apparatus
Equipment is packed, legs are shaved and caffeine has been ingested. Time of departure: 5:00am.
After a short drive we arrive at a dive shop. Immediately I want to own everything I see, I fantasize about diving every weekend with my own equipment. Taking days off of work to go on very elaborate diving excursions. I notice a pair of pink snorkels, those will be mine.
In 2009 I was 25 years old and suffering from quarter life crisis. I had a co-worker friend who would share fantasies of doing really cool things. We took rock climbing lessons together and wrote list after list of things we could do. Business was good so I took the extra cash I was making and decided to take up a new hobby.
Scuba diving.
I signed up with my co-worker, Jan who was conveniently dating a scuba diving instructor, who was also a pilot and a motorcycle instructor, oh, and my land lord. Timing was perfect.
After a short drive we arrive at a dive shop. Immediately I want to own everything I see, I fantasize about diving every weekend with my own equipment. Taking days off of work to go on very elaborate diving excursions. I notice a pair of pink snorkels, those will be mine.
In 2009 I was 25 years old and suffering from quarter life crisis. I had a co-worker friend who would share fantasies of doing really cool things. We took rock climbing lessons together and wrote list after list of things we could do. Business was good so I took the extra cash I was making and decided to take up a new hobby.
Scuba diving.
I signed up with my co-worker, Jan who was conveniently dating a scuba diving instructor, who was also a pilot and a motorcycle instructor, oh, and my land lord. Timing was perfect.
There were about a weeks worth of classes where Jan was very close to giving up. She has issues with taking orders from her boyfriends, like “listen” or “pay attention.” There were a few instances where she quit but was on board again by morning. Nothing a little wining and dining couldn’t fix.
We train in the shallow end of a private pool, first with the snorkel. Just to get comfortable with “living” under water. I lived in Hawaii when I was younger and spent a lot of time in a snorkel. This was very different, not only because I was in a pool, but because I was preparing for something. My mind was in a very different place. I swam away for a second to get away from the very panicked Jan. I wanted to think for a second, take advantage of the silence. The only sound was my breath through a plastic tube and my heartbeat coming from my head. My breaths were short and fast at first then rhythmic once I coaxed myself to calm.
Why was I doing this?
Was I really doing this for myself or for bragging rights?
How many people did I know who dove?
Does that matter?
Is bragging about diving worth the $400 it took to get to the pool with a snorkel?
Bottom line is there’s no going back. If for nothing else, than the nonrefundable deposit.
Why was I doing this?
Was I really doing this for myself or for bragging rights?
How many people did I know who dove?
Does that matter?
Is bragging about diving worth the $400 it took to get to the pool with a snorkel?
Bottom line is there’s no going back. If for nothing else, than the nonrefundable deposit.
We pull up to the quarry and my first thought is how murky the water looks. I hear there's a ship at the bottom. I take my camera out to document this whole experience snap a couple of pictures with the quarry as the back drop and get into focus mode, after all I could die.
The golf cart shuttle takes a hand full of us who are diving to the edge of the water where we will prepare ourselves. I grab my wet suit and head to the bathroom with Jan. Trying to put that god dammed thing on was the most horrific experience of my life. In the 20 minutes it took to slip it on, I had an epiphany. I know exactly what Ms. Kubler Ross felt when writing On Death and Dying. I myself, experienced denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance, all in a public restroom, and all in front of a very traumatized Jan.
Irritated, anxious and nauseous, I put the rest of my equipment on which weighed about 50 lbs. Waddling to the pier with my fins I pose for one more quick picture.
In the dichotomy of people who jump in the water and people who take there time, I am the latter. With the skin tight wet suit and heavy equipment I didn’t have a choice but to saunter. So saunter I did, until the water reached my chin. We waded around absorbing water and the last bit of class we needed before we went under. My heart is racing for that moment I’m breathing underwater. Then my head goes under and I can see clearly. Fish swim by and seaweed sways below me. Bubbles release from every ones regulators. That is the moment I realized why I decided to do this. Because it was fucking cool.
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| Diving Instructor, Mark Chandler RIP my friend. |
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