Monday, January 29, 2007

W203 First Assignment

My teacher did want the first assignment I missed because of my late entrance into the class, but I couldn't come up with anything to write about. The assignment was to think of an event that happened in the past and then to imagine yourself as another person who was there and/or would have witnessed it. The person you imagined yourself as was to become the narrator and describe the event (using the first person p.o.v.) from a different perspective. Like I said, I couldn't think of anything interesting to write about, but luckily someone I know did.

I was talking to my best friend Poke about the assignment and not only did he offer up the idea, but he even asked to write it. I reluctantly accepted and I read Poke's story for the first time as I posted it on this website. By reading this, you are agreeing to not tell my instructor or any IU administrators about what Poke and I have done. Here is his story.

The hallway lights will come on. A short time later the gates will go up and then a man will come in. The lights above me will illuminate. Sometime soon, a few more people will come in and start tidying up and/or folding clothes. Then “they” will come.

They will be noisy, immature, and dressed terribly. Luckily most of them won’t come in. They will enter every once in a while with a dignified grin, pretending that they belong. I know they do not. They will check the price tags on the sale items, smirk as if purchasing it is a possibility, then it is only a matter of time before they exit.

The others won’t be any better. They will look nice, but it is a skillfully crafted image. They want everyone to know where they will be going and that they will not just be browsing. I hate them more than I hate the others.

The day will seem longer than it actually is and will end like it always does with the lights going out and the gate closing.

I know this routine so well because for as long as I could remember it never changed. I was violated nearly every day by humans who stripped me and dressed me as they saw fit. I stood there and did nothing every day and regretted it every night. I thought many times about taking my own life, but it’s hard to know what to take away when you’ve never felt alive. I was a drone. I guess that’s why I didn’t notice when he came in.

I knew the store was having problems, but I was ignorant of the fact that the financial situation was so bad that I was to be sold. The man I hadn’t noticed, the man I’d come to know as Alex, was the first human to pick me up and not make me feel like I was being molested. Although he was a man, I felt surprisingly at ease in his arms and if I wasn’t so comfortable with my sexuality I would have questioned it.

Each and every experience with humans I have ever had was negative, until Alex. Although I did not yet trust him, I would be lying if I said that I didn’t want to. He hugged me, talked to me, treated me in a way I’d never known. He let me wear his hat, he buckled my seatbelt, he called me his friend, and he gave me a name. Poke. I didn’t know the significance of the name until much later, but it didn’t really matter to me. I found meaning in the fact that I was so important to someone that I was distinguished as an individual. I was given an identity. I was unique. I apologize if I sound redundant, but these feelings aren’t something I can forget, nor do I wish to.

But it wasn't just the way he made me feel that I loved, for Alex showed me something I had only seen in my dreams. Sunlight. I could never have proved it, but I knew something lay beyond the argyle-and-polyester-covered walls of the store and now I was a part of it. I know now what being alive is and I have Alex to thank for that.

Thursday, January 25, 2007

W203 Third Assignment

Unless I need the points, I have decided not to do the first assignment. Maybe I'll ask about that tomorrow. Here is this week's assignment.

Find a painting or photograph that you have not seen before that shows a group of people (searching online is a good idea or maybe you have an old photo of ancestors). Print the picture or make a copy to hand in with this assignment. Now, imagine the relationship among the group. Assume the role of one of the pictured figures and write a dramatic monologue from that character’s point of view. What does this character understand that no one else does? Who is this character and what does he/she want? How does he/she relate to the group?


I was the one in the middle. Always in the middle. Now? I’m not sure I know who I am now. I’m not so sure I know who I was then. I was just enjoying the ride.

The doctors were never certain how I turned out this way. A “genetic miracle” they called me. My father never used that term. He referred to me by several names, “Blue Bastard” being his favorite. He blamed my mother mostly. Sometimes God, but God is an abstract concept and you can’t hit an abstract concept. He’d come home late smelling of Gordon's and whores; the belt already in his hands. I could never escape the screams of my mother and the “How could you fuck a Smurf?!”s from my father. She said he loved her, that he loved me too, but love's hard to discern waking up under a coat of your daddy's paint thinner.

My mother died when I was fourteen. Dr. Weber told me her heart just gave out during the night. I guess it caught up with the rest of her.

Drugs became a refuge after that; long sleeves my coat of armor. I was high when my father found out. All I remember is waking up in the hospital a bloodied mess, my Fibula fractured in five places. I sneaked up to the roof one day during my rehabilitation. You only needed one leg to jump. I breathed deep and took a final look over the side of the building only to see a quiet, bald blue head passing by on the sidewalk below. The sun shone off of his skull and I almost fell from shock.

As quickly as I could, I got to the elevator, hit G, and hobbled outside. There, down no more than two blocks, he stood waiting for a bus. His name was Forest and he was just as amazed to see me and I was to see him. I thanked him for saving my life.

Much to my surprise, he knew of another like us and I was introduced to Wayne shortly thereafter. The two traveled the country as percussion musicians, but had seen their once great ticket sales diminish in the last few months. They taught me the art of pipe banging, zither strumming, and dog stroking. Before I had completely mastered each of the zany instruments, we hit the road as a trio. Ticket sales went through the roof and for the first time in my life, I was happy.

I found the acceptance I had longed for since I was a boy. Not only from my new friends, but from the crowds I performed for. It didn’t matter that my skin was blue, they just wanted to be entertained. Once, after a show in Jacksonville, a small boy with dyed blue hair came up and asked me for an autograph. I bent down on one knee and he hugged me as hard as he could. “Why are you crying?” he asked as I put his arms around him. I didn’t answer. I couldn’t answer. How could he possibly have understood that I was 20 years old and it was the first time I had ever hugged another human being.

As the fame grew, the egos followed suit. Wayne accused Forest of dying his head bluer in an effort to draw the attention of the audience. Forest would berate Wayne for always being on the right side, something about Wayne needing to be seen first as we went out on stage. I was happy to be in the middle. I was happy to belong.

Even through the veil of powder, smoke, and women I saw the split coming. After-party fistfights became more common. We had to cancel a show in Boston after Forest broke Wayne’s nose with a Heineken bottle. Even I tired of their shades. Cerulean to my left, cobalt to my right. There was no escape. With each gulp I wondered to where the happiness had vanished.

Wayne and I didn’t think much of it when Forest missed the flight to Cleveland. Sure as hell wasn’t the first time he’d done it. As we walked to baggage claim I got a call from an unidentified number. It was the hotel manager from whichever city it was we just left. I prepared the usual “I’m sorry the mirror is broken” speech when he said something I wasn’t ready for. “I’m sorry to inform you of this, but your roommate, uh...Forest, has hung himself.”

Needless to say we stopped touring after that. The last time I saw Wayne was at the funeral. It was a wonderful ceremony really. The silk lining the casket was as blue as Forest and bouquets of Cornflowers filled the room. As I looked down upon Forest, I couldn’t understand why he'd done it. I guess he just grew tired of being blue all the time.

Wednesday, January 24, 2007

An open letter to MTV

Dear MTV,

I regret to inform you that I will never again be watching you. In fact, I haven't watched you for some time. But it's so much more than that, MTV. To be quite honest, I hate you. I know this doesn't upset you, because it seems as though you haven't cared for many years.

Also, I have been with your sister MTVU since I first came to school over a year and a half ago. It's just that...MTVU gives me what you used to. I can't help it. Forgive me for thinking that when your name stands for Music Television, you should revolve your programming around music. I see you trying to hide behind TRL, but we both know TRL died several years ago. I remember when you used to help out aspiring musicians and introduce me to innovative artists. Yo! MTV Raps?! What a great show! You opened the door for hip hop to be seen and heard on a national level. You should be proud of yourself for that.

I understand that you wanted to branch out, that you wanted to try new things, and for awhile it worked. Remember Remote Control? That was a nice little show. It even became a Nintendo game! I bet you didn't see that coming. And The Real World?! I mean, you gave the world reality tv before we even knew what reality tv was! And your award shows were a hit, too.

Who cares that some artists like the Dead Kennedys hated you? Sure you became commercialized, but sometimes that happens when you're popular. You were the only outlet for people looking for music videos, of course you'd be huge! The Dead Kennedys were just upset because they weren't getting airtime. Maybe you could have given them some exposure, but the bottom line is that they just should have been a better band. And that's not your fault.

We had some good years in the 90's, too. My parents didn't want you and I to be together, they said I shouldn't watch you, but what we had was too good to pass up.

I don't know where it went wrong. I wish I did, then maybe I could have done something to stop it. It's just like I woke up one day and you sucked. I didn't see music anymore. All I saw was hackneyed, recycled premises. Do I have to list all of the crap you've aired over the past 6 years? Well I'm going to. I need this closure.

‘Til Death Do Us Part, Blowin’ Up
, Cheyenne, Date My Mom, Exposed, Fear, Fraternity Life, I Want a Famous Face, Kathy’s So Called Reality, Miss Seventeen, My Own, Newlyweds, Next, Parental Control, PoweR Girls, Sorority Life, Surf Girls, Taildaters, The Andy Milonakis Show, The Ashlee Simpson Show, The Osbournes, There and Back, Trailer Fabulous, Why Can’t I Be You?, Yo Momma

And those are just the shows I remember. I've blocked out so many others you've shown just to keep my sanity.

You had some good shows in there, I won't lie. You weren't completely off my radar. I can even forgive you for some of those shows, but there is something you've done that I can't forgive. I'm talking about Laguna Beach, 8th and Ocean, The Hills, Maui Fever, My Super Sweet 16, Rich Girls, Tiara Girls, and Twentyfourseven.

For Heaven's sake, MTV! You'd think a show like Maui Fever would have some room for a little ethnic diversity. But no! Your seven stars are all white people! I've had it with you! Do you ever get tired of making fake reality shows about snobby, slutty, vapid, rich, white people?! Do you know what you're doing to the youth of America?! Apparently not.

This is why I'm leaving you MTV. For good. This, and the fact that I can't stay up late enough or wake up early enough to watch a music video. We're through. I'll miss Rob & Big, maybe a few other shows too, but this is the way it has to be. Please don't get mad and dilute MTVU with your asinine garbage.

Sincerely,
Alex Kenny

P.S. Don't make any more RW/RR Challenges. I think everyone gets the point.

Sunday, January 21, 2007

Bears v. Colts

I don't know how many people even read this anymore, especially people at IU, but I'm putting this on here just in case...



Here's the deal. If any of you Colts fans see me wearing my Chicago Bears hat and try to say something you must first meet the following criteria:

1. You must be a legitimate Colts fan. Not a Peyton fan. Not someone who pretends to like them b/c they go to a school in Indiana. Not someone who has only liked them since they started winning.

2. You must say something more than "Bears suck!"

3. You must be willing to sit down with me and have an actual conversation about Bears v. Colts to prove to me that you are indeed a true Colts fan and that you know something about football.

4. Aside from Kelly Moore, I don't think I can name one girl who has ever been insightful and reasonable when discussing sports with me. If you can, then be my guest. But until then...no girls.

Congratulations to Lovie and Tony and to the teams/organizations they represent. It should be a great game.



Also, I want to congratulate the Saints for an amazing season given the circumstances they have been forced to put with these past years. It is a truly remarkable story and I hope this season brought some level of normalcy back to the still-ravaged, still-in-need-of-help city of New Orleans. The term "America's team" never held a truer meaning.

Thursday, January 18, 2007

W203 Second assignment

Here at IU, I am currently enrolled in a creative writing class (W203) and I figured I may as well post my stories since I don't have anything else to write about.

It is a fiction writing class and if you're wondering why the second assignment is posted first, it is because I have yet to do the first assignment since I joined the class late. The assignment is as follows...

Writing Assignment 2 Desire not Drama: As Janet Burroway says, “Young writers … think that they can best introduce drama into their stories by way of murders, chase scenes, crashes and vampires…In fact, all of us know that the most profound impediments to our desires usually lie close to home, in our own bodies, personalities, friends, lovers, and families.” Write a story in 500-1500 words, in which the conflict or character’s desire is something simple, perhaps he needs to pee and for some reason can’t find a bathroom, or is very thirsty and wants a glass of water, perhaps she is dreading calling someone back and keeps putting it off, or can’t get to sleep at night. Think about how any sort of conflict or desire when located in a specific character can create interesting fiction. Try to be as specific as you can about the character, setting, and conflict – this will create life in your story and give you new ideas as you write.

This is my story.


He awoke to the pounding of rock music from the neighboring room. He was not happy. Creighton groaned as he tossed his body and angrily put his pillow over his head to muffle out the noise. As he lie there, he thought about next year and how his parents had agreed, albeit reluctantly, to let him live off campus with his longtime girlfriend Daphne. “I won’t have to put up with this next year,” he thought.

As he drifted back into his customary afternoon nap, he couldn’t get over the fact that his parents were actually going to let him live with Daphne just as long as he kept his grades up. “My grades…” he thought. “My grades!”

He threw off his covers and turned to his alarm clock. “3:18?!” he cried. “It didn’t go off!” In seemingly one movement, Creighton leapt from his bed to his desk and packed up his book bag as fast as he could. “I can’t believe it!” he thought. “How could I be so careless?”

Oversleeping for a class wouldn’t be a big deal to most people, especially in an astronomy class that didn’t take attendance, but Creighton wasn’t most people. Creighton held a firm belief that if he missed even one class, it would come back to haunt him on the next exam. He couldn’t bring himself to take that risk knowing that he would be living with Daphne next year.

He tied his shoes as sloppy as a four year old, smashed his New York Mets ballcap on top of his messy brown hair, and grabbed his cell phone on the way out. He flung open the door to the hallway when he realized that he couldn’t see a thing. “My glasses!” He darted back into his room and scanned it with squinted eyes. Not at his desk. He looked across the room. Not on his nightstand. “Damnit!” Creighton yelled.

In his panicked state he hadn’t noticed his roommate come out of the bathroom. “What’s wrong, Crey?” he asked. “My-my glasses...I-I-I can’t find ‘em,” Creighton managed to spit out.

“Settle down. They’re in there. By the sink.”

Creighton almost kissed his roommate.

“Thanks, D! I owe you one!” Creighton exclaimed as he grabbed his glasses and sprinted out the door toward the elevators. “3:20” he said aloud passing the clock in the hallway. Creighton calmed himself as he pushed the down button; finally realizing he’d be outside in plenty of time to catch the 3:25 bus that would take him across campus to his class.

He looked up to see what floor the elevator was on. “Ground floor? Why isn’t it moving?” He looked back down and a sign he hadn’t noticed before caught his eye. The elevator is temporarily out of order. Sorry for the inconvenience. He let out a high pitch scream and raced for the stairs.

Living on the eleventh floor, Creighton had never before taken the stairs and he wondered if he could get down them and still reach the bus stop on time. He took a deep breath as he glanced over the guardrail and started his descent.

The stairwell smelled of rust and was dimly lit at best. Each step was scarred with scuffmarks and the walls were barren with the exception of a few paint chips. Creighton understood why he didn’t used the stairs more often.

The sound of his hurried steps echoed through the silence and he began to sweat. The heat of the stairwell overwhelmed him and he grew short of breath. “I must be close,” he thought out loud. Creighton turned to go down the next flight and saw the number on the wall. 9. He grunted in frustration and continued on.

Creighton pulled out his phone to check the time. 3:22. “I can do it,” he said. He lumbered down each step as quickly as he could, using the handrail for assistance. As floor 7 became floor 6 and floor 6 became floor 5, the weary Creighton grew determined. For he knew he wasn’t going down these stairs alone; Daphne was with him every step of the way. He thought about her long auburn hair and the way her nose would scrunch when she laughed. He was no longer exhausted.

From every floor window, he watched as the mighty Oak tree outside rose higher and higher and when he reached the exit door he had a smile upon his face. 3:24.

Friday, January 12, 2007

What time is it?

I don't know if it's because of the time (2:50 am) or because of the fact that I haven't slept in quite awhile, but Adventure Time may possibly be the greatest thing I've ever watched in my life. I highly recommend this cartoon. Thank you, Kyle. I have a newfound admiration of you.

Tuesday, January 09, 2007

Not even close!

I'm no Sean Salisbury; I'll tell you when I'm wrong. And I was completely wrong.

I believed going into the BCS Bowl Season that Ohio State and Michigan were the two best teams in the country and I was upset that they weren't going to get the chance to play. I was way off. The Gators proved themselves to be the best team in college football. I mean...come on. That was impressive.

Monday, January 08, 2007

Hmm...

According to a shocking CNN report I just read, a "Mystery smell settles over Manhattan."

Sometimes the comedy just writes itself...

Happy New Year!

Due to a lack of interest in the world at large, I haven't posted in quite some time. I've been trying to find something interesting I could write about for the last couple of days to ring in the new year and this is all I got...

If you don't know who this is, chances are you've lived a happier life. So if you'd like to keep it this way, I wouldn't read following.

Pat Robertson is a Southern Baptist televangelist and a member of that absurdly nutty group known as the über Religious Right. You know, those Republicans who believe they are among the chosen few God has put on this planet to unequivocally lead and where other cultures and/or opinions are viewed as a slight against God. Sometimes I think sanity is taken for granted.

Patty has made headlines recently by saying that "God has told him there will be a horrific terrorist attack on major cities, perhaps in the United States, in the second half of this year." Pat himself has said, "The Lord didn't say nuclear, but I do believe it will be something like that."

Predicting a terrorist attack in the year 2007 is as easy as predicting the weather in the Sahara Desert. Pat has nothing to lose here, if there isn't a terrorist attack in a major city then everyone wins. However, when there is a terrorist attack in a major city (which unfortunately is going to happen) he'll take credit for it and use it as evidence that God speaks to him as if he were some sort of prophet.

In 2006, he predicted heavy storms hitting the United States. Storms?! Here?! Thanks for the warning, Pat! He also said a tsunami would hit the Pacific Northwest, but I guess you can't win 'em all.

Being crazy is nothing new for Pat Robertson who routinely says outlandish things.

On other Christian denominations...
"You say you're supposed to be nice to the Episcopalians and the Presbyterians and the Methodists and this, that, and the other thing. Nonsense. I don't have to be nice to the spirit of the Antichrist."

Regarding Gay Day at Disney World...
"I would warn Orlando that you're right in the way of some serious hurricanes and I don't think I'd be waving those flags in God's face if I were you. This is not a message of hate; this is a message of redemption. But a condition like this (Gay Day) will bring about the destruction of your nation. It'll bring about terrorist bombs, it'll bring earthquakes, tornadoes, and possibly a meteor."

On the court system...
"The courts are merely a ruse, if you will, for humanist, atheistic educators to beat up on Christians."

*Not included are any of Robertson's hate-filled rants on Islam, homosexuality, Hindus, feminism, liberalism, Hugo Chávez, or the city of Dover, PA.

Oh, and he has also defended China's One-Child Policy and its mandated abortions.

I would like to include more of Pat's words of wisdom, but God has just started talking to me!

God says that we should not listen to Pat Robertson and that He forgives Pat for trying to exploit Him for Pat's own personal gain. God can't say the same for His son though. Jesus is mad!