Kissing Vinny

1. Tannis coming to Chicago on business in two weeks. Staying in downtown hotel. We shall party
2. can’t find my American Express. Need it to purchase audio post hosting
3. went 1am grocery shopping. Bought honey, chicken-garlic pizza, preserves, canned salmon and tuna
4. ate pizza for breakfast
5. saw Keith on YouTube
   
6. it's raining today
   

So I love that the light in my bedroom works now. It’s been outta commission for the past 6/7 months or so primarily due to my lazy spirit especially since the closet light lit my room well enough for me to see. Yesterday, though, I finally took the initiative and changed the bulb! I haven’t seen my room in this shade of light in…hmmm…6/7 months ago. I need to wash my walls. whomp whomp

Roommate Vinny cleaned the apartment Thursday. I coulda kissed him but I refrained. I came home to pick him up for Thanksgiving dinner with the lesbian's and as if a little beehive of house fairies took over the broom and swept, our apartment was clean and smelled like Clorox. Roommate Vinny even mopped!—

Alas, I shoulda kissed him.

SO, yesterday, instead of going to the library with Gakaa (Gah-Kah), my Lesbian, to do some much needed research for her term paper that I’ve been commission to write which is due Wednesday instead of mid December like she had originally told me…I’m not mad—we didn’t go to the Library. My mischief buddy Marcel even came into town this weekend to spend time with his family for the holiday and like always we were suppose to get together and paint the town lovely until sunrise, wake up on a public bench in Wichita and hitch hike our way back home—I have the prettier of thumbs, I’m sure I could’ve persuaded someone to truck us back into the city. That didn’t happen either though.

Instead of all that I could’ve done with my Saturday—Chuck-a-Muck even called me to the business of wanting me to attend a Ball with him. “Ken, you’ve never been to a Ball and I haven’t been to one in while. I want to go tonight and I want you to come with me.”
—Nope!

David the Sheriff who got into a brawl Thanksgiving day and broke his wrist texted me last evening because he was feeling lonely and asked that I might keep him company.
—Nope!

In lieu of having a cleaner apartment I thought it best that I cleaned my room. Actually to "clean" my room would require a mopping and I wasn’t THAT enthusiastic (so I retract my previous statement)—I "straightened" up my room. I got the clothes off the floor and swept. What a world of difference sweeping makes, ahhhhh! I also changed my bed linens, organized my journals, put away my laundry, there’s a pot of that potpourri-stuff simmering on the stove, lit a few Glade candles around the boudoir to give it that special Umph!—I feel good. Now I just need a job.

Or maybe I should just kiss Vinny?

TurkeyDay Cornbread Gravy

1. Laptop was on da fritz yesterday. My world almost ended. It magically came back to life this morning. lets clap our hands in prayer
   
2. Keisha Kornbread found me on A4A "advertising" my Blog. Claims that I sold out. Threatens to tell our buddy Tyrus.
3. Spoke to WomiE the first time in nearly 3 months. Have been sobbing ever since
4. fortune cookie confirms that I will have better luck in the spring. the spring seems like such a long time away

I'm at the Lesbian’s house for TurkeyDay this year with Karen. It’s about 2 in the a.m. and Erica, my lesbian, has me in the kitchen dancing to Sasha Fierce and churning a large Tupperware bowl of Jiffy Cornbread mix. Dangerous combination. Beyonce who? I think I love Sasha.

I didn’t expect to cook anything at all this year…not that I’m normally requested to cook any year but this year Erica made it mandatory.

Ken, if you’re coming over you have to cook something. The idea, as the lesbian explained, is to get everyone in the kitchen (and by everyone she means Karen, herself and I) to cook our first Thanksgiving dinner together.

Okay I said.

So…what are you cooking?

And after much deliberation I figured with my lack of holiday dinner cooking experience that I’d make something important, familiar and yet exquisitely simple.

So, Ken, what are you cooking?

Gravy.

***Lingering Pause***

Ken, says my lesbian, do you even know how to make gravy?

Insulted, I gasped, reached for my pearls and said, Sure! Of course I know how to make gravy!

And of course my Lesbian challenged my infinite wisdom, How!—she barked.

Duh, Lesbian…I’mma boil a pot of water, add salt and wait for it to brown…water does brown, doesn't it?

She cackled manically and said, steer away from the gravy, Ken.

I invited my writing Buddy Keith over to enjoy our makeshift Thanksgiving masterpiece tomorrow evening. Keith was without TurkeyDay plans so I thought “what they hell, lets have ‘em over”. He asked might he be able to bring anything for the dinner table and without skipping a beat I told him gravy. Keith, who not only is a writing guru, handles himself well in the kitchen too. He explained to me that there were several Kinds* of gravy, and several different methods by which he prepares this magical brown sauce. For example, he said,

“if I'm going to take a smoked turkey wing, or two depending on how big it is and fry it a little in some olive oil to draw the flavor out. Then I’mma put it in a roasting pan with some carrots, garlic cloves, an onion and celery. Add a couple of bay leaves, thyme, salt and pepper, and sage. Put it in the oven and let it cook down for about 20mins. Then I'll take it out, added a little flour to hold the flavor and thicken the gravy. Then I'll add chicken stock and let it all simmer till it gets to the consistency that I like. I'll strain out the vegetables and, voila! That's a lot, but it's really good and savory."

…and Ken wasn’t going to do that. At least not for TurkeyDay o8.

Lesson Learned: Skinny Bitches are Sasha Fierce in the kitten, I suppose…all except for me. whomp whomp

So instead of gravy Erica put me in charge of churning the cornbread. That is how I wound up boogieing to Beyonce while mixing a bowl of Jiffy. So I, Ken, made the TurkeyDay cornbread.

YummmiE!!!

Leslie reponded

1. Just got off work and ate a very masculine sandwhich—mayo and meat. So to glamorize it I stovetop-toasted the bread in olive oil and used the sandwich spread versus the Hellmenn’s.

Hi Ken,

Great to hear from you!! I am so happy to see things are going well, and congratulations on your graduation! I watched the video and saw a little bit of your blog (seems like things aren’t going very well with you and Vinny). I had that same problem with my former roommate, and I too was on dishes strike (but my BIGGER issue was the darned trash – that girl wouldn’t take it out!) Anyway, I live alone now, and let me tell you, things are a heck of a lot more peaceful.

As you can see, I’m working for the league – I’ve been here for about 3 years now, and to be perfectly honest, I finally have a job that I actually like! (I thought teaching was ok – but grading those papers drove me crazy!). I still work with kids and I do some after school and Saturday programs. We also give out scholarships and I do a lot of work around educational policy – things I care about. So, it seems like I finally found my niche!

How about you? I see you’re looking for a job – what kind would you like? Right now CUL isn’t doing much hiring, but I always hear about various job opportunities.

I would love to get together for lunch sometime. December is pretty quiet (right now), so let me know what day/days work for you and we can see what we can do!

Leslie

(You don’t have to call me Ms. Drish anymore – it makes me feel old).

Look Who I Found: Dear Ms. Drish

Leslie J. Drish was appointed Director of Education for the Chicago Urban League in December 2005. She manages the operations for all of the League�s educational programs including: the Youth Investor/Entrepreneur Project, Nulites, Scholarships and Goal Power.

Prior to joining the League Leslie served as teacher services manager in the Education Department at the John G. Shedd Aquarium, where she redesigned the Aiming for CPS Excellence in Science program, resulting in a two-year grant with a major funding foundation; increased teacher participation in programs by 35 percent; and increased departmental income by 50 percent. In addition, Drish has served as an English teacher at Morgan Park High School and as project executive/special events coordinator for Honee Earth, LLC, among other past positions. She is a member of the Metropolitan Board of the Chicago Urban League, one of the League�s four all-volunteer auxiliaries, where she has served as corresponding secretary. She currently serves on the board for Diversifying Faculty in Illinois.

Leslie holds a Bachelor of Arts degree in Secondary Education and English from DePaul University. Leslie earned both a Master of Public Administration degree and a Master of Educational Leadership degree from the University of Illinois-Chicago and National Louis University respectively.

Ms. Drish!!!

The universe is such a tiny place and only gets smaller in Chicago. I don’t know if you remember me but I’m the tall skinny kid that did that crazy presentation in your Literature class my senior year, 2002. Also for our 10 page research paper I wrote about poetry.—remember?—maybe?—remember?

Well, I have always wondered what happened to you after bumping into you on the street several years ago. I was working for the Chicago Children’s Choir, at their Ben&Jerry’s ice cream shop on State and Randolph, next door to the Oriental Theater, and you walked by my shop early one morning, before the start of business. I stopped you and we briefly chatted, you gave me your card. You were working for the Shedd Aquarium at the time in their educational department and no sooner did I want to use that card, dial you up, and have lunch with you did I realize I misplaced your number. In my senior year book you wrote:

Ken—

You are by far one of the most creative & unique and intellectual individuals I have ever met. It’s really refreshing to know someone who is really true to themselves.

Great Luck<--I know that sounds strange… but take care.You’re a great person!

Love,

Ms. Drish

Flash forward to the present I’m a recent graduate of Columbia College Chicago. I graduated this past May with a BA in Fiction Writing/English. I found your email address performing a very routine Job Hunt. Someone had suggested I contact the Chicago Urban League and as I was perusing their website I saw on the bottom of the screen the email to a Leslie Drish. The one and only, wouldn’t you agree? So this email was written out of genuine excitement! How are things going with you, Ms. Drish? Shall we do lunch?

Sincerely,

Ken R. Williams

1. Peter the Pitter-Pattering squirrel who lives in my bedroom walls has been extremely fussy lately, keeping up noise, prattling around. Maybe he’s feeling the burn of the recession too.
2. Roommate Vinny triumphed and went grocery shopping yesterday. He bought a grocery cart full of frozen Chimichanga burritos and lunch meat and nothing more. This is proof that Roommate Vinny is incredibly straight and incredibly single.
3. a Labrador-sized centipede just went racing across my bedroom floor into my closet. I want my apartment fumigated.
4. Job hunted today. Located the Chicago Urban League Website. Situation still looks bleak for me.
5. Older sister Mimmy is upset with I and younger sibling Karen over Thanksgiving. Reasons unclear
6. KLB’s myspace page is still under construction but construction is underway
7. Trying to bring audio to the blog. It too seems bleak.

The 4 Primary colors are Blue, Yellow, Red and Integrity

Once a year we, as a department, take what’s called the VOE, voice of the employee. It’s this 50 question, multiple-choice, true/false, agree/disagree-sectioned survey to score how our unit measures up with other like-units on issues such as teamwork, communication, morale and especially management. If our department does “well” on the VOE, and by well I mean that the data collected demonstrates a healthy and happy department, our managers are then due for a raise or bonus or whatever the hell they get. Likewise if we score poorly on the survey their raises are then shortened and everyone gets ragged on by their superior.

Last year the results were abysmal. According to the results our department was deficient in every area possible…especially management. In fact we scored so low Corporate got involved and sent their minions out to spy on our department for about a week to analyze the problem. This year, to ensure that Corporate didn’t have to deploy a tug-boat of minions, our managers campaigned for our affection.

The first meeting Don asked what could he give us (besides monetary gifts) to make us “happy”. “The VOE is approaching and we can’t have the same results as last year,” he said. We were in the conference room at the oval table, all 7 or 8 of us at the time and one by one everyone told Don what might he be able to do to please them. When it came my turn, what would please Ken is job security and a fulltime position, something my department could not and cannot offer. So I told Don nothing. I simply shrugged my shoulders and pouted my fat bottom lip, “I’m fine”.

I had recently graduated from school at the time of this first meeting and it had been this unspoken understanding that, god willing, I was soon to leave and there would’ve been no need in placating him or rest of management by suggesting what they were unable to afford. The key item of discussion, though, became time and training. My colleagues wanted more time on the clock, “Hours!”—they cried, and they wanted information about training opportunities in other departments which, in turn, would give them more hours as well. Don agreed and the masses seemed appeased.

Weeks later there was a second meeting. This time the 7 or 8 of us crammed into Don’s office and on an easel, as if we were about to either play a game of charades or paint, was a huge sketch pad of Questions.

“I called you into my office,” Don begins, “to go over a few of the items that might be on the VOE that I think we should score favorably on. I’ll read through them and you’ll respond and if you have any questions about anything lets discuss it openly as a team.”

The pad might’ve had 15 questions written in big kid-blue marker, sampling items from each section of the VOE and with each passing section the questions gradually got sillier. Who is you manager?—silly. Does your manager communicate effectively with the team?—silly. Is communication thorough between departments?—silly. And with every question Don seemed to take an extra minute or so to clarify the language…so that we might understand what the item was asking of us—silly.

It wasn’t apparent the reasons for his case-sensitive approach until he reached the item in mid-sketch pad—The People I work with act with Integrity—agree or disagree. It was the word integrity Don figured my team would have an issue with.

Of the 7 or 8 individuals that I work with all of them are 30 or above, some even in their mid to late forties or older. Two, including myself, are male, which makes us the minority in a department of women and everyone is black except for the other male, Santiago, who is Hispanic and Don, the manager, who is some derivative of Asian. We are all hourly, part time employees with this job being the primary source of income for the majority of my team. Don, of course, is salary and fulltime. The hours are receding, the work is remedial and thoughtless, the turn over rate is High. Don thinks we’re stupid.

So he asked, “do we all know what integrity means?”—and Don had a real smooth way of making that question not sound as offensive as it was. When every nodded ‘yes’ Don didn’t seem convinced because he interrogated us a little more, “well then someone define it for me. What does integrity mean? Give me another word for integrity” And when no one volunteered to, Don, as I expected, volunteered the services of the only person he figured could define the word and rescue the rest of the group from the embarrassment of not knowing it… me. Why did he choose me?—because I’m the only other person college educated. Without so much as looking at anyone else Don says, “Ken, what’s another word for integrity?”—and everyone with a pensive stare leaned in to see me, the college kid, react.

So I folded my arms and looked at the board in disgust. Integrity. Who ever carries the text book definition of anything in their wallets? I crossed my legs. I looked at everyone looking at me and Don was standing in my peripheral, arms folded, looking at me and I began repeating the blasphemous line in my head again and again, The people I work with act with integrity, and it was in that spit of a second, of chanting that sentence and listening for a context clue to grant me at least one synonym did I realize how insulting it was for me to be lurching through the swamp water of my mental to further simplify a word and phrase that was already made simple. Everyone nodded to having understood!! What adult would you hire, Don, that wouldn’t know how to decipher the meaning of The people I work with act with integrity. How would he like it if someone questioned his intelligence: Tell me, Don, what colors make up red?

Maybe you deserved those scores from last year.

This is what happened to me mentally when I tried forcing Don a response:

Integrity

integrity equals morals

morals equals prowess

prowess equals scriptures

scriptures equals cleanliness

cleanliness equals bubbles

bubbles equals Cinderella

Cinderella equals blue

blue equals perfume

perfume equals magic

magic equals sparkles

sparkles equals pink

Integrity equates to one’s moral prowess would’ve been my response had I decided to respond with an answer but in lieu of being absolutely disgusted I told Don that I was but unable to break integrity down any further. So instead of challenging someone else with the question, Don gave the answer himself. Integrity is honesty, he said. Semantics.

One of my team members chimed in after Don’s answer-giveaway with a very New York snarky, “way to go college grad,” comment and scoffed a little. And I thought to myself: Self, had she really been in a flux over the term integrity I would’ve answered Moral Prowess and she would have peed the chair. Whereas she’s concerned about what my college grad ass can or cannot answer she should be worried that her manager thinks she’s black and stupid. Don’t give me too much, girl!!

Gee, thanx, Don.

Screaming off on a Tangent: Binging on Change

1. somehow I cut my eyelid
2. administer change

Hoorah, hoorah! Hooray!!! The Dish War has finally ended between I and Roommate Vinny. Of course Roommate Vinny was oblivious to the war but finally after 6 agonizing weeks of counter filth and sink stench Roommate Vinny finished the dishes today…ALL of them. All except for the cup he was drinking out of while he was washing them. Fine by me. So to demonstrate how to maintain a cleaner kitchen, leading by example, I cooked dinner (ahhhhhhh…it felt so refreshing to heat something up in a pot) and tidied up the kitchen afterwards. I hope you’re watching, Vinny!!! You would’ve never known dinner was made. Tada! Soup and rice!

3. Kitchen Strike's over!—most importantly I won…starved as hell, though. But I won. And that’s all that matters because THAT’s the American way. And I’m American. Go, Barack!

Suffice to say I was excited about graduation and of all the pictures taken of that day (some still trapped on my camera’s memory card and irremovable. I have to, somehow, figure out why) the image that was hand chosen to be the Official Ken Graduation image was posted on Facebook. 2 months later it was still posted on Facebook. 5 months later it was still posted on Facebook. Boring! So, recently, I changed the image…

From this:

To this: I’ve slowly begun modifying my online appearance in several different setting. My BGC (Black Gay Chat) and A4A (Adam 4 Adam) accounts (of COURSE I have them) are slowly transforming into profiles geared toward interactions other than sex. What brought upon this change was not only their exposure to the gay community—I figure I could gain more socially by making my presence a positive one—but, also, I seldom if ever used the sites for hooking-up so their meanings became different to me.

This summer, except for maybe that ONE relapse I had with a friend…oh, and that minor incident with Bobby Blake (nothing, of course, happened), I was abstaining all summer. You don’t poke me and I won’t poke you…but maybe we can make out. Which! is why my Kiss Buddy was SO important to me this past summer…but I digress. Anywho, I was chatting with this guy on A4A and he seemed just about my "type"—big, black, bald and partially aggressive in the face. I wasn’t on anything sexual, in fact his profile mentioned how he enjoyed working out so I intended our interaction to be your average DULL internet interaction. Either he hit me up or I hit him up, I can’t recall, but he immediately bombards me with his number and requests that I call him. I don’t even call the people I love, such a turn off, surely he wasn’t about to be an exception. So I thank him for his number, don’t give him mine and redirect the convo back on the gym. In all capital letters he replied:

DO YOU KNOW HOW TO FOLLOW DIRECTIONS - I ASK YOU TO CALL ME ---NOT QUESTION AFTER QUESTION

His message did everything but flash red. And then he was Blocked.

Under the heading, on my BGC profile, I am looking for, where it once read:

a gym buddy, a scholar, someone to critique my work with, someone I can make blush, someone that can return the favor...friends.

it now reads:

peace of mind, i guess. Self development, freedom, openness, progress...things like that.


I broke free from my summer-short career in Pseudo-abstinence in October. Whereas I anticipated ended my summer self j/o marathon in bed with the Kiss Buddy… by October the Kiss Buddy, who is physically gorgeous, once again proved himself an empty bag of beauty and was gone. Instead I found myself super enthralled with this one guy who has this chest and he shaves it so it’s stubbly but its so nice to sleep on and he’s shorter than me but its okay because we’re the same tall* in the bed. David the Sheriff. Sorry for waxing* so poetically. But even David has turned down the dreary road to Disappointing. And whereas I’m used to being all whomp whomp about things like that. Fuck ‘em! Fuck ‘em both and fuck ‘em all!

Internally I still measure everyone to the WomiE-ruler. That, of course, will HAVE to change but not before I find someone that measures up. So far they keep getting short, short and shorter. Do you think WomiE misses me?

Scratch that!

I totally went screaming off on a tangent!!

The point I’ve been trying to make, before I lose all ammo to make it, is that I’m no longer Yahoo’s Ambercrombi83. I was created in 1999 and died sometime earlier today for reasons I won’t immediately disclose. I’m different now. Whoa. I’ve changed.

Life is a work in progress…so binging on change is goooood. Especially when there's no poor dietary backwash.

Eat up!!!

Advice or Pie...???

Couldn’t breathe last night. I woke up congested, whistling through a peephole of air in my nostrils. I think I’m sick. I still haven’t cleared off my bed. I have a fresh bag of laundry that I snuggle up to like a man; kiss, kick, push it to the side, hate it and back in love holding it by morning. So misleading, that damn bag. The weekend shall go as followed:

1. help niece Kayla with science project—she needs a vile of my blood…or my fingerprint. Eh, either or. Sure. Whatever
2. begin researching Cardiomyopathy for My Lesbian’s term paper. I have been commissioned to write it
3. clear off bed
4. do some laundry
5. journal
6. job hunt
7. stoke the universe
8. attempt 80 pushups all the while ignoring the fact that Roommate Vinny still hasn’t finished cleaning the dishes and the kitchen is slowly building layers again.
9. torch Roommate Vinny

The season has sent me screaming for my long johns. The high this weekend is 30-some-odd degrees and last year my long johns were my saving grace during this time of dysfunctional weather. They kept my lower half toasty to the point of total ignorance. I pray they hold me together this year too.

I received some really sad news about a friend the other day being sick. *Disclosure of his/her diagnosis when things settle, I suppose* And I’ve told myself don’t blog about it, Ken, don’t blog about it. But it’s been on my mind SO heavy—I think this individual is SO beautiful, how could this happen?—their issue is affecting me.

It was like I got the news* by 4 thirty, had to be at work by 5, already didn’t wanna go in, and had to pretend to be chipper. If I’m not gay-electricity at work—smilin’ and cheesin’ and full of banter and mischief—they’ll think me ill. The problem with thinking me ill is that I work with a lot of black, older, southern-idealistic women and they ALL compete to play mother, asking questions, seducing you with advice, counseling you with pie! "Want another slice, baby?" Neither of which I was in the mood to decline, their pie or advice.They wouldn't've* [would+not+have= wouldn't've] understood my logic. "No, no more thank you. It makes me shit."

I had already sobbed my face off before I got to work, there was no need in worrying the work floor of competitive women. So I contended to smile all night. I think I did pretty good. Gotta keep my mind on thinking positive.

Ooops, wrong word.

1. do pushups before bed. I hate pushups
2. 20 pushups before bed. I hate pushups
3. Cut my hair yesterday. I think I miss my barber
4. make potpie for dinner
5. check email
6. gripe about the dishes but don’t wash them
7. journal
8. clean off bed
9. reread Karen’s paper and edit it
10. figure out why I’m doing pushups

Videos and Verbiage

1. no food in the fridge
2. Roommate Vinny’s been washing dishes…for four days and hasn’t finished.
3. ate a box of croutons for dinner and OMG was I hungry and OMG were they SO good
4. off from work tonight. It’s a holiday.
5. my Lesbian came by to pay me a visit. She wants me to write her Biology term paper.
6. L. Russell wants me to come over tonight. we might watch movies. I might get to kiss him.
7. received my first email from a reader today. It was unexpected and verry pleasant. Not too sure if that constitutes fan-mail though.
8. got back into the Job Hunt. sent out a few resumes. Crossing fingers. Praying to god.
9. spoke to Kim about her black eyes. Very authentically did she insist that it was nothing more than a fluke of a fall. She gave me the "Ken, I know better than to let some Monster Beat me," look. I believe her. for now.
   

I found this position on Craigslist. Its entry Level!! I’m SO qualified:

Trend Publishing Inc., a leader in the business-to-business magazine publishing field, is seeking a detail-oriented person for an entry-level position. Candidate must be articulate, professional, and have great communication skills. Ability is most important, but so are a positive attitude, enthusiasm and ability to adapt to an evolving job position. Responsibilities will include answering the phone, maintaining advertising database, writing proposals and insertion orders for the sales staff, preparing media kit requests and monthly market share analysis for the sales staff, as well as maintaining the media kit/magazine supply room and assisting with trade show preparations. Proficiency of Microsoft Office (Word and Excel) and ACT 2000 is essential.

Qualified candidate with a bachelor’s degree is preferred.

Benefits include paid vacation, sick days, summers hours, health/dental coverage and working in a fun environment.

No phone calls please.

I’ve gotten a lot like my mother. My mother retired about 2/3 years ago, served 33 years for the US Postal Service, and because all of her children are grown and doing for themselves, as she likes to say, what she feels she deserves is her time to do nothing. Mom doesn’t leave the house unless it’s necessary. And never, as she would probably argue, should there be a time necessary for her to leave the house.

My friend Walter, just before I sat down today to jot these little notes, hit me up on messenger to say:

you need to get out into the streets and do things. stop nesting!

And I hadn’t noticed how obvious it had gotten. For the past month, give or take a week, I haven’t left the house unless to go to and from work. My body hasn’t seen the gym since late September. I don’t adventure through the city anymore. I haven’t sat at a bar, or seen my friends, danced in a club. Nothing! Maybe there’s something wrong with me? Maybe I lost the desire to ever go outside. I feel like I’m too busy thinking, under the covers at my laptop, to worry about running rancid in the city. I’m always in photoshop now, either getting better or incredibly worse. I’m always reading old journals now, picking through the cynicism and dissecting crucial memories. Not to mention a lot of my morning-go-out-and-greet-the-world-gusto is in conflict with I becoming nocturnal. I make the effort to create in the evening after work while the rage to do so is still active. Sometimes I don’t get to sleep until 7/8/9 in the morning, having spent the night working on videos and verbiage. So I usually sleep until it's time to work and thus the cycle has learned to repeat.

But then again…maybe I’m making excuses for myself.

10. Tomorrow I will go outside!

Confucius said that

Let me preface this by saying I'm at the parents' fidgeting on the computer and I found an old Reading Response from one of my Fiction classes at Columbia on Henry James', The Turn of the Screw. It was SO humorous I had to post it. So IF you decide to read it please keep in mind that Arnie is my instructor and WomiE and I were undergoing a previous breakup. WomiE is the ex-husband.


Ken Williams
Fiction Writing Advanced
Wednesday 1pm-5:20pm
2.14.07

The Turn of the Screw and Thoughts on Process

I still kinda feel as awkward about the reading as I did having gone through it in class. I went to my “ex husbands” house that evening and while he was choking back a cigarette doing his Don Corleone impersonation, watching the Godfather, I attempted the first few sentences of The turn of the Screw, on my own and totally missed everything. Reading shouldn’t be that hard, I thought. And I kept thinking back to class and how you, Arnie, was able to dissect every few words of text, like they do in Bible class on Sunday, and interpret the meaning flawlessly. It was like you were this Dali Lama-Fiction-man—one with the metaphor. You became the verb. And I began feeling inadequate sitting on the toilet, because that’s where I read when I visit my “ex husband”, because I couldn’t become the verb. I wanna be the verb.

So what happens in my family when one of the Williams’ children has a school project: a book needing to be book-reported, or a ten page paper and a ten o’clock deadline, a presentation needing to be outlined, or a thesis needing to be researched and written—what happens is that when one of us, whichever sibling needing the help, gets stuck behind in their semester assignments, the call tree gets executed. At work, and I work at a bank, when disaster strikes or a tornado hits, or whatever happens that affects our “continuity of business”—is what my manager always says, the same thing happens!—Everyone gets called. And this is what this is, me being unable to read past the intro of The Turn of the Screw, a crisis. And that’s what family is meant to do; support one another through times of crisis.

So I get one sister on the phone, and there’s only three of us kids, and so then that sister calls the younger sister and before you know it we join together and unite. Somebody will do the research and somebody will do the writing. In my case…well, more specifically in this case… we huddle around in a circle, Indian-style, and pass the book around like a blunt. We have a reading orgy. And depending on the amount needing to read we’ll take the book for either a page to a few pages and read aloud, much like the semi circle in class, and we’ll pass the material to the next person and the next person until finished. Much of my educational career has been learned through this method of crisis. Only during a crisis do we call upon the powers of each other and tackle the fiendish toilings of a overdue assignment. We don’t wanna see each other fail. So just like Power Rangers determined to defend all that is wholesome and true, I and my sisters collect from across the galaxy at my parents house, in my parents living quarters and settle the chaos.

My issues with the reading would be the structure of the sentences and the language of the narrator along with the sentence structure. My sisters and I got tricked several times with having to manage reading the text and being able to comprehend what was going on. The commas were too great. There’s just too many goddamn commas. Being on the outside listening in I couldn’t relax enough to “see” what Henry James meant for his audience to see, and being on the inside reading out, I was too worried with being able to vocalize the passage correctly than with concerning myself with understanding the story. Who selected this damn book!? So I think the issue that I’m having with this book so far is the juxtaposition of the language to the very dense and stylized approach to the writing. Did I confuse anyone?

In my writing, and what I love about educating myself to become America’s Next Top Literary Genius, is that writing is a creative practice, like painting and/or sex. Writing is a skill. And with any skill—a skate boarder has to fall off a ramp a few times in order to understand how to balance himself appropriately for the next time. (That’s actually kinda extreme of a circumstance, but sure). Singers have to crack and pigeons have to crash but what I’m getting at here is that writers, when we write, we have to create, and in the act of creation, when we’re all lost in the fumes of our own fictional-universes, as a god and a writer, you have to be willing enough to test the waters, so to speak, with your language. We have to first taste the air before stepping outside in the frost.

That whole “comma” motif that Henry is doing?-- feels stifling. I feel stifled to complete the story. I’m so disinterested because the language is already dense and now I’m having to jump another hurdle in trying to piece together the meaning behind every sentence. But that’s how you cross that bridge from being a person who likes to write versus being a writer. You have to get out there and you have to get gangsta on the page. Henry got gully!

I mean, I’ll be damned, reading shouldn’t have to be that hard. Did I say that already?? Well, let me reiterate, reading should NOT be that hard, Henry! His mother should've spanked him! But if you don’t write hard, I guess, you’re not writing. Likewise if you don’t experience anything you’re not living. You have to be able grab the bull by the horns and pull sometimes…not all the time, but sometimes. Confucius said that.

So I mean like kudos to Henry… *snap* *snap* and all that jazz. But for future reference…scratch this book off the repertoire. I don’t ever wanna read this book again!

In Other News

1. didn’t miss the Fall Season. It was at my parents house all along.
2. been raining for the past two days in Chicago. Time went back last weekend. It’s darker earlier now.
3. bald lady on bus today. I wonder if she has cancer.
4. forgot debit card at home. Had no money for work. Karen gave me 5 bucks for lunch.
5. mural outside my apartment building is about 4 months in and almost complete. Art is everywhere.
6. ran into Dawson’s Creek star Michelle Williams in the Oglvie Metra Station. No one else knew who she was
7. David the Sheriff missed our date on Tuesday. didn’t respond to my text, but answered my worried call tonight. We chatted. It was cute. He suggested I call him tomorrow too. Doubt if I do.
8. a tad disappointed in David the Sheriff

I have a self professed writing assignment! Helen Kiernan, a former course mate of mine, started a Literary Magazine and because of our acquaintance in class, and Facebook connections, I have received numerous requests to support the affairs of, the writing of, the distribution of, any assistance I could possibly give to the magazine. And whereas I’ve been totally reluctant to write, since graduation, for whatever inadequacies—I feel it time to sink my teeth in and share my voice again. So I’m going to make an attempt at this! A more creative life, here I come!!!

This is the message I received on Facebook:

The deadline for submissions for Elephants #3: The Immigrant's Address has been extended to December 15th. So you still have time to send us any poetry, flash fiction, or artwork that addresses the question: "where are you from?" You can talk about your ancestry, your hometown, or your alien reptilian forebearers. All submissions should be sent via e-mail to elephantzine@gmail.com. Up to 3 pages of poetry or prose; artwork should be about 5 by 8, or half of a regular 5 by 11 page. Please include a brief (3 lines or so) bio and contact info.

Also, if you are still awaiting a copy of Issue #2: the Notebook, please e-mail us at elephantzine@gmail.com for ordering info. We will be giving out copies for free, and some high quality full color versions are on their way! Thanks!

-HK

In other news: I think my older sister Kim has entered an abusive relationship. I will keep you posted. I’m heading to my parents house for the weekend to speak with her.

And they shall Write Poetry!

We Rise Up
~the morning after history-making~


We Rise Up from an ancient dream, of a nation indivisible, under God,
and in pursuit of Happiness.
We Rise Up this morning, makers of a present, undoers of history.
We Rise Up stretching our hands to the heavens,
trying to see pass our present hells through hope.
We Rise Up this morning with arms wide-stretched,
ready to embrace those who joined in the fight to make a big dream into a huge accomplishment.
We Rise.

Ancestors awake and weep in joy.
Black, White, Brown, Red singers of a spiritual song
that cannot be written off as another black ditty or dirge.
Children who sat in front of their televisions, engaged in a process only as viewers
Now see themselves as doers, makers, mirrors of history.
Voters who stood in long lines, next to living legends—
Rise to see the check written on American soil this time not marked insufficient funds.
Even those who sat in fear, now Rise to see the power of faith, the beauty of democracy gone good, the promise that one day American could be something different.

We Rise Up this morning, lifting the historical noose that has hung over so many heads.
We Rise Up women, who have endured the brutality of injustice and unsung heroism under the powerful regimes of careful forgetting.
We Rise Up men, who have struggled with choosing power over possibility,
domination over dignity.
We Rise Up families—gay, straight, and extended—seeing strength in the beauty of all our love, as neighbors of difference.
We Rise Up soldiers, hard-pressed between loyalty and a long overdue release of duty.
We Rise Up citizens, ready for a world which welcomes us on the pulse of our new morning.
We Rise Up, hoping not to fall again, hoping that this moment will not be our last.

At the top of the morning, we rise and bow our heads in praise and adoration.
Speaking in multiple tongues, We Rise, We shout.
We Rise Up to a beat different than the pulse of yesterday,
We anticipate a song unsung—a new call to action.
We Rise Up, ready to go and fired up.
We Rise Up, too charged for yawns or fear, but steadfast with yells and faith.


We Rise Up, listening to the echoes of
JFK
MLK,
Harvey Milk,
Cesar Chavez,
James Baldwin
Jesse Jackson
Harold Washington
Who saw the Fire in the Next Time.
We Rise Up, attentive to the resilient, ringing voices of
Shirley Chisholm,
Rosa Parks,
Audre Lorde,
Dolores Huerta,
Dorothy Height,
Ann Richards,
Barbara Jordan,
and Hillary Clinton—
All who heard a taste of freedom and kept going.

We Rise Up, so that we can keep going in spite of where we have been.
We Rise Up, to see the bright morning star, smiling a new day.
We Rise Up, hoping and dreaming.
We Rise Up, moving and shaking.
We Rise Up, singing and praying.
We Rise Up, changing and evolving.
We Rise Up, feeling something different than before.
We Rise Up, feeling that every village matters.
Together, We RISE.


—Dr. Jeffrey Q. McCune, Jr.
University of Maryland-College Park
November 5, 2008