Week 5:The Big Oops

Most autumns in Maine are cold. The sort of cold that gets into your bones and sits there, or makes every little bruise and bump you get feel like you've just lit the offended area on fire with a mini blow torch. Thankfully that kind of day was yesterday and today was a little more merciful, if still cold.

"Hey Duh-Duh, you gonna put that helmet on?"

With a creak of leather and plastic I glance over my should pad to look at Justin's grinning face through the batter grill of his football helmet.

"don't get your panties in a knot 'Ustina." My good natured retort is accompanied by the steam of my breath a quick cuff upside of Justin's orange in cased cranium. 'Ustina' was a nickname given to my friend in Spanish class as a joke, not by me but by some of our team mates, and just seemed to have stuck. Not that it bothered Justin in the slightest, he kind of took it and wore the name as a prankster's badge. We'd grown up together in Orrington, actually when we were little we weren't very fond of each other but now were fairly inseparable. And, with a few notable exceptions, he was the only guy I really hung out with on the team.

With a shrug of my shoulders I plopped my own battered helmet on, the Brewer witches logo on the side was marred by streaks of blue, white, green, and red. A visible testament to just how many times I had literally bumped heads with the opposing team. With practiced ease I snapped the chinstrap in place and consigned myself to the protective smell of leather, sweat, and plastic.

"Better?"

"Nah I can still see your face-Ow!" Justin grinned again then spun back into line after I punched his shoulder pad. We were all pretty similar in appearance, at least to people who didn't know us. I suppose that's part of sports; uniformity, being part of a unit. All of us sported black uniforms bulked out with the traditional padding of the sport, orange helms and orange numbers on our jurzies; there were slight variations though. For instance the back of Justin's helmet sported several stickers: Two skulls and a football. Just ahead of him David Miaderk's was covered in examples of both, rewards for exceptional tackles or good work while carrying the ball. I hadn't gotten any yet but I tried not to let that bother me too much.

Ahead of the line I spotted coach Orteago slapping Mike Carnnas on the shoulder, his southern-swarthy features and Louisiana accent at odds with the black winter jacket and knitted hat he sported. I couldn't quite make out what he was saying but it must've been good, his features were locked in an intense expression and was chewing his gum like his life depended on it.

Beyond Oreteago and the quasi-straight line of orange and black were the bleachers of Doyle field. The deceptively thin aluminum framework was packed to capacity with classmates, friends, family, and other assorted spectators; many of which sported school colors while still remaining bundled against the cold. Most of them squinted down at us or the other team against the halogen glare of the stadium lights.

"Head in the game, Emerson." Todd's voice came from behind me over the rising murmur of the crowd and I nodded my agreement.

The game was about the start.

Week 5:You go on a Journy

For most people going to college is an (almost) smooth transition. You go through high school, take what classes you need, talk with your advisors, and go to your pick of colleges that accept your application. Again this is the story for most people but it wasn't exactly the case for me.

You see, when I was eighteen I had everything planned out: I'd work a year, maybe two, save some cash then head out to the great blue and white yonder that is the University of Maine. Of course this was against the recommendations of just about every adult I knew, but I was pretty dead set in my plans. Besides I had the perfect excuse to take some time off from school, at least in my mind' that being my senior year had been a crap shoot and I desperately needed some time off to recoup, to start out fresh. So with that all knowing mentality I entered the work force and into the glorious and glamorous world of fast food. That last bit I say with more than a little sarcasm, but you get the idea.

But life happens as it's want to do and waiting a year or two turned into three years, then five. During that time I took the opportunity to travel around the country, I believe my first real trip out of state beyond Massachusetts had been to Dallas, what I actually expected to be a hot, dry climate had turned out to be near hurricane conditions...imagine, my surprise! But Texas wasn't the only place I traveled too. Chicago, St. Louis....I even made it as far as Vegas where I was introduced to a old english micro brewery that is perhaps one of the most memorable places I have ever visited. The furnishings were all made of a dark cherry stained oak, cushioned in dark green. There was a sort of metro feel to the decorations, pictures of abstract geometric art dotted the walls and the micro brews themselves were piped in over head and directly to the bar via a pipe system that reminded me of a stretched out catalytic converter. But of all the places I've visited I will always have a special spot in my heart for Phoenix; I truly love that city. But despite the travel and all the interesting people I had met or befriended, I always felt a little bit was missing from it all. During my travels I had friends go through college, graduate, then go on to their careers, they all had these amazing tales to tell of their time there as well as their fair share of horror stories and as my ten year high school reunion started to creep ever closer I started to take a serious look at going back to school, a real serious look. Without a doubt my friends and family had been urging me to go for some time, but I'd always had an excuse: Too many bills, I'd been out of school too long, etcetera ad nauseum. But it wasn't until my father's divorce that I truly got the motivation to apply.

Some three years or so ago my father and I had gotten reacquainted after a long estrangement due to complicated family matters. The complication being that he was what could be defined as a 'dead beat dad', though not entirely by his own fault. Once again see complicated family matters. Anyway we'd gotten reacquainted and come to find out he had remarried to a woman who we'll refer to as Jill. Now Jill seemed like a good sort of person: small, blonde, with a sophisticated air and education that seemed really pleased that my father and I had gotten back into each other's lives. Of course I did mention a divorce just a short while ago so...queue the dramatic music! All light heartedness aside it was (and still is) a nasty mess and I being the concerned, overly eager to help, son got caught up in the middle of it. While trying to help my father gather some of his things from his old home in Massachusetts some key phrases were thrown in my direction that involved "loser" or "leach" or otherwise attacked my lack of education. As you can imagine I didn't take overly kindly to those monikers and after a while it really started to get under my skin.

A few months later I threw out two applications to college, one to UMO and the other to EMCC. In all honesty I didn't expect to get accepted at either and figured I'd get a letter back saying 'go take a few night courses at adult ed then come back to us', which just happens to be what the University said to me. However! My acceptance letter to EMCC came in the mail in short order and, well, I was shocked, elated, scared out of my gourd. I hadn't been to school in ten years! It was crazy! it was awesome. In a round about way I suppose I owe Jill a bit of thanks for getting under my skin In such a way that I felt compelled to do something about it, not that she'd be pleased in any sort of way. But I guess the main thing, the major thing, is that eventually I found my way there.

Week 5: We Name the Guilty Man!

Years ago, just after I had graduated high school if memory serves, I was hanging out at my friend Kevin's (whom from this point on be known as Kevin L.) apartment with a group of mutual friends. This motly crew considered of course myself, the rather tall and overly athleatic Kevin (whom from this point on shall be known as Kevin M.), also rather tall but not very athletic Corey, our ever strange and constantly dressed in black Gerrete, and of course our gracious if block like (in a solid sort of way) host Kevin L. and for this evenings night of mischife we had aquired the living room from Kevin L.'s room mate Jim. Mind you this is before I had actually gotten to know Jim so all I realy knew of him at the time was that he was ex military and favored a combat gripped shotgun he nicknamed 'Satan', so I was a bit releaved when he decided to opt out of our little indoor excersion.

But I digress.

The livingroom itself was fairly large and seemed to have a perminant haze hanging about it from cigirette smoke. The battered old hard wood floors that had seen better days since this place had become a bachelors pad, the matching smoke blue sofa and arm chair were well worn from constant use as well as sporting tufts of hair from Jim's Russian Blue, Baloo. The white trim that ran about the bottom of the room and along the window frames had chipped and faded, presumably by simple hard use and a lack of upkeep. It was a dark enough place, the over head lamps bulb having blown who knows how long ago and the only light coming from the kitchen the next room over along with the soft glow of the television. As for the occupants of the room...we of course were mostly dressed in dark colors with the obligitory metal band T shirt or trench coat, kind of an odd choice of attire for a get together to play card/boar/video games. Of course with such a gather one must have...snacks! Having pushed the two coffee tables to one side of the room they now served as a Domino's Pizza buffete.

I remember I was seated on the couch, munching on a slice of pizza and waiting my turn at the Playstation The current game of choice was a fighter that pitted two combattants that could shape shift into different animal forms, like a werewolf or weretiger. Pretty intense stuff for the time and like most guys our age during that time we would spend hours beating the virtual snot out of one another and laugh about it. It was at the conclusion of one such bout that Kevin L. glared at Corey and shook the controler at him, wide eyed in mock fury.

"Cheater! CHEATER! CHEEET-EERR!" Kevin L. raised his arms and shook them in protest at his latest loss, to which Corey simply wrinkled his nose and laughed.

"You just suck Kev."

"Bah!"

"Hey guys, you wanna take a smoke break?" Gerret's voice cuts through the budding argument as Kevin M. sits up from his place on the couch and cracks his knuckles.

"Sure, you guys smoke....then I take on winner. That means your 'Mexistach.'" Kevin M. fixed a level, if joking look at Corey who only smirked and rolled his eyes and stood up. "You comin' Dray?" I shook my head at Kevin's question and stood up.

"Nah I think I'm gonna treat myself to some more pizza. You guys go on." With that the majority of the group wandered off to the smoking area: The Kitchen. I knew that this would be quite a pause between games, smoking usually brought about chatting, joking, idle boasts and gossip from the group and normally I'd join in but....I was honestly near starving having not eaten at all the prvious day. So as the idle chatter and smoke started to filter into the room I picked up a slice of pie..then another...then another. I glanced out into the kitchen for a moment as I contemplated my fourth.

"Guys...you want any more of this?"

No response.

"Guys? You had enough pizza or what?"

Still no response. After a short moment of contemplation influanced mostly by my teen age ability to consume stupid amounts of food, I decided to finish off what was left of the pizzas (which was no small quantity) then retake my seat and wait for the rest of the gang to return from their smoking adventures. One by one they filed back in and settled back down into thier previous places and I sat quietly, for all intents the perfect picture of innocents.

"Hey! Where'd the pizza go?!? Dray!!"

Week 5: You've lost it! Where is it?

“....Hell...where did they go?!?”

You'd think that holding onto ones keys, especially the night before the big interview, would be a
simple task. Yet here I am, frantically tossing about my room with that impending feeling of 'you're going to be late!' hanging over my head. I mean, how hard could it be to find them? The room isn't all that big! This thought and many more 'colorful' ones are running through my head as I rummage about in the cloths basket beside my bed. Jeans, socks, t shirts, they all go flying out of the hamper in a vain hope to hear that quiet clank or soft jingle, a tell tale sign
that my keys are somewhere inside. My efforts proving fruitless I stand up with a loud, frustrated sigh and cast my eyes about for an idea, any idea, of where I might have misplaced them.

It's a small room my bedroom; six by ten, the walls painted the blue of a late summer sky and the floors the mass produced varnished wood you find in Home Depot or Wal Mart. Jammed up against the corner is my dresser, a battered brown that contains the majority of my wardrobe. I go there next and open each scared and scratched drawer and rifle through them. As I reach the
last one and meet with no success I idly think that maybe I should do laundry then snap my attention to the contents on to of the dresser. I set aside two tan and black marble candle sticks, a purchase I made years back at the world famous Perry's Nut House, to start pawing through the random letters, half written stories, and other assorted odds and ends that tend to clutter one of the few flat surfaces in my room.
Nothing. Sometimes I wonder if my ancestors were sailors in the ancient world, if not I can only guess where this litany of creative profanity originated. I suppose I could blame MTV or pup culture.
With the proverbial clock ticking away in my mind I move to the window, its bent metal frame painted black and chipped from nearly ten years of abuse by myself and my brother. The glass pane itself is cracked half open to allow the fresh spring air to slip in and stir the threadbare curtains that only did a lip service job at blocking the light from pouring into the room.

“Ha!” I spot the glint of metal on the pressed wood of the sill and my hand shoots out to snatch up the small silver ring and, more importantly, my car keys.

Week 4: If Things Could Talk....

Ah, my book shelf. That little wooden construct full of some of my favorite reads: Sci fi novels from alternate history, the blasted, war-torn future where massive armies collide to decide the fate of mankind. Not to mention all the educational texts and the random National Geographic that finds its way there but you know what would be amazing? If my book shelf could actually speak, or better yet read! This way I could offer it books that I was not so sure on if I would enjoy and it could offer me insights into what I should, or should not, read.

Perhaps we could chat back and forth about the latest novel I had read, which I'm sure my book shelf would have read far faster than I as it certainly would have greater access to the text. Though I'm not really sure it would like my choice of reading materials...I may have to introduce it to a more expansive choice of reading material. Perhaps in this way I might find other types of literature to read?

I'm sure we could talk about the various works stored on the shelf. Certainly I could add some more philosophy, I do have a few of Nietzche's works kicking around from a few years back. But how interesting it would be! What insights could be gained from having such an animated shelving unit?

Or how scary?

Week 4: What is Writing Like for You?

It's a funny thing conversations with friends; this on in particular is always an interesting experience. Of course we've known each other since grade school, even back then when the teacher first introduced us we had a clumsy dialogue and to be honest I hated ever moment of it. It was like being forced to play in the sandbox with your least favorite person and being told that it was important to be nice and share your toys. Well I didn't want to share my toys! The arts and crafts table was so much more interesting! But no...my teachers made us sit down and go through the labourus steps of being acquainted despite my frustrations and initial resistances.

Now we keep in touch regularly, though sometimes there are large gaps between our conversations. We chat here and there about normal every day things or something that strikes our mutual fancy. Most times when my friend calls the conversations are deep, thoughtful, though spontaneous. It's not always easy though, outside distractions can easily derail either of us while we talk and then it takes a great deal of 'Now where were we?' to get back on track. Sometimes we stumble and fall over each others thoughts; other times we can talk as smoothly and easily, almost like we could finish the others thoughts.

Week 4 Theme. Truth...or Consequences. Playing with truth, facts, and the area just beyond them

Part 1.

We're sitting in chemistry class. I'm next to my lab partner Tim and the teacher has just explained that we're going to try to make a white cloud in a test tube using Chloride and Hydrochloric acid. The tube itself is clear glass with several rubber bands attached for venting, I think. Collectively the class is seated and waiting patiently for the desired result to happen but nothing seems to be. Our teacher frowns at the tube then shakes her head.


"I guess the tube is too big for this to work, sorry guys."


Part 2.

I'm sitting next to my lab partner Tim in chemistry class waiting for our Prof to gather up the various materials required for the lab demonstration. Quiet whispers went through the students as she dipped a Q tip in Hydrochloric acid. Small wisps of steam rose from the chemically quenched material as it was fitted into an arcane looking tube assembly. Our attention is once again caught as she places another Q tip, this one dipped in Chloride, into the assembly. We wait in anticipation as the steam from the Hydrochloric acid simmers at one end of the tube which our Prof promptly held up for our inspection, but nothing seemed to be happen. After several minutes of waiting she sighed then set the contraption down.


"I guess the tube is too big for this to work, sorry guys."


Part 3.

Test tubes bubbled over with all manner of noxious fluids and the class sat in rapt silence as their Professor brandished a test tube that frothed near to the brim with a hellish green liquid. Beside me Tim coughed hoarsely as fumes from the concoction waft past us, I was lucky enough to hold my breath. Our instructor is wild eyed, turning brass knobs and rusted steel leavers of a giant steam punk machine that dominates a quarter of the room, her movements are a manic display of insane genius that none of us in the room can hope to follow.


I'm pretty sure she cackled on about at test at one point...but I was too wrapped up in what she was doing to really pay attention


Down through a funnel goes the green liquid to spiral through several tubes, through bunson burners and mingled mixtures to finally rest in a single, monstrous vat. The entire machine quakes with the reaction, brass washers and iron bolts rattle to the ground as our instructor laughs madly at what seemingly is something of great importance.


And that's when the whole thing blew up.

Another Observation

I've only really written about either a) Games or b) food/situations about food. Of course there are a few exceptions but I think the majority fall into the two catigories.

I think I must try writing when I'm a) more relaxed or b) not hungery. So maybe on a Friday a few hours after work and before I do all my home work and after I've eaten. Yes....this is a brilliant idea!

Or it'll fail and I'll just write about lunch :)

Go to a Crowded Place, What's Going On?

Who knew that an Orono Burger King could hold so many people? I've stopped in with the intent to grab a quick bite to eat but now it seems I've committed myself to at least a ten minute wait. I could have just left, slipped passed the growing line high school boys and girls clad in matching wind suits. They're defiantly not from around here; the green of Old Town or the maroon of Orono is no where to be seen on this bunch, they're clad mostly in greys and blues.

They're a motley bunch, a mix of girls and boys ranging from tall to short, think and thin. It's the usual variety one would expect with the ebb and flow of clicks mingling due to the collective spirit of the team. They shuffle slowly along in a line towards the waiting employees behind registers that wait to take their order, their features schooled in a practiced mask of politeness and warmth. I can somewhat empathise with the staff here: They seem like a good bunch of kids but there's a whole lot of them!

As the line gets shorter the octaves in the room climb. The team has started to seat themselves about the dinning room with their paper bag meals and are chatting up a veritable storm about the meet, the schools they faced, the team gossip, who's hair was funky, what bands they liked. The conversation mingled and mixed to become a constant thrum. As it finally came to be my turn to order one voice rose above the din and a small moment of silence followed.

"Ok! Clean up and let's go!"

While the conversation had been loud the clean up was just as much so with a great clattering of trays and chairs scraping against the floor. I looked over my shoulder to watch the chaotic, yet oddly efficient, exodus of the team. Their trays piled up haphazardly on to of trashcans, half the actual trash having managed to make it's way into the proper receptacle. As the last teen leaves the restaurant I shake my head and look back at the cashier who can't quite hide the stricken look that crosses her face as she looks out over the aftermath.

"Sorry about that....can I just get a drink?"

Week 3: I said said He/She said

Family Christmas is always a loud afair, with the various generations and their children clustered about the tree and trampeling both wrapping paper and box alike as we all move about. The recent addition of my Older brother, his wife, and his children only added to the cheery confusion that bustled about the living room of my mother's house. Things were whinding down and I was seated on the floor with my nephews, Caleb and Jackson, trying to figure out how to piece together their new Bayblade sets when Dan ploped down beside me and eyed the small pile of gifts I had recieved that year.

"So, is that a PS3 controler you got there?"

With a final twist and a heart-stoping snap of plastic I put together the last Bayblade and handed it to Jacob who promptly started dueling it out with his brother in one of their plastic areanas.

"Sure is."

"So....what do you play?"

"Oh all kinds of stuff...strategy, RPG, first person shooters..." At the last he perks up a bit and smiles.

"First person shooters huh? Do you play Black OPs?"

"No I don't..I've been meaning to pick it up though." I said then grinned, Dan and I hadn't known each other very long and I think this was one of the first things we've discussed that we had in common. "Why, do you play?"

"Yep!" he said, "A friend of mine left his PS3 behind at the house while he's away on business. You could say it's kind of a comunal machine now."

"Nice! Well, it'll take me a week or two but I think I can manage to get my hands on a copy."

"That'd be cool." He said "Maybe we can play some time?"

"Sure can! KWElite right?" I said then glanced down as Jackson thrust a broken Bayblade into my hands for my mechanical genious to fix.

"Yeah that's right." He said then chuckled as Caleb offered him one of his broken toys as well. "We better fix these before the natives get restless."

Week 3 Theme: Scene-Setting and Dialogue

Thursday night doesn't see much activity in my town, hell it's barely past seven o'clock and the interior of the restaurant barely has a hand full of tables occupied. I suppose that's why the waitress hands us our menus with an overly friendly smile.

"Here you go! Can I get you anything to drink?"

I glance across the table at Crystal as I grasp the folded laminated paper and quirk a brow. It's kind of an unspoken cue that's developed between us which is something I suppose happens when you've known another body for a long while. My dinning partner adjusts her glasses then looks up.

"Just water would be great."

"I'll have water too." Again our waitress smiles then moves away from our table to check on another couple a few tables away, their an elderly pair both dressed in matching flannel jackets. Kind of cute in a way.

"So what are you thinking of having?"

I offer Crystal one of the menus then flip my own copy open for a quick once over before answering.

"Dunno. The Banana bread french toast looks good though." I look up from the long list of breakfast dishes in time to see her wrinkle her nose at him in disapproval.

"Seriously? It's eight at night, shouldn't you be getting something other than breakfast?"

"Obviously not if they're still offering. Besides I skipped breakfast, it's about time I caught up yeah?" I flash her a quick grin which is rewarded with a mock scowl "What about you? Sea food Alfredo again?"

"I don't know....I really like the alfredo but I always get that." almost to prove her point she flips to another page on the menu and squints down at it.

"So? If you like it then you like it."

"I don't know..." Crystal trails off and looks up as our waitress comes back and sets down two glasses of the best water the house can offer. Again she smiles and looks between Crystal and I before pulling out a note pad.

"So! Figured out what you want to have yet?" She looks first at me then to Crystal.

"I think I'll have the Barbecue burger."

"And I'll have the Banana bread french toast."

Writing Prompt: Debate Thyself!

Seated at my desk with chemistry notes scattered to my left and the accompanying text book open on my right, I heave a sigh against the light of the computer screen.

"C'mon Dray, you can figure this out."

I snort at my own forced optimism as I move the mouse along a list of search results provided by Google. It's my latest attempt to wrangle some form of coherent answer from the assigned home work and the material presented; much like my previous efforts this one had seen little progress. After several minutes of searching I sigh again and exit out of the browser and closed my eyes for a moment to think. When they opened again something on the desk top caught my eye.

"Oh no you don't Emerson...you have way to much work to do." The voice popped into my head like the proverbial angel on the shoulder you see in old cartoons.

"Eh, what's a half hour break?"

"More like forty five to an hour bud. You know that game usually runs longer than thirty minutes."

League of Legends. A free, easy to learn online game and not an exactly mindless assassin of time. One could say when I'm frustrated or stressed I blow an hour or three on a distraction like this to help my thoughts reset or to just generally unwind. Unfortunately sometimes I distract/relax/unwind too much. The program's distinctive 'L' icon glowed on the screen like a yellow and gold beacon of hope yet I hesitated to commit with a double click.

"But I've been trying to figure this crap out for almost two hours now!" There's that frustration coming in and I can't quite keep the exasperation from showing.

"So? Suck it up son! This ain't high school no more."

"Bah, all work and no play...."

"Don't make me throw the book at you."

"Oh don't even start with the whole childish things shtick." I move the cursor away from the game's icon and clicked into my Internet browser instead. I figured maybe I could contact some of my friends on G Chat and pick their brains a little, maybe even set up something with the academic center if absolutely necessary.

"Good choice Emerson."

"Sod off."

"Hey! That wasn't very nice."

"Shut up will you? I'm trying to figure this out....."

We May Not be Journaling...

...But my friend Mel is a rockstar. She helped me figure out the math side of my chemistry lab, thus I feel obligated to give her cudoes!