Well, Jesus Christ

I need a new set of swear words. I've got two already, and both suck.

The first is your standard blue boat. "Fuck!" "Shit!" "Fuuuuuck" when something is lame. "Fuck yeah" when congratulating someone. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck" when I'm holding something hot. "You asshole" as the awkward buddy-buddy insult, too strong for TV and too weak for, well, a buddy-buddy insult. I really want to say "You little faggot" or something but that word makes people uncomfortable which breaks the conversation too.

Now this is all well and good. I like these words for the most part. They're conveniently one syllable apiece, complete with vowel sounds for easy drone and quick pronounciation for convenient repetition. Nothing like a red hot streak where every word is clearly understandable behind the frothing mouth and blubbering undertones. Good show, English language, good show.

However, there's got to be a second set for everyday conversation. You can't say "shit" to the wrong person or they might not want to be around you anymore. You can't say "fuck I misfiled it" at work or else, well, what would you expect?

For this I, and I assume a lot of other people, have a secondary curse cadre. "Lame" is the catch-all. Something can be lame, something can be "laaaaaame," and something can be really really lame. These are all levels of lameness. However, lame is also one of those homologous words - a word is homologous if it is talked about by smug English students. Lame is a lame word. It sounds dull and spineless coming out of your mouth, and it sounds just as dull and spineless in every application. "You are SO FUCKING LAME" is so much weaker than just "YOU FUCK" which doesn't even make sense and it's still winning. Clearly, lame needs to be phased out.

I also have my religious group of weak curse words. "God dammit, I dropped the pizza." "Christ" is a good one, too. It's excellent at portraying exasperation or frustration. "Christ, this game is hard." "Christ, this is a lot of work." "Chriiiiiist, you're doing an impressive amount of work."

These are hard, though. As an atheist, I certainly don't believe that there's any divine retribution to the words, but I do fear for the day when some Christian hears me and it's THAT type of Christian and everything ticks them off and that day it just happens to be me and for once they actually happen to be justified.

I mean, really, it's their God in their head, I feel a little bad for using it in a way they wouldn't like.

So there they are, my profane woes. I hope you enjoyed them, and I hope you expected me to say "I hope you fucking enjoyed them" because I didn't and now I feel much more clever.

Things Overheard on the Airplane

Two young girls behind me:
"Okay, but I get to be Jasmine."
"No, I get to be Jasmine."
"No, I want to be Jasmine."
"No!"
"No!"
"Mommmm"
"Yes hon?"
"I want to be Jasmine!"
"Well you're just going to have to both be Jasmine."
"But MOM there's only ONE JASMINE."

Two college students on my left:
"I once forgot my name."
"Whoa."
"It was pretty weird."

Adults in front of me and to the other side of the aisle:
"I just don't get where people are going with themselves."
"I know what you mean."
"Like with the whole celibacy thing. Do you know why Catholic priests are supposed to be celibate?"
"No, why?"
"You see, in the middle ages church positions used to be passed down from father to son. This created little pockets of loyalty to people BESIDES the church. The church didn't like that and so outlawed priests having kids."
"Wow."
"Really makes you think."
"I dunno, what does it really matter?"
"Uh, well..."

Two teenage girls several rows in front of me:
"Wait wait wait I gotta tell you about this."
"Okay tell me"
"So I was walking out the back of my house and suddenly I tripped on the last step and skinned my knee on the concrete out back there."
"Ouch"
"No wait wait I'm not there yet. So I look around and realize that there's nobody there right?"
"Right."
"So I'm like 'Oh my god, this is the perfect opportunity' and start going 'tsssssss-ahhhhh tssssss-ahhhhh tsssss-ahhhhh' ha ha ha ha!"
"Wait what?"
"You remember that Family Guy episode where, um, Peter gets the golden beer ticket and he's running home and"
"And then he FALLS OH MY GOD hahaha hahaaa"
"tssss-ahhhhh tsssss-ahhhhhh tssss-ahhhhh"
"Ha hahahaahaaa"

A group of friends several rows behind me:
"So you know, there is nothing dogs love more than cheese."
"Really?"
"Yeah, I just, like, throw a piece of cheese or wave it around and my dog goes NITS, uh, NUTS."
"Ha ha ha"
"It's really funny because sometimes I'll throw a piece of cheese, like, on a blanket and then cover her with the blanket, right? And she'll totally go after the cheese through the blanket. It's like her priorities are 1. get the cheese, 2. get out of the blanket and she can't get the cheese through the blanket so she just goes NUTS."
"Ha ha ha"
"Unless it's like an afghan or something with holes in it and then she'll like stick her nose through and eat the cheese through the blanket."
"Ha ha ha that's amazing."
"My dog just LOVES cheese."

Two strangers several rows in front of me:
"So what are you doing?"
"I'm working on my new rap."
"Oh."

The steward over the speaker:
"I would like to suggest that everyone SIT DOWN and BUCKLE UP. This is SERIOUS. If there is anything you are doing that needs you to be standing up I would suggest you FINISH IT and SIT DOWN NOW. We are going to be approaching some TURBULENCE and need you to SIT DOWN NOW and BUCKLE YOUR SEAT BELT. We need you to have your SEAT BELT BUCKLED and we WILL be coming around to CHECK that your seat belt is buckled. Do NOT make us find you with your seat belt UNBUCKLED. BUCKLE your SEAT BELT."

Two unidentified people as we were exiting the plane:
"It's a good thing we don't fly often."
"Yeah, I think our talking really annoyed some people."

The Dollar Store

"Look," I said, "I'm not buying the novelty glasses!"

Jane sneered at me and put them back on the shelf. She stuck her tongue out at me. She was kidding, of course, but honestly the joke was old. I don't demand new material all the time, but god dammit if you're going to try to crack a joke at a time like this you might as well make it a good one. I sneered back. I'm wasn't sure if I was joking.

This is what the dollar store does to me. It's a dangerous place for methodic completist people like myself. It's a gigantic store full of potential bargains. Behind the mountains of shit: off-off-brand soda, water noodles, bubble solution, plastic American flags, behind this shit I am utterly and completely convinced that I will find a treasure. I only have so many dollars, but damn it if I am going to let even one of them go towards something worth even marginally less than the dollar itself, and in order to find this treasure I must check everything, leave no stone unturned. It turns into a duty to my dollars. I will ensure that they fulfill their greatest possible purpose and an unpatriotic shame it would be to fail.

I go to these places with the idea that I'm going to find something fun and quirky on the cheap. My intentions are innocent and in line with only the hippest of ironic consumers. I brought Jane because she, like me, would jump and devour a floppy 50's sun hat, buy it, and then never wear it again, only leaving it in our dorm rooms for people to notice and say "oh, that is SO AWESOME!" It's an addiction, a sweet heroin extracted directly from the times.

I sorted through a bin full of children's books and stockings in plastic eggs and think back to the vinyl cover on my wall. I had bought it in a thrift shop without the vinyl inside. I don't have a turntable anyway, so who cares? Slaughter on 10th Avenue and Other Ballet Selections it was called. It was SO AWESOME. Everyone said so.

I remembered my mother seeing the thing on visiting day. She told me how Slaughter on 10th Avenue had been the stock music of stock music, what you'd put on for an elementary school talent show, what you'd hear walking through the mall, if they'd had malls back then. A muzak copy of "80's Synth Pop Hits" but with a shorter shelf life.

I had kept the album after that, and according to everyone it continued to be SO AWESOME, but every time it was noticed I remembered its real significance and the utter blandness on the album I had never listened to, hiding behind the album cover which had given me an injection of straight uncut new millenium into my veins but then, as I finished digging through the dollar store bin I only thought of its hidden shame, and how I could have had another fucking twenty five cents if I hadn't bought the thing. It wasn't an offbeat relic from a forgotten age, it was just forgotten. Were it a hat it would have been a fedora without a tilt.

I hadn't found my fix that day at the dollar store, at least not until the sunglasses. Jane showed me those sunglasses and an inner conflict arose. The glasses, as SO AWESOME as they were, just weren't my treasure. They weren't my hidden find. They were too obvious and I thought only of the Slaughter on 10th Avenue as I imagined the blandness, the old hat essence of those big-ass glasses. I recalled stand-up routines in which people had laughed at these glasses in earnest. I continued moving through the store, checking every item in every isle for my treasure. Oh, Steve Martin, where have we gone wrong?

Or is Steve Martin the person who is wrong with it all? A smart guy pretending to be dumb in a very smart way. It's low-brow but self-aware. That's the whole idea, isn't it?

Jane picked up a Strawberry Shortcake doll. She started giggling and showed it to me. "Oh man, remember these?"

I nodded and continued moving down the aisle. I began to sweat. So what if it was Steve Martin's fault? That would make his audience implicit. And if the audience is implicit then they are self-aware. Do they even like Steve Martin at all? It seems an odd question to ask, but if they aren't then that makes the whole attitude older than we thought.

I picked up a Transformers action figure and put it back down. I had never even watched that stupid show anyway. Steve Martin was on my mind, anyway, and I stared at the action figure for a while. What if the attitude is old? Then why did we bring it back? Is it a floppy sun hat? Is it something we all think is SO AWESOME because it is an oddball relic of a forgotten age? Steve Martin certainly is. The attitude must have been resurrected because of itself. It returns because it needs something like itself to return so that we can look at it and squeal and giggle and put it in our dorm rooms for people to look at.

I needed to get out of there.

I grabbed a trashy romance novel that I never intended to read. Jane squealed and I grudged wasting my money this way. We left the store and I forgot all about Steve Martin, just like everybody else.

Over for Dinner, pt. 1

Mark sat down at the table. In front of him was some sort of pasta dish, served with a lot of basil and a lot of garlic. He could see the basil and he could smell the garlic. Next to the pasta was a small salad with a lot of lettuce. Purple lettuce. Ugh, he preferred green, it is less bitter. The salad had roasted bell peppers on it instead of dressing. Mark knew then that there was no way he was going to enjoy this meal.

The dishes were very chic, very San Fran-Cisco. Some were purple and others matching green glass which was made up in that "crackly" texture. Mark couldn't remember the word for it but he did like the colored shadows they cast on the white patterned tablecloth.

Mark picked up the almost comically oversized fork as his hosts sat down to the left and right of him in front of similar meals. The daughter picked up the mathes and lit the candles. Mark noticed that the overhead lights were still on but did not say anything.

The mother smiled a huge, lipsticky smile and gave a satisfied sigh as she laid both palms on the table. "Oh, Mark, I am so glad you could join us for dinner."
"Uh, yeah. Heh." Mark smiled awkwardly.
"Thank you so much for dealing with those blackberry bushes today. That was so great that you could come over."
"That's, uh, that's what you pay me for. Heh heh," Mark speared an especially purple piece of lettuce and put it in his mouth. He winced. The other two began eating as well. They winced too when they ate the purple lettuce. Ugh.

"So Aaaaaashley," said the mother.
"Yes?" said the daughter.
"So how was your triiiip?"
"Oh, it was pretty good."
"Well how so? Tell me tell me!"
"Well the plane ride was okay and Paris was wonderful. We visited the eiffel tower and the the Sienne and the Louvre and I learned a little bit of French!"
"Oh oh speak French! Say some French to me!" The mother leaned over to Mark, "I took French in high school, ha ha about a million years ago, right? Ha ha!"
"Okay mom, okay, um, 'parlay voo on-glay?' 'parlay voo on-glay.'"
"Oh, ha ha ha!"
The mother and the daughter leaned back in their chairs and laughed high and loud. After several seconds they stopped simultaneously and turned to mark with wide toothy grins on their faces.

Mark smiled weakly, "uh... ha ha," and ate some pasta.

Look! A guy!

A guy had just walked by the door. His hair was a controlled shag and everything about him reminded me that I am at college. Green stained Reed hoodie, wispy half-shaven face, worn Jansport backpack, and ripped pyjama pants, he strolls on by, Birkenstocks slapping the tile floor. It's not a bad image, but it's disruptingly stereotypical.

I got out of my chair and walked to the hallway to watch him walk; it's interesting. He was lopping towards the glass door when a commie bike leaning on the wall caught his eye. He picked it up and began to ride. I thought this was pretty rude, considering we were still inside. I wondered who the hell brought the bike inside in the first place but continued watching. He took his hands off the handlebars in an effort to look cool. This flipped the flat-tired bike.
His head hit the ground and my heart skipped a beat. I was about to jump to help him, but he simply blinked hard, shook his head, and sat up. He dug a hand into his forehead in pain. Picking up the bike and tossing it to the side, he continued walking towards the door.

Suddenly, the door opened and a friend of his, wearing some sort of plaid sweater that looked like it was made out of unprocessed pine needles or something else incredibly uncomfortable but acceptably fashionable.

"Hey, man!" The two smiled and did that half-handshade half-high-five move you see so often in sports movies. They began talking about weed and alcohol and how much homework they each had. Pine needle sweater guy's unleashed dog caught up with him and they both gave it a pat on the head and a ruffle around the ears.

They agreed to meet up later. Pine needle sweater guy saw another friend and yelled to her, walking down the hallway. I went back to my chair in the computer store and soon I heard the glass door opening, finally.

Attic Philosophy

John and David had been laying in the attic for three hours, staring at the ceiling. They each had considered starting a conversation or something after the first half hour, but after so much silence they both decided it would have been too awkward. They were right.
"Do you ever think..." said John. David jolted in his spot.
"What?" said David, catching his breath.
"Do you ever think that we're... like... being watched all the time?"
"How so?"
"You know, like, what if someone is aware of us wherever we go and knows what we do?"
"Don't give me that 1984 shit, man. We're not in middle school anymore."
"Fine, fine."
Several minutes passed. David thought about excusing himself to the bathroom and not returning. Eventually, he didn't.
"You know," said John.
"Whaaat," droned David, rolling his eyes.
"I'm really not talking about 1984 shit."
"Sure you're not."
"No, really! I'm not talking about the people around us watching us at all! It's more of an... outside source."
"Oh, so instead of 1984 shit it's Matrix shit. Brilliant."
"Oh, goddammit David."
David sighed.
"Can I finish?"
David grunted.
"Fine. Like, have you ever seen a sci-fi TV show?"
"Of course."
"Ever seen one with time travel?"
"I guess, yeah."
"You know how they're always watching the past on a video screen? They're, like, watching the people do what they're doing, even if the moment wasn't filmed."
John smiled expectingly.
"Oh."
John bit his lip.
"You realize those are only TV shows?"
"Yeah, but if could happen. They've got until the end of human existence to invent the thing and still watch me do whatever!"
"So?"
"So!? So what if they're watching me all the time?"
"Why would they bother doing that?"
"I dunno, maybe I grow up to be a king somewhere or something."
"A king, John?"
"I dunno, it's a rhetorical."
"Hypothetical."
"Oh, hypothetical."
"Yeah"
"Are you sure it's hypothetical? That doesn't sound right."
"I dunno."
"Anyway."
"Anyway."
"Yeah."
"So... so what, John? Who cares if some hypothetical..."
"Hypothetical?"
"Hypothetical future person is watching?"
"Well, it's creepy is all."
"I guess," said David, "but don't you think you'd have scared them off by now?"
"What?"
"Well, if I was a futuristic voyeur and my target started talking about me, I'd be totally weirded out and leave. Your future people just totally ditched you, dude."
"Oh," John looked disappointed.
"You definitely lost your audience, man."
"Well," said John, "um..."
David went back to staring at the ceiling.
John smiled.
"What?" asked David.
"I can finally start masturbating!"
David looked at John with one cocked eyebrow. David got up and walked towards the ladder back down to the house as John stuck his hand down his pants.

Look! A Blog!

Wut up. This blog is basically a holding spot for most of the creative writing that I've done since it began. The stuff that I really hate at the time doesn't make it here for whatever reason, so if by some odd glitch you're actually reading this, there's nothing you really have to skip except "Well, Jesus Christ" and "Look! A guy!" I guess. Although I do like to think that the newer stuff is better than the older stuff.

Some of this was written for Reed College publications The Quest and, later, The Pamphlette. So, there are some Reed in-jokes but hopefully it isn't too bad and should be accessible to the three non-Reedies who will read this ever.