Monday, March 5, 2012
Junkyard quote 4, Week 7
"That's one bad ass bunny." The incongruous mix of "bad ass" with a fluffy, little bunny just made me chuckle.
Original Prompt, Week 7
Perspective is a powerful thing; something as simple as a person's mood can color perception in interesting ways. We've all had those days where it was sunny out, but our outlook kept us from seeing the beauty of the weather. We've all had days where an event somehow colored our perspective and we saw that person, that word, that vehicle, etc. for the rest of the day. Lia Purpura achieves this same sense of circumstance-formed perspective in her essay Autopsy Report. Here, Purpura's visit to the supermarket is colored by the experience of viewing an autopsy earlier in the day. She sees autopsies on every face, notes the muscle and tendons under each person's skin, even goes as far as to find in her mind the "Y that would reveal" each person's innards. The most striking element of this portion of the essay was Purpura's language. It is not enough that she sees autopsies everywhere, she must describe her surroundings in terms of the autopsy. Now, "the dusty skin of grapes" takes on new meaning. Now, describing the day as "bright and pearly, lush and arterial after the rain" evokes paralleled images of the autopsy and the supermarket and the unlikelihood of the two subjects creates a jarring effect.
Like Purpura, think back to an event that seemed to color or distort your perspective for the rest of the day/week/year. Describe some other, perhaps menial, occurrence later that day and describe the second occurrence in terms of the first.
Like Purpura, think back to an event that seemed to color or distort your perspective for the rest of the day/week/year. Describe some other, perhaps menial, occurrence later that day and describe the second occurrence in terms of the first.
Oddity, Week 7
I have a habit of saving voice mails. In fact, I have 22 saved on my phone right now. I don't save them because they contain some bit of information that I need to write down later, a date, a time, a place. No, I save voice mails because I fear the loss of a voice, the voice of my daddy, my mama, my Chip, of those I love most. So when my dad called me 3 years ago and told my machine "Iz just callin' to check on ma baby girl," I pressed 9 after hearing it to save it, and have to save it again every "21 days" as the automated voice tells me.
All of the voice mails end with an I love you, all of them preserve my family at their best...the ones where my mom is hurriedly telling me that grandmama is coming and we're meeting at 5:30, "so head this way as soon as you get off," don't get saved. The ones where Mary, my sister, tells me that she's been trying to get in touch with my brother and, as usual, can't get him to answer his phone, don't get saved. Coincidentally, I don't have any saved from Seth, he hardly ever calls, and never leaves a message. "I hate talkin' to a machine," he says.
You see, I've lost enough voices, my grandpa's "squeeeeeeze 'em to a pulp" as he broke a stack of saltines in his hand and dusted the crumbs into his soup as my eight-year-old giggle made him take up another stack to repeat the gesture. Or my grandma's "Em-ry," her voice rising in pitch on the second syllable as she called my grandfather, suds up to her elbows in the kitchen sink as I waited to wipe dry the oval faces of plates. Or my uncle's "I'm too young to be an uncle, so don't call me that." I hear the words, even the inflections, in my mind, pretend I can hear them bounce off my eardrums, but will never actually, physically, hear those voices again. So I save the others, the ones I still hear now, on my cell phone, hoping that one day, when those I love have ceased to talk, I'll still be able to hear their voice.
All of the voice mails end with an I love you, all of them preserve my family at their best...the ones where my mom is hurriedly telling me that grandmama is coming and we're meeting at 5:30, "so head this way as soon as you get off," don't get saved. The ones where Mary, my sister, tells me that she's been trying to get in touch with my brother and, as usual, can't get him to answer his phone, don't get saved. Coincidentally, I don't have any saved from Seth, he hardly ever calls, and never leaves a message. "I hate talkin' to a machine," he says.
You see, I've lost enough voices, my grandpa's "squeeeeeeze 'em to a pulp" as he broke a stack of saltines in his hand and dusted the crumbs into his soup as my eight-year-old giggle made him take up another stack to repeat the gesture. Or my grandma's "Em-ry," her voice rising in pitch on the second syllable as she called my grandfather, suds up to her elbows in the kitchen sink as I waited to wipe dry the oval faces of plates. Or my uncle's "I'm too young to be an uncle, so don't call me that." I hear the words, even the inflections, in my mind, pretend I can hear them bounce off my eardrums, but will never actually, physically, hear those voices again. So I save the others, the ones I still hear now, on my cell phone, hoping that one day, when those I love have ceased to talk, I'll still be able to hear their voice.
Response to Ashley's memory week 7, Week 7
Ashley,
First of all, let me say that I really see you trying to keep several of the things we've talked about in class in mind as you write this; cool prose for high emotion, trying to navigate away from sentimentality, finding the flip side of a situation (trying to see the freedom rather than the anger and abandonment), etc. I'd encourage you to take a look at how Lynch talks about suicide again, granted he doesn't relay the loss of a close family member, but his detachment could help you here. I don't think you'd want to take detachment as far as he does, but the moves he makes, his sentence structures, etc could help you with your pacing and structure. Also, think back or take a look at Jo Ann Beard's essay again. How does she handle the murder of her friends? What other experiences does she toggle between? I think this piece could definitely benefit from a toggle to take some of the immediate weight away from your uncle's suicide and distribute it throughout the piece, making the main event a more contextualized whole. Also, take a look at your language here. While you want to remain cool, you want to be wary of lapsing into the expected or cliched. Phrases like "made peace with himself," "left a broken family behind," "alone in this world," "anger blinded me," etc. may be a little expected in a piece about suicide. Try, instead, to focus on the details surrounding the event. I loved the inclusion of the Reeses and how they still sit in the refrigerator. It is details like this that are unexpected and that could help to distribute the heft of such a subject. Also, while you would have to be careful that the inclusion of your son doesn't become a little heavy-handed, I like how your describe your uncle as "fading." While a euphemism, this idea of erasure could become more architectural and could provide a different way of talking about his suicide. Does it erase him? Does it erase his pain? What could be beautiful about non-existence? Or is the fact that it is erased the problem? It's gone, but we all know it was once there. This could help you keep a lot of the reflection you are playing with here,and we all know we need to keep the reflection :), but it could give you a different frame possibility for it.
First of all, let me say that I really see you trying to keep several of the things we've talked about in class in mind as you write this; cool prose for high emotion, trying to navigate away from sentimentality, finding the flip side of a situation (trying to see the freedom rather than the anger and abandonment), etc. I'd encourage you to take a look at how Lynch talks about suicide again, granted he doesn't relay the loss of a close family member, but his detachment could help you here. I don't think you'd want to take detachment as far as he does, but the moves he makes, his sentence structures, etc could help you with your pacing and structure. Also, think back or take a look at Jo Ann Beard's essay again. How does she handle the murder of her friends? What other experiences does she toggle between? I think this piece could definitely benefit from a toggle to take some of the immediate weight away from your uncle's suicide and distribute it throughout the piece, making the main event a more contextualized whole. Also, take a look at your language here. While you want to remain cool, you want to be wary of lapsing into the expected or cliched. Phrases like "made peace with himself," "left a broken family behind," "alone in this world," "anger blinded me," etc. may be a little expected in a piece about suicide. Try, instead, to focus on the details surrounding the event. I loved the inclusion of the Reeses and how they still sit in the refrigerator. It is details like this that are unexpected and that could help to distribute the heft of such a subject. Also, while you would have to be careful that the inclusion of your son doesn't become a little heavy-handed, I like how your describe your uncle as "fading." While a euphemism, this idea of erasure could become more architectural and could provide a different way of talking about his suicide. Does it erase him? Does it erase his pain? What could be beautiful about non-existence? Or is the fact that it is erased the problem? It's gone, but we all know it was once there. This could help you keep a lot of the reflection you are playing with here,and we all know we need to keep the reflection :), but it could give you a different frame possibility for it.
Response to Susana's reportage week 5, Week7
I completely agree with Jenna; this is great subject matter to handle! It could really open itself up to the type of reflection we've been talking about in class: Your speaker says that it wasn't a good idea to go to the farmer's market on a Saturday, but then the descriptions make me wonder why? Was it really not a good idea, because of the crowding, or was the crowding exactly what made it so interesting? What about this specific crowd of people caught this particular speaker's attention? What is it that has made the organic or whole foods market such a lucrative one? I understand the appeal to health, etc. but why has this become such a boom? Is it merely the health aspect, or is there, perhaps, a type of affluence or prestige attached to it because these people can afford to spend more on their food, on something that is ultimately consumed and must be bought again? Could this possibly become a commentary on consumerism, on affluence, on some other aspect of American culture? And while the speaker states that the most interesting part was the people, there is very little in the way of actual description of these individuals. The line "as assorted as the produce section" really seemed to suggest a connection between the people and the food they buy. How might you play up/with the common cliche, you are what you eat? How are people like the varied foods they eat? What do their choices say about them?
In short, I agree with Jenna that there needs to be more description and detail here, but the "so what?" of it needs to come out as well. Could there be a way for you to bring out some answers/reflections on some of the questions above, or perhaps different ones that occur to you, in your descriptions? There is a reason that the speaker views each of these individuals or even the crowd as a whole in the way she does...that unique perspective is really what I want to see. Show me the reportage and the detail, yes, but reflect on why those particular details, that specific event, speaks to the speaker and dissect the implications of that.
In short, I agree with Jenna that there needs to be more description and detail here, but the "so what?" of it needs to come out as well. Could there be a way for you to bring out some answers/reflections on some of the questions above, or perhaps different ones that occur to you, in your descriptions? There is a reason that the speaker views each of these individuals or even the crowd as a whole in the way she does...that unique perspective is really what I want to see. Show me the reportage and the detail, yes, but reflect on why those particular details, that specific event, speaks to the speaker and dissect the implications of that.
Junkyard Quote 3, Week 7
Cona: "You can come to...but you'll have to ride bitch. And the shifter sticks and won't go into first, so I have to bang on it sometimes."
My husband: "I think I'll pass."
What was particularly funny to me about this exchange was that it was between my husband and his "knight" in the SCA, a man I had hitherto only seen in medieval garb and armor. He was talking about "the beast," his rebuilt old pick-up truck which my husband later told me took the men 15 minutes to even get out of the driveway.
My husband: "I think I'll pass."
What was particularly funny to me about this exchange was that it was between my husband and his "knight" in the SCA, a man I had hitherto only seen in medieval garb and armor. He was talking about "the beast," his rebuilt old pick-up truck which my husband later told me took the men 15 minutes to even get out of the driveway.
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