Storytime
I had a doctor's appointment today, and he said the same thing: he can't see any bridging, but that doesn't mean it's not healing. If, at my next appointment, he still doesn't see any bridging, I may get a CT scan to see if I am actually healing. For now, I still can't put any weight on it. So, yeah.
On a happier note, a friend from college sent me a story I wrote freshman year. Some friends decided to start a writing club called either "The Literature Lumberjacks" or "The Pretty Unicorns." Neither was my idea. These friends then wrote stories, some based in fact, others very imaginative. I couldn't decide what to write, so once everyone had written their story, I wrote a day in my life in which I interact with the events of theor stories. It's full of inside jokes, but I got a good laugh out of it. I publish it here in its original format.
I'll offer a little history here. This is before Christine and I were dating, but the bookstore incident happened exactly as I record it. It seemed more significant as one of the few things Christine and I did together alone than it does now. My portrayal of all of the characters is spot on.
I stepped out of the classroom building into the depressing gray atmosphere of the campus in winter. What better way to begin the day than an unnecessary class followed by a heretical message from some random chapel speaker? Such is my life. I began the treacherous hike to the church building. Perhaps if the school spent less money on graven images and grade F bologna they could build an on campus sanctuary. But nobody ever asks me about these things.
Calvary Church loomed large at the end of the icy parking lot. A snow covered monolith erected in honor of our Lord and named after the hill upon which He was killed in the most gruesome way possible. “Place of the Skull” Church. How lovely. I suppose it's not much worse than “Mars Hill”, the temple where the Athenians worshipped their god of war. But I digress.
Our conversation ended as a life-size Ken doll into which God had breathed the breath-assure of life and blessed with a double portion of charm crossed the stage and, with a grin like a piano, began to strum a guitar. The audience joined him in singing pretty words with little meaning in an attempt to appease the God they claim to worship. In a droning chant they tried to convince Him that they were singing loudly, dancing wildly, and ringing a huge bell. To an outsider it would appear that the deity being worshipped was either incredibly gullible, or He just didn't care if He was lied to.
Once the daily singing had ended, a sweaty fat man came up on stage and began talking about politics. His Bible must have been stolen by heathens, for it was not to be seen on his person. After proving to his satisfaction that Christ did not have dimpled chads, he praised the Magna Carta as "the NEW New Testament." After encouraging us to restore morality to our nation by
punching holes in paper, he dismissed us. My suitemate Justin threw me a nod on his way out. The guy looked like he had just rolled out of bed. Some friends and I joked about the service on the way back. I laughed on the outside, but something inside of me wept. I think it was my spleen.
My roommate was already in the room when I got there. He was playing a new bass riff he had composed last night. That's the thing about Seth. No matter how late it is, he never deprives me of the privilege of hearing his music. What a guy.
I sat down at my computer and began to put the finishing touches on the speech that I would present in three hours. Seth said something, but I don't remember what. Suddenly the door burst open and Justin walked in.
"Wasn't chapel today great!" he beamed. I love Justin to death, but sometimes I don't know if he has the capacity for rational thought.
"No," I said, "it wasn't. The guy said nothing that made any sense, and the verses he completely out of context. It was awful."
"Yeah, but he made some good points," Justin countered.
"He was an idiot," interjected Seth, always ready with a thoughtful perspective.
"Lunch at 11?" asked Justin.
"Sure," I said, returning to my computer. As Justin left, Seth farted and began giggling uncontrollably.
Justin came back at 11:00. He is nothing if not punctual.
"Ready for lickety-lunch?" he asked.
"You idiot," said Seth, farting.
"Yeah," I said. Justin was wearing my leather jacket as he had been for the past week, so I pulled my rubber coat on over my hoodie. As we stepped out into the chilly air, Justin made a facetious comment about the class and sophistication of my roommate.
"Ugh," I replied. "I cannot stand that guy."
Justin then went into a crazy rant on the importance of studying music. I tried to sound interested, but I failed.
As we entered the dining commons, I threw my backpack on the floor and followed Justin into the mailroom. I hadn’t received any mail. The muffled sobs from the direction of Justin’s mailbox indicated to me that he hadn’t either.
We joined the lunch line and each grabbed a tray and some silverware. I bypassed the trays of rice and chicken and went to make a sandwich. With tray piled high with cold cuts and curly fries, I headed for the dessert line. I placed two rice crispy treats on my plate. Justin joined
me and we looked for a seat. Christine and Jen were sitting in the back of the cafeteria. They pretended not to see us, but we went and sat with them anyway.
With incredible tact, Justin turned to Jen and said, "How’s your butt?" I swear that’s what he said. Jen laughed and went into detail about each bowel movement she had had that week. When that conversation grew dull, she went into an amusing anecdote about her brother’s realization of, shall we say, le difference.
"You," I said, "are the most awful thing God ever dropped on the earth." This apparently offended Jen and she stormed out. I guess I said something inappropriate.
Suddenly the air was rent by a storm of obscenity.
"That has to be Amanda," Justin groaned.
"No," said Christine. "Look!"
A girl was standing on a table in the middle of the cafeteria screaming and cursing. Her unkempt hair flailed around her as she screamed. I think she said something about stewardship, but she was pretty incoherent.
"Is that…?" I stammered.
“Yeah, that’s Janna,” said Justin.
"Man," I said, "she’s really let herself go since Lisa left."
"Sad story," said Christine. "Whatever happened to Lisa?"
"I think she’s selling flowers in the Bronx," Justin replied. "There’s a Bronx in New York, right?" "Yeah," I answered through a mouthfull of crispy rice and marshmallow. "Well, that figures. I always thought she’d make a good mother for New York mobsters." My insightful musings were suddenly interrupted by a hand grabbing my inner thigh.
"Guess what state I’m thinking of," Amanda teased.
"Insanity?" I guessed. Apparently I was wrong.
"What ya doin’ today, sexy?" she asked.
"I have to give a speech at one," I replied.
"Is it about sex?" asked Amanda.
"No," I responded. At this Amanda lost all interest and began to tell Justin he should get a Mohawk.
Justin and I followed Christine out of the cafeteria toward the bookstore building.
"What class do you have now?" I asked Justin.
"Inquiry," he replied.
"Sweet," I turned to Christine. "Do you have class now?"
"No."
"Would you like a tour of the bookstore?" I offered. She looked appalled.
"What did you say?" she gasped. I repeated myself slowly.
"Oh! That’s not what I thought you said."
"Oh. Well, do you."
"Indeed," she replied.
Bookstore tours give me much joy. There is a Christian Book Store on our campus right by the café. It’s always good for a laugh. It’s full of weird merchandise made to look as if it glorifies God. Who knew Christianity was so marketable? I mean, you never see other religions do this. There are no Muslim Book Stores. Can you imagine a Mohammad action figure? You pull a string and it falls down and vibrates. Then it gets up and prophesies. Muslims wouldn’t stand for it! I don’t know why we Christians put up with all the junk in the Christian Book Store.
We entered and walked past a large display of nativity scenes.
"Ooh," I grunted, "I've heard rumors of an interesting sculpture here."
"What is it?"
Turning over a figure of Mary holding Jesus, I exclaimed, "Here it is!"
I handed it to Christine, showing her the dedication that a sculptor had put into his work to provide the figure of the Christ child with a, well, you know. Christine rolled her eyes and chuckled as we passed a rack of T-shirts emblazoned with the question “God, why don’t you end violence in schools” followed by the response "I'm not allowed in schools" signed God. The word
of God printed on a T-shirt. This, apparently, was God’s new revelation. Better let "Mr. Magna Carta" know.
"I see the federal government continues to limit the work of our omnipotent Lord."
"Indeed," Christine responded. "Come look at these." Christine was perusing a rack of key-chains on the back wall of the store. There were several designs, each with the ball of a particular sport with words etched into the pewter around them. Upon further inspection, I saw that the inscription declared, "In Jesus’ Name I Play."
"Oh my gosh!" I exclaimed.
"That’s awful," agreed Christine.
We quickly left that area of the store. An end-cap on one of the aisles had a selection of Chicken Soup for the Soul rip-offs.
"They should have just done the one book and left it alone," Christine observed.
"I agree," I said. "They have Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul, for the College Soul, for the Retired Soul."
"Chicken Soup for the Illiterate Soul," added Christine, smiling.
"What’s that?" I laughed, "Just 'inspirational' pictures?"
Reaching the aisle with the C. S. Lewis books, we immediately sobered.
"These are awesome," I said, picking up a hard cover set of The Chronicles of Narnia. I stepped back to get a better look and bumped into the lady standing behind me. Christine stifled her laughter as I apologized.
"I could have told you about her," she said as we left, "but I didn't."
"Appreciated," I thanked her. We passed by the Jesus action figures and out the door.
We parted ways as I headed for speech class. You recall that speech that I have mentioned several times in this story? Well, I lucked out. I didn’t have to do it that day. Instead I got to sit and listen to 12 other people’s speeches; fascinating topics such as the history of origami, why the school needs a pool, and why making a career of slaughtering our government’s political enemies is a great way for a young person to make a living. I’m guessing that in future classes, speech topics will be more homogenized.
I met Justin for supper at about five o’ clock. Between gulps of Root Beer, we discussed the unfortunate situation concerning Janna. The official story is that she “lost her marbles”and was expelled from school. I was unaware of marble losing being forbidden by the handbook, but apparently in rates right up there with dancing in terms of sinfulness. I guess Janna tried to move into Tom’s cubbyhole and was removed by security. That’s probably the closest Tom will ever come to sharing his home with a woman.
We were joined presently by Lori Beth, the consummate blonde who is the only person I have ever heard utter the phrase "I don’t get it!" in perfect valley-girl inflection, and mean it. But she might have information, so we allowed her to stay.
"Have you heard from Janna?" Justin inquired.
"Who?" Lori stared blankly. "Oh! Well, I just heard from Lisa and she said that Janna is staying with her family. She also said 'I ain’t no hoe, Moe!' Isn’t that funny? She also sent me this flower." Lori held up a large daisy. "I think she was eating donuts when she wrapped it, look. It's covered with white powder. It smells good." Lori began to drool, but both Justin and I were too polite to mention it.
"Uh-oh," Justin said suddenly. "There’s Sloth." He pointed to Seth, who sat down at a table full of relatively attractive young women. He proceeded to belch loudly and followed that up by hugging each and every one of the girls at the table. They all laughed and flirted with him. It was pretty gross to watch.
"I can’t eat any more," I said.
"Me neither," replied Justin. Lori just kept staring at Seth.
"Jerry hugs me like that," she sighed. She sniffed the daisy again. "I wonder if Jerry's sniffing a daisy right now. What color is God?" We left Lori to her intoxicated musings. Walking out the cafeteria doors, we were stopped by two of the girls from Seth’s table.
"Hey," they called. "Can you talk to Seth? He’s always touching us and he's so gross."
"You know," I said, "You might simply say something to Seth yourself." My wise alliteration seemed to go unheeded and the girls walked away in a huff. Justin just stood there with his mouth open and his tongue hanging out. Then he smiled.
“Come on,” I said, snapping Justin out of his delusion.
The soft twilight glowed blue upon the fresh blanket of snow as Justin and I trudged back to the dorm. The lampposts clicked on and added an amber hue to the night air. The air was brisk and the snow falling on the trees gave one the feeling of living in a holiday snow globe. I took a deep breath and looked around.
"Soon," I thought, "I'll be scrubbing toilets."
On a happier note, a friend from college sent me a story I wrote freshman year. Some friends decided to start a writing club called either "The Literature Lumberjacks" or "The Pretty Unicorns." Neither was my idea. These friends then wrote stories, some based in fact, others very imaginative. I couldn't decide what to write, so once everyone had written their story, I wrote a day in my life in which I interact with the events of theor stories. It's full of inside jokes, but I got a good laugh out of it. I publish it here in its original format.
I'll offer a little history here. This is before Christine and I were dating, but the bookstore incident happened exactly as I record it. It seemed more significant as one of the few things Christine and I did together alone than it does now. My portrayal of all of the characters is spot on.
Recently, three manuscripts were found which gave a few scattered details on the lives of a certain group of college students. These transcripts have been compiled and combined with personal experience to create this single manuscript. Obviously, one perspective will be limited and somewhat subjective. Readers are encouraged to study the original manuscripts and draw their own conclusions.
Cold December Tuesday
I sat in Freshman Rhetoric on Tuesday hating everything to do with learning. It was still early in the morning, so I hated everything at that moment. I hated getting up. I hated taking a shower. I hated being out of mousse. I hated stealing my suitemate’s hair gel. I hated that the cafeteria was out of eggs. And I hated Freshman Rhetoric. Our teacher was ranting on and trying to draw a conclusion between a dog she had recently adopted and Thoreau’s "Civil Disobedience." I thought class would never end. Finally, however, it did. I bought a Mountain Dew from the pop machine in the hall on the way out. The sweet rush of caffeine is rather effective at removing the hate.
I stepped out of the classroom building into the depressing gray atmosphere of the campus in winter. What better way to begin the day than an unnecessary class followed by a heretical message from some random chapel speaker? Such is my life. I began the treacherous hike to the church building. Perhaps if the school spent less money on graven images and grade F bologna they could build an on campus sanctuary. But nobody ever asks me about these things.
Calvary Church loomed large at the end of the icy parking lot. A snow covered monolith erected in honor of our Lord and named after the hill upon which He was killed in the most gruesome way possible. “Place of the Skull” Church. How lovely. I suppose it's not much worse than “Mars Hill”, the temple where the Athenians worshipped their god of war. But I digress.
The chapel Nazi scanned my ration card and, having received clearance for worship, I took my usual seat in the back of the auditorium. Steve was already there.
"Hey."
"'Sup dawg?" Steve was in one of his moods again. We sat in reverent silence as we awaited the service to commence. At least, we would have, had either of us been normal. Steve hung from the underside of the stairwell as we attempted with all our strength to figure out where the heck Calvinists were coming from. Reaching no consensus, we begin to discuss the possible
location of the dinosaur statues in Pee-Wee's Big Adventure.
"Hey."
"'Sup dawg?" Steve was in one of his moods again. We sat in reverent silence as we awaited the service to commence. At least, we would have, had either of us been normal. Steve hung from the underside of the stairwell as we attempted with all our strength to figure out where the heck Calvinists were coming from. Reaching no consensus, we begin to discuss the possible
location of the dinosaur statues in Pee-Wee's Big Adventure.
Our conversation ended as a life-size Ken doll into which God had breathed the breath-assure of life and blessed with a double portion of charm crossed the stage and, with a grin like a piano, began to strum a guitar. The audience joined him in singing pretty words with little meaning in an attempt to appease the God they claim to worship. In a droning chant they tried to convince Him that they were singing loudly, dancing wildly, and ringing a huge bell. To an outsider it would appear that the deity being worshipped was either incredibly gullible, or He just didn't care if He was lied to.
Once the daily singing had ended, a sweaty fat man came up on stage and began talking about politics. His Bible must have been stolen by heathens, for it was not to be seen on his person. After proving to his satisfaction that Christ did not have dimpled chads, he praised the Magna Carta as "the NEW New Testament." After encouraging us to restore morality to our nation by
punching holes in paper, he dismissed us. My suitemate Justin threw me a nod on his way out. The guy looked like he had just rolled out of bed. Some friends and I joked about the service on the way back. I laughed on the outside, but something inside of me wept. I think it was my spleen.
My roommate was already in the room when I got there. He was playing a new bass riff he had composed last night. That's the thing about Seth. No matter how late it is, he never deprives me of the privilege of hearing his music. What a guy.
I sat down at my computer and began to put the finishing touches on the speech that I would present in three hours. Seth said something, but I don't remember what. Suddenly the door burst open and Justin walked in.
"Wasn't chapel today great!" he beamed. I love Justin to death, but sometimes I don't know if he has the capacity for rational thought.
"No," I said, "it wasn't. The guy said nothing that made any sense, and the verses he completely out of context. It was awful."
"Yeah, but he made some good points," Justin countered.
"He was an idiot," interjected Seth, always ready with a thoughtful perspective.
"Lunch at 11?" asked Justin.
"Sure," I said, returning to my computer. As Justin left, Seth farted and began giggling uncontrollably.
Justin came back at 11:00. He is nothing if not punctual.
"Ready for lickety-lunch?" he asked.
"You idiot," said Seth, farting.
"Yeah," I said. Justin was wearing my leather jacket as he had been for the past week, so I pulled my rubber coat on over my hoodie. As we stepped out into the chilly air, Justin made a facetious comment about the class and sophistication of my roommate.
"Ugh," I replied. "I cannot stand that guy."
Justin then went into a crazy rant on the importance of studying music. I tried to sound interested, but I failed.
As we entered the dining commons, I threw my backpack on the floor and followed Justin into the mailroom. I hadn’t received any mail. The muffled sobs from the direction of Justin’s mailbox indicated to me that he hadn’t either.
We joined the lunch line and each grabbed a tray and some silverware. I bypassed the trays of rice and chicken and went to make a sandwich. With tray piled high with cold cuts and curly fries, I headed for the dessert line. I placed two rice crispy treats on my plate. Justin joined
me and we looked for a seat. Christine and Jen were sitting in the back of the cafeteria. They pretended not to see us, but we went and sat with them anyway.
With incredible tact, Justin turned to Jen and said, "How’s your butt?" I swear that’s what he said. Jen laughed and went into detail about each bowel movement she had had that week. When that conversation grew dull, she went into an amusing anecdote about her brother’s realization of, shall we say, le difference.
"You," I said, "are the most awful thing God ever dropped on the earth." This apparently offended Jen and she stormed out. I guess I said something inappropriate.
Suddenly the air was rent by a storm of obscenity.
"That has to be Amanda," Justin groaned.
"No," said Christine. "Look!"
A girl was standing on a table in the middle of the cafeteria screaming and cursing. Her unkempt hair flailed around her as she screamed. I think she said something about stewardship, but she was pretty incoherent.
"Is that…?" I stammered.
“Yeah, that’s Janna,” said Justin.
"Man," I said, "she’s really let herself go since Lisa left."
"Sad story," said Christine. "Whatever happened to Lisa?"
"I think she’s selling flowers in the Bronx," Justin replied. "There’s a Bronx in New York, right?" "Yeah," I answered through a mouthfull of crispy rice and marshmallow. "Well, that figures. I always thought she’d make a good mother for New York mobsters." My insightful musings were suddenly interrupted by a hand grabbing my inner thigh.
"Guess what state I’m thinking of," Amanda teased.
"Insanity?" I guessed. Apparently I was wrong.
"What ya doin’ today, sexy?" she asked.
"I have to give a speech at one," I replied.
"Is it about sex?" asked Amanda.
"No," I responded. At this Amanda lost all interest and began to tell Justin he should get a Mohawk.
Justin and I followed Christine out of the cafeteria toward the bookstore building.
"What class do you have now?" I asked Justin.
"Inquiry," he replied.
"Sweet," I turned to Christine. "Do you have class now?"
"No."
"Would you like a tour of the bookstore?" I offered. She looked appalled.
"What did you say?" she gasped. I repeated myself slowly.
"Oh! That’s not what I thought you said."
"Oh. Well, do you."
"Indeed," she replied.
Bookstore tours give me much joy. There is a Christian Book Store on our campus right by the café. It’s always good for a laugh. It’s full of weird merchandise made to look as if it glorifies God. Who knew Christianity was so marketable? I mean, you never see other religions do this. There are no Muslim Book Stores. Can you imagine a Mohammad action figure? You pull a string and it falls down and vibrates. Then it gets up and prophesies. Muslims wouldn’t stand for it! I don’t know why we Christians put up with all the junk in the Christian Book Store.
We entered and walked past a large display of nativity scenes.
"Ooh," I grunted, "I've heard rumors of an interesting sculpture here."
"What is it?"
Turning over a figure of Mary holding Jesus, I exclaimed, "Here it is!"
I handed it to Christine, showing her the dedication that a sculptor had put into his work to provide the figure of the Christ child with a, well, you know. Christine rolled her eyes and chuckled as we passed a rack of T-shirts emblazoned with the question “God, why don’t you end violence in schools” followed by the response "I'm not allowed in schools" signed God. The word
of God printed on a T-shirt. This, apparently, was God’s new revelation. Better let "Mr. Magna Carta" know.
"I see the federal government continues to limit the work of our omnipotent Lord."
"Indeed," Christine responded. "Come look at these." Christine was perusing a rack of key-chains on the back wall of the store. There were several designs, each with the ball of a particular sport with words etched into the pewter around them. Upon further inspection, I saw that the inscription declared, "In Jesus’ Name I Play."
"Oh my gosh!" I exclaimed.
"That’s awful," agreed Christine.
We quickly left that area of the store. An end-cap on one of the aisles had a selection of Chicken Soup for the Soul rip-offs.
"They should have just done the one book and left it alone," Christine observed.
"I agree," I said. "They have Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul, for the College Soul, for the Retired Soul."
"Chicken Soup for the Illiterate Soul," added Christine, smiling.
"What’s that?" I laughed, "Just 'inspirational' pictures?"
Reaching the aisle with the C. S. Lewis books, we immediately sobered.
"These are awesome," I said, picking up a hard cover set of The Chronicles of Narnia. I stepped back to get a better look and bumped into the lady standing behind me. Christine stifled her laughter as I apologized.
"I could have told you about her," she said as we left, "but I didn't."
"Appreciated," I thanked her. We passed by the Jesus action figures and out the door.
We parted ways as I headed for speech class. You recall that speech that I have mentioned several times in this story? Well, I lucked out. I didn’t have to do it that day. Instead I got to sit and listen to 12 other people’s speeches; fascinating topics such as the history of origami, why the school needs a pool, and why making a career of slaughtering our government’s political enemies is a great way for a young person to make a living. I’m guessing that in future classes, speech topics will be more homogenized.
I met Justin for supper at about five o’ clock. Between gulps of Root Beer, we discussed the unfortunate situation concerning Janna. The official story is that she “lost her marbles”and was expelled from school. I was unaware of marble losing being forbidden by the handbook, but apparently in rates right up there with dancing in terms of sinfulness. I guess Janna tried to move into Tom’s cubbyhole and was removed by security. That’s probably the closest Tom will ever come to sharing his home with a woman.
We were joined presently by Lori Beth, the consummate blonde who is the only person I have ever heard utter the phrase "I don’t get it!" in perfect valley-girl inflection, and mean it. But she might have information, so we allowed her to stay.
"Have you heard from Janna?" Justin inquired.
"Who?" Lori stared blankly. "Oh! Well, I just heard from Lisa and she said that Janna is staying with her family. She also said 'I ain’t no hoe, Moe!' Isn’t that funny? She also sent me this flower." Lori held up a large daisy. "I think she was eating donuts when she wrapped it, look. It's covered with white powder. It smells good." Lori began to drool, but both Justin and I were too polite to mention it.
"Uh-oh," Justin said suddenly. "There’s Sloth." He pointed to Seth, who sat down at a table full of relatively attractive young women. He proceeded to belch loudly and followed that up by hugging each and every one of the girls at the table. They all laughed and flirted with him. It was pretty gross to watch.
"I can’t eat any more," I said.
"Me neither," replied Justin. Lori just kept staring at Seth.
"Jerry hugs me like that," she sighed. She sniffed the daisy again. "I wonder if Jerry's sniffing a daisy right now. What color is God?" We left Lori to her intoxicated musings. Walking out the cafeteria doors, we were stopped by two of the girls from Seth’s table.
"Hey," they called. "Can you talk to Seth? He’s always touching us and he's so gross."
"You know," I said, "You might simply say something to Seth yourself." My wise alliteration seemed to go unheeded and the girls walked away in a huff. Justin just stood there with his mouth open and his tongue hanging out. Then he smiled.
“Come on,” I said, snapping Justin out of his delusion.
The soft twilight glowed blue upon the fresh blanket of snow as Justin and I trudged back to the dorm. The lampposts clicked on and added an amber hue to the night air. The air was brisk and the snow falling on the trees gave one the feeling of living in a holiday snow globe. I took a deep breath and looked around.
"Soon," I thought, "I'll be scrubbing toilets."
posted by Unknown @ 10/28/2005 09:54:00 pm
4 comments
