pretty cool
11 Feb 2011 Leave a Comment
in Articles, Friday Angst
Thanks to my sister B for the shout-out!
Friday Angst: dystopian detention
11 Feb 2011 2 Comments
in Friday Angst
December 21, 1995
[Age 14]
2:15 pm
As I sit in my first detention, I look about me at the bored, empty faces. I wonder, “Do I look as they do? Like criminals of some cold-blooded act…”
I wonder what they are in for. Theft, threat, or hooky? Or the horrid, disgusting act carried out by myself. An act so foul I deserve every bit of the misery of detention.
I was late to computer. I should be condemned.
And so I now sit at a cold, hard desk in a hot, stuffy room listening to the silence of those around me staring ahead with the calm fury of practiced inmates. I feel myself becoming like them as I sweep my caged eyes around my cell. The shades, the color of rot, are pulled far below the window sill so that no light, save that of the dim, florescent lights, is allowed to grace the room.
Every time a person walks outside the metal door, left open to taunt us with our freedom, I feel they stare for a split second at my face and wonder what heinous act I must have committed to be locked in this cell.
Would they guess that I had never before set foot in a detention room or a principal’s office? Would they guess that the reason for my imprisonment is being late for a class in which the sole purpose is to stare ahead at a screen and type letters about “Mrs. Peabody’s dog”?
No. To a mere onlooker, I appear the same as every other person in this room: a troublemaker at a rot-colored desk.
2:43 pm
I feel like a science experiment. There is a small window on the side of the wall separating this room from another. The window is decorated (or as an effort to be hidden…) by the same rot-colored curtains. The window seems to serve no purpose as it sits, alone and half-covered by a file cabinet. Maybe this is what they want us to think—that it has no purpose.
“They” are who watch us from that window. They are observing us in our prison. Watching to see how we react to the lack of sunlight, the putrid colors and dreadful silence.
Will we succumb to it? Crack under the boredom and run screaming to the covered windows behind which lies the hidden world? Those people behind the window watch us with pad and pencil. Recording and analyzing with no thought to the poor mice that are us. The window-watchers probably built the school. Built it so that computer class is so very far from history class. Built it as a trap to catch we who sit here for being LATE. And they laugh at this new addition to their experiment.
“The more, the merrier!” they cry as they press their faces, the color of the putrid curtains, against the window pane and laugh.
Friday Angst: the real reasons to live
04 Feb 2011 Leave a Comment
in BP, Friday Angst Tags: Gold Medal, Karate Tournament, Regionals, Sore Loser
One of the real-life events that inspired THE HERO:
June 2, 1996 Sunday 6:40 pm
[Age 15, at the regional karate tournament]
One little girl (we’ll call her Sara) was sparring another little girl (we’ll call her Meg). Sara beat Meg and won first place. As soon as she received her silver medal, Meg went to her mother in tears. The mother stared into her child’s face and opened her beet-red lips with the biting words, “Don’t you cry over that little girl.”
Everyone looked up, but she continued, louder for the Sara to hear, “You beat that little girl into pieces! You should have won, not her. That little girl did not win. Don’t you cry over that little girl!”
By now, the “little girl” looked about ready to cry. I felt like crying, too, and lashing out at that woman. How dare she do that! When someone else wins, they are to be congratulated. Especially if they are a little child. A child who is proud of herself for winning a stupid contest. What lowlife scum of a person would be so cruel as to publicly demean a child?
And Meg will end up just like her mother because she will never learn to lose. Every time she loses, her parents will tell her she should have won, and that she is right and everyone else is wrong, until the girl will do it herself. She’ll grow up blaming everyone else for her problems.
That is one of the major drawbacks in sports. Or anything in life. To let it become important for the wrong reasons. That family only cares about medals. A piece of colored medal on a string. Not the fact that Meg competed even though she was nervous, or that she is learning how to compete, or learning about how other people compete.
One of the main reasons I go to tournaments is to learn about people like this. That they are involved in everything I will ever participate in.
When pictures were taken of the first-, second-, and third-place winners, Sara’s parents were worried that Meg’s mother would push their “little girl” off the first-place step and help her own darling child up instead.
This, too, was wrong. No one should ever be afraid of people like this. We should pity these people for missing out on the real reasons to live.
Friday Angst: public school biology
21 Jan 2011 2 Comments
in Friday Angst Tags: biology class, Red Sox
September 15, 1995 Thursday
[Age 14]
About my biology teacher, Mr. N:
On the first day of school, bees were coming into the biology room, and Mr. N took his yardstick and swiped at them. He whacked and mashed each one and then wiped his yardstick on Steve’s Biology book.
At the end of class, he asked, “How many bees did I get today?”
On the second day of school, Steve wore a Boston Red Sox hat. Mr. N asked him why he wore the hat and Steve replied, “They win”
“And what’s the point of the game?” Mr. N asked.
“To win,” said Steve.
“Really?” said Mr. N. “Well, I hate baseball.” He started pacing up and down the aisles of the classroom.
“Baseball used to be my life. I would go to twelve games a season, four a month…I used to coach the games, and now I won’t even go to my team’s games. Because I HATE the game. Once I had a friend who asked me to go to the World Series with him. I was about to say no when he said, ‘I know you hate these things, but please come, as a friend.’ Now, this good friend was having problems with his wife, so I said, ‘Okay, just this once.’ And I went with him as a friend. That was the night that TL flipped off the audience. I was there. All the way through the game, the audience was cheering and yelling. I was sitting like this…”
Mr. N crossed his arms and scowled.
“Halfway through the game, TL skips away from the plate. I knew he was going to do something. I was right. He stepped away, raised his middle finger, and did this!”
Mr. N raised his middle finger and swings his hand over his head.
“He flipped off everyone in the audience, including ME! He meant me, too. So I turned to my friend and said, ‘Take me home right now. I don’t want to watch any more of this CRAP!’ And so my friend took me home. He wasn’t too happy about leaving halfway through the game, but I didn’t care. I left and NEVER went back.”
Mr. N looked out across the row of students, all sitting back in our seats, open-mouthed, wondering why the hell he was telling us all this. He turned to Steve and said,
“You’re stupid, Steve. You’re an idiot for liking them. Mark my words: on September 15th, 1995, that within a year, that team will break your heart. And do you know what? You shouldn’t care! Because I don’t care. I HATE baseball. Now, take a look at number three on the classroom expectations sheet…”
On my way out of class, as I passed the baseball posters hanging in the front of the room, Mr. N winked at me.
Friday Angst: River vs. Leo
14 Jan 2011 3 Comments
in Friday Angst Tags: Friday Angst, Indiana Jones, Interview with the Vampire, Leonardo DiCaprio, Little Nikita, River Phoenix
April 6, 1997 Sunday 4:11 am
[Age 15]
Today I watched a movie called Little Nikita with River Phoenix. Actually, I watched it because it had River Phoenix. It made me very sad, though, because he died of a drug overdose a few years ago. I kept seeing him as a drug-addict (which he was) and it was awful.
I had never seen a River Phoenix movie (though I saw him play young Indiana Jones in the first five minutes of that movie). He was supposedly an idol because of his acting and his looks, and Leonardo DiCaprio has been referred to as being much like him.
He is supposedly considered for movies in which River Phoenix was meant to star. So I compared the two. Actually, it seems that from what I have seen, they both have similar looks and characters. I wonder if Leonardo meant to copy River’s style of acting because it is much the same, except that in Little Nikita, he was not an all-out demented person such as Leonardo plays constantly.
River seems, from what I’ve seen, to be more of a free-spirited person (more fun). But that’s probably because he was high most of the time.
I didn’t like how he ran, either. His feet nearly kicked himself in the butt. I wonder that if River Phoenix had not died, if Leonardo DiCaprio would have become so big? I doubt it. I think that River’s death adds to Leonardo’s career because he has the same blond hair and blue eyes and acting ability in the same general genre.
River Phoenix was supposed to play the Interviewer in Interview with the Vampire. When he died, Leonardo tried for the part, but Christian Slater got it. I wonder that if River Phoenix was still alive, would he have played Romeo?
I wonder, as well, what other movies he was in, because I wouldn’t mind watching them.
I think I need a boyfriend. I am getting too caught up in fake boys. River Phoenix is dead—but here I am feeling extremely sad because he was very nice looking and very talented and should not be a rotting skeleton in the dirt right now.
It is now 5:00 am. I have gotten 1.5 hours of sleep tonight. Maybe I should attempt to get some more before I “wake up.”
Good night/morning,
Lara
Longing for more Leo? Here’s one. And another one. And still one more.
Friday Angst: things you shouldn’t tell the boy you like
17 Dec 2010 1 Comment
in Friday Angst
July 1, 1995 [Age 14]
I have a scratch on my cheek and as we were getting out our gear at the end of class, P came up to me and asked, “What happened here?” pointing to the same spot on his face.
I answered, “My cat bites my cheeks at night.”
“Oh!” he answered. “I shaved my cat.”
And then he walked away.
JR ate all my crackers in the car.
Friday Angst: waiting for fireworks
19 Nov 2010 7 Comments
in BP, Friday Angst Tags: publishing, querying angst, waiting to hear from agents
I am not a patient person. I don’t know how to relax, I can’t sit still, and I hate waiting in line. I staked out our mailbox a full month before college acceptance letters were due. I couldn’t eat for a week after interviewing for my job. I almost kidnapped our cat from the animal shelter when they took a whole weekend to check our references.
So it should come as no surprise that waiting is driving me batshit. The BP is out there, possibly being read RIGHT NOW. The phone might ring any second, like RIGHT NOW…or RIGHT NOW…or RIGHT NOW…and I throw up a little every time I get an email.
F is surprised I don’t have an ulcer by now—especially since I’ve always been this way:
Thursday, July 4, 1996 8:57 pm [Age 15]
I’m sitting here in the quiet car. Outside, the sky is dark and cold. Rain is squeezed from the invisible clouds, floating behind a certain of night.
I am waiting for my parents and sister to come and drive us all away to the Point for the fireworks. It seems as though I’m always waiting. I have been waiting for as long as I can remember for something to happen. I know how dangerous that is. To wait for the “something” that is supposed to change my entire life for the better. It ruins a person.
People who wait, wait forever and miss everything because they are constantly looking for something else.
Tonight I said something I didn’t mean. At dinner we were discussing karate, and Mom said that the real purpose of karate is to learn how to deal with what we don’t like in life—to learn “the lessons.” At that point, I said rather loudly, “I’m tired of lessons!”
Of course, I do love lessons, so I didn’t really mean that. Then again, I suppose I did mean what I said because all the “lessons” I’ve been learning are negative.
10:00 pm
Sitting on my bed—a greenish glow enveloping my room by my new lamp, which used to be in the living room. I don’t think anything I was writing before has any importance. The 4th of July has some magic power that lets me see how life really should be lived. Happily.
Friday Angst: how to pack for homecoming
12 Nov 2010 Leave a Comment
in Friday Angst
It’s tough to pull off contempt when wearing high-heeled jellies. Somehow, I managed.
Monday, October 9, 1995 [Age 14]
While riding the bus to school this morning, M said, “I’m going to start packing tonight.”
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“Homecoming.” She looked at me as if she couldn’t believe I didn’t know that she was packing her purse a month before the dance.
“What do you have to pack?” I asked.
“Oh, well Lara, you need a purse for deodorant, an extra pair of stockings, makeup, lipstick, comb, hairspray, breath mints—”
Here I stopped her. “Breath mints! Are you planning to kiss someone?”
“Maybe…” she said, and continued rambling about her small, red purse that matches her dress. Now, how could all that luggage fit into a little red purse? And doesn’t she have anything better to do than pack a purse for a dance that’s a month away?
People are getting so carried away with these dances, getting depressed if no one asks them and lying awake at night because a toothbrush won’t fit into that bulging purse. This dance is just like all the others, except for the dresses. I am not very excited.
I have a dress, shoes, and a pair of stockings, and I will go to the dance without the added weight of “—perfume, safety pins, mouthwash, hand cream, nail file, another pair of earrings…Did I mention I still have to get another red purse in case the first one’s strap breaks?”
October 14
B was supposed to pick me up at 5:30. She had twelve girls over to get ready, and M got there at 1:00. That’s four and a half hours of getting ready! Then again, this is the same M who packed her purse a month before the dance.
At 5:45, B called to say that they were going to be late and would be over to get me at 6:30. So I settled down in my silver sparkled dress; nude stockings; clear jelly shoes (with high heels); clear, plastic, square purse containing $20, a lipstick, and chapstick. Half of my hair was pulled back in a braid and on top of the braid was a butterfly clasp.
Finally, at 6:38, B came to get me in her black, thin-strapped dress with bright red lipstick and makeup covering her skin. M was wearing a wine-colored dress and her hair looked crispy with hairspray and water as usual. Why can’t people just leave their hair alone?
L and T were already waiting at Festivals.* We didn’t order for a while because B and M wanted to go say hi to the other kids eating nearby. Finally, the waiter came over and strictly said, “Excuse me. You need to order now. First of all, your reservation was for an hour ago and you said you were having eight people and now you only have six. Please order. We have people waiting.”
We each ordered mozzarella sticks and B said, “Well, we won’t come here again for Homecoming. They’re so rude!”
Well, see if I ever go anywhere again with B in charge. It was perfectly fine for the manager to come over, since we showed up an hour late with two fewer people and ordered bread and cheese!
Meanwhile, I looked through M’s purse:
2 lipsticks
3 makeups
Kleenex
Breath mints
Hairspray
Hair pick
Nail polish
* Festivals Family Restaurant. Located in the strip mall across the street from our high school. Site of a shooting provoked by a high school love triangle. Now closed.
Friday Angst: a normal Halloween
30 Oct 2010 Leave a Comment
in Friday Angst
Sunday, October 29, 1995, 12:04 pm [Age 14]
Halloween—a time of crispy orange leaves crackling beneath my boots, the tingling smell of wood burning and yellow flames leaping behind grinning jack-o’-lanterns.
The houses are decorated with corny stuffed dead people resting on the porch, probably meant to be frightening but only succeeding in perhaps a momentary car stop to peer into the yard and wonder what kind of people live there.
Inside these houses, children dance before the mirror in their ballerina costumes and practice Power Ranger punches, too excited to wait for Halloween to don their outfits.
Meanwhile, our family strays from witches and ghosts. We’ve ruined at least two jack-o’-lanterns because the 70th star-shaped eye did not leave enough pumpkin.
My mother and father work diligently to strap a giant pillow to my sister’s back so that she won’t be just a rearing horse (God forbid!) when instead she could be a six-foot plaster-of-Paris stallion whose feet move as she (the Indian on its back) pulls on the reins.
In another house across town, our uncle is trying desperately to hook working lights into the stoplight attached to my five-year-old cousin’s head.
Is this to be called normal?
Friday Angst: The Whole Cellar
03 Sep 2010 4 Comments
in Friday Angst
As some of you may have heard, F and I took the leap and moved from Chicago to Massachusetts. It’s been about a month, and we have determined that the move was a success for many reasons. I’ll tell you about the rest of them later.
For now, I’d like to share the #1 reason this move was a success–and it’s all about Friday Angst.
The #1 reason this move was a success is that my parents are now only a 3-hour drive away. Now, what does this have to do with Friday Angst, you may ask?
The Friday Angst entries you have been enjoying for the last year were culled from the only five journals I had with me in Chicago: Journals, circa 1996-1997. That’s a fine, angsty vintage, but it ain’t the whole cellar. THIS is the whole cellar:
My parents are lovely people, but familial attachment aside, the reason their proximity is the #1 reason the move was a success is that Mom and Dad loaded their truck with all those journals and lugged them all the way out here to the idyllic Berkshires so that I may now provide you with entries from the full span of my angsty existence.
Get ready for some angst!
Today’s entry is from College Journal #2 (2001, Junior Year), which features the following list printed on the inside front cover:
Important to Read
- “Heresy” –> on responsibility of poets (esp. Seamus Heany to Northern Ireland)
- Laocoon –> Gotthold Lessing –> painting + sculpture/poetry
- Nazis + homosexuality (see note in here somewhere) –> book about this –> interesting!
- Find out what the Booker Prize is given for (in lit.) (and win it)
- Find out who Edgar is (from Shakespeare) –> “If I look deeper into the metaphor, torments his father over an imaginary cliff” (p. 179, Running in the Family, Michael Ondaajte)
- Book: Conversations with J.C., Vols. 1 + 2 (as in Jesus Christ…it’s a real book!)
- “In the American Brain” –> William Carlos Williams (myths of American Nationalism)
- Def Leopard –> “Pour Some Sugar on Me”
- The Zombies –> “It’s the Time of the Season for Loving”
