Monday, September 21, 2009

Being the Asshole

It always begins when I’m walking. Generally I have forgotten my music source, although sometimes I think through the music. My head is filled with amazing ideas, stories that go on for hours and could be best sellers. But when I sit down to write them, they’re gone and all I have left are the meaningless occurrences that are my life.

Take for example my pride and joy, my Peugeot pronounced “pueh- go”. A bicycle in case you were wondering, which was rudely removed from my possession a few weeks ago. The gears were very difficult, it was almost a standard bike, if there is such a thing, because I would have to manually move each gear with the shifter using a lot of strength and a lot of hope that it would work. The cup holder was gone, previously stolen. It was a junior bike, my knees would often hit my elbows and my feet on occasion grazing the asphalt. As shitty as it sounds it had won a place in my heart, which is quite the feat. And some person who thought or perhaps didn’t think, decided to sit on my seat and ride it away while I had left it unchained to buy eggs. Maybe they were punishing me, teaching me a lesson for leaving it unlocked. Or maybe they were in some strange circumstance where taking my Peugeot was their only option. Either way it’s gone and I am left feeling utterly depressed. A similar feeling to when my landlord’s son/ the landscaper tore out another small piece of my heart.

My garden, which might as well be called “my child”, is a beautiful piece of art. My first attempt, grown totally from seeds and developed into a lush haven of fruits and vegetables. Early one Saturday morning after being awoken by, lets call him Steven, struggling to start the whipper snipper, who then began his rounds. Boring I’m sure, his job was to remove weeds around my apartment building. As Steven made his way to my front door I assumed he would stay clear of my picturesque garden. This, however, was not the case. Steven approached the 3ft tall giant Atlantic pumpkin plant, that was just about to start producing it’s fruit, and pummelled the 3 inch stalk, the heart of the plant. I was standing inside, in shock as to what was happening, disbelief as it took him several attempts to fully cut it down. I flung open my front door, ran outside screaming as one of my babies had been raped from the garden. I reamed him, told him exactly how I felt, where he should go and where he could shove that whipper snipper. His defence: ‘I thought it was a weed’. Yea right, like I would let a weed grow 3 ft tall in my wonderfully lush garden. I went inside, and paced up and down my small hallway, counted to ten twenty times, took deep breaths and realized what I had done.

The police auction was conveniently being held the day after my bike was stolen. I attended and purchased an eighteen speed Canadian made Supercycle. It has fully functioning gears, and rides a lot taller and smoother than my last bike. My helmet even matches the color.

I apologized to the novice landscaper, expressed my regret for telling a twelve year old boy to ‘fuck off’. I planted three new seeds and am currently crossing my fingers that they will produce before the fall.That’s all we can do… cross our fingers and know that we are all a part of it, one way or another we each take our turn being the asshole.

4 comments:

  1. I really liked both of the stories you told. You really demonstrated your emotions in a really classy way. I enjoyed the stories so much that I think they could perhaps be separated. The descriptions that you gave were really inviting and I will definitely take note of that for my own future blogging!
    Thanks!
    Kristin

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  2. "LOL!"

    I'm sorry, but that's the perfect way for me to start this comment. I legitimately laughed out loud several times during my read of your blog! You just have a wry sort of humour, for one. I mean, as you described the terribly unfortunate expiriences you had, there wasn't really an overt sadness to them so much as there was a kind of "looking-back-now" humour-- a sort of hindsight humour-- which I really appreciated. On occasion, the 'strong' language helped establish its own kind of humour, if not a glimpse into your anger at the time-- anger that anyone could agree with were they to lose their pumpkin-- both which I enjoyed.

    [Also, allow me to say: UGH! The first paragraph! The great stories you have that are lost? That happens to me ALL the time too! It's like I need a constant voice recorder so the things I think of can be saved, or something! So frustrating though! Gah!]

    Just as a few points of advice though, although I did dig the language, it'll be important to remember that over-using 'curses' can be a little bit dangerous. You run the risk in some circles, I think, of damaging the level of your writing. I personally don't think you've reached that point here. Though one line: "as shitty as that is" -- didn't work too well for me. I think it has something to do with the fact that it's using strength and our window to your frustrations when it's not entirely nessecary. The other uses added a great power and flare, but the above one, to me, didn't do too much.

    That said,I enjoyed the whole deal quite a bit! Keep on slaying!

    -Alex

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  3. I really liked your first blog post.

    I do not think that you really needed the first paragraph because I think that starting with your story about your bicycle would be just as effective without it.

    I loved your description of your bicycle. I found it to be funny with your mentions of “the cup holder [being] gone, previously stolen. It was a junior bike, my knees would often hit my elbows and my feet on occasion grazing the asphalt.” I think that really shows the character that the bicycle has and your relationship and attachment to it. I think that your description of it almost personifies the bicycle as having a character of its own.

    I think that your two stories intertwine and complement each other nicely. I think the story as a whole expresses the idea of how people can really effect each other.

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  4. This post had a very colloquial feel to it. Your language, I agree was put to good use in demonstrating the level of anger that you felt. When anger is that fresh you don’t necessarily think of the most appropriate way to communicate- it just tumbles out of your mouth curse words and all. That being said, you did a decent job of reflecting on the freshness of that emotion and explaining that although it was warranted at the time, the poor little 12 year old doesn’t deserve the brunt of the anger.

    I think this was a good example of using the specific to illustrate the universal concept of displacement. The entirety of your anger wasn’t directed at that young man, but his cutting down of your plant was just the breaking point of a long series of disappointments for you. I know that I have often torn into the wrong person for stresses in my life and I think the same can be said for a fair amount of people- so good job!

    I was a little thrown off by the introductory paragraph, just because as our professor has mentioned, although we may feel inclined to explain our creative path, or although we may need that path to get to the root of good writing, it is not necessarily where your story should begin for your reader. Perhaps you could have started with the notion of everyone having an off day that leads them to snap or you start it off with something rather abrasive and catchy like “On the whole, I’m not a terrible person but honestly doesn’t everyone take their turn being an asshole?” Again, we had discussed this in class, the notion of maintaining a cyclical feel to your work in which you start with a statement and work your way around rather vaguely until that statement begins to make sense again.

    On one last personal note, I really liked the final line. So true!

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