Sunday, April 28, 2013
Bye, Bye, Baby. (I'm really bad at titles.)
Lex was handsome; Lex was arrogant; Lex was charming; Lex was injurious; Lex was dead. Lex died on May 20th in a dingy refurbished basement in a little cabin near our house. As I stood there at the Lakeville Ridout staring at his lifeless body made up to resemble an atrocious porcelain doll, I remembered all of the times we had. I suppose it is common for the significant other of the deceased to reminisce on the finer times and important life lessons experienced while one’s lover was still living. I stared at the deep purple line around his neck that had been barely covered up by the makeup and thought of the man that Lex was, the times that we had, and the things that he taught me. He was the man who held me at gunpoint on a drive to White Castle to inform me to not leave without telling him. He was the man who caused me to lose a precious little boy to teach me a lesson in not living outside of my means. He was the man who set my right eye a half inch deeper into my face to advise me that I had better learn to defend myself soon because I had no shot at living if someone ever tried to kill me. Surprisingly enough, I didn’t miss him at all!
I did not miss him, but no one else knew that. My performance given to the police officers at the obvious news of his passing was similar to that of Brad Pitt in the last scene of Se7en. It was executed remarkably with no hint of falsity. The sheer devastation shown in the way that I froze in shock and collapsed to the ground was worthy of at least a daytime Emmy. Lex taught me a bit of that as well. The skills of deception you pick up while living with a man who takes a baseball bat to your body multiple times a week are incredible. For instance, I could cover up Lex’s little bruise in about 5 minutes with the right foundation and a scarf. I didn’t mind seeing the bruise as much as everyone else, though. The bruise was a symbol of a job well done. The bruise reassured me that it was over. I had escaped the terrible world I had been thrust into back in junior year of high school and I had no one to thank but myself.
After a while the idea of living the rest of my life in fear and confinement became a real drag. 7 years of cracked ribs and broken fibulas could have lead anyone down a dark path! I started planning elaborate escape plots to sneak away with our 4 year old daughter under my wing. Saying “Oh, Ava has a fever. I must go get her some medicine,” or “you just take a nap right here on the couch. I’m going to check on Ava and go to sleep.” Every time I would get caught packing or sneaking out and, of course, I’d be beaten mercilessly.
Eventually I began to envision fantastic murder schemes. They were incredible, really. One of my favorite plans was going down to the Brix’s farm and having Lex accidentally be charged by a bull into the path of the tractor as I helped till up the land. The comic relief in that angry bull and the amount of excruciating pain he would feel promoted that one to a ten on the Richter scale. There were a lot of plans like that, but none that would work for my daughter and me. You see, I couldn’t get caught. There could not even be a hint that I had done it or else I would lose Ava. If I ever lost my darling little girl my life would be more meaningless and shattered than before. She may have come from the seed of an evil human being, but Ava was nothing like her father. She was my cherub; my sweet baby girl. She was empathetic and kind and seemed to understand the complexity of never-ending love at only age 4. Ava deserved to be freed from her father before she got too old and loved him too much.
I thought over arsenic, acid, guns, knives, hit men, cutting brake lines, and numerous other methods, and then it hit me. Suicide. Suicide is the easiest option. No one will be suspicious of a 30 year old drunkard committing suicide! That was it! I eventually decided on a hanging. My intuition told me that if he ever were to murder himself, this would be his most probable technique. The act itself wasn’t in the least bit difficult. On my way to put Ava to bed I whispered in Lex’s ear that we should go to the cabin after she fell asleep. The cabin was where we used to go when I was a teenager to fool around, so I knew he wouldn’t say no. Using a place with such nice memories seemed such a shame. I nearly pulled the old “I’m too tired. Maybe tomorrow,” on him after a slight tinge of doubt, but I couldn’t talk myself out of that sweet freedom that stood before me. My heart was yearning for this vile human to be out of my life and 6 feet under.
I looked out the window of our house as I stroked Ava’s hair and sang her lullabies to see Lex walking through the back yard with what seemed to be a little skip in his step and a six pack. I looked at my daughter and thought of her father bathing her in the sink and planting occasional raspberries on her tummy. Oh, how she would giggle. I thought of the first time she said “Dada” and Lex’s eyes pooled up with tears of joy. I also thought of the time he accidentally knocked her into the open door of the oven while drunk and yelling at a football game. It was time to get down to business. I made sure Ava was sound asleep, kissed her on the forehead, and headed out with nothing but a bottle of apple pie moonshine and some rope. My blood began pumping ferociously and my heart began to flutter with a multitude of emotions: the fear of being caught, then a flash of confidence, the joy of being set free, and the guilt of taking another’s life. I began to compose myself and regain focus. It was almost over.
After we arrived at the cabin I quickly got him boozed up, and told him we were playing a fun little game I had read in Cosmo. Blindfolded and naked on a stool, I observed this man who had controlled my existence for 7 years. His body still resembled his muscular 21 year old stature. His thighs were covered in stick and poke tattoos and were nearly as toned as they were back in his baseball days. His forearms were meaty and screamed masculinity. They were the type of forearms cave women looked for in a good hunter-gatherer. He smiled his crooked little smile and revealed the tooth I had chipped on our vacation to the Grand Canyon while drunkenly popping a champagne cork in the car. I had always thought it was sort of charming. He was a beautiful specimen with rotten insides. Boy, had I adored him. As I looked over him a final time contemplating escape plans again and beginning to change my mind, Lex showed his true colors once more. “Hey babe, can we hurry this up? The re-run of Duck Hunters is coming on in ten minutes.” Boom! An hour and a half later I was home taking a bath with a glass of sangria being serenaded by the crickets outside of my window.
Sure I get sad that he is gone sometimes. Just the other day I needed someone to help me carry groceries up the stairs. I sure missed him then. My lack of regret or remorse may come as a shock to the normal Joe Shmo, but has Mr. Shmo had so many of his own teeth knocked down his throat for changing the television channel that he nearly choked to death? I think not. If some day I should have a conscious feeling of guilt, then perhaps I will report myself. For now, I will diligently keep my Meryl Streep level façade up in hopes that no one finds me out and that my daughter will soon overcome the loss of her father. She is young and resilient and we will cope together. If anything this loss will bring us closer.
This day and age a woman has to take her life into her own hands. If necessary, take it back at any cost if someone has deprived you of your humanity. I can only hope that in Lex’s last few minutes, I could return the favor and teach him a life lesson of his own. Just remember fellas, this is a man’s world, but it would be nothing without a woman or a girl.
Friday, March 11, 2011
Lex
I had never really thought about it until I met him. We met at a casual get together at an apartment on the North side of town about 3 years ago. My first impression was not the best. His name was Lex. He was fairly attractive, but at that time, he presented himself in a way that somehow totally masked these looks I would become so fond of later on. He was arrogant. Oh boy, was he ever. Lex spoke very confidently about things that no one really gave two shits about, but his presence and voice were so commanding that everyone listened. Everyone kept their full attention on this one man as he spoke, and during the times when he was not speaking, everyone was waiting for him to start back up. I noticed the tone in his voice and the confidence he exuded, but was not as impressed as the others. I saw that he got off to the attention and I was never really a fan of kissing ass because someone thought they were worthy of it.
I walked in and kissed the cheeks of my current lover, best friend, and brother and began to tell about how I saw this old man with a knife on the bus earlier that day.
“He was piss drunk falling all over the place, and after he finally sat down he kept sucking on his knife and staring at me! I didn’t know if he wanted to fuck me or kill me.”
Suddenly the attention turned from him to me. I noticed him giving me “the look.” No, not the “fucking me with his eyes” or “fuck you” look…more like a “game on.”
“It’s funny that you assume he would automatically want to have sex with you.”
“Well, 50% of the men I meet want to have sex, 25% of them want to murder me, and the other 25% would partake in both. It’s statistics. I’ve done the research. I was just having trouble deciphering which demographic he was in.”
He was not impressed with my smart ass remark, but didn’t have a rebuttal. He just kind of laughed and started talking to a slightly intoxicated and very cute girl beside him. This was the only interaction I had with him that evening that I can remember. To be honest, I got a bit intoxicated and distracted by the beautiful Italian man that I had been involved with for quite some time. We disappeared into the bedroom, never to return and I didn’t think once more about Lex that evening.
I woke up the next morning to the sounds of a blender and my brother yelling “WHO WANTS A GOOD MORNING MARGARITA!?” Let me tell you a bit about my brother: Will was a very intelligent, very cynical, and depressed alcoholic. He was also not my brother. We bonded over our love of alcohol and immediately had that fraternal bond. Relation at first sight, or some shit. He admitted to his alcoholism, no problem, but saw no problem. He preferred a life of constant inebriation to the lives of “squares” who were always stressed with work, school, and “normal” life. He was the party. If you were at his place, you were drinking good beer, and good liquor, but you were eating 4 month old E-Z Mac. He ordered humongous amounts of alcohol every week with his mother’s credit card. (His parents were extremely wealthy. So wealthy, that it took them about a year to notice he was ordering 400 dollars’ worth of alcohol every month.) William had a few bad moments where we would have to coax him down off of the balcony and such, but aside from that and his aggressive tongue when he drank til 5 am, he was a great guy. He valued his friends and would die for a select few. I was one of those few and I could read him like a book. I really adored him like a brother and he adored me just the same.
He was provided a loft on the North side of town by his parents while he was “figuring out” school and such. It was a beautiful space with high ceilings, hardwood floors, and appliances that told you to “have a good day,” or to “enjoy your meal.” I always thought that was fancy and it really impressed me. At this point in my life, I was 19 and in the midst of coming out of a huge depression and a close to 4 month drinking binge. I had not lived with my mother since I was 17 and had lived with Will since I was 18. We stayed in this loft and I crashed on the couch, because the other bedroom was occupied by a family friend. I lived here for a while and met a lot of people before Lex came into the picture. When I first met him, I thought he was just another person who comes through hoping to score a cool place to crash, a girl to fuck, and some free booze. Boy, was I wrong. I would have told him to turn back and never come around if I had been able to predict the future. I am the worst thing that ever happened to Lex Daniels.
I walked in and kissed the cheeks of my current lover, best friend, and brother and began to tell about how I saw this old man with a knife on the bus earlier that day.
“He was piss drunk falling all over the place, and after he finally sat down he kept sucking on his knife and staring at me! I didn’t know if he wanted to fuck me or kill me.”
Suddenly the attention turned from him to me. I noticed him giving me “the look.” No, not the “fucking me with his eyes” or “fuck you” look…more like a “game on.”
“It’s funny that you assume he would automatically want to have sex with you.”
“Well, 50% of the men I meet want to have sex, 25% of them want to murder me, and the other 25% would partake in both. It’s statistics. I’ve done the research. I was just having trouble deciphering which demographic he was in.”
He was not impressed with my smart ass remark, but didn’t have a rebuttal. He just kind of laughed and started talking to a slightly intoxicated and very cute girl beside him. This was the only interaction I had with him that evening that I can remember. To be honest, I got a bit intoxicated and distracted by the beautiful Italian man that I had been involved with for quite some time. We disappeared into the bedroom, never to return and I didn’t think once more about Lex that evening.
I woke up the next morning to the sounds of a blender and my brother yelling “WHO WANTS A GOOD MORNING MARGARITA!?” Let me tell you a bit about my brother: Will was a very intelligent, very cynical, and depressed alcoholic. He was also not my brother. We bonded over our love of alcohol and immediately had that fraternal bond. Relation at first sight, or some shit. He admitted to his alcoholism, no problem, but saw no problem. He preferred a life of constant inebriation to the lives of “squares” who were always stressed with work, school, and “normal” life. He was the party. If you were at his place, you were drinking good beer, and good liquor, but you were eating 4 month old E-Z Mac. He ordered humongous amounts of alcohol every week with his mother’s credit card. (His parents were extremely wealthy. So wealthy, that it took them about a year to notice he was ordering 400 dollars’ worth of alcohol every month.) William had a few bad moments where we would have to coax him down off of the balcony and such, but aside from that and his aggressive tongue when he drank til 5 am, he was a great guy. He valued his friends and would die for a select few. I was one of those few and I could read him like a book. I really adored him like a brother and he adored me just the same.
He was provided a loft on the North side of town by his parents while he was “figuring out” school and such. It was a beautiful space with high ceilings, hardwood floors, and appliances that told you to “have a good day,” or to “enjoy your meal.” I always thought that was fancy and it really impressed me. At this point in my life, I was 19 and in the midst of coming out of a huge depression and a close to 4 month drinking binge. I had not lived with my mother since I was 17 and had lived with Will since I was 18. We stayed in this loft and I crashed on the couch, because the other bedroom was occupied by a family friend. I lived here for a while and met a lot of people before Lex came into the picture. When I first met him, I thought he was just another person who comes through hoping to score a cool place to crash, a girl to fuck, and some free booze. Boy, was I wrong. I would have told him to turn back and never come around if I had been able to predict the future. I am the worst thing that ever happened to Lex Daniels.
Monday, July 20, 2009
This was in my drafts?
"He's a sloucher."
That was my very first though of him. He was sitting on a bench hunched over drawing in an old raggedy sketchbook with the tip of his tongue barely peeking out of the corner of his mouth and one eyebrow raised. I remember admiring the fact that in a park filled with tons of people, he was still so concentrated on his "masterpiece." I guess, we had that in common because all I could concentrate on was him.
"Dylan. Dylan, what are you staring at?"
I scattered my eyes around to try and find something somewhat interesting.
"Those two dogs over there are doing it."
Of course, Andy laughed. Andy was my boy of about a year. He had asked me to make it official several times, but I could never bring myself to do it. He was a good guy and all, but he never really did anything out of the normal. He was clean, smart, humorous, and wealthy. Andy was everything my mother wanted in a man, and since she never found it, she left it up to me to marry him. I wasn't going to marry Andy. I could not marry Andy. I didn't know where it was going, but I knew that I didn't mind his company. Therefore, we would go on these little outings such as today to the park for a picnic.
"Ha ha. You're such a pervert. Sometimes I think part of your brain is that of a 13 year old boy's. You are 23, right?" Andy could be a dick.
"hmmph thanks."
He got up and proceeded to throw a frisbee to Lady, his mother's Labrador. Now that the dog had distracted him my eyes focused back on the stranger. He was still focusing intently on his drawing, but now he looked so puzzled. It was almost as if he was looking at something completely foreign and obscene. I wanted to know so badly what was on this piece of paper, but I knew myself and I knew I wouldn't muster up the courage to walk right over and ask. And so, I sat there and watched him contemplate the work of art. The nibbling of his fingernails, and the concerned look in his eye made him seem as if he wasn't very open to outsiders, but what do I know. I watched his mouth gnaw at his nails and his eyes flutter around the page for a while before he noticed. When he finally did see me I made no effort to turn away or break eye contact. I didn't feel like I needed to. We stared at each other for a while, scoping each other out I guess you could say. Kind of how dogs do when they're first introduced. I don't know how long this went on before, slowly, the corners of his mouth began to rise and his cheeks began to flush.
"Aw, he's blushing?!"
My face began to follow suit. Shy smiled and red cheeked we stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity before Andy came back.
That was my very first though of him. He was sitting on a bench hunched over drawing in an old raggedy sketchbook with the tip of his tongue barely peeking out of the corner of his mouth and one eyebrow raised. I remember admiring the fact that in a park filled with tons of people, he was still so concentrated on his "masterpiece." I guess, we had that in common because all I could concentrate on was him.
"Dylan. Dylan, what are you staring at?"
I scattered my eyes around to try and find something somewhat interesting.
"Those two dogs over there are doing it."
Of course, Andy laughed. Andy was my boy of about a year. He had asked me to make it official several times, but I could never bring myself to do it. He was a good guy and all, but he never really did anything out of the normal. He was clean, smart, humorous, and wealthy. Andy was everything my mother wanted in a man, and since she never found it, she left it up to me to marry him. I wasn't going to marry Andy. I could not marry Andy. I didn't know where it was going, but I knew that I didn't mind his company. Therefore, we would go on these little outings such as today to the park for a picnic.
"Ha ha. You're such a pervert. Sometimes I think part of your brain is that of a 13 year old boy's. You are 23, right?" Andy could be a dick.
"hmmph thanks."
He got up and proceeded to throw a frisbee to Lady, his mother's Labrador. Now that the dog had distracted him my eyes focused back on the stranger. He was still focusing intently on his drawing, but now he looked so puzzled. It was almost as if he was looking at something completely foreign and obscene. I wanted to know so badly what was on this piece of paper, but I knew myself and I knew I wouldn't muster up the courage to walk right over and ask. And so, I sat there and watched him contemplate the work of art. The nibbling of his fingernails, and the concerned look in his eye made him seem as if he wasn't very open to outsiders, but what do I know. I watched his mouth gnaw at his nails and his eyes flutter around the page for a while before he noticed. When he finally did see me I made no effort to turn away or break eye contact. I didn't feel like I needed to. We stared at each other for a while, scoping each other out I guess you could say. Kind of how dogs do when they're first introduced. I don't know how long this went on before, slowly, the corners of his mouth began to rise and his cheeks began to flush.
"Aw, he's blushing?!"
My face began to follow suit. Shy smiled and red cheeked we stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity before Andy came back.
Poem I wrote in 7th grade
"Music of Our Lives"
A gentle whisper,
A shout of joy,
The sound of a proposal by a boy.
A harsh slap,
An infant's cry,
A mother's scream with a tear in her eye.
A shot fired,
A siren coming to assist,
The breath of a man wishing this event, he had missed.
Screams of pain,
Sighs of relief,
A smack upon a baby's cheek.
All of these noises in one combined
Make a never-ending opera.
The music of today;
The music of our lives.
A gentle whisper,
A shout of joy,
The sound of a proposal by a boy.
A harsh slap,
An infant's cry,
A mother's scream with a tear in her eye.
A shot fired,
A siren coming to assist,
The breath of a man wishing this event, he had missed.
Screams of pain,
Sighs of relief,
A smack upon a baby's cheek.
All of these noises in one combined
Make a never-ending opera.
The music of today;
The music of our lives.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Oral History with Jeff Childress
P: Hi, Mr. Childress. What year and where were you born and where did you live most of your life?
J: I was born on July 20th, 1956 in Birmingham, St. Vincent’s to be specific, and I haven’t left the Fultondale or Gardendale area since! I’ve been here for all of my life.
P: Has it changed much here since when you were a kid?
J: Well, people don’t put things in their noses as much as they used to. Ha-ha I’m just kidding. Let me see. Well, back then everyone’s momma stayed home and the men were the ones who brought home the bacon. Men always went to the barber shop. Back then men were men. Men got their hair cut by men. If you got your hair cut by a woman, you were a sissy!
There was a good bit more security when I was growing up, too. All the neighborhood kids went out and played until the street light came home. When the light came home, ya knew it was time to go home. You can’t do that now! Society has changed a good bit.
P: That sounds almost like Mayberry. Ha-ha How was school when you were younger? Were you segregated?
J: My classes back then were more structured. My son works in groups now at school, that was never done when I was in school. They wouldn’t even let you talk! My school started out segregated all through elementary. Then, in 7th grade, Gardendale started busing in three loads of blacks from North Birmingham. We didn’t associate much at first. Even though we were all in the same school we were still segregated in a way. It took a good little while to blend.
P: How did the busing affect you?
J: I wasn’t really angry because I was so young. I just didn’t understand. It made no sense why they would bus these kids in from so far away. Some of the kids said they got up at 5:30 in the morning to get to school, and that they wouldn’t get home ‘til around 4:30 to 5 ’o clock. I always thought it was just a plan put in place to make someone in Washington D.C. happy.
P: Were you friends with any of the integrated students?
J: By 8th and 9th grade, yeah, I was. 7th grade was awkward. It was the same situation as when you get a new student, but the color issue extended the breaking in time.
P: What was your parents’ opinion on this situation?
J: My daddy wanted me in North Jefferson where I could get a good city school education. When he heard talk of integration we moved to Fultondale. Now, he wasn’t a racist man. He only did it for the fear factor. There was expected trouble with the integration considering there were dogs on the TV attacking blacks and officers hosing them down. My parents tried to shelter me. The subject would get brought up around me and then quickly changed. I remember one day I was in the barber shop with my daddy to get a haircut and there way a guy in the chair talking about the march on Selma. My dad was getting pretty aggravated with the man until he found out that the man was a police officer. I remember the man saying distinctly that they would pop the blacks in the knees to make them fall and get trampled.
P: Did you ever see any of the dog attacks or the hosing?
J: I saw it mostly on TV. The dogs were scary, but the hosing off looked fun to me, because I was so young. I couldn’t really grasp how much pressure was behind all of the water.
P: Did you sympathize with them or was it normal to you?
J: I didn’t really sympathize because I didn’t understand. Police had dogs and the police were supposed to be the good guys. They were your friends. I always thought the blacks must have done something wrong to be treated like that. My opinion changed in high school. One time, we were at the local Kroger’s grocery mart and a young white couple was standing on the sidewalk, because back then there was just a huge sidewalk that everyone walked on in front of the store. They were in the normal attire: penny loafers, bobby socks, and rolled up pants. They recited a racial poem several times protesting integration. I still remember it.
P: How did it go?
J: “2 4 6 8, we don’t want to integrate. 8 6 4 2, we don’t want them jigaboos.”
P: Wow. Do you remember anything pertaining to MLK?
J: I don’t remember him as much as I do Rosa Parks and her not getting off of the bus because that happened here, you know? It was all over the news. I do remember the I have a dream speech. There was one part that I really loved “not judged by color of their skin but by the content of their character.” That really impressed me. I remember his assassination because we got out of school that day, but that’s about it.
P: Did you witness a lot of black bullying?
J: Yeah, we had some, but in my minds eye, the blacks resented being there and they lashed out a good bit at the whites. They were forced out of their environment and out of their comfort zone so they were angry. Back then was the first hint of a gang-type situation. If you fought one black, you fought three or four. It was never one on one like we were used to. In lunch one day a black boy had been making nasty remarks to a white girl, and the white girl’s boyfriend walked over to black section of the lunchroom and told him to leave her alone. The entire three black tables stood up. Then, the whole lunchroom stood up. Coaches and administrators came in to take folding chairs away from the kids, because back then we had chairs and not built in seats, and to break it up. The administration wanted to keep the fights and bullying pretty “hush, hush” because the plan was supposed to work smoothly, although it didn’t always.
It always seemed to me that the blacks education wasn’t as advanced. The blacks who were normally A students struggled once they were integrated into the white schools. The black teachers seemed almost inferior to the white teachers, too. I remember I had a black geography teacher and on the first day she had us make a large dot and a small dot and connect them with a line. Then she asked us to draw our hand and then walked around and gave everyone one hundreds. Some of the students who wanted to learn reported her and she was fired and replaced with a white woman three days later.
P: When did all of the racial tension really begin to calm down?
J: During my junior and senior year things got better. A couple of blacks contributed to football and bonded with some white athletes. If you were an athlete, you were the “in” crowd and you were always recognized and accepted. The other students at the school simply began to follow suit with the athletes. They talked and sat together at dances and stuff, but there was never any interracial couples. Black boys wouldn’t even dance with let alone touch white girls. That just wasn’t accepted. Black boys came to dances with black girls, and white boys came with white girls.
P: What year did you graduate?
J: 1974.
P: Okay. Do you remember man walking on the moon?
J: Yes! It was July 20th,1969 around 10 o’ clock. It’s my birthday that’s why I remember! I watched the man on the moon at my cousin’s house. I remember thinking that looking at the surface of the moon was one of the coolest things in my life! About a week later, I was in the barber shop again with my dad and a min in there swore it was fixed. This guy would get livid if you tried to disprove wrestling, but he thought man walking on the moon was fake. I remember there was also a lady on the news who thought that the astronauts were going to bring back diseases and that they should stay on the moon. That is real, I’m not making this stuff up!
P: Ha-ha that’s really funny! How was the music scene in the sixties? I know that it was a big deal back then.
J: When I was younger, you had those “doo-whop” harmonies, as I liked to call them, and that’s what I liked. My mother loved Glen Miller, Louis Armstrong, and stuff like that, so that’s what was played in my house and that’s what I grew up with. My friend’s parent’s usually listened to The Temptations and the general Motown sound. When I started buying music I began with mainly The Beatles and early Stones. By high school it was all southern rock for me. I loved Lynard Skynard, The Allman Brothers, Wet Will, and other music like that. That was my genre! I loved it!
P: Were you ever into the hippie scene?
J: I was too young for the hippie stuff. I was only in late elementary or junior high. They were on the news almost daily for protesting against the Vietnam War. After the first few protests they all kind of ran together and it was a normal thing. It was also nothing to hear the death count from the war. It got to the point to where people were jaded. Most people had a “I’m not involved, so I kind of don’t care” attitude. I remember the had the “Make peace, Not war,” signs. I remember the tie dye, blue jeans, sandals, and long hair--which parents hated, by the way!
P: We learned about “yippies” and Woodstock in history class. Did you ever hear anything about either of those?
J: I didn’t know about Woodstock until after the fact and I always thought that yippies was a ridiculous classification. It was like they didn’t want to commit to being hippies, but they wanted to be something. They were ridiculous.
P: Did you know anyone who was drafted?
J: Yes, several older guys who graduated a year or two before me. I didn’t know anyone who didn’t come back, though. One boy, 2 years older than me, came back pretty messed up. It took him a while to get even somewhat back to normal. When he came home he emptied his room of everything but his mattress. He sat, slept, and ate on the floor. He had black lights and beads all over his room. He was almost a hippie, but without the normal long hair. He kept his hair army style. His father said “He physically and mentally went to Vietnam, but only physically came back.”
P: That’s intense. I know back then the war was broadcasted on TV. Did you ever see this?
J: Yes. That brought the war into people’s homes. It brought it right into their living rooms! You were able to see actual war and explosions happening rather than just seeing pictures like previous wars. It was routine that every night you would watch the weather, sports, news and then the footage and death count. They would show a chart with American deaths v. Viet Cong deaths. It came out later that some of the numbers were made up because some generals wanted to sound better.
P: Did you sign up for the draft?
J: Yes. I signed up for the draft and had to carry my card at all times, because you had to have it 24-7. I had my card for about 6 months and then they pulled out and stopped the draft. Ii was one happy camper, believe me! Me and the military life just wouldn’t work.
P: Was your family Republican of Democratic?
J: At the time, they were Democrats. Back then, Republicans were considered the rich and Democrats were considered the poor. Daddy voted for Kennedy, but during high school he changed his mind. Daddy said that he didn’t leave the Democrats, but the Democrats left him because they had become increasingly more liberal. I’ve always been a Republican, I’ve always bee conservative. Even in church you can find me on the far right hand side of the pew. I’m as far to the right as it gets.
P: Who was the first president you voted for?
J: I was eighteen, and they had just recently changed the law because you could get drafted at eighteen and die for your country, but you couldn’t vote for your country. I voted for whoever ran against Carter. I can’t remember who Carter’s opponent was, though. I always vote for the candidate who I think will be best for the country and now just for me. I’m pretty crazy about my country.
P: One word. Disco.
J: I was a true blue southern rock kind of guy, so I didn’t really get into the disco stuff much. I did have Leisure suits, but I didn’t dance! I wasn’t a dancer. Most people I knew had three or four leisure suits that they would wear to church. Hey, It was an excuse not to wear a tie!
P: Do you remember any certain event that just seemed to have a huge impact on you?
J: When Charles Manson did his thing, I was traveling through Yellowstone National Park. There was a rumor that the Manson family had escaped and was hiding in Yellowstone. None of my family members could get in touch with us so they thought we were at risk to be murdered! I was fifteen at the time. That was probably one of the most shocking things I had ever experienced. I watched a lot of the news coverage on it because there was a family scare with me about it. The news showed some of the crime scene. It showed where they had written
PIG” on the walls and some other stuff that I don’t want on the record. Ha-ha You saw the bodies coming out on stretchers, but that was about as gruesome as the news got. I’m very interested. He was very bizarre as well as his followers.
P: Did you hear a lot about cults and communes back then?
J: Well, you had your hippie communes and things but nothing really ridiculous ‘til Manson and Jim Jones, but I don’t know a lot about that. I do know that those who tried to escape were killed by his henchmen.
P: What invention was the best thing since sliced bread to you?
J: It has to be a toss between the microwave and the remote control. Its probably the microwave. When I was a senior a good buddy of mine had a microwave. We really thought we were something back then. We would cut class to go microwave sandwiches for lunch. Color TV was neat, too. That came around in ‘69. But, you have to know, the color was really bad with the rabbit ears! The remote controlled TV came around in the late 70s.
P: Thank you very much. I’m so glad I got to interview you!
J: No problem!
J: I was born on July 20th, 1956 in Birmingham, St. Vincent’s to be specific, and I haven’t left the Fultondale or Gardendale area since! I’ve been here for all of my life.
P: Has it changed much here since when you were a kid?
J: Well, people don’t put things in their noses as much as they used to. Ha-ha I’m just kidding. Let me see. Well, back then everyone’s momma stayed home and the men were the ones who brought home the bacon. Men always went to the barber shop. Back then men were men. Men got their hair cut by men. If you got your hair cut by a woman, you were a sissy!
There was a good bit more security when I was growing up, too. All the neighborhood kids went out and played until the street light came home. When the light came home, ya knew it was time to go home. You can’t do that now! Society has changed a good bit.
P: That sounds almost like Mayberry. Ha-ha How was school when you were younger? Were you segregated?
J: My classes back then were more structured. My son works in groups now at school, that was never done when I was in school. They wouldn’t even let you talk! My school started out segregated all through elementary. Then, in 7th grade, Gardendale started busing in three loads of blacks from North Birmingham. We didn’t associate much at first. Even though we were all in the same school we were still segregated in a way. It took a good little while to blend.
P: How did the busing affect you?
J: I wasn’t really angry because I was so young. I just didn’t understand. It made no sense why they would bus these kids in from so far away. Some of the kids said they got up at 5:30 in the morning to get to school, and that they wouldn’t get home ‘til around 4:30 to 5 ’o clock. I always thought it was just a plan put in place to make someone in Washington D.C. happy.
P: Were you friends with any of the integrated students?
J: By 8th and 9th grade, yeah, I was. 7th grade was awkward. It was the same situation as when you get a new student, but the color issue extended the breaking in time.
P: What was your parents’ opinion on this situation?
J: My daddy wanted me in North Jefferson where I could get a good city school education. When he heard talk of integration we moved to Fultondale. Now, he wasn’t a racist man. He only did it for the fear factor. There was expected trouble with the integration considering there were dogs on the TV attacking blacks and officers hosing them down. My parents tried to shelter me. The subject would get brought up around me and then quickly changed. I remember one day I was in the barber shop with my daddy to get a haircut and there way a guy in the chair talking about the march on Selma. My dad was getting pretty aggravated with the man until he found out that the man was a police officer. I remember the man saying distinctly that they would pop the blacks in the knees to make them fall and get trampled.
P: Did you ever see any of the dog attacks or the hosing?
J: I saw it mostly on TV. The dogs were scary, but the hosing off looked fun to me, because I was so young. I couldn’t really grasp how much pressure was behind all of the water.
P: Did you sympathize with them or was it normal to you?
J: I didn’t really sympathize because I didn’t understand. Police had dogs and the police were supposed to be the good guys. They were your friends. I always thought the blacks must have done something wrong to be treated like that. My opinion changed in high school. One time, we were at the local Kroger’s grocery mart and a young white couple was standing on the sidewalk, because back then there was just a huge sidewalk that everyone walked on in front of the store. They were in the normal attire: penny loafers, bobby socks, and rolled up pants. They recited a racial poem several times protesting integration. I still remember it.
P: How did it go?
J: “2 4 6 8, we don’t want to integrate. 8 6 4 2, we don’t want them jigaboos.”
P: Wow. Do you remember anything pertaining to MLK?
J: I don’t remember him as much as I do Rosa Parks and her not getting off of the bus because that happened here, you know? It was all over the news. I do remember the I have a dream speech. There was one part that I really loved “not judged by color of their skin but by the content of their character.” That really impressed me. I remember his assassination because we got out of school that day, but that’s about it.
P: Did you witness a lot of black bullying?
J: Yeah, we had some, but in my minds eye, the blacks resented being there and they lashed out a good bit at the whites. They were forced out of their environment and out of their comfort zone so they were angry. Back then was the first hint of a gang-type situation. If you fought one black, you fought three or four. It was never one on one like we were used to. In lunch one day a black boy had been making nasty remarks to a white girl, and the white girl’s boyfriend walked over to black section of the lunchroom and told him to leave her alone. The entire three black tables stood up. Then, the whole lunchroom stood up. Coaches and administrators came in to take folding chairs away from the kids, because back then we had chairs and not built in seats, and to break it up. The administration wanted to keep the fights and bullying pretty “hush, hush” because the plan was supposed to work smoothly, although it didn’t always.
It always seemed to me that the blacks education wasn’t as advanced. The blacks who were normally A students struggled once they were integrated into the white schools. The black teachers seemed almost inferior to the white teachers, too. I remember I had a black geography teacher and on the first day she had us make a large dot and a small dot and connect them with a line. Then she asked us to draw our hand and then walked around and gave everyone one hundreds. Some of the students who wanted to learn reported her and she was fired and replaced with a white woman three days later.
P: When did all of the racial tension really begin to calm down?
J: During my junior and senior year things got better. A couple of blacks contributed to football and bonded with some white athletes. If you were an athlete, you were the “in” crowd and you were always recognized and accepted. The other students at the school simply began to follow suit with the athletes. They talked and sat together at dances and stuff, but there was never any interracial couples. Black boys wouldn’t even dance with let alone touch white girls. That just wasn’t accepted. Black boys came to dances with black girls, and white boys came with white girls.
P: What year did you graduate?
J: 1974.
P: Okay. Do you remember man walking on the moon?
J: Yes! It was July 20th,1969 around 10 o’ clock. It’s my birthday that’s why I remember! I watched the man on the moon at my cousin’s house. I remember thinking that looking at the surface of the moon was one of the coolest things in my life! About a week later, I was in the barber shop again with my dad and a min in there swore it was fixed. This guy would get livid if you tried to disprove wrestling, but he thought man walking on the moon was fake. I remember there was also a lady on the news who thought that the astronauts were going to bring back diseases and that they should stay on the moon. That is real, I’m not making this stuff up!
P: Ha-ha that’s really funny! How was the music scene in the sixties? I know that it was a big deal back then.
J: When I was younger, you had those “doo-whop” harmonies, as I liked to call them, and that’s what I liked. My mother loved Glen Miller, Louis Armstrong, and stuff like that, so that’s what was played in my house and that’s what I grew up with. My friend’s parent’s usually listened to The Temptations and the general Motown sound. When I started buying music I began with mainly The Beatles and early Stones. By high school it was all southern rock for me. I loved Lynard Skynard, The Allman Brothers, Wet Will, and other music like that. That was my genre! I loved it!
P: Were you ever into the hippie scene?
J: I was too young for the hippie stuff. I was only in late elementary or junior high. They were on the news almost daily for protesting against the Vietnam War. After the first few protests they all kind of ran together and it was a normal thing. It was also nothing to hear the death count from the war. It got to the point to where people were jaded. Most people had a “I’m not involved, so I kind of don’t care” attitude. I remember the had the “Make peace, Not war,” signs. I remember the tie dye, blue jeans, sandals, and long hair--which parents hated, by the way!
P: We learned about “yippies” and Woodstock in history class. Did you ever hear anything about either of those?
J: I didn’t know about Woodstock until after the fact and I always thought that yippies was a ridiculous classification. It was like they didn’t want to commit to being hippies, but they wanted to be something. They were ridiculous.
P: Did you know anyone who was drafted?
J: Yes, several older guys who graduated a year or two before me. I didn’t know anyone who didn’t come back, though. One boy, 2 years older than me, came back pretty messed up. It took him a while to get even somewhat back to normal. When he came home he emptied his room of everything but his mattress. He sat, slept, and ate on the floor. He had black lights and beads all over his room. He was almost a hippie, but without the normal long hair. He kept his hair army style. His father said “He physically and mentally went to Vietnam, but only physically came back.”
P: That’s intense. I know back then the war was broadcasted on TV. Did you ever see this?
J: Yes. That brought the war into people’s homes. It brought it right into their living rooms! You were able to see actual war and explosions happening rather than just seeing pictures like previous wars. It was routine that every night you would watch the weather, sports, news and then the footage and death count. They would show a chart with American deaths v. Viet Cong deaths. It came out later that some of the numbers were made up because some generals wanted to sound better.
P: Did you sign up for the draft?
J: Yes. I signed up for the draft and had to carry my card at all times, because you had to have it 24-7. I had my card for about 6 months and then they pulled out and stopped the draft. Ii was one happy camper, believe me! Me and the military life just wouldn’t work.
P: Was your family Republican of Democratic?
J: At the time, they were Democrats. Back then, Republicans were considered the rich and Democrats were considered the poor. Daddy voted for Kennedy, but during high school he changed his mind. Daddy said that he didn’t leave the Democrats, but the Democrats left him because they had become increasingly more liberal. I’ve always been a Republican, I’ve always bee conservative. Even in church you can find me on the far right hand side of the pew. I’m as far to the right as it gets.
P: Who was the first president you voted for?
J: I was eighteen, and they had just recently changed the law because you could get drafted at eighteen and die for your country, but you couldn’t vote for your country. I voted for whoever ran against Carter. I can’t remember who Carter’s opponent was, though. I always vote for the candidate who I think will be best for the country and now just for me. I’m pretty crazy about my country.
P: One word. Disco.
J: I was a true blue southern rock kind of guy, so I didn’t really get into the disco stuff much. I did have Leisure suits, but I didn’t dance! I wasn’t a dancer. Most people I knew had three or four leisure suits that they would wear to church. Hey, It was an excuse not to wear a tie!
P: Do you remember any certain event that just seemed to have a huge impact on you?
J: When Charles Manson did his thing, I was traveling through Yellowstone National Park. There was a rumor that the Manson family had escaped and was hiding in Yellowstone. None of my family members could get in touch with us so they thought we were at risk to be murdered! I was fifteen at the time. That was probably one of the most shocking things I had ever experienced. I watched a lot of the news coverage on it because there was a family scare with me about it. The news showed some of the crime scene. It showed where they had written
PIG” on the walls and some other stuff that I don’t want on the record. Ha-ha You saw the bodies coming out on stretchers, but that was about as gruesome as the news got. I’m very interested. He was very bizarre as well as his followers.
P: Did you hear a lot about cults and communes back then?
J: Well, you had your hippie communes and things but nothing really ridiculous ‘til Manson and Jim Jones, but I don’t know a lot about that. I do know that those who tried to escape were killed by his henchmen.
P: What invention was the best thing since sliced bread to you?
J: It has to be a toss between the microwave and the remote control. Its probably the microwave. When I was a senior a good buddy of mine had a microwave. We really thought we were something back then. We would cut class to go microwave sandwiches for lunch. Color TV was neat, too. That came around in ‘69. But, you have to know, the color was really bad with the rabbit ears! The remote controlled TV came around in the late 70s.
P: Thank you very much. I’m so glad I got to interview you!
J: No problem!
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Satirical Analysis: The Onion
Read the passage here:
The Onion is a publication devoted to humor and satire. In 1999 there was an article printed in The Onion about MagnaSoles. MagnaSoles is a supposed new and revolutionary product to help heal not only your feet, but your entire body. The diction used in this article helps satirize how products are advertized quite efficiently.
The tone of this article is that of an infomercial. There are testimonies from doctors, scientists, and even consumers of the product. You can almost hear Billy Mays in the background promoting this product with utmost enthusiasm, such as his Oxiclean commercials. It presents and explains several forms of science used to create a product that could, evidently, remarkably heal an individual with a spine that is out of line! To any ditz thumbing through a magazine, this article may seem realistic and the person could possibly even be tricked into believing this was serious or maybe even into purchasing these miracle healing insoles! If the reader were to pay close attention to the diction of the paragraph they would see that this article is nothing but a mockery of advertisements of this sort.
The obvious mockery begins in the introductory paragraph. The author states that the MagnaSoles use “no fewer than five forms of pseudoscience.” The prefix “pseudo”, in the Webster’s New World Dictionary, is defined as being false, a sham, or counterfeit. The addition of a simple prefix at the end of the paragraph sets the satirical mood. The passage goes on to explain the few forms of “pseudoscience” used in creating these magical MagnaSoles.
Describing a scientific technique called reflexology as being semi-plausible, and filing terranometry under the pseudoscience category obviously states that these techniques are not to be trusted. If the author did not point out that it was semi-plausible or somewhat false, some readers would be convinced that these techniques were the top new scientific techniques out there, and that there was no room for doubt!
The author uses what he refers to as “scientific-sounding literature” to emphasize the fact that products such as these can be described in such a way that it sounds extremely scientific and believable, even though the reader has no idea what any of the terms mean. For example: “[…]special resonator nodules implanted at key spots in the MagnaSoles convert the wearer’s own energy to match the Earth’s natural vibrational rate of 32.705 kilofrankels. The resultant harmonic energy field rearranges the foot’s naturally occurring atoms, converting the pain-nuclei into pleasing comfortrons.” The words “kilofrankels,” “pain-nuclei,” and “comfortrons” are not used anywhere in the human language. Using made-up words such as these emphasizes that advertisements will go to any extreme to promote a product with “scientific” evidence because it is automatically more believable.
The testimonies that are provided in the article would attract any gullible human being. One seems to speak of the healing powers of these MagnaSoles almost in comparison to the healing powers of Jesus in the bible. A man’s testimony states that instead of getting his spine realigned for thousands of dollars, he simply paid $20 for MagnaSoles and they have done an almost equivalent job. Another testimony states that a woman who had twisted her ankle wore the insoles for seven weeks and they healed her. Her ankle would have healed whether she was wearing these insoles or not. Many readers would not pick up on this while reading, but the average recovery time for a twisted ankle is four to six weeks. Therefore, the fact that she was wearing the insoles is completely irrelevant. This also backs up that advertisers seem to lie about almost anything to make a little bit of cash.
The overall satirical impact of the passage is effective in showing that these advertisements are ridiculous and overdramatic. The scientific-sounding jargon, pseudoscientific techniques, and over the top testimonies almost make it impossible to believe anything that these people claim that MagnaSoles do. While normal advertisements would not be this over embellished, they are not far from it and this article does a good job at making this fact a bit more obvious.
Analysis of Gary Soto Narrative
Read the passage here: http://teacherweb.com/TX/RoundRockHighSchool/MaryEsparza/SotoPiestory.doc
This autobiographical narrative passage from A Summer Life by Gary Soto is a story of a six year old boy stealing pie and realizing the amount of guilt that his sin has caused him to feel. Soto’s pacing, diction, repetitive theme, and detail emphasize the guilty feeling and almost make you feel as if you are in the position. The first noticeable thing is the theme of his religion being a very prevalent cause of his guilt.
The very first paragraph of the passage mentions Soto’s knowledge of hell and his constant holiness to prevent going to this place of the condemned. He states that almost daily he “heard faraway messages in the plumbing,” supposedly from God, and saw “angels flopping on the backyard grass.” Throughout the passage he reflects back to the howling and the angels. Soto states that after he got home from eating the pie he heard the howling and questioned whether or not it was God speaking to him. Soto also proved an allusion to Adam and Eve which was used as a comparison of them to him. He mentions that he knew an apple got Eve in trouble. This was relevant to him because he had stolen an apple pie and he had committed a sin which he had been told not to do. The fact that he was so religious causes the guilt to be extreme. This guilt is obviously shown throughout the passage in many ways.
One of the ways that the author shows the feeling of guilt is by the way he goes in to detail. He describes the pies, the market owner, the neighbors, and the general situation in great depth. Describing the surroundings and how he is eating the pie shows that he was very aware that he was doing something wrong and that the guilt hit him so hard that he paid attention to every occurrence. He memorized every person’s moves, every squirrel, and every tree.
“A car honked and the driver knew. Mrs. Hancock stood on her lawn, hands on her hip, and she knew. My mom, peeling a mountain of potatoes at the Redi-Spud factory, knew.” Stating that people who were nowhere around during the incident were aware of his sin emphasizes his feeling of guilt.
“A car honked and the driver knew. Mrs. Hancock stood on her lawn, hands on her hip, and she knew. My mom, peeling a mountain of potatoes at the Redi-Spud factory, knew.” Stating that people who were nowhere around during the incident were aware of his sin emphasizes his feeling of guilt.
Soto takes his time and builds up the story until finally ending with the understanding that he cannot take back what he has done and with his ultimate feeling of guilt. He begins with the complex description of the various pies and the actual pie-stealing event, and then leads on to describe the slow process of eating the pie and his realization of the sin after returning home. The fact that he stole the pie and did not immediately eat it highlights the fact that he was hesitant and felt guilty. His observances of the neighbors and such also pace out the story to make the feeling of guilt ultimate.
Diction in the passage such as “sticky with guilt” personalizes and elaborates more on the feeling of regret. His depiction of eating the pie was quite intricate. With him explaining the smell, the gold-colored slop in the afternoon sun, and the finger-dripping pieces, he makes you see how irresistible the pie seemed to be. This use of diction makes the reader relate more to the six year old. Referring to the sounds from the pipe as “a howl like the sea,” shows how intensely worried the possibility of God knowing made him. Many of the words chosen and the way they were put together make the passage much more intense. Rather than just telling people how guilty he felt he uses diction that helps suck the reader into the actual emotion.
Gary Soto’s use of rhetoric throughout this passage enthralls the reader. The person reading the passage can feel the actual emotion from the various uses of diction, detail, and pacing. The theme of religion also appeals to many individuals because nearly 85.8% of the world’s population is religious. Soto’s rhetoric was very effective in describing his own feeling of guilt while also evoking and reminding readers of how the emotion feels.
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