//Fiction and Snobbery

Matilde Urrutia

by cari | January, 2010

It isn’t simply that you are loved gloriously, or loved beautifully.
But rather that a pitch perfect expression of love for you sounds and sounds,
Rises into the very air.

Though the love itself may fade, I do not know,
The poetry you inspire ascends, ascending
Becomes stars and you, who are so loved,
Look quite infinite up there.

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Adventures in Urban Nesting

by adam | August, 2009

The following is the diary of the adventures of M and myself. We live in an officially designated “walkable neighborhood” through which we nevertheless drive. We cook a lot. We entertain our non-single friends at civilized gatherings involving barbecued foods. We attend age-appropriate social events. At a recent art opening featuring some particularly awful paintings, we sampled a Cow Basque cheese, which in spite of pressing events on the world stage, caused us to spend an inappropriate sum of time marveling at the deliciousness of that cheese. I am amused to imagine a younger me and how little I anticipated any of the above. If I’d been more on the ball, I would have taken a cooking class.

May 23, 2009

M moves into my house, which I was able to purchase thanks to the same questionable lending practices that have so embroiled our nation in the current economic crisis. Thank goodness for crooked bankers. We need the extra space in the yard to plant some vegetables.

May 27, 2009

Around the corner is a store called “The Little Knittery”. Over the past two years I’ve taken some joy in making the snarky observation that hipsters must live in your neighborhood when there’s a place there called “The Little Knittery”. This sterling observation may have been funnier when I still felt as if I was one of said hipsters, even just a little bit. Today it occurs to me that I might be a cooler person if I had cause to purchase yarn.

June 2, 2009

With M’s arrival also came a treadmill which I placed at the rear of the garage thinking that would be the end of that. Impossibly, I decide to begin running. In doing this, I set aside the last two decades of sedentary existence, during which time I managed to avoid joining the statistical marvel that is the obesity epidemic thanks only to a very dedicated metabolism. Soon I will be thin and fit, or so I will be told. More accurately, I will soon consider a visit to the jogging store where I will spend $170 on shoes which I will never allow myself to wear out in public.

June 4, 2009

We plant a vegetable garden and unknowingly join a cult of vegetable growing people. Now at least if I die wearing tennis shoes and a cape, it’ll be from something I grew. Like a squash gone horribly wrong. Note: avoid capes.

June 8, 2009

I have now added dorky running shorts with built-in underwear to my exercise ensemble. This slope is considerably more slippery than the warning labels would have you believe.

June 11, 2009

As the landscaping efforts in the yard approach the finish line, M is consumed with trying to find an appropriate spot to install a hammock. This makes her both adorable, and a little manic. Note: Before anyone suggests as much, I should add that I find those free-standing hammocks unsightly and generally objectionable.

June 15, 2009

Proudly sent pictures of our completed backyard landscaping endeavors and brimming vegetable garden to some of the family. My grandmother answers back with the following missive: “Hi!  I’m green with envy and proud of you for having your own garden – and then to make sausage risotto with a home-grown zucchini.   We called it a Victory Garden during WW2 and I remember New Zealand spinach – lots of Vitamin C. The chickens all got some horrible looking bag dragging behind them and eventually Beeps [my grandfather] had to drown them by holding their heads under water in a bucket.”

June 18, 2009

Have harvested one zucchini per day for last four days. Quickly running out of uses for zucchini. Will soon try: nap pillow, nerf substitute for in-home-football-related-chicanery, fuel source for futuristic zucchini powered car (note: invent that car, it sounds awesome), hair tonic and/or nasal decongestant, erotic accessory for dog (note: get dog).

June 19, 2009

M’s mother coming to visit tomorrow. I would be wise to conclude that this strange feeling of pride I feel from being so “adult” that my future mother-in-law would deign a visit, is a sure sign that I am still a child. Also, that I would refer to M’s mother using the above descriptor, is an indicator that M’s efforts to get me thinking about marriage have been hauntingly successful. She is wily.

June 20, 2009

Saturday night. 11pm. Drunk. It was the second bourbon that did it. M and I are in a bar full of people with whom I share an affinity, but who, in point of fact, would not say the same about me. Our topic? I have one year before we need to start having unprotected sex. My internal 20-year-old hears this and leaps with joy even while reminding himself that unprotected sex is “not cool man”. My modern, drunker self in the present tense, knows that there’s no way this means anything other than babies. Babies are now on the menu. And they are hungry.

NEXT TIME

During which time we better get to know M. While perusing paint colors at the local home-improvement-plex, M is recognized for her little-heralded supporting role in a mercifully cancelled television drama featuring melancholic college students. This is the first such occasion to which I have born witness. We end up settling on a paint color unfortunately dubbed “Kitten White”.

AND AFTER THAT

A birthday adventure to Vancouver. We choose this destination based on abundant assertions that Vancouver is a “surprisingly awesome place to visit that one would not naturally choose for a vacation destination”. Yes. People who told us about it used quotes, and they all said exactly those words. This plays into my brand new conspiracy theory that Canada is trying to lure all the good Americans north, thus leaving only a Sara Palin-esque underclass here at home. Canada’s status on the world stage will blossom! They ostensibly accomplish this by having delicious restaurants. Also on the trip, M encounters the friendliest raccoons in North America.

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The Story of Easter

by adam | March, 2008

It was AD 33 and a Sunday, as it would happen, when a true miracle occurred. Jesus, the son of God and the King of Kings, etc., came back to life and emerged from the crypt where he had been buried only three days before. Outside the crypt, he came upon a human sized bunny rabbit crying somberly on a nearby rock. Noticing the rabbit’s tears, Jesus went unto him and said:

“Hello Mr. Rabbit. I am Jesus Christ. Son of God and King of Kings, etc. Why, may I ask, are you crying?”

Sobbing, the rabbit said, “Nice to meet you Mr. Jesus. I’m crying because I was on my way to a party and I lost all of my colorful eggs. I just don’t know what to do!”

“There, there,” said Jesus to the rabbit. “Perhaps I can help you find your eggs and then you can be on your way to the party.”

“Oh! That would be so grand,” said the rabbit. “How lucky I am that you should have come upon me out here in the middle of nowhere when we’re pretty much just surrounded by crypts full of dead people and whatnot.”

Laughing, Jesus said, “Well, well. You are lucky indeed. For lo, I was only moments ago reborn after being pretty brutally crucified on Friday. So it’s some pretty good luck for both of us, because now you can be the first witness to the miracle of my resurrection.”

“Wow, Jesus,” said the rabbit. “That IS miraculous. I’ve never actually heard of people really being reborn like that. I always just thought it was some sort of metaphor. Or is that a simile?”

“No, that’s a metaphor,” said Jesus with a chuckle. “But no, in this case, it’s the God’s-honest-truth, pun intended. I don’t know if you’re aware, but my Father, God, happened to single-handedly create the entire universe almost four thousand years ago. In addition to the many other magical powers imbued to me by Him, I’ve pretty much mastered the art of dying and coming back to life. Honestly, sometimes being flashy is the only way to get my message to stick with these people. ”

“Oh, you don’t have to tell me about that Mr. Jesus,” the rabbit said, nodding. “Imagine walking around as a human-sized rabbit. Honestly, I get picked on SO much! Seriously, the level of intolerance is shocking.”

“Worry not, my bunny friend,” said Jesus somberly. “I’m going to do something about all the intolerance. My thought is that if everyone worships me as the one true God, then all the violence and intolerance will become a thing of the past. Then, I shall reward all these good people by bringing them up to Heaven in a little something I like to call ‘The Rapture’. Those who failed to understand my greatness shall, of course, be left behind to burn in a fiery pit of hell-on-Earth for a thousand years.”

“Hmmm. Yeah, I guess that could work,” said the rabbit. “OR, you could just tell people that they should be nice to each other, and instead of worshipping a God, they should just try to understand everyone’s perspective and work together to make the world a better place. Although, I realize that does sorta skip the whole hellfire part.”

“Yeah. I was gonna mention that,” said Jesus. “The hellfire is really my favorite part. It’s kind of the good part of the whole shebang.”

“Yeah, I guess it’s pretty, uh, dramatic,” said the bunny rabbit appraising Jesus with a newfound awkwardness and looking as if maybe he’d like to get away from Him as soon as possible.

“Yes. Thank you. I’m rather fond of it,” said Jesus. “Now, shall we find your eggs?”

“Um. Right. Yes. My eggs,” said the rabbit. “Actually, that’s okay. I think maybe I can just retrace my steps and I’ll probably find them right in plain view.”

“Of course,” said Jesus, the Son of God and King of Kings, etc. “Like when you lose your car keys.”

“Well. Sorta, I suppose,” said the rabbit. “Although I’m a rabbit, so I don’t drive. And also, I don’t think anyone else drives yet since cars have yet to be invented.”

“Of course,” said Jesus in a slightly condescending tone. “I tend to forget that not everyone can magically see into the future like me. But anyway, I digress! I must be on my way so I can tell people of my miraculous rebirth, but before I go, I want to tell you that hereafter, people will call this day Easter. They will celebrate the day in my name! And you, from now on, will forever be known as The Easter Bunny! Your legend will grow as generations upon generations of giddy children help to find the colored eggs that you are herein forever doomed to continue losing.”

“Um. Thanks?” said the Easter Bunny. “That’s real nice of you to make me a buffoon for all time. You’re a real standup guy.”

“Thank you!” said Jesus, oblivious to the rabbit’s tone. “And now, I will leave you, and hope that hell on earth is kind to you and your children’s children since, obviously, only humans shall be able to participate in The Rapture.”

“Right. Of course.” said the Easter Bunny. “I really should have guessed that.”

“Goodbye Easter Bunny!” exclaimed Jesus.

As Jesus skipped away to spread the good news of his highly improbable rebirth, the Easter Bunny shook his head and turned to retrace his steps down the path from which he came.

“Yeah. Goodbye yourself,” muttered the Easter Bunny as he went. “I’m sure none of that will backfire on you.”

(Originally published on [painkiller.org] in March of 2008)

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What I Would Do With Your Money Were We to Get Married

by cari | January, 2008

WHAT I WOULD DO WITH YOUR MONEY WERE WE TO GET MARRIED

I would build a metaphorical Virginia Woolf Room of My Own with money that wasn’t my own. It would be for me to write and paint in so you can’t see inside it, though you can peruse what comes out.

I would travel all over the world with this room (and you) and perhaps I would return to school for my degree. I would learn five languages. I would pretty myself up with facials and massages. I would buy quality things. I would exercise more. My days would be full of wide open skies and general expansiveness.

I would drive an understated car, or be chauffeured about by an understated driver who read Rilke (in German) while waiting for me to finish shopping. I would avoid all clothing or merchandise with obvious logos or names written on them. I would pay extra to have logos or names removed. I would not buy many shoes because I have big, wide feet and can’t wear Blahniks or Choos. I like running shoes because they support my low arches and don’t exacerbate my bunions. Plus, I can run away in them, perhaps after bunion surgery. I wouldn’t wear a lot of make-up because now that I’ve figured myself out more I look better with less. I would still curl my eyelashes because it makes my eyes look quite fetching. I would endeavor to subtly smell nice.

We would dine out often in decent eateries because I love food, though you know how I feel about seafood and meat that looks like the animal it once was. I would unabashedly take home doggy bags because I hate waste and love leftovers. We might also have a cook who would make extra of everything so there would be more leftovers. He or she would have to cook as well as my mom or better, especially steak and artichokes (with sauteed mushrooms). I would try the Kobe steak at Bobby Flay’s. Over dinner, you would have to talk about yourself and your life and how you feel about things so I can decide if we should stay married or not. You also have to listen to me even if I seem boring because I am frequently fascinating and witty and you wouldn’t want to miss anything good. You must be willing and able to discuss books or movies or music. You mustn’t roll your eyes if your opinion should differ.

We would look at and purchase art. We would sit on beaches with no one else on them. I, or persons who worked for me, would continue to write letters on behalf of political prisoners. I, or persons who worked for me, would strive to protect the environment and conserve wildlife. (Did you know that prior to commercial hunting, it is estimated there were hundreds of thousands of blue whales roaming the oceans? Did you know that recently we rejoiced that there are a few thousand left instead of a few hundred? Did you know that blue whales are the largest animals that have ever lived on this Earth? They can measure twice as long as the largest dinosaur?) One year, we would donate so generously to Public Radio and Television that they would not have pledge drives and we could listen to Terry Gross on Fresh Air in peace. We would also offer enormous endowments to respected universities on the condition that I could pester their professors with questions about insects or microbes or dark matter any time, day or night.

We would frequently go out for cocktails because I think that’s great fun. We would also drink really wonderful wines selected by someone well-versed in that sort of thing. We would attend events that required us to wear black-tie attire because I’ve never been to anything like that before.

We would have a nice house and a garden at which to look or in which to sit. We would have a cat and/or dog. Or three. I would have comprehensive health and dental insurance and would finally get that oral surgery I’ve always wanted.

HOW YOU WOULD HAVE TO BE FOR ME TO MARRY YOU

You would have to be nice. You would have to carry anything heavy. You would have to accept my ambivalence about having children, while acknowledging that I may feel differently about it in the future. You cannot be more than 15 years older than me and positively must possess all of your teeth. You must be moderately good looking and be height/weight proportionate.

You must kiss me often unless you are a bad kisser, in which case you must improve your kissing skills posthaste. You must be fond of having sex, particularly with me. You must be a safe driver who shakes a fist at Hummers and SUVs. Obviously, you must not be violent or a douche bag. You must dress and wear your hair in a reasonably stylish fashion. No beards or mustaches. Especially no mustaches. No excessive gambling or other risky, compulsive behaviors. No cocaine or hard drugs or copious pot-smoking. (People on coke are so fucking annoying.)

You must be comfortable with the occasional silence or lull in conversation. You must allow me time alone in my Virginia Woolf Room. (You can go play golf or something.)

You must stay faithful to me no matter how unbelievably hot she is or how badly she wants you.

You must think I’m the cat’s meow for all time.

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Fragments of Once-Whole Dreams

by cari | March, 2007

[One time I was talking in my sleep and told Shawn "If I were making a face out of fruit, I would use a banana as the nose."]

I dreamt about Laura…she and Con had made a magazine…it had orange and pink ink on newsprint type paper. I read it, thought it was great and felt proud that I knew her.

I was in a candy store. I bought a bag of gummy bears. I was eating all the “good” ones (there were black licorice ones, bleh) and was worried when Susan [played in the dream by former classmate, Susie Davis] declared that half the bag was hers. But said she like the licorice ones a lot and was happy there were so many.

Then, either I was Todd or someone else was but I was supposed to get”Todd’s half of the candy” [Susan and Todd are real-life friends of Laura's].  Apparently, I got “Susie’s half” by accident and it triggered some kind of Event.  If you ate her half, the Event happened to you.

The Event was a professional service that a person could order, like kidnapping your kid to scare him straight or arresting your friend as a gag, except it was a scary service, and involved a man/monster coming at night. I pretended I was asleep, because I knew there was a hired monster in my room. I felt his mouth on the front of my neck, loosely, the way hunting dogs delicately mouth a bird.  I made a screaming noise, trying to alert other people to what was happening, but the noise was too small and too soft. [It was truly scary, because I felt a real pressure on my neck. I woke up after that.]

There were subversive aristocrats selling high-end items to fund a revolution. Some woman had a box of silk scarves that an authority figure was dumping on the ground. He didn’t know that she had substituted counterfeits, sold the real ones and hidden the profits.

A gardener or some other service person was going to be arrested or taken away. He felt it was important to tell a child something to be proud of. He woke the little boy up and pointed to a white wooden fence like you see at the races. He said, “Do you see that? Your grandmother built that.”

[I think I got this last one from Harry Potter. The surname was reminiscent of Longbottom.]

I think the whole dream had kids from my high school in it, and Alvaro Demarzi. There was a report card with the grade and the place to write comments. I was trying to explain to someone how the grades worked but I kept forgetting what I was saying.  So I wrote down everything I intended to say, while the other person just sat there in silence.  When I was finished, I apologized and told him, “It’s like my mind is a tilting table. If I don’t secure the thoughts on paper, they slide off onto the floor and get lost.”

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