Comments. It's Cinco de Mayo! Happy Cinco de Mayo!

Anonymous Me:
We're all selfish jerks. If you think you're more selfish than a normal person should be, you're wrong. That little thing each, every, and all individuals go through called being a human being that is just full of fun stuff--feeling stupid sometimes, having greasy hair, and being so selfish you usually don't care about your friends birthdays, achievements, etc.--is what makes us wonderful, wonderful animals.

The real selfish jerks are those who don't (or can't) admit they're selfish jerks because they cannot believe they are so flawed; however, I think we can eventually grow or learn to live for something other than ourselves, if you can believe it. I think that really is possible. Hang in there. And please keep posting! I really enjoy your blogs, especially your more introverted ones.

SLAPPED!

(Two men—GUY and WALT SPINDLEMAN, who is holding a briefcase—are standing next to each other, waiting for the train.)

GUY
You there.

WALT
Yes? Do you mean me?

GUY
Yeah, you. You’re the only one here, aren’t you? Do you got the time?

WALT
Yes.

GUY
What is it?

WALT
It is a quarter to six.

GUY
Oh, goddammit! I’m late, I’m late. Goddammit.

(GUY continues worrying.)

WALT
You are welcome.

GUY
Heh?

WALT
For giving you the time.

GUY
Yeah-yeah, whatever.

WALT
It is not “whatever”. In polite society we thank people for services, no matter how small.

GUY
Goddammit, I’m late. Goddammit. When’s this train gonna get here?

(GUY continues to worry. A short while passes as the two men face opposite directions. Suddenly, WALT slaps GUY in the face.)

GUY
Ow.

WALT
I beg your pardon?

GUY
You just slapped me!

WALT
I did?

GUY
Yes, you just hit me!

WALT
Are you sure it was me that slapped you?

GUY
Oh course it was you. We’re the only ones here.

WALT
Are you sure it was me?

GUY
Yes, I’m sure.

WALT
Hmm. Nope. I don’t see it.

GUY
See what?

WALT
I just don’t see me slapping you.

GUY
You did! You did slap me!

WALT
I’m sorry, but it’s just not possible.

GUY
How could you not know you slapped me? You were standing right there! You were right here when it happened!

WALT
(thinking)
Still.

GUY
Apologize to me!

WALT
For what?

GUY
For slapping me.

WALT
I shall make no apologies for a crime I did not commit.

GUY
You did commit it!

WALT
What proof have you got?

GUY
Proof? The only proof I need is knowing you slapped me.

WALT
Hm, I’m afraid that’s not good enough. That would not hold in a court of law. I should know: my brother-in-law's a lawyer.

GUY
I don’t care if it holds up in a court or if your brother-in-law's a goddam Saint Bernard. I want you to apologize right now!

WALT
I think you’re a little traumatized from being manhandled by a small slap and are remembering things differently. And, by the way, I think my sister would care very much if he were a Saint Bernard. Besides, even if I did slap you—which I most definitely did not—it would not be my fault.

GUY
What do you mean “not [your] fault”?

WALT
I mean just that. I have this condition which causes sporadic spastic twitching in this arm. Usually it simply causes my arm to jump a few inches, but once in a while, when I’m feeling particularly angry (like just now when you refused to thank me for giving you the time), it slaps people across the face.

GUY
You mean you’ve actually slapped people because of this?

WALT
Oh yes, numerous times. I’d say close to fifty by now.

GUY
Fifty!

WALT
Yes, fifty.

GUY
You’ve slapped fifty innocent people without knowing it?

WALT
I’m sure not all those people were innocent. I have met some rather rowdy individuals in my life time, I’ll have you know. Yes, now, I am certain for a fact there has been at least five uninnocent people I’ve slapped in my life.

GUY
Don’t they get mad?

WALT
Oh no, not at all. Yes, I usually explain to them my condition and then about the other people I’ve slapped. Knowing they are not the only ones to be mistreated seems to comfort them very much.

GUY
Just like that they’re not mad?

WALT
Yes, quite so.

GUY
What about the first guy?

WALT
I beg your pardon?

GUY
I mean, there must have been a first guy you slapped, right? Didn’t he get mad because he was the only one you’ve slapped before?

WALT
I assure you, there was no first man.

GUY
What do you mean?

WALT
My good sir, you don’t think I’d be so rude as to have a first man, do you?

GUY
What?

WALT
I’ve always slapped close to fifty people—no more, no less.

GUY
What the hell does that mean?

WALT
It means you’re the fiftieth or so person today I’ve slapped, if I did, in fact, slap you—which I did not—that’s been close to the fiftieth person I’ve ever slapped.

(GUY remains silent and confused. WALT slaps GUY again.)

GUY
Ow, what the hell was that?

WALT
What was what?

GUY
You just slapped me again!

WALT
This is all getting a little preposterous, don’t you think?

GUY
What the hell! I thought it was THIS arm that did the slapping?

WALT
How did you know they switch sometimes?

GUY
They switch!

WALT
Yes, that’s right. Sometimes it’s one arm, sometimes it’s the other; other times it’s neither, a few times it’s both.

GUY
Both!

WALT
Yes, that’s right.

GUY
How could it be both, then one, then the other, then none?

WALT
(laughing)
My good sir, I don’t presume to be a doctor. I am a business man by trade.

GUY
Look, are you gonna apologize for both times or not?

WALT
My good sir, you have yet to produce a fragment of evidence that I’ve slapped you a first time; stacking the claim I’ve slapped you a second time is simply ridiculousness at its most pleasurable. Besides, my arm twitch is a debilitating medical condition I am forced to live with. I shall make no apologies to that which I cannot control. I might as well apologize for the rain or sunshine.

GUY
Why don’t you just get an operation? You look rich enough. Or hell, just keep your hands in your pockets.

WALT
(indignant)
Keep my hands in my pockets! Like some sort of chim-panzee or monkey in a zoo?

GUY
Monkeys don’t even have—

WALT
I’ve never heard such a proposal! And as for an operation, I choose not to because my doctors tell me I will lose all feeling in my arms if I undergo surgery. Now tell me, what kind of operation is that? One where you are left worse afterward? What kind of quality of life would I have then? Hm? Put them in my pockets. Hhm!

GUY
(bashful)
Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.

WALT
I should think you damn well should be.

GUY
Well, I damn well am!

WALT
That didn’t sound sincere.

GUY
I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. It’s just…I’ve got a lot on my mind right now. Stuff that’s been driving me crazy, like it’s been pulling my skin right off me.

WALT
Like what? Tell me.

GUY
Like, well, uh, my wife…she’s, um…she’s, uh, going…

WALT
She’s leaving you.

GUY
No, no. She’s, um…she’s, uh…going…uh. Yes. Yes, she’s leaving me.

WALT
I see.

GUY
And now the whole house is a mess, and plus she wants everything that belongs to me. Like, for instance, my great-great-grandfather’s chessboard. It’s been in my family since the Civil War! I was actually on my way to an arrangement at the courthouse.

WALT
Divorce is never easy. Through our darkest times we must always cling to the light, and that soft bird of hope “That perches in the soul.” Emily Dickinson was brilliant, wasn’t she?

GUY
I guess you’re right. Hey, wait! You slapped me, and still haven’t apologized!

WALT
Why should I apologize?

GUY
Because you slapped me in the face—twice!

WALT
I did not! And even if I did—which I did not—it would be due to unavoidable medical reasons, I assure you.

GUY
Medical reasons my left ass and foot.
(GUY turns around. WALT looks the other direction as his foot kicks GUY in the butt.)
Ow! What the hell’s your problem!

WALT
Excuse me?

GUY
You just kicked me in the ass!

WALT
Please, do not start again. I do not know how you know about the spastic twitch in my legs, but please, I do not wish to continue listening to your wild accusations.


GUY
Wild accusations! Spastic twitch in your legs?

WALT
Yes. The spastic twitch in my upper-body sometimes switches to my lower-body. Didn’t you know that?

GUY
(GUY raises his fists.)
Okay, that’s it. C’mon, right now!

WALT
I assure you, I do not wish to fight.

GUY
I assure you I’m gonna punch you in the face!

(GUY throws a punch. WALT dodges. WALT begins to flail his arms and legs.)

WALT
My arms and legs! They’re convulsing into a fighting kung-fu stance.
(WALT’s limbs stop flailing as he settles into fighting stance.)

GUY
I don’t care if they convulse into pink shoes! I’m gonna beat your ass!

(GUY releases a battle cry. WALT follows with his. They charge. Both fists make contact with their intended targets. GUY and WALT are knocked unconscious simultaneously.

Sometime later, GUY stirs and sits up. Seeing WALT’s unconscious body, he crawls and leans over him.)

GUY
(laughing)
I guess I kicked your ass, didn’t I Mr. Kung-Fu? Told ya I would, didn’t I Mr. Twitchy Arms? I guess this makes us even now, doesn’t it Mr. Spastic Legs? That’ll teach you to mess with a real man, won’t it Mr…What is your name?
(GUY checks the nametag on WALT’s briefcase.)
Walt Spindleman. You want to know what a real man is, Walt? A real man don’t take nothing from no one; real men drink beer and win fights; real men don’t have spastic twitches that sometimes switch arms and even legs; real men get what they—
(WALT’s hand flies up and slaps GUY.)
--deserve.

END OF PLAY

Little Known Fact

Though you wouldn't know it from reading my poetry and short fiction, I'm also a playwright! I know, right? Who would have guessed! Anyway, I'm saying this because I wrote a new play last night right before I went to sleep (I was literally in my bed when I thought of the idea; I got my notebook and finished an hour later, feeling very satisfied with myself, thank you very much), and I want to share it. I don't know when I'll post it. I still have to revise it, though I don't think that should take long considering I did some of that when I typed it up this morning. It's not for school or anything either, so there's no pressure to polish it until it bleeds like I normally do with my work, although I do plan to present it during the Poetry and Fiction Club meeting this Thursday, which will be the first meeting I'll be attending. (Oh, I joined the Poetry and Fiction Club at my school.) Ah heck, I'll post it later tonight.

P.S. Thanks guys for your encouraging comments. :)

P.P.S. May 5, 2010: I just realized I already had mentioned I was a playwright. Haha, oh well. I like this post anyways.

Comments

To Anonymously Me at Anonymous Thoughts:
I agree with Haley Sue: put yourself out there. Oh course, you don't have to do anything you don't want to.

To Haley Sue at A Watermelon Dream:
I'm lucky. I have my best friends around me all the time. I guess that's a curse sometimes too. :)

I hope you finish your papers!

-------------

Today I read Walk Two Moons by Sharon Creech. It's about a thirteen-year-old girl traveling across the upper-United States with her free-spirited grandparents, telling them the story of her friend Phoebe Winterbottom, all the while maturing as a human being and healing emotional scars after her mom left her and her father and never returned. Told in an easy, poignant manner, I thought the story was touching and heart-felt, while the characters were hilariously off-beat--especially Phoebe. I would recommend this book to anyone looking for a simple, emotional book to finish in an afternoon.

I read this book, by the way, for Children's Literature, which has already become my most rigorous class. I have to finish a 5 page draft of my research paper by next week. (Sure, it's not 9 or even 5 papers like Haley Sue, but I don't think its anything to scoff at either, especially in light of demands from my other classes. But maybe I'm being too childish, though. Haha. I guess I am.)

I don't think I've mentioned the fact that my poetry class is self-publishing our work into a high-quality book. It'll be very professional-looking and organized just like any top-tier poetry magazine. I'm very excited to see my poems published in print. Even though I'm starting to view my writing as something to pour large amounts of effort in and work hard to produce, I'm still flabbergasted by the notion of writing for a living. And I might be doing it for the rest of my life! I may pay my bills with poem money. I would be able to buy a home because I rhymed 'don't' with 'won't.' Can I really make a living doing this? I don't know.

That's all for now.

P.S. May Everyday is going swimmingly. Unfortunately, I only wrote for about an hour and a half yesterday, but I'll catch up. Besides, I still have 27 more days of May! :)

First Day

Yesterday was the first day of May Everyday. (I skipped May 1 because...well, just because I thought up the idea around midnight on the first.) It went well, I have to say. I wrote two pages of some story I haven't planned, plus a few poems--one which I'll probably post in the next day. It's about cars! But not really.

I've been feeling a lot more stress recently. It's mostly the amount of work I have to do for school, but it's also the daunting task of transferring to a university next year. Even though I'm confident in my abilities, I can't help but feel overwhelmed in the face of my future. It's like I'm six and I've been riding a bike with training wheels for the past year, and now that I've got a good handle on riding, I'm expected to learn how to ride a motorcycle by next year. Well, it's not really like that; at least, I hope it's not like that. But it sure does feel that way. This feels like one of those times when taking a deep breath and sitting peacefully for a few minutes would do me some good.

I'm back.

Lately, I've been wrestling in my mind where I want to transfer to next year. I'm very lucky because I have plenty of choices, all of which are respectable schools. Living in southern California sure has it's advantageous--even though there's terrible traffic most of the time.

On one hand, there's UC Riverside, a small institution located in Riverside, surrounded by nothing, filled with little social life. On the other hand, there's UCLA, a HUGE school in Westwood, ten minutes from the beach, crowded with people, surrounded by LA society and LA traffic, with more prestige in their parking lots than a lot of schools have in their entire staff.

I'll be getting a quality education at both, that's for certain. They're roughly the same amount to attend too. (I'll most likely be living on campus.)

However, while UCLA is more distinguished, UCR has the specific major I'm most interested in--Creative Writing. And while UCLA does offer a Bachelors in English with a concentration in Creative Writing, I don't know how much I'd rather spend writing as opposed to studying English/literature.

While the area around UCLA is crowded with people and traffic, it does have more interesting things to do. Oh course, I could always drive from UCR into LA, about an hour to hour and a half drive. Or I could just live there. I'm not much of a social butterfly, though, so what's the point of going there simply for the vibrant city life? But, I don't want to be bored out my mind either. I've heard Riverside is a bit of a bore. I don't need much, though; give me a movie and ice cream once in a while and I'll be content to spend my days inside.

I don't want go to UCLA only to impress people, especially my extended family who has produced two UCLA graduates--my two oldest cousins. At the same time, I might receive a more broad and even a more respected education at UCLA as opposed to UCR.

At this point, I still have months before I have to apply. I've got too much to worry about to spend time destroying my peace arguing with myself over which top-tier education I should have. I'll choose the option that makes me happiest. That's the thing about me: I don't worry about myself too much; I'm happy to be content.

In May

I have plans for May.

I plan to write everyday in May for at least two hours, even if all my grades suffer, my eyes turn yellow and fall out, or if it kills me. It's time I stop being so gosh darn lazy and work hard for what I want. I want to be great at my career; I want to feel proud of what I do everyday of my life.

I'm calling it May Everyday because: 1.) it rhymes, and 2.) it reminds me I may or may not choose to be the best writer I can be. And I'll always choose to write.

My Followers

I am so lucky to have a follower--let alone three! Thanks guys for reading my blogs. You encourage me to continue. You take time out of your days to read what I have to say, and that's really cool. Once again, thank you.

I'll probably post something else later tonight.