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Sunday, September 13, 2009
Question (actually it's more of a Demand...):
"For your birthday, your aunt gave you a maple syrup dispenser shaped like a rooster. Please write her a thank-you note." Before I get writing on this, I'd like to note that none of my aunts would give me this. I'd like to think that they each know me well enough to give me something I'd enjoy and not some random item. But, here goes... Dearest (Aunt), Thank you so much for the gift! I know that with your busy life that getting me a gift must have been so out of the way, but I truly and genuinely appreciate the gesture. In reality, when I first got the package in the mail I wasn't sure it was from you because of the packaging; you usually have such impeccable wrapping skills, but I suppose it was dinged up in transit. I also must admit that I had no idea what it was and what it was for when I first opened it, but do forgive me, it's not everyday you get a ceramic rooster in the mail. While it did arrive a few weeks after my birthday, I still love it. You know how I love my pancakes! Surprisingly I only came to the realization of what it was after a friend visited and told me what it was, that's why this is coming in so late. I first thought it was just a pitcher for drinks, but I noticed that it didn't hold too much liquid. I figured then that it was an interestingly shaped pot for flowers and plants, but I learned the hard way that vegetation usually like sunlight to bathe them, rather than peek in through a tiny slit. Call me daft, but you know me! You'll be glad to know that every time I've had pancakes since figuring out its function I have been using it. Although it does become rather tedious to transfer the syrup from the cute Mrs. Butterworth's bottle and into the actual dispenser, it does, admittedly, add a touch of quaint homeyness to my breakfasts (and dinners). Ah! This was so long-winded for just a simple thank-you letter, but I really love the gift. I hope all is well with you over there. I hear the weather is absolutely sublime this time of year, so maybe I'll come visit? Give my regards to everyone there. Your Nephew, Jazz Labels: Jazz
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Question:
"You forgot your mom's birthday! What can you make out of super glue and olive pits?" Again, I'm so happy to get the crack-addict questions. (PEW PEW! SARCASM SHOOTER!) Answer: Honestly, I like to believe I'm a fairly crafty person, and even with olive pits, I might be able to create.... something unique. However, super glue is the death of me so I'd have to go at this with gloves, and apron, and goggles, just to make sure I don't glue my eyelids shut. To start, let's analyze the situation. It's my mom's birthday, so these olive pits and glue can't just turn into anything. I will have to take into account my mother's wants and needs. So, let's brainstorm. What does my mother like? Knitting, spinning, alpacas, Elton John, yarn, books on tape, healthy foods, a son who does what he's supposed to do. Just to name a few. Now, looking at the list, I'm pretty sure that I can't make an alpaca, Elton John, a book on tape, or a son who does what he's supposed to do. Healthy foods.... Olives aren't healthy. They're sitting in an oily brine for most of their life, and my mother doesn't particularly enjoy olives. I figure I could spin her some yarn if olive pits had some sort of fiber within them by which to spin. But honestly, that doesn't sound too appetizing. So, we'll have to get creative. Seeing as I'll have plenty of olive pits (I assume), I should also have a variety of olive pits, correct? I'll have Kalamata Olives, Amfissa Olives, Black Olives, Green Olives, Brown Olives, all shades of olive. This is a necessity. So too is a transparent, anti-stick-to-humans, super glue. That way, I can complete this incredibly epic planning. Also, I'll need someone who can get in contact with celebrities. I'd start with a base. A cube made of some sturdy material, just the right size for the attempted piece of olive-pit-scupltury. I'd cover the cube with olive pits, with such precision that the cube's original material is unnoticeable underneath the particularly spectacular mosaic of olive pits. At this point, I'm ready to call Elton John's agent so I can get him to pose for me. With his eponymous blind man shades, of course. And so I would start the incredible process of creating an Elton John of olive pits. The pits color is essential at this point. Purplish pits (I know they exist, I've seen them before) will help with creating the shades. The accessories should be easy with a little patience. At which point, the man of the hour should have arrived. It's my mother's birthday, so I would need a severe level of dedication and speed, which is something I am particularly well known for having. (PEW PEW! There goes that Sarcasm Shooter again.) Anyways, I'd probably go for a nude sculpture. My mother would enjoy that best. Hours would go by, me being profusely bored of having to imagine Elton John naked while I require he keep his clothes on. Of course, this whole fantastic engagement would be occuring in my cramped bedroom, so, undoubtedly, before I had even finished crafting Elton John's feet, my mom would have barged in trying to interrupt whatever level of serious work I was doing, just because that's what she likes to do best, and would immediately notice Elton John standing in my room and would probably begin yelling and running around and asking him if he wanted something to eat. Yea. She'd get a two-in-one kind of deal. Elton John AND a son who does what he's supposed to do. Labels: Tristan
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Question:
"Your people want to make a statue in your honor. What will it be made out of and what victory will it commemorate?" As if I need a bigger ego, right? I suppose this question is more of a reflective one, pulling on the strings of what makes me unique, and what sets me apart from the crowd. I've talked to my mother before about what it takes to get a street named after you, but I never really wanted an entire statue made of me. It just seemed a little excessive, but praise is praise, I suppose. I try to be humble most of the time, but I'm not one to shy away from the lime light, especially if it means something made in my memory. At best, I suppose the only statues that will be made of me will probably just be my tombstone when I die. That counts as a statue right? I expect some marvelous marble slab with a fairly poignant epitaph engraved in a beautiful font, but who knows, I might get something better. However, if the sky's the limit and "my people" care that deeply for me I'd like my statue to be made of the souls of infant children, harvested via a monthly ritual sacrifice. Or is that too extreme? I suppose granite will suffice, or onyx, with jade or emerald embellishments. Yes, that sounds quite pleasing, if you think about it. I'm such a fan of the color green that something as regal as those materials would make for a lovely statue depicting me in some triumphant pose, perhaps with a misconstrued grimace. What I've been stalling to discuss is the reason for this statue's existence. To my knowledge only those of glorious merit are rewarded with a statue in their image, so is it fair to be in the ranks with Abraham Lincoln and a myriad of other influential people? I'd like to say that I'm a wonderful philanthropist. I'd like to say that I'm an entrepreneur for peace and justice, but really, I'm just a writer. So put a pen in my statue's hand and I suppose that will be it. Maybe I'll write some life-altering, time-transcending novel about the tribulations of a teenager, but not even Salinger got a statue. Labels: Jazz |