June 4:

So, this was my life in Austin for the first year or so as I was commuting WEEKLY to Austin from Sacramento. After my first 2 weeks here, HBO couldn't entertain me and I began exploring the city. I'd usually go to dinner at a nicer restaurant and sat at the bar to talk with either the bar tender or other folks, who, like me, were alone but content to have some structured company.
Its always easy to meet people at dinner at the bar. If you don't like the conversation on the left, you can pick it up on the right. If you don't want to continue the conversation, eat your dessert somewhere else. The check provides the easy out.

That's all I've got. You don't get the juicy details.


Assignment:
Your character is on a trip for work, and finds him/herself extremely bored, so he/she walks down to the hotel bar. After a few cocktails, they begin a conversation with a dashing stranger. What happens next?

June 3: Suburbia suits me

I take another breath and sink down lower into the bath tub. Wait- what did that lady call it? Oh right. It isn't a bath tub, its a garden tub. Its so big that I can keep my feet in the water as my head goes under. And not only that, but I am all under at one time. Last time I took a bath, each time I wanted to put my head under I had to scootch my ass to the end of the tub, with my legs reaching up along the cold tiled wall in order to be able to lay my head back.

My house, or what was my house, only had a shower. But it wasn't hooked up or anything so I usually showered at the Y. It was when I was on my way to the Y that I saw it. What they did to those men. What I told the jury they did to those men. And what they'll do to me.

I push back up so I'm sitting in the tub and wipe my eyes. Yeah. This I could get used to. I've never lived in a place this nice. In fact, I've never lived anywhere that couldn't be hitched up to something and towed to another town before. When I walk on the floor, it feels solid. I'm not bumping into anyone when I fix a bowl of cereal. The house is made of brick and can't be blown down by any big bad wolf.

Right?

This town is alright except there's no Wal-Mart. I have to go about 15 miles to Fishkill for that and the money I have to pay for the cab ride makes it so I don't have any money for shopping. They've told me I have to get a job. So I guess I'll do that next. I can't really be a housewife when my husband's gone. But if I was going to be a housewife, this is the kind of house I'd want to live in. It's even got a clothes washer AND dryer IN the house! In my own house!

But even with the garden tub and the laundry, there are reminders that even though the house is brick, my life is straw. Panic buttons in three rooms; FBI living in the guest room and kitty corner across the street. And guns. All the guns. I don't care about ever going back to Texas. There wasn't anything there for me anyway. Not anymore. I get to build a new life and if they never find me, I'll get to live it.



Assignment: Congratulations. You just testified in court against the biggest crime family in all of Texas. Now, to keep your ass from being dead, the FBI is putting you and your family in the Witness Protection Program. Write about the first day of your new life as Chris Farmington in Poughkeepsie, NY.

June 2: off topic (gratuitous dog photo)

My dog is a loud swallower. Not when he eats his food and not when lapping up water. Nope. Just randomly when he's sitting there waiting for me to prepare his dinner or after he looks up at me from a cozy little dognap. *GULP*

It's like he's either perpetually worried that I've caught him doing something or he's just a gulper. I don't think that it's equivalent to a human mouth-breather or close-talker because its mildly endearing. Like when he scares himself awake with his own flatulence.

I just haven't figured out the trigger. Does he have an overactive salivary gland? Does he always think he's going on some harebrained adventure? Human gulpers show their true colors when the seat bar locks them into their roller coaster seat, or right before they step off the high dive. But canine gulpers? This shall require more research.

June 1: The Writing Resumes

Sometimes I write because I think its what I'm supposed to do.
Sometimes I write because I can't sleep.
Sometimes I write because I think it will make someone fall in love with me.
Sometimes I write because I want to try to disturb someone.
Sometimes I write because I didn't like how something went down in reality so I rewrite it the way I wish it had gone.
Sometimes I write because I witness something so amazing that I want to preserve it as best I can.

I mostly write creative non-fiction. Everything I write has some tie to an experience I've had, or want to have. I love to read literary fiction and natural history- and I find my writing reflects some of that.

My intention is to give you words everyday for 30 days. Sometimes it will be on topic, some won't. But I hope to make it a little interesting.
I think I need to start working on a short story for the Chronicle's contest in December- so perhaps I'll do some exploring, too.

Looing forward to reading what you all produce!

Its not my month

I haven't been able to write yet- and I'm not seeing any time in the future that I can be consistent for this month so.. I'm just going to bow out and join up another month.
I will, however, make an effort to read and comment on some of your all's entries.
Good luck everyone!
-CG

4/1 Foolish Intentions

It's after midnight on Thursday morning and I just got back from the opening show of the Leonard Cohen concert. At 6am this morning (err, yesterday morning) I was on a bike trainer spinning my heinie off.
My intent is to write something daily. Just something. Sometimes I will post to my non-project blog and link it to this site. Sometimes I will follow the topic. sometimes I'll do this- just write for the sake of writing.
I already have two music reviews to complete by the weekend and some soul searching to do. In addition to that I have: a Steven Lynch show, a Jerry Seinfeld show, a visit from my parents, an Alamo Drafthouse quote along, a one hour bike ride, a thirty minute run, a dinner date with my training buddies, and 1.5 hours of air scenting training with Johnny.
And that's just the stuff I know about.

1/21 a walk with sherman

When I was somewhere around two and a half to three, I got to eat cake and ride in a police car all in the same day. I still consider those two activities key ingredients to a perfect evening- although its generally better when the cake follows the ride in the police car.

I don't remember the looks on my parents faces nor do I remember feeling like it was a big deal. What I remember is sitting on some lady's house eating chocolate cake and refusing a napkin.
I remember seeing Sherman's leather leash hanging by the door. I think I even remember looking up out the glass window in the door- through each of the four squares and thinking to myself that today would be a wonderful day for a walk. A walk with Sherman.

Sherman was the most perfect bulldog ever built. He was mostly white with some tan and black splotches placed randomly across his squatty body. Although he would later become dangerously aggressive with people outside the family, on this day, he was still a gentle soul. Gentle enough to allow a two and half to three year old girl clip a leash to his collar and wait eagerly by the door for a walk around the block.

I'm sure his dog tags jingled when I clipped him up. Then, without an indication to anyone else, we slipped out of the house and began our adventure. Now, I can't remember anything about the walk. My memory essentially goes from looking at the leash to eating cake- so I'll try to fill you in with information based on third party accounts.

Apparently we made it pretty far. I don't know about miles- but definitely blocks.
And blocks my parents would assume would be too far away for my two and half to three year old legs to take me. Come to think of it, I don't know if they realized I was missing before the got the phone call or not. I can imaging Sherman doing most of the leading- but never pulling hard enough to pull the leash out of my little hands. He would trot along and stop to sniff at trees and bushes- with that characteristic bulldog snuffle.

A neighbor lady saw us walking along and realized that although it was the early 1970's - long before kids were forced to play indoors for fear of pedophiles and shootings, two and a half to three year olds should probably not be walking large, albeit obedient, bulldogs unsupervised.
And again, because it was the early 1970's, there was nothing untoward about a perfect stranger inviting a child into her home for cake. In our family, we didn't start being quizzed on kidnapping scenarios until the early 80's.

So, at some point she gets me in the house, slices what I remember to be a giant piece of moist chocolate cake and calls the police.
The police man, demonstrating an advanced level of detective work, simply looked at Sherman's dog tags, found a phone number and called my parents. Okay so it may have been a little more than that. I don't know if they actually had their number on the tag- or if they had to pull the information from the rabies vaccination tag and look something up. So I'll cut the friendly stranger some slack.

Thus began the final part of my adventure- the ride home. I do remember pulling up to my parent's house in a car that was outfitted with lots more than the basic steering wheel and gear shifter. But I don't think they made me wear a seat belt. And they were probably smoking. Nah- I just made that part up.

I also don't remember the actual reunion very well. But to close it up I'll say that I don't think I got into too much trouble. I'm sure they made sure to keep better tabs on both Sherman and me. For me, however, it was just the beginning of many unauthorized explorations- creek crossings, tree climbings, fence hoppings. I didn't have Sherman there as either a rescuer or a co-conspirator for those adventures- but I'll always remember him as the catalyst.


Assignment Notes: In honor of what is arguably one of the best television shows ever made, write about a time you, or someone you love, was Lost.