1. I forget how many star tattoos Sylvia had, but nipples were her favorite body part. When she ended it, I wrote a poem:
The lips of ambition
bit the tit of our passion,
and drew until blue.
2. The sun warmed the plastic stall. As "We Are The Champions" swelled, the moldering curtain was swept aside and Wanda joined me for the last chorus.
3. I took Tereza's virginity on the Fourth of July.
Our neighbor's stereo repeated the same Alanis Morrissette song for at least 45 minutes.
4. A year or so after letting our little fling die out, Bingo and I finally had sex, drunkenly, while her boyfriend (my downstairs neighbor) was out of town.
5. The best part of sleeping with Olivia was when Elway helped me take my socks off.
6. Margaret began having an asthma attack during the second round. I felt proud.
7. Once Simone told me that blowing into the vagina could cause a fatal embolism, I became morbidly obsessed with the idea. During cunnilingus.
8. After we took turns whacking each other with my belt, Chun-li told me she bet I'd make a good boyfriend, for someone else.
9. Whenever I hear "Invitation to the Blues" I think of Annie: we tore up the literature room of the library one Halloween and decided not to sleep together. Three years later, we met up at a party on campus, and with drunken speed requited our passion on the back of the hill.
10. Jane and I were just friends, nothing more, though I was disappointed to find that she'd taken out her nipple ring since the last time we'd hooked up.
11. After we finally did it, I glanced at Justine's planner while she was out of the room. She had written "I think he & I understand each other sexually better than anyone I?ve known."
12. Artemis told me a thing she wanted us to do with a vibrator, but couldn't just yet because her only one was so large she was afraid it would smash my nuts. I think that was when I fell for her.
13. My first time was on my waterbed listening to Beethoven with a girl I'd loved for several years, but who was just coming to love me. I had enough time to realize that somehow I'd known how it would feel.
-Correspondent Aaron X.
Wednesday, June 12, 2002
Thursday, March 28, 2002
OH, OLIVE GREEN
Oh, olive green. You are my favorite color in the crayon box. You are my cardigan sweater. You are my corduroy suit with leather elbow patches like pimentos. You are the interior fabric of my dad’s ‘76 Volvo station wagon. Oh, olive green I can hardly get enough of you.
I even love you with pocks and scars olive green. Oh olive green now close your ears. Some people call you “puke green”. But they are the “gray is the new black” folks who don't know what they're talking about. And I don’t want to mention your embarrassing second cousin "drab", because he’s a mood killer. The army’s color of choice. They're a good match if you ask me.
Oh olive green I can't get enough of you. But lately, I don’t know, it’s just not the same.
Is it me or are you pulling away, olive green?
Something is driving a wedge between us. Are you seeing other people? I've seen you in software advertisements, and as prominent colors for covers of quasi D.I.Y. literary journals. You're running around everywhere like a floozy; like a royal blue or a cherry red might. You’re becoming accessible! Dare I say easy? Oh no olive green, feed me alone your pea soup love. Feed me alone, your dirty, dirty martini.
Drizzle me with your oils, olive green.
It was the day after St. Patrick’s Day, the gaudiest of all holidays, and I was feeling its cheap hangover mightily. And there you were olive green, passed out on the curb with a Leprechaun’s hat and a four-leaf-clover in your clutched fist. Oh the shame.
The shame! Where did our love go? Where is your sense of what’s right, olive green?
I am traumatized olive green. But needless to say, I am coping. I am taking care of my self. I am doing what I need to do. I am taking a hot bath with candles. Oh olive green. I am slipping into my cardigan and sliding on my corduroy suit. I will be okay. I will sip green tea tonight, to us, and watch NOVA. Alone, alone my olive, olive green.
-AARON L
I even love you with pocks and scars olive green. Oh olive green now close your ears. Some people call you “puke green”. But they are the “gray is the new black” folks who don't know what they're talking about. And I don’t want to mention your embarrassing second cousin "drab", because he’s a mood killer. The army’s color of choice. They're a good match if you ask me.
Oh olive green I can't get enough of you. But lately, I don’t know, it’s just not the same.
Is it me or are you pulling away, olive green?
Something is driving a wedge between us. Are you seeing other people? I've seen you in software advertisements, and as prominent colors for covers of quasi D.I.Y. literary journals. You're running around everywhere like a floozy; like a royal blue or a cherry red might. You’re becoming accessible! Dare I say easy? Oh no olive green, feed me alone your pea soup love. Feed me alone, your dirty, dirty martini.
Drizzle me with your oils, olive green.
It was the day after St. Patrick’s Day, the gaudiest of all holidays, and I was feeling its cheap hangover mightily. And there you were olive green, passed out on the curb with a Leprechaun’s hat and a four-leaf-clover in your clutched fist. Oh the shame.
The shame! Where did our love go? Where is your sense of what’s right, olive green?
I am traumatized olive green. But needless to say, I am coping. I am taking care of my self. I am doing what I need to do. I am taking a hot bath with candles. Oh olive green. I am slipping into my cardigan and sliding on my corduroy suit. I will be okay. I will sip green tea tonight, to us, and watch NOVA. Alone, alone my olive, olive green.
-AARON L
Tuesday, February 26, 2002
(It’s Never to Late to) Rout out the Gold
BOSTON - Sportsfans and Mormons alike are bursting at the seems. No, Brigham Young hasn’t resurrected himself. But Salt Lake city is all abuzz anyway!
(non-alcoholically, of course) because it’s Olympic time! And I for one am intoxicated with Olympic fever again! Believe me, my life is reaching a feverish pitch! All chills and sweats.
Riding high on my local football squad’s Big Win at the Big Easy, I’m ready to win again. Never underestimate the relationship between your local sports team and your personal self worth. Let’s be honest. We, USA, deserve to win. And win big. I’d say we deserve at least 86-92% of this year’s events.
Given the current climate, I would think it only patriotic for the rest of the world to voluntarily give up their golds. Hand them over. You’re either with us our against us, as one esteemed statesman put it. Yes, we have more athletes competing, and yes the Olympiad is on home soil; but come on, we’re never going to win the Nordic Combined without a little, ahem, allied help, shall we say? And Curling, pa-lease!
The opening ceremonies are upon us patriots. What better way to heal than to channel all your nationalist zealousness into the winter games. I think this is actually a good opportunity to show the rest of the world who’s boss again. I bet most of you, like me, have nearly forgotten the debacle that dogged the US Olympic Committee just two years ago.
See? We can move on, and should to move on! This is what America needs right now in light of recent
events. Some good ass whoopins!
Countrymen, harness your jingoism! And defenders of freedom around the world join us in routing out the gold; for the security of the world and for the love of God. Are you listening Norway? Belarus? How about the German Lougers, do you hear me? I think Brigham Young would join me in asking the rest of the world to hand over their gold. Do what’s right.
-Aaron L.
(non-alcoholically, of course) because it’s Olympic time! And I for one am intoxicated with Olympic fever again! Believe me, my life is reaching a feverish pitch! All chills and sweats.
Riding high on my local football squad’s Big Win at the Big Easy, I’m ready to win again. Never underestimate the relationship between your local sports team and your personal self worth. Let’s be honest. We, USA, deserve to win. And win big. I’d say we deserve at least 86-92% of this year’s events.
Given the current climate, I would think it only patriotic for the rest of the world to voluntarily give up their golds. Hand them over. You’re either with us our against us, as one esteemed statesman put it. Yes, we have more athletes competing, and yes the Olympiad is on home soil; but come on, we’re never going to win the Nordic Combined without a little, ahem, allied help, shall we say? And Curling, pa-lease!
The opening ceremonies are upon us patriots. What better way to heal than to channel all your nationalist zealousness into the winter games. I think this is actually a good opportunity to show the rest of the world who’s boss again. I bet most of you, like me, have nearly forgotten the debacle that dogged the US Olympic Committee just two years ago.
See? We can move on, and should to move on! This is what America needs right now in light of recent
events. Some good ass whoopins!
Countrymen, harness your jingoism! And defenders of freedom around the world join us in routing out the gold; for the security of the world and for the love of God. Are you listening Norway? Belarus? How about the German Lougers, do you hear me? I think Brigham Young would join me in asking the rest of the world to hand over their gold. Do what’s right.
-Aaron L.
Friday, December 28, 2001
THE YEAR IN DREAMS
Well, we’ve been away but now we’re back— just in time for the end of the party. The temptation is strong at this time to compose lists: best records, films, etc.
Who cares? As Scrawl sings, “Was it a good year do I really need to know ‘cause now it’s behind me forever/It was a good year because it was such a bad year that this year could only be better.”
In this spirit, we at WHEN AARONS ATTACK! bring you
THE YEAR IN DREAMS
(Please note that initials are not consistent from dream to dream. One A is not necessarily the same as
another.)
Saturday, January 27
I had just moved into a large house. It wasn’t in England but P.’s roommates T. and E. and also K from Canada, lived there, along with some others. My room was little more than a crawlspace. On my first night in the house there was a large party, with Innerpink scheduled to play. Apparently tour place was at the top of some large resort-like house on the side of a hill (I think the whole thing took place in Maine), and as one ascended the hill, each part of the building had its own entrance. We were hanging out in some bar somewhere near the house before the show eating buffalo wings. There was a gorgeous girl with jet-black hair, who apparently I was hanging out with.
I offered her the last wing, and then was so drunk I had to take a lurchy walk around the building. I found a funeral party on the lower floors, and I didn’t want to get in trouble, so I disguised myself by wearing all black, including sunglasses and a balaclava. I guess I passed out because the next thing I knew it was morning and I hadn’t heard any of the band. And because it was my first morning living there and I was hung over, I couldn’t find anything, including my way back.
Wednesday, February 14
I was driving M. to some mountain where he was due to meet his friend’s family for hiking and camping. He was worrying that a rash on his hand might be a symptom of diarrhea. I asked him if his stools were messy and he said no, they were big and firm. Told him it couldn’t possibly be diarrhea. Then we were at the base of the mountain and he was worrying about not being able to drive the family’s car, an old Ford. I told him not to worry, that old Fords were like (something very clever that didn’t stay with me upon waking). Suddenly the scene changed and we were in a bed on a stage, about to perform in some play called “Romeo and Juliet” (not the Shakespeare one). He was all the way at one end and I at the other and he made a farting noise. I couldn’t tell if it was real or not, but a customer who had just bought his ticket saw us lying there and heard the noise and tried to return his ticket on moral grounds. I said “Oh, fuck you” and he got very agitated and despite my groveling apologies informed the manager. A small riot began to form and the manager, who apparently was also the director, pulled me down off the stage and started waxing pompous about my horrible deed and preparing to fire me. But a horrible noise sounded outside my window and I woke up before he could!
Tuesday, March 13
Parents & I were visiting my brother’s family, who were in China doing missionary work. We all ate in a Chinese restaurant with very good noodles, as well as pornographic videos at each table, and I tried to explain to the waiter the phenomenon of “pan-Asian”
noodle shops. Then we went outside and started climbing the hill next to the parking lot, except that there were bears, so we turned back. Except Dad, who didn’t see the bear, which pushed him off the cliff.
The rest of us ran: my brother and his wife off somewhere, and Mom and I to the Volvo, though we were unsure if that was the proper way to handle bear attack.
Thursday, April 12
I moved into a new house, and one of the roommates was a girl who started hitting on me immediately. It went so far as for us to get naked and for me to go down on her, an unusually vivid sensation: I had to be certain to go slowly because she had been somehow burned during the waxing process. Then things turned into some kind of John Irving story: by moving in, I had entered a family of sorts, and all of us were high-school age or younger, looking out for each other… strange and complex and very nice and close-knit. It also rained a lot.
Wednesday, May 23
At boarding school somewhere rural, when the U.S.
imposes martial law. Students resist in various ways, overt & covert, and resistance is dealt with summarily. Film student at crafts fair tries to get me a copy of his documentary about the takeover, is caught and removed, I end up in a play by a revolutionary classmate, but nothing seems to come of it.
Thursday, June 7
My bootlaces turned into a king cobra. The snake not the 40.
Monday, July 23
I was at DB’s house – he had moved to Somerville – and he was cooking dinner. He asked me to deliver a coffin to Out of the Blue for a group exhibition. But when I got there I realize I had lost it (it was about the size of a violin case). Couldn’t find it anywhere.
Went to the Sligo and checked the bathroom, where I met the producer Scott Litt. He couldn’t help me but was very amusing.
Tuesday, August 7
Childhood sandwiches personified as living cartoons.
Mr. Peanut Butter was changing his name to Mr. Peanut Butter and Jelly because he had “an infection.” And Ms. Marshmallow Fluff was nothing but a two-bit whore.
Monday, September 24
A. & I were driving in her vehicle along the coast. My arm on the back of her seat. The road was flush with the beach. We came upon a section that was clothing-optional. People were in various states of being garbed. We parked and watched the ocean. I said, “I wish I had my bathing suit” and she dove straight out the door into the water. Her clothes had suddenly been replaced by a black bikini. I followed her, naked, and we swam a bit before I woke up.
Thursday, October 18
I fell in love. There was a girl and we’d had one date. I’d liked her but never heard back, so I wrote her off. When the dream started I was floating on a not-to-be-used-as-a-lifesaving-device air mattress in a pond. I saw her and some of her friends on the far shore, and they yelled and waved me over. But I was embarrassed to meet them with my shirt off, so I returned to my own. They found me anyway, and she said, “Didn’t want to be seen with us, eh?” in a half-joking way. I tried to explain that actually I quite liked her, but was too awkward and embarrassed to say so, but before I could she took off her belt and started playfully spanking me. I “pretended” to enjoy it. Then we were sitting on a couch, also at the beach, under a blanket. I was rubbing the sole of her bare foot. She kept kissing my cheek, and so I turned my head, and she kissed my mouth, and we both said, “This is cool.” Then we were walking in a stiff wind up College Ave. in Davis Square toward Tufts. I put my arm around her and at first she resisted, but then yielded, saying she had to “remind” herself that it was “for real.” I asked when she knew it was for real, and she said, “I got off four times while you rubbing my feet.” I decided that I loved her.
Tuesday, November 28
Singing. Turned into screaming. Woke myself up doing this.
Saturday, December 1
I went to hike Monadnock, and on the way down I saw two speakers and a receiver that I had left there five years before. Somebody said to me “They want to hang you for littering,” and I laughed but in the lodge LF stepped out from behind a pillar and warned me not to try and run because the guards – a pair of camels – would get me.
So apparently I was to be tried for littering. Various members of the community, including G., had prepared speeches against me. The community contained people I knew from college as well as UFE. The trial began with people reading long, rambling, not-strictly-relevant speeches about me. We mostly sat on the floor of a coffee shop. Nobody seemed to be on my side, though K.
continued to be as friendly as he could. And there were a few speeches that were neither pro- nor anti- me.
Finally it was lunch break. I wandered around campus trying to marshal my thoughts. At one point I saw a bear, and went down a path to the Music Festival to ask if anyone knew whether or not to run from bears. A nice hippie woman said “not anymore” and a guy said, “you’re supposed to display rage.” Then the bear pulled its head off to reveal that it was really some dude in a costume. I felt silly, but as it was a very good costume nobody seemed to care, and I patted the hippie woman’s thigh and moved on.
After lunch things were a bit more organized. My professor, B., was due to speak, though whether for or against I don’t know, and I told him I had recently read two books that he’d bee interested in. He guessed that one was Giles Goat-boy, and when I told him the other was Freddy’s Book he laughed. Then he gave a long speech, concluding with the perhaps-facetious proposal that my littering was actually a form of site-specific art.
I kept trying to figure out how best to express my outrage without actually using the words “kangaroo court,” but woke up before I was given the chance.
***
Happy New Year!
Correspondent Aaron T.
Who cares? As Scrawl sings, “Was it a good year do I really need to know ‘cause now it’s behind me forever/It was a good year because it was such a bad year that this year could only be better.”
In this spirit, we at WHEN AARONS ATTACK! bring you
THE YEAR IN DREAMS
(Please note that initials are not consistent from dream to dream. One A is not necessarily the same as
another.)
Saturday, January 27
I had just moved into a large house. It wasn’t in England but P.’s roommates T. and E. and also K from Canada, lived there, along with some others. My room was little more than a crawlspace. On my first night in the house there was a large party, with Innerpink scheduled to play. Apparently tour place was at the top of some large resort-like house on the side of a hill (I think the whole thing took place in Maine), and as one ascended the hill, each part of the building had its own entrance. We were hanging out in some bar somewhere near the house before the show eating buffalo wings. There was a gorgeous girl with jet-black hair, who apparently I was hanging out with.
I offered her the last wing, and then was so drunk I had to take a lurchy walk around the building. I found a funeral party on the lower floors, and I didn’t want to get in trouble, so I disguised myself by wearing all black, including sunglasses and a balaclava. I guess I passed out because the next thing I knew it was morning and I hadn’t heard any of the band. And because it was my first morning living there and I was hung over, I couldn’t find anything, including my way back.
Wednesday, February 14
I was driving M. to some mountain where he was due to meet his friend’s family for hiking and camping. He was worrying that a rash on his hand might be a symptom of diarrhea. I asked him if his stools were messy and he said no, they were big and firm. Told him it couldn’t possibly be diarrhea. Then we were at the base of the mountain and he was worrying about not being able to drive the family’s car, an old Ford. I told him not to worry, that old Fords were like (something very clever that didn’t stay with me upon waking). Suddenly the scene changed and we were in a bed on a stage, about to perform in some play called “Romeo and Juliet” (not the Shakespeare one). He was all the way at one end and I at the other and he made a farting noise. I couldn’t tell if it was real or not, but a customer who had just bought his ticket saw us lying there and heard the noise and tried to return his ticket on moral grounds. I said “Oh, fuck you” and he got very agitated and despite my groveling apologies informed the manager. A small riot began to form and the manager, who apparently was also the director, pulled me down off the stage and started waxing pompous about my horrible deed and preparing to fire me. But a horrible noise sounded outside my window and I woke up before he could!
Tuesday, March 13
Parents & I were visiting my brother’s family, who were in China doing missionary work. We all ate in a Chinese restaurant with very good noodles, as well as pornographic videos at each table, and I tried to explain to the waiter the phenomenon of “pan-Asian”
noodle shops. Then we went outside and started climbing the hill next to the parking lot, except that there were bears, so we turned back. Except Dad, who didn’t see the bear, which pushed him off the cliff.
The rest of us ran: my brother and his wife off somewhere, and Mom and I to the Volvo, though we were unsure if that was the proper way to handle bear attack.
Thursday, April 12
I moved into a new house, and one of the roommates was a girl who started hitting on me immediately. It went so far as for us to get naked and for me to go down on her, an unusually vivid sensation: I had to be certain to go slowly because she had been somehow burned during the waxing process. Then things turned into some kind of John Irving story: by moving in, I had entered a family of sorts, and all of us were high-school age or younger, looking out for each other… strange and complex and very nice and close-knit. It also rained a lot.
Wednesday, May 23
At boarding school somewhere rural, when the U.S.
imposes martial law. Students resist in various ways, overt & covert, and resistance is dealt with summarily. Film student at crafts fair tries to get me a copy of his documentary about the takeover, is caught and removed, I end up in a play by a revolutionary classmate, but nothing seems to come of it.
Thursday, June 7
My bootlaces turned into a king cobra. The snake not the 40.
Monday, July 23
I was at DB’s house – he had moved to Somerville – and he was cooking dinner. He asked me to deliver a coffin to Out of the Blue for a group exhibition. But when I got there I realize I had lost it (it was about the size of a violin case). Couldn’t find it anywhere.
Went to the Sligo and checked the bathroom, where I met the producer Scott Litt. He couldn’t help me but was very amusing.
Tuesday, August 7
Childhood sandwiches personified as living cartoons.
Mr. Peanut Butter was changing his name to Mr. Peanut Butter and Jelly because he had “an infection.” And Ms. Marshmallow Fluff was nothing but a two-bit whore.
Monday, September 24
A. & I were driving in her vehicle along the coast. My arm on the back of her seat. The road was flush with the beach. We came upon a section that was clothing-optional. People were in various states of being garbed. We parked and watched the ocean. I said, “I wish I had my bathing suit” and she dove straight out the door into the water. Her clothes had suddenly been replaced by a black bikini. I followed her, naked, and we swam a bit before I woke up.
Thursday, October 18
I fell in love. There was a girl and we’d had one date. I’d liked her but never heard back, so I wrote her off. When the dream started I was floating on a not-to-be-used-as-a-lifesaving-device air mattress in a pond. I saw her and some of her friends on the far shore, and they yelled and waved me over. But I was embarrassed to meet them with my shirt off, so I returned to my own. They found me anyway, and she said, “Didn’t want to be seen with us, eh?” in a half-joking way. I tried to explain that actually I quite liked her, but was too awkward and embarrassed to say so, but before I could she took off her belt and started playfully spanking me. I “pretended” to enjoy it. Then we were sitting on a couch, also at the beach, under a blanket. I was rubbing the sole of her bare foot. She kept kissing my cheek, and so I turned my head, and she kissed my mouth, and we both said, “This is cool.” Then we were walking in a stiff wind up College Ave. in Davis Square toward Tufts. I put my arm around her and at first she resisted, but then yielded, saying she had to “remind” herself that it was “for real.” I asked when she knew it was for real, and she said, “I got off four times while you rubbing my feet.” I decided that I loved her.
Tuesday, November 28
Singing. Turned into screaming. Woke myself up doing this.
Saturday, December 1
I went to hike Monadnock, and on the way down I saw two speakers and a receiver that I had left there five years before. Somebody said to me “They want to hang you for littering,” and I laughed but in the lodge LF stepped out from behind a pillar and warned me not to try and run because the guards – a pair of camels – would get me.
So apparently I was to be tried for littering. Various members of the community, including G., had prepared speeches against me. The community contained people I knew from college as well as UFE. The trial began with people reading long, rambling, not-strictly-relevant speeches about me. We mostly sat on the floor of a coffee shop. Nobody seemed to be on my side, though K.
continued to be as friendly as he could. And there were a few speeches that were neither pro- nor anti- me.
Finally it was lunch break. I wandered around campus trying to marshal my thoughts. At one point I saw a bear, and went down a path to the Music Festival to ask if anyone knew whether or not to run from bears. A nice hippie woman said “not anymore” and a guy said, “you’re supposed to display rage.” Then the bear pulled its head off to reveal that it was really some dude in a costume. I felt silly, but as it was a very good costume nobody seemed to care, and I patted the hippie woman’s thigh and moved on.
After lunch things were a bit more organized. My professor, B., was due to speak, though whether for or against I don’t know, and I told him I had recently read two books that he’d bee interested in. He guessed that one was Giles Goat-boy, and when I told him the other was Freddy’s Book he laughed. Then he gave a long speech, concluding with the perhaps-facetious proposal that my littering was actually a form of site-specific art.
I kept trying to figure out how best to express my outrage without actually using the words “kangaroo court,” but woke up before I was given the chance.
***
Happy New Year!
Correspondent Aaron T.
Wednesday, August 22, 2001
AN ALLIGATOR ATTACK'S GORY DETAILS
An alligator attacked Edna Wilks, 11, over the weekend in Orlando, Florida, latching onto her arm and pulling her under water. Amanda Valance, also 11, who along with two other friends had been swimming at a lake with Edna, pulled her to shore as the gator followed.
Edna was treated for a broken arm, had surgery to clean debris from her arm muscle and received blood transfusions. CNN's Colleen McEdwards spoke to Edna and Amanda and Edna's doctor, John Ciccarelli of Orlando Regional Medical Center.
COLLEEN McEDWARDS: Edna, I see that you are out of your hospital bed this morning. ... How are you feeling?
EDNA WILKS: I am feeling a little bit tired. I am a little drowsy right now. And I’ve gotta wear this thing. In about an hour, I'm getting ready to go into surgery again. And I was attacked by a friggin’ monster yesterday!
McEDWARDS: Yes. What are you having done?
WILKS: They are just going to open me up again. To reclean my arm and just look for infections, and shrapnel and hopefully they won't find any.
McEDWARDS: Shrap . . .? What do you remember about the attack?
WILKS: I remember everything. It was amazing. I mean, he first
-- when he first grabbed onto my arm, I thought it was my strong, scaly friend, Mark, and I actually said, Mark, stop playing.
And then I had
looked over, and then I kind of rolled my eyes, and I looked over, and I realized it wasn't him at all. And he immediately pulled me under -- the alligator, not Mark, pulled me under and started giving it the old classic “alligator death spin”. And I was like just twirling, twirling, and I heard my -- something crack – you know, something. And I thought to myself, This is going to be it. But - and he bit onto my arm, where I have this huge gash, and I thought I was going to drown. And I thought, This isn’t how I imagined it at all. I’m 11 right? So I have this like very, young girl like, imagination.
So, I’m thinking, Wow, I thought I might die on my Scooter this summer. Mom always says I’m gonna. Or like, sometimes I daydream about fighting with my friend, Amanda, about who Brad Pitt loves more, me or her, and she like kills me, because she’s fitter, and probably right about Brad Pitt. But, The Death by Alligator Death Spin; I never would have thought. And then he stopped spinning, the Alligator, not Mark, because I like when Mark spins me, just like that, and I went back up for air. Is my mom gonna see this?
McEDWARDS: And then, what did you do then?
WILKS: Well, when I went up back for air, I was just
-- all I
could think of was just to try to get him off of my arm. So I used my fingers to try to pry open his mouth, and I friggin’
nearly cut my damned finger off, put a big gash in it, and got some scratches on my thumb and on my palm of my hand. And I lost my “friendship” bracelet Amanda gave me. Don’t leave out the quotes.
McEDWARDS: So he is still on your arm, when you get to the surface, and you used your right hand to get yourself free?
WILKS: Uh-huh.
McEDWARDS: Now, Amanda, you're watching all of this happening.
What did you do?
AMANDA VALANCE “The Friend”: I just immediately went over and pulled her away from the gator once he let go of her. ... I went over and just tried my best to get her away from it once it was turning around and coming back.
McEDWARDS: It was turning around and coming back?
VALANCE: Yes. And then, she got on the boogie board, and I Looked behind us, and it was just gone. It just disappeared under the water, and I have no idea where it went.
McEDWARDS: So what did you do then, Amanda? You've got the alligator going in the right direction. You've got Edna up on your boogie board. Are you pulling her to shore at this point?
VALANCE: Yes. Every once in a while, I would get behind her and I would push her. Then I thought it might be better to be in front of her, on the shore side. And I'd get in front of her and look behind to see if anything was behind us. You know, I had a better view from the front. And then, I just gave her encouragement.
McEDWARDS: And, Edna, what are you thinking at this point?
WILKS: I just thought -- I looked at my arm, and I tried to lift it up, and all I could see was my arm from my shoulder to my elbow. And I thought he had -- when I heard that crack, I thought he had bit my other half of my arm off. And I was screaming, "My arm is gone, my arm is gone, you bitch!" And then I was swimming, and I noticed I was wiggling my fingers.
And then, I knew right then and there that my arm was still attached, so I just tried to use my good arm and supported my other arm and just tried to lean on the boogie board and swim in. No thanks to Amanda who was blocking my way, splashing hysterically.
McEDWARDS: Now, Dr. Ciccarelli, what kind of condition is that Arm in?
JOHN CICCARELLI: Fair to midlan. No seriously, it's in pretty good condition right now. The Snap she heard was actually the alligator breaking the lower part of her upper arm bone when he was probably doing the Death Spin thing. And she has several cuts to her forearm from where he had grabbed onto her arm, the biggest only being about 7 inches long and about an inch deep. And it was nearly down to the bone, and he just missed one of her major nerves that helps control her hand. That’s it really, that’s the extent of it.
You know, she’s 11, and if you’ve ever been an 11 year old girl you KNOW what that’s like. You know, self-aggrandizement, exaggeration, the rest.
McEDWARDS: So is her prognosis pretty good?
CICCARELLI: It is. Like I said, our biggest concern right now is the risk for infection, because of the bacterial contamination that was likely in the lake, as well as the alligator's mouth.
Filthy, filthy mouths alligator’s have. Our biggest concern is keeping that under control, which is why we're taking her back to surgery today to go under the knife and get in there and clean out everything again.
MCEDWARDS: Do you think other surgeries will be necessary? Or will you -- you'll know more after today, I imagine.
CICCARELLI: Yes, we will. Once we cut her open and get a look in there and see how the wound is doing, that's what our biggest concern is at the time. We don't foresee any further surgery, but that's always a possibility.
McEDWARDS: Now, Amanda, as you were watching all of thishappen, you can see it's an alligator. I know a lot of the otherkids you were with sort of wimped out and left the area, as one might understand. Everybody is panicking. Everybody is afraid. But what went through your mind? I mean, did you ever think, you know, I can't get involved in this, there is nothing I can do?
VALANCE: No. I knew I was just -- I had to be there for her,Because I couldn't see her die. And I don't know. I put it in God'shands and everything, and I just...
McEDWARDS: Well, that is courage, my dear. It really is. Edna,what do you think about your best friend now?
WILKS: Oh, it's like we’re supposed to have this “bond” now. Like “She saved my life, and now she’s my hero” kind of thing, and I’m supposed to be forever grateful for that? Look. She’s the pretty one between us and now because I would have died if she didn't come to my rescue, it’s like everybody’s all . . . Do you think I need this? I’ve gone from just being the fat girl to being Alligator tapas that Amanda coolly snatched from the jaws of death! She always has to be the Goddamned hero! If she hadn’t got involved I would have just drowned on my own, or he would have just came -- definitely came back for me and just got me and taken me away, far away.
McEDWARDS: Thank you all for your time this morning.
Edna was treated for a broken arm, had surgery to clean debris from her arm muscle and received blood transfusions. CNN's Colleen McEdwards spoke to Edna and Amanda and Edna's doctor, John Ciccarelli of Orlando Regional Medical Center.
COLLEEN McEDWARDS: Edna, I see that you are out of your hospital bed this morning. ... How are you feeling?
EDNA WILKS: I am feeling a little bit tired. I am a little drowsy right now. And I’ve gotta wear this thing. In about an hour, I'm getting ready to go into surgery again. And I was attacked by a friggin’ monster yesterday!
McEDWARDS: Yes. What are you having done?
WILKS: They are just going to open me up again. To reclean my arm and just look for infections, and shrapnel and hopefully they won't find any.
McEDWARDS: Shrap . . .? What do you remember about the attack?
WILKS: I remember everything. It was amazing. I mean, he first
-- when he first grabbed onto my arm, I thought it was my strong, scaly friend, Mark, and I actually said, Mark, stop playing.
And then I had
looked over, and then I kind of rolled my eyes, and I looked over, and I realized it wasn't him at all. And he immediately pulled me under -- the alligator, not Mark, pulled me under and started giving it the old classic “alligator death spin”. And I was like just twirling, twirling, and I heard my -- something crack – you know, something. And I thought to myself, This is going to be it. But - and he bit onto my arm, where I have this huge gash, and I thought I was going to drown. And I thought, This isn’t how I imagined it at all. I’m 11 right? So I have this like very, young girl like, imagination.
So, I’m thinking, Wow, I thought I might die on my Scooter this summer. Mom always says I’m gonna. Or like, sometimes I daydream about fighting with my friend, Amanda, about who Brad Pitt loves more, me or her, and she like kills me, because she’s fitter, and probably right about Brad Pitt. But, The Death by Alligator Death Spin; I never would have thought. And then he stopped spinning, the Alligator, not Mark, because I like when Mark spins me, just like that, and I went back up for air. Is my mom gonna see this?
McEDWARDS: And then, what did you do then?
WILKS: Well, when I went up back for air, I was just
-- all I
could think of was just to try to get him off of my arm. So I used my fingers to try to pry open his mouth, and I friggin’
nearly cut my damned finger off, put a big gash in it, and got some scratches on my thumb and on my palm of my hand. And I lost my “friendship” bracelet Amanda gave me. Don’t leave out the quotes.
McEDWARDS: So he is still on your arm, when you get to the surface, and you used your right hand to get yourself free?
WILKS: Uh-huh.
McEDWARDS: Now, Amanda, you're watching all of this happening.
What did you do?
AMANDA VALANCE “The Friend”: I just immediately went over and pulled her away from the gator once he let go of her. ... I went over and just tried my best to get her away from it once it was turning around and coming back.
McEDWARDS: It was turning around and coming back?
VALANCE: Yes. And then, she got on the boogie board, and I Looked behind us, and it was just gone. It just disappeared under the water, and I have no idea where it went.
McEDWARDS: So what did you do then, Amanda? You've got the alligator going in the right direction. You've got Edna up on your boogie board. Are you pulling her to shore at this point?
VALANCE: Yes. Every once in a while, I would get behind her and I would push her. Then I thought it might be better to be in front of her, on the shore side. And I'd get in front of her and look behind to see if anything was behind us. You know, I had a better view from the front. And then, I just gave her encouragement.
McEDWARDS: And, Edna, what are you thinking at this point?
WILKS: I just thought -- I looked at my arm, and I tried to lift it up, and all I could see was my arm from my shoulder to my elbow. And I thought he had -- when I heard that crack, I thought he had bit my other half of my arm off. And I was screaming, "My arm is gone, my arm is gone, you bitch!" And then I was swimming, and I noticed I was wiggling my fingers.
And then, I knew right then and there that my arm was still attached, so I just tried to use my good arm and supported my other arm and just tried to lean on the boogie board and swim in. No thanks to Amanda who was blocking my way, splashing hysterically.
McEDWARDS: Now, Dr. Ciccarelli, what kind of condition is that Arm in?
JOHN CICCARELLI: Fair to midlan. No seriously, it's in pretty good condition right now. The Snap she heard was actually the alligator breaking the lower part of her upper arm bone when he was probably doing the Death Spin thing. And she has several cuts to her forearm from where he had grabbed onto her arm, the biggest only being about 7 inches long and about an inch deep. And it was nearly down to the bone, and he just missed one of her major nerves that helps control her hand. That’s it really, that’s the extent of it.
You know, she’s 11, and if you’ve ever been an 11 year old girl you KNOW what that’s like. You know, self-aggrandizement, exaggeration, the rest.
McEDWARDS: So is her prognosis pretty good?
CICCARELLI: It is. Like I said, our biggest concern right now is the risk for infection, because of the bacterial contamination that was likely in the lake, as well as the alligator's mouth.
Filthy, filthy mouths alligator’s have. Our biggest concern is keeping that under control, which is why we're taking her back to surgery today to go under the knife and get in there and clean out everything again.
MCEDWARDS: Do you think other surgeries will be necessary? Or will you -- you'll know more after today, I imagine.
CICCARELLI: Yes, we will. Once we cut her open and get a look in there and see how the wound is doing, that's what our biggest concern is at the time. We don't foresee any further surgery, but that's always a possibility.
McEDWARDS: Now, Amanda, as you were watching all of thishappen, you can see it's an alligator. I know a lot of the otherkids you were with sort of wimped out and left the area, as one might understand. Everybody is panicking. Everybody is afraid. But what went through your mind? I mean, did you ever think, you know, I can't get involved in this, there is nothing I can do?
VALANCE: No. I knew I was just -- I had to be there for her,Because I couldn't see her die. And I don't know. I put it in God'shands and everything, and I just...
McEDWARDS: Well, that is courage, my dear. It really is. Edna,what do you think about your best friend now?
WILKS: Oh, it's like we’re supposed to have this “bond” now. Like “She saved my life, and now she’s my hero” kind of thing, and I’m supposed to be forever grateful for that? Look. She’s the pretty one between us and now because I would have died if she didn't come to my rescue, it’s like everybody’s all . . . Do you think I need this? I’ve gone from just being the fat girl to being Alligator tapas that Amanda coolly snatched from the jaws of death! She always has to be the Goddamned hero! If she hadn’t got involved I would have just drowned on my own, or he would have just came -- definitely came back for me and just got me and taken me away, far away.
McEDWARDS: Thank you all for your time this morning.
Friday, July 27, 2001
THE COMEDIAN
So a comedian walks into a bar with a free newspaper under one arm and a heep load of sadness in the other.
He says to the bartender, here’s my free beer ticket and can I put my stuff somewhere? Here’s what
happens:
Enters stage left. Squints into spotlight. Tries to adjust microphone. Can’t. Takes microphone in hand.
------------------------------------------------
Hi ya how is everyone? Heyyyoooooo!! (crowd
repeats, Heyyyyoooo!!) Good? (laughs) Good. Anyone drunk? Ha ha. Bear with me here. I’ve had a rough nite. (laughs) That’s right, go ahead, laugh. (more laughs, a whistle) Comedian glares at audience sideways with eyebrow arched (laughs) That’s not funny. (general laughter)
So did you hear the one about the unfunny comedian?
(giggles and laughter) Comedian relaxes. I love my wife, I really do. (giggles) But I don’t know . . .
So uh, on the way over to the bar, my girl calls me a homo bitch. (laughs, some hysterics) I says to her, I say, listen: Number one, Who’s the bitch and number two, If I’m a homo what’s that make you? (silence)
Is it just me or is it hot in here? (laughs) Comedian sweats.
Anyone drunk tonight? Heyyyoooooo!! (coughs,
shuffles)
So uh, my girl, on the way over to the bar, she says, Keep your material fresh tonight, Bobby. So I say to her, Listen, I say, I could say the same to you too.
Booohyyyyaah! (glasses clank, ice is chewed) Then she says to me, So how long you been out of work?
(laughs, woops)
Yeah so uh, (more laughs) Listen I don’t mean to interrupt anything here. (laughs, coughs, retching on
cocktails) All right, Okay! (whistles, hoots)
Comedian inaudible I AM looking for a job, really,
its hard. I mean . . .(hollers, hysterics) OKAY.
already! (coughs, whimpering hoots)
So what is it with FRIENDS these days? . . . I mean REALLY! And I’m serious.
This isn’t funny. So I’m talking to my friend, and he says to me, he says, did you forget how to write?
(laughs) I say, no, I’m just taking it easy now. I have other things on my mind. (moans) And he says to me, Either that, or you forgot how! (cheers).
Comedian stares at shoes. Then addresses audience.
That’s not funny. (hysterical guffaws cheers, bravos, standing, hollering) Then he says to me, I think your wife’s pretty. I say, yeah, so do I. Then he says, you gotta funny way of showing it. She told me she thinks you’re milk toast in bed! (uncontrollable
laughter) But what’s that make her, I say to him, What’s that make her? (laughter dies) And what’s that make you?! Comedian’s voice trembles and raises.
Anyone in the house DRUNK tonight? Hayyoooooo!
(nothing)
Oh fuck it. Don’t make me quit. (claps, shouts Do It!
Do It!) I’m serious I’m about to give up. (cheers, heckles Give up what? What was it you were doing?) I mean I thought, Hey a little job, a little wife, a friend or two . . . (laughter) What is it with life these days? (Crowd sing-songs: I MEAN REALLY!)(hoots, hollers, mayhem) That’s not funny. (roar crescendos, standing ovation, whistles, shrieks, snorting, winneing, squeals)
-------------------------------------------------------------
Comedian drops microphone (KERGUNK!). Walks behind red curtain and kicks over plastic cup of beer. Drops pack of cigarettes out of breast pocket, into beer puddle when reaching for plastic cup. Leaves through back door into alley. Too dark. Dead end. Turns around. Notices, though cheers are dimmer from the outside they still posses a passion he himself can never seem to muster. Forgets his free newspaper.
Aaron L.
He says to the bartender, here’s my free beer ticket and can I put my stuff somewhere? Here’s what
happens:
Enters stage left. Squints into spotlight. Tries to adjust microphone. Can’t. Takes microphone in hand.
------------------------------------------------
Hi ya how is everyone? Heyyyoooooo!! (crowd
repeats, Heyyyyoooo!!) Good? (laughs) Good. Anyone drunk? Ha ha. Bear with me here. I’ve had a rough nite. (laughs) That’s right, go ahead, laugh. (more laughs, a whistle) Comedian glares at audience sideways with eyebrow arched (laughs) That’s not funny. (general laughter)
So did you hear the one about the unfunny comedian?
(giggles and laughter) Comedian relaxes. I love my wife, I really do. (giggles) But I don’t know . . .
So uh, on the way over to the bar, my girl calls me a homo bitch. (laughs, some hysterics) I says to her, I say, listen: Number one, Who’s the bitch and number two, If I’m a homo what’s that make you? (silence)
Is it just me or is it hot in here? (laughs) Comedian sweats.
Anyone drunk tonight? Heyyyoooooo!! (coughs,
shuffles)
So uh, my girl, on the way over to the bar, she says, Keep your material fresh tonight, Bobby. So I say to her, Listen, I say, I could say the same to you too.
Booohyyyyaah! (glasses clank, ice is chewed) Then she says to me, So how long you been out of work?
(laughs, woops)
Yeah so uh, (more laughs) Listen I don’t mean to interrupt anything here. (laughs, coughs, retching on
cocktails) All right, Okay! (whistles, hoots)
Comedian inaudible I AM looking for a job, really,
its hard. I mean . . .(hollers, hysterics) OKAY.
already! (coughs, whimpering hoots)
So what is it with FRIENDS these days? . . . I mean REALLY! And I’m serious.
This isn’t funny. So I’m talking to my friend, and he says to me, he says, did you forget how to write?
(laughs) I say, no, I’m just taking it easy now. I have other things on my mind. (moans) And he says to me, Either that, or you forgot how! (cheers).
Comedian stares at shoes. Then addresses audience.
That’s not funny. (hysterical guffaws cheers, bravos, standing, hollering) Then he says to me, I think your wife’s pretty. I say, yeah, so do I. Then he says, you gotta funny way of showing it. She told me she thinks you’re milk toast in bed! (uncontrollable
laughter) But what’s that make her, I say to him, What’s that make her? (laughter dies) And what’s that make you?! Comedian’s voice trembles and raises.
Anyone in the house DRUNK tonight? Hayyoooooo!
(nothing)
Oh fuck it. Don’t make me quit. (claps, shouts Do It!
Do It!) I’m serious I’m about to give up. (cheers, heckles Give up what? What was it you were doing?) I mean I thought, Hey a little job, a little wife, a friend or two . . . (laughter) What is it with life these days? (Crowd sing-songs: I MEAN REALLY!)(hoots, hollers, mayhem) That’s not funny. (roar crescendos, standing ovation, whistles, shrieks, snorting, winneing, squeals)
-------------------------------------------------------------
Comedian drops microphone (KERGUNK!). Walks behind red curtain and kicks over plastic cup of beer. Drops pack of cigarettes out of breast pocket, into beer puddle when reaching for plastic cup. Leaves through back door into alley. Too dark. Dead end. Turns around. Notices, though cheers are dimmer from the outside they still posses a passion he himself can never seem to muster. Forgets his free newspaper.
Aaron L.
Tuesday, June 19, 2001
FUNNY HA HA? OR FUNNY QUEER?
There are a few things funnier than this. Nude models in art class. Male nude models in art class. Male nude models in art class if you too are male. Male nude models in art class if you are a heterosexual male. Male nude models in art class if you are a heterosexual male who is also homophobic.
He dropped his pants and the absence of gasps and snickers filled the room.
Then we all jumped in and got our hands dirty. Feet and hands; foreshortening and perspective. Dimples and tattoos. I learned his name and he spoke to me.
Both intimacies I hadn’t counted on. He had two first names and they sounded Catholic and saintly; at the same time like a porn star.
So there he stood, on the art school desktop, with the art school fabric folded beneath him - a cross between David and a cigar store Indian. A broad sloped nose, tobacco skin, a scar for an appendix, and not so recently shaved down there. I couldn’t not look. And the Greek Indian held council with a stick in his hand and two tattoos wrapped around his arm inside a brick and glass tower with busses, trains and cars following each other down the street outside, six stories below.
From the window you could see men playing baseball on a gigantic-screen TV that’s been erected for fans at Fenway Park. A blimp floated by at eye level.
---------------------------------------------------------
One thing funnier than male nude models is going into the men’s room directly after wrestling with the male nude model’s figure for over two hours. Charcoal is dirty. Burnt wood and chocolate. So we we’re all there, the men of the class, in the bathroom. Boys.
Another loud silence. Then, ‘That was so gay!’, one said. I give him the benefit of the doubt and laugh because it is funny to say that. But then, ‘In a couple of weeks we get a girl!’, laughing like a sly dog. Now I act like I’m laughing, and wonder if this is what passes for locker room talk at art schools.
And I’m sort of wishing I had a towel to snap his bottom with. Then he pretends to be worried and bends over peering under stall doors. He pretends to find the Greek Indian’s legs with his pants around his ankles. The funny one’s fairly hysterical now. He doesn’t find the model or his pants.
I ask the funny one where he lives; then for a ride to a club, There’s music, Did you want to go? Can’t. He doesn’t balk on the ride, though I think he might. We talk work, not sports. We’re both laid off. I learn that he’s the master of an almost-porn sight; of the ‘odd things in vaginas variety’, but that he doesn’t see himself as the Porn Guy or anything. His web site has gotten over some-odd million hits and he’d have to pay more money to maintain this kind of traffic, and even though he has a fat severance package from being laid off, he doesn’t want to pay. He also gets paid $20 for every time someone clicks on a particular ad that’s running on his web site. And he only pays $300 rent because his fiancé’s father just died so they get the fat house and only have to pay property taxes.
He’s optimistic, and not funny anymore, and I want to sexually harass him. But instead, I tell him I like to write, maybe I can write for his new web site.
He drops me off at the club, which has an upstairs and a downstairs stage. I know where to go because the people in line for the downstairs stage don’t look like me. And the ticket taker says she hasn’t misread one yet. I meet the woman I love and will have children with. We can’t hear each other so we mouth words re-enacting a conversation one might have with another. I mouth a ‘So a guy walks into a bar . . .’
joke. I watch one boy caress another’s nipple. The rock and roll singer caresses himself and cries out.
-Aaron L.
He dropped his pants and the absence of gasps and snickers filled the room.
Then we all jumped in and got our hands dirty. Feet and hands; foreshortening and perspective. Dimples and tattoos. I learned his name and he spoke to me.
Both intimacies I hadn’t counted on. He had two first names and they sounded Catholic and saintly; at the same time like a porn star.
So there he stood, on the art school desktop, with the art school fabric folded beneath him - a cross between David and a cigar store Indian. A broad sloped nose, tobacco skin, a scar for an appendix, and not so recently shaved down there. I couldn’t not look. And the Greek Indian held council with a stick in his hand and two tattoos wrapped around his arm inside a brick and glass tower with busses, trains and cars following each other down the street outside, six stories below.
From the window you could see men playing baseball on a gigantic-screen TV that’s been erected for fans at Fenway Park. A blimp floated by at eye level.
---------------------------------------------------------
One thing funnier than male nude models is going into the men’s room directly after wrestling with the male nude model’s figure for over two hours. Charcoal is dirty. Burnt wood and chocolate. So we we’re all there, the men of the class, in the bathroom. Boys.
Another loud silence. Then, ‘That was so gay!’, one said. I give him the benefit of the doubt and laugh because it is funny to say that. But then, ‘In a couple of weeks we get a girl!’, laughing like a sly dog. Now I act like I’m laughing, and wonder if this is what passes for locker room talk at art schools.
And I’m sort of wishing I had a towel to snap his bottom with. Then he pretends to be worried and bends over peering under stall doors. He pretends to find the Greek Indian’s legs with his pants around his ankles. The funny one’s fairly hysterical now. He doesn’t find the model or his pants.
I ask the funny one where he lives; then for a ride to a club, There’s music, Did you want to go? Can’t. He doesn’t balk on the ride, though I think he might. We talk work, not sports. We’re both laid off. I learn that he’s the master of an almost-porn sight; of the ‘odd things in vaginas variety’, but that he doesn’t see himself as the Porn Guy or anything. His web site has gotten over some-odd million hits and he’d have to pay more money to maintain this kind of traffic, and even though he has a fat severance package from being laid off, he doesn’t want to pay. He also gets paid $20 for every time someone clicks on a particular ad that’s running on his web site. And he only pays $300 rent because his fiancé’s father just died so they get the fat house and only have to pay property taxes.
He’s optimistic, and not funny anymore, and I want to sexually harass him. But instead, I tell him I like to write, maybe I can write for his new web site.
He drops me off at the club, which has an upstairs and a downstairs stage. I know where to go because the people in line for the downstairs stage don’t look like me. And the ticket taker says she hasn’t misread one yet. I meet the woman I love and will have children with. We can’t hear each other so we mouth words re-enacting a conversation one might have with another. I mouth a ‘So a guy walks into a bar . . .’
joke. I watch one boy caress another’s nipple. The rock and roll singer caresses himself and cries out.
-Aaron L.
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