Quasi
an outlet for young writers
August 1, 2002
Volume 1, Issue 11
Back From Vacation
You did not receive an issue of Quasi in the middle of July because I was on vacation in Bethany Beach with my family. I kept telling myself that the point of a vacation is to refresh and strengthen one to go back to work, but alas, I wish I was still there. However, the show must go on.
If you wish to see more completely lame, absolutely mindless TV, the show "30 Seconds to Fame" has only strengthened the point made in the last issue of Quasi. I saw a couple minutes and was actually embarrassed for the people on the show and in the audience.
This issue features two new contributors. Phil Gallo has written a neat little piece on what makes men the superior sex, and Angelina Greene has written a very nice poem. In Mouthin Off, I talk about dogs.
Summer still has a month left, but already it feels like is about over. Feel free to write in about your summer.
Be as generic as you want. I suggest you write in about the small pleasures you've discovered this summer. For me, some of those have been the french film Amelie, the stories of the Old Testament, the Chili Peppers and Dave Matthews cds, and Chipotle burritos.
...
Pigs with Pigskins - An Essay
By Phil Gallo
The common perception is that women are far more advanced in their social
skills than men. Put a bunch of women in a room who have never met and
within an hour theyll be best friends and will stay in touch until they die.
Put a bunch of men in a room who have never met and youll be lucky if one of
them says a thing. And the one guy who does say something, well, we all know
what the other guys think of him.
Although somewhat exaggerated, I think this scenario holds fairly true as a whole.
However I was recently forced to question which of the sexes is indeed the superior
social animal.
I was on the west coast visiting a friend of mine and part of the week was
going to be spent on a boat in the ocean fishing for salmon. We arrived to the
coast a day early because we were to awake at an ungodly hour the next morning.
My friend's extended family was going to meet us there and we were all going to
hang out that night and then be off the next morning.
My friend's uncles have sons who were there with us on the beach that night
before the trip. I had never met these guys but that was ok because they had a football.
Pleasantries were exchanged and soon a game formed and the bonding began.
Before I knew it I was in a huddle with guys I had never met, our arms around
each other as we strategized as to how we were going to destroy the other team.
By the end of the game I had been through the war with these guys and we were forever
teammates.
Our bond formed in the cauldron of testosterone. My friend and her
cousin sat on the sidelines and laughed at how quickly all of the guys
bonded. Of course there's no way in the world I'd ever keep in touch with
these guys. But if we were to meet again we would have been teammates once
and had participated in the most sacred activity a man can partake in. We
sweat and gave our bodies together to get the ball across the goal line.
Phil's email is Philoniusgallo@aol.com
...
Slam This! Poet's Forum
Silence
by Angelina Greene
Silence is difficult to achieve
To turn off the music
To push out the thoughts which crowd and scream
Push, push, push
I don't like silence
I don't like to be alone in my head
Blank but crowded is how it feels
Like driving down a county road at midnight with no streetlights or moon
Just the car head lights barely pushing at the blankness.
Small things barely seen hover on the edges of the light
Things that if I were younger would have made me run screaming to my mother
Silence
Good for me, but like a dental appointment, something I don't crave
Why is silence so difficult for me?
Maybe because I talk so much
Maybe because it makes me not push out the dark things that hover unseen
The doubts, the insecurities, the dreams half realized, the dreams realized, and the dreams which will never be
There is color in silence
In nothing
The color of the car beams glinting off half thoughts
Is it color worth pursuing?
I can only make out the tones of the colors
I wonder what the hues are
I wonder if there is a story in the hues or if there is a miracle in them
Something that would fix all, an elixir or a Holy Grail
Or maybe there is a poison in the colors, better left alone
But how do I know if I don't pursue them
I heard that no artist can give what is not inside them
Maybe that is what frightens me seeing the darkness and knowing what I could be
Silence
Silence puts me to sleep
Ignoring the tattered, fluttering scraps of shrouded thoughts
letting the wind blow them far from my focus
leaving nothing to intrude
My empty mind wants to fold
Angelina's email is angelinagreene@hotmail.com
...
Mouthin' Off
Jon Ward
Dog Days
I never knew how much my family's dog meant to me until he died.
Hershey was a springer spaniel my mother bought to "surprise" my father a
little less than a year ago. At first I thought he was cute, when he was a
puppy. He was running around our front yard, this cuddly little thing, so
small and huggable, and I thought, "How could you not fall in love?"
But Hershey grew up. He grew out of his small puppy stage, as all dogs do,
and became a raving lunatic. Or at least that's the way I looked at it when
every time I came home he would charge to meet me and in his excitement pee
all over the floor and my shoes, if I wasn't quick enough.
One of Hershey's other annoying habits was to sprawl out in the middle of
the floor on his back, legs splayed in all directions, which to me was
offensive, since his private parts were basically right there for the whole
world to see.
There was also the chewing. Hide your shoes, because if Hershey got ahold of
them, you'd be at the store buying new ones, although I did get my mom to
buy me new sandals after Hershey chewed through my old ones.
"He's your dog," I said, which was what I said every time Hershey peed on
the carpet or wanted to be taken outside. I was not very sympathetic to
Hershey.
But as time went on I noticed that there was a tangible pleasure that came
from petting and playing with Hershey after a long day at work in the cold
and heartless world. There was no shortage of enthusiasm on Hershey's part
when it came to displaying affection. He yearned to be petted, yearned to be
played with, yearned to be loved.
Although I was not quite as ready to give that love as my mom, my sister,
and my little brothers, Hershey coerced it out of me by sheer
relentlessness. The only thing he knew was boundless joy.
We were at the beach on vacation when we found out he had been
hit by a car and killed. A relative had been taking care of him, and Hershey
had gotten out of the yard, run across a major street, and was knocked into
doggy heaven (or perhaps there is a purgatory for dogs).
I didn't react very much. I wasn't all that attached to Hershey. Part of me
thought it was kind of funny, since I had always thought of Hershey as
pretty stupid, and could see this incident as his crowning achievement. I
felt worse for our relative than for Hershey.
But I knew that others in my family would not take the news so "well." In
fact, they were crushed. I was surprised at how hard they took the news. I
walked up to the beach, and my mom, my sister and my little brothers were
all sitting there huddled together. One of them had written the name Hershey
in the sand.
I thought it was a bit melodramatic over a dog, but I did understand that
different people react different ways, and that they were all more attached
to Hershey than I was. My mom had bought Hershey, after all, after the last of
her kids went off to school.
I talked to my sister a couple days later, though, and I asked her, "What
was it about Hershey that made him so great, that made you so sad that he
was dead?" The thought behind it was, it was just a dog, an animal.
But my sister said, "Whenever I come home from work or have a bad day, he's
always happy, and he's brightens up my day."
I had been thinking of having a relationship with an animal as odd, but as
my sister talked I realized that we do forge meaningful friendships with
animals. I can't explain why I thought of that as odd; I just did, and still
do to some degree.
I got home from my second day of work back from vacation, and I saw that
there were gates up in our house. I walked in, saw the guilty looks on my
mom's and sister's faces, and knew what had happened.
The new dog is a girl. We call her Maddy, short for Madison. She is just as
cute as Hershey was a pup, probably cuter. She went through a brief yelping
phase in the middle of the night, but it appears she is over that.
And I have started up with Maddy where I left with Hershey. I can't say I'm
emotionally attached, but some day I may be, thanks to Hershey. It's
amazing what an animal can do.
...
an outlet for young writers
August 1, 2002
Volume 1, Issue 11
Back From Vacation
You did not receive an issue of Quasi in the middle of July because I was on vacation in Bethany Beach with my family. I kept telling myself that the point of a vacation is to refresh and strengthen one to go back to work, but alas, I wish I was still there. However, the show must go on.
If you wish to see more completely lame, absolutely mindless TV, the show "30 Seconds to Fame" has only strengthened the point made in the last issue of Quasi. I saw a couple minutes and was actually embarrassed for the people on the show and in the audience.
This issue features two new contributors. Phil Gallo has written a neat little piece on what makes men the superior sex, and Angelina Greene has written a very nice poem. In Mouthin Off, I talk about dogs.
Summer still has a month left, but already it feels like is about over. Feel free to write in about your summer.
Be as generic as you want. I suggest you write in about the small pleasures you've discovered this summer. For me, some of those have been the french film Amelie, the stories of the Old Testament, the Chili Peppers and Dave Matthews cds, and Chipotle burritos.
...
Pigs with Pigskins - An Essay
By Phil Gallo
The common perception is that women are far more advanced in their social
skills than men. Put a bunch of women in a room who have never met and
within an hour they
Put a bunch of men in a room who have never met and you
them says a thing. And the one guy who does say something, well, we all know
what the other guys think of him.
Although somewhat exaggerated, I think this scenario holds fairly true as a whole.
However I was recently forced to question which of the sexes is indeed the superior
social animal.
I was on the west coast visiting a friend of mine and part of the week was
going to be spent on a boat in the ocean fishing for salmon. We arrived to the
coast a day early because we were to awake at an ungodly hour the next morning.
My friend's extended family was going to meet us there and we were all going to
hang out that night and then be off the next morning.
My friend's uncles have sons who were there with us on the beach that night
before the trip. I had never met these guys but that was ok because they had a football.
Pleasantries were exchanged and soon a game formed and the bonding began.
Before I knew it I was in a huddle with guys I had never met, our arms around
each other as we strategized as to how we were going to destroy the other team.
By the end of the game I had been through the war with these guys and we were forever
teammates.
Our bond formed in the cauldron of testosterone. My friend and her
cousin sat on the sidelines and laughed at how quickly all of the guys
bonded. Of course there's no way in the world I'd ever keep in touch with
these guys. But if we were to meet again we would have been teammates once
and had participated in the most sacred activity a man can partake in. We
sweat and gave our bodies together to get the ball across the goal line.
Phil's email is Philoniusgallo@aol.com
...
Slam This! Poet's Forum
Silence
by Angelina Greene
Silence is difficult to achieve
To turn off the music
To push out the thoughts which crowd and scream
Push, push, push
I don't like silence
I don't like to be alone in my head
Blank but crowded is how it feels
Like driving down a county road at midnight with no streetlights or moon
Just the car head lights barely pushing at the blankness.
Small things barely seen hover on the edges of the light
Things that if I were younger would have made me run screaming to my mother
Silence
Good for me, but like a dental appointment, something I don't crave
Why is silence so difficult for me?
Maybe because I talk so much
Maybe because it makes me not push out the dark things that hover unseen
The doubts, the insecurities, the dreams half realized, the dreams realized, and the dreams which will never be
There is color in silence
In nothing
The color of the car beams glinting off half thoughts
Is it color worth pursuing?
I can only make out the tones of the colors
I wonder what the hues are
I wonder if there is a story in the hues or if there is a miracle in them
Something that would fix all, an elixir or a Holy Grail
Or maybe there is a poison in the colors, better left alone
But how do I know if I don't pursue them
I heard that no artist can give what is not inside them
Maybe that is what frightens me seeing the darkness and knowing what I could be
Silence
Silence puts me to sleep
Ignoring the tattered, fluttering scraps of shrouded thoughts
letting the wind blow them far from my focus
leaving nothing to intrude
My empty mind wants to fold
Angelina's email is angelinagreene@hotmail.com
...
Mouthin' Off
Jon Ward
Dog Days
I never knew how much my family's dog meant to me until he died.
Hershey was a springer spaniel my mother bought to "surprise" my father a
little less than a year ago. At first I thought he was cute, when he was a
puppy. He was running around our front yard, this cuddly little thing, so
small and huggable, and I thought, "How could you not fall in love?"
But Hershey grew up. He grew out of his small puppy stage, as all dogs do,
and became a raving lunatic. Or at least that's the way I looked at it when
every time I came home he would charge to meet me and in his excitement pee
all over the floor and my shoes, if I wasn't quick enough.
One of Hershey's other annoying habits was to sprawl out in the middle of
the floor on his back, legs splayed in all directions, which to me was
offensive, since his private parts were basically right there for the whole
world to see.
There was also the chewing. Hide your shoes, because if Hershey got ahold of
them, you'd be at the store buying new ones, although I did get my mom to
buy me new sandals after Hershey chewed through my old ones.
"He's your dog," I said, which was what I said every time Hershey peed on
the carpet or wanted to be taken outside. I was not very sympathetic to
Hershey.
But as time went on I noticed that there was a tangible pleasure that came
from petting and playing with Hershey after a long day at work in the cold
and heartless world. There was no shortage of enthusiasm on Hershey's part
when it came to displaying affection. He yearned to be petted, yearned to be
played with, yearned to be loved.
Although I was not quite as ready to give that love as my mom, my sister,
and my little brothers, Hershey coerced it out of me by sheer
relentlessness. The only thing he knew was boundless joy.
We were at the beach on vacation when we found out he had been
hit by a car and killed. A relative had been taking care of him, and Hershey
had gotten out of the yard, run across a major street, and was knocked into
doggy heaven (or perhaps there is a purgatory for dogs).
I didn't react very much. I wasn't all that attached to Hershey. Part of me
thought it was kind of funny, since I had always thought of Hershey as
pretty stupid, and could see this incident as his crowning achievement. I
felt worse for our relative than for Hershey.
But I knew that others in my family would not take the news so "well." In
fact, they were crushed. I was surprised at how hard they took the news. I
walked up to the beach, and my mom, my sister and my little brothers were
all sitting there huddled together. One of them had written the name Hershey
in the sand.
I thought it was a bit melodramatic over a dog, but I did understand that
different people react different ways, and that they were all more attached
to Hershey than I was. My mom had bought Hershey, after all, after the last of
her kids went off to school.
I talked to my sister a couple days later, though, and I asked her, "What
was it about Hershey that made him so great, that made you so sad that he
was dead?" The thought behind it was, it was just a dog, an animal.
But my sister said, "Whenever I come home from work or have a bad day, he's
always happy, and he's brightens up my day."
I had been thinking of having a relationship with an animal as odd, but as
my sister talked I realized that we do forge meaningful friendships with
animals. I can't explain why I thought of that as odd; I just did, and still
do to some degree.
I got home from my second day of work back from vacation, and I saw that
there were gates up in our house. I walked in, saw the guilty looks on my
mom's and sister's faces, and knew what had happened.
The new dog is a girl. We call her Maddy, short for Madison. She is just as
cute as Hershey was a pup, probably cuter. She went through a brief yelping
phase in the middle of the night, but it appears she is over that.
And I have started up with Maddy where I left with Hershey. I can't say I'm
emotionally attached, but some day I may be, thanks to Hershey. It's
amazing what an animal can do.
...
posted by Jon at
5:03 PM
