To Hold, As t'were, the mirror up to nature...

SORRY FOR THE DOUBLE POST !!!!!!! BUT>>>>>> Well, yeah. It's my blog and as D taught me last night "I do what I want!"

Thoughts on writing.

I have some.

I have a lot of tangential and sometimes contradictory thoughts, some provocative, some perfectly banal. Where to begin?

Well I’ve been wondering a lot lately what someone’s creative output says about them, about their unique psychology. Wondering too if other people wonder this. For instance a conversation in my head might go thusly:

“Hey Beth, do you think your readers might think maybe you have dark repressed sexual issues when they read about your characters who obviously have a great deal of awful sexual issues?”

“Umm, I dunno Beth, that’s an intriguing and alarmingly embarrassing question, thanks for asking. Thanks for bringing that up and getting me all self-conscious about the incestuous creeps and misogynists and adulterous folks in my stories.”

“Whoa, Beth, try not to be so defensive, I was just asking a question! Jeesh. Ummm, why ARE you so defensive and paranoid about this anyway? Do you think maybe you actually DO have something to hide?”

“Um, please stop being outrageous. An artist is an artist and all I’m doing is telling stories. Fictional stories. Letting the imagination wander where it will. I resent the implication that I might be sick in the head.”

“Well, your stories are a little fucked up.”

“So what? So they’re fucked! People are fucked up and fiction is even more fucked up so what the hell?”

“Yeah but aren’t you the least bit curious? Haven’t you even stopped to consider that you might be trying to, I dunno, ‘work through something’ with all this shit?”

“Oh. MY. GOD. Shut the fuck up, you sick fuckface.”

“So you haven’t? Given it a second thought? Spared a moment to consider?”

“You’re a real pushy bitch. Yes, Beth, if you must know this experience has indeed made me very self conscious, very self aware and very concerned about the health and well-being of my nebulous psyche. Ok?”

“And…?”

“No I don’t think I have any repressed sexual urges for my fucking father, Christ, ewww.”

“But father figures?”

“Yes. Any other father figure is incredibly arousing. Anyone EXCEPT my dad. Yuck, or my brother fucking yuck yuck yuck. Or any and all of my uncles.”

“So just fictional father figures?”

“Absolutely. Like Sean Connery or my unfathomable obsession with Tommy Lee Jones, or Indiana jones or Don Draper & Sterling from Madmen. I like father figures. Yes. I'm pretty sure it has to do with fairytales or some bullshit like that.”

“hmm.”

“hmm what? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing.”

“I hate you.”

“I just think maybe you should see someone.”

“Well, no shit, but that has nothing to do with the writing.”

So yeah, that’s a little slice-of-life re-enactment from my frequent back-and-forths lately. I guess as a theatre artist, an actor especially, I’ve always drawn on my imagination in cooperation with my fertile imagination to bring life to someone else’s words and characters and world and vision. It was safer. I could play a rape victim without anyone wondering if I’d actually been raped, or if I was trying to reveal some deep dark secret.

But as a writer I think people really look at you differently, really pause to wonder… “ where did that shit come from??”umm… what’s up with that??? “

So I think I’m getting a little touchy and gun-shy and self-conscious and weird. Surprise surprise. But I have to say, in the interest of full disclosure and acknowledgment of the fact that I am human, that were I a teacher or a parent and read some of this stuff I might have to seek the advice of a counselor.

But is that fair? Because if I read it in a published work I wouldn’t think twice about it. I’d be like: “Oh, that’s just a novel and that’s what happened in the novel”, but for some reason as a work in progress, as a journal or a blog or a student piece in development suddenly the lens reveals possible red-flags and maybe ‘indicators’.

And oh my god sometimes I get so embarrassed it’s unreal. Like the other day I really wanted Danielle to read some stuff I’d worked on to see if I’d crossed a line (well I think I’ve crossed a line, but maybe I wanted to know if I’d crossed a line too many, or too far, or, whatever) and I almost wouldn’t let her read the fucking thing because I got so ridiculously embarrassed. And after she’d read it I had so many questions I wanted to ask her, so many things I wanted her opinion on, but instead of getting the feedback I really wanted\needed\sought-out-- I deflected, distracted and changed the subject so effectively that I never got all the answers, never really had closure on it at all and now I’m still sort of teetering on the brink of throwing it all out! Eeeeek.

And then I’ve been thinking daily about compiling a big list of my topmost influences in writing, literature, cinema and myth, just to try and get a picture of who I am and how I’ve ended up this way; why I’m attracted to the stories I am attracted to, what makes me tick, what makes me jazzed and what stimulates my imagination.

For instance when I tell you that one of my very favorite plays of all time is THE HOUSE OF YES you begin to understand Threnody and Zenith Aschere a little better.

Everything though, from my Catholicism to my taste in music to my favorite foods to my earliest memories to my affinity for cats, all of it means something right? But that does not necessarily mean that ANY of this craziness is in any way autobiographical! Even if a character shares a common viewpoint with the author, or if another character has a particular idiosyncrasy that come directly from the author’s mother—these are not telling, these are not damning, these are not red flags, are they?

Then there’s the simple fact that stories, all stories, have been told before and though my stories might be fun they really are not original. They are a pastiche, a mash-up and an amalgamation of myth and universal truisms and post secrets and romance novels and movies and poetry and lifetime original specials and rumor and legend and taboo. They ain’t special. Lol.

So don’t look too hard at my psyche, I’m just the teller of an aggregate human tale or two. I’m just throwing together entertaining little conglomerations, cobbling together bits and pieces of shit I’ve heard or absorbed or synthesized and re-forming it slightly but really”? It’s the same old hodgepodge that is the human condition. And it isn’t even done especially well.

So I need to lighten the fuck up. And stop asking these tortuous and torturous questions. Stop trying to micro-analyze and just do this for the reasons I enumerated at the outset: tell stories, have fun, exercise the creative imagination. Nothing more and NOTHING LESS. And celebrate one another in the process.

For example, when I read danielle’s stuff I don’t find myself wondering if she might be a rapist or a victim of sexual assault, so why the fuck am I turning the bright searchlight inward with all the dogged obsession of Javert looking for Valjean? Why am I insistent that there MUST be something fundamentally wrong with me or broken with me or suppressed\repressed\oppressed that is struggling to be discovered\liberated\cleansed or whatever? Christ Almighty Beth! It’s just trashy beach novel shit so get the fuck over yourself, have a colorful frozen drink and enjoy it!

The Wedding Announcement

The engagement announcement had set the town a buzz. Avalon Delaney, the eldest and loveliest of the Delaney daughters was to marry Bennett Sinclair, the only son of Grace Bennett and Holden Sinclair of Sinclair Windows & Doors. Together they were heirs to two of the state’s most profitable businesses, representatives from two of the state’s most influential and well-loved families, two of the most eligible catches in the country. She was only twenty, still very young, only midway through her undergraduate education, and he wasn’t too much older, just starting in graduate school. Cedar Falls felt as though they were a perfect modern-day fairy tale; the radiant princess, beloved by all who set eyes upon her, and her handsome prince, the most desirable young man in town.

And they were in love. The town was enamored by their romance. So young, so fresh, so vital, so attractively attired!

People had been speculating about their individual potential since their birth. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if Avalon Delaney married…” and “He’ll be the most eligible bachelor in the county and he’ll need to choose his bride carefully…”. Though Cedar Falls existed in the modern world the town’s soul tended toward an old-time village feel where people concerned themselves with who-was-dating-whom and which-families-were-united, and whose third cousin was related to whose great-aunt by marriage.

And Avalon and Ben had known each other since childhood of course. Ecstatic residents of Cedar Falls were thrilled that two of their own had come together, rather than choose from the dating pools in the city or neighboring towns. The whole town seemed to be behind the match, out of civic pride and the principle of the thing. This union served as an affirmation, as one big, celebratory, Pro-Cedar Falls rally.

The town was considerably less pleased when the couple suddenly decided to move their wedding plans upstate and out of Cedar Falls. The wedding had promised to be an extravagant affair, would be an enormous boon to the Town economy, employing all sorts of various and sundry vendors, from dresses to tuxedoes to musicians to caterers to wine merchants to a team of wedding coordinators to facility rentals to florists, to liveries and the list went on for miles. It promised to be an affair to remember, one for the record books.

And then rumor spread that the wedding would be moved upstate to a private resort. No longer would their beautiful Princess and Handsome Prince ride through Cedar Falls in an open carriage to the Cedarwood Pavillion. No longer would they exchange vows under the frothy pink cherry trees in the exquisite town park.

The move felt like a slap in the face. Cedar Falls took offense to the implication that it wasn’t good enough for the couple it had raised and revered and adored and encouraged as they’d courted. Their first date had been to the Cedar Falls multiplex after dinner at the Riverside Bistro. They’d spent countless afternoons hiking the trails along cedar crest and had picnicked by the falls. He’d proposed to her in the gazebo at the adorable town center and they’d had their engagement celebration at the old Cedar Falls Historical Society Mansion.

Why, the town wondered collectively, speaking in low disapproving tones and scandalized whispers, would they turn their back on their own? Was Cedar Falls not good enough for them? The groundswell of love and good will that the couple had carefully cultivated and enjoyed seemed to dry up in a week as word spread of the betrayal.

Suddenly doors weren’t being held open for Avalon as she browsed the shops downtown. Suddenly drinks weren’t free for Ben at his country club. Where once the sight of the couple elicited admiring glances and affectionate smiles from strangers on the streets or in the park, now the couple was met with cold stares and even less subtle snubs everywhere they went.

It was a nightmare.

But Avalon didn’t know how to break the news to her mother that they’d changed their minds.

“Mum?” She’d asked, sitting back in her seat at the coffee shop downtown, the adorable one with the vintage art on the walls and the old-timey radio playing softly from an artfully concealed speaker system. She was aware that the barista had been glaring at her ever since her arrival, Hadn’t missed the fact that the shop’s gregarious manager hadn’t bothered to come out of the office to say hello to two of his best customers, and had counted five separate acquaintances who had come in, ordered their drinks and had exited without sparing them so much as a courtesy nod. It was getting to be too much. Avalon had never lived like this.

“Mmm?” Her mother hadn’t noticed. Or, if she had noticed she was excellent at keeping an imperturbable veneer of calm and poise. Velvet sipped her mocha latte and scanned the society page with a pleasant smile playing about her lips.

“Can I talk to you about something?” They’d come to discuss the wedding anyhow, so this was as good a time as any to break the news. Avalon reasoned that with this kind of news the sooner really was the better, as ‘save the date’ announcements had already gone out and soon the actual invitations would need to be printed.

Velvet folded the paper smoothly and looked up with a warm smile. “There’s something I need to show you first.” She said, her eyes crinkling I the corners as she reached for a bag at her feet. From within a very attractive recycled-paper-looking bag her mother produced a very clean and eye-catching midsized rectangular box and placed it in the center of the café table.

Avalon stared at it. She adored her mother, she really did, but sometimes she felt the overwhelming urge to shake her.

“Is that what I think it is?” Avalon asked, doing her best to sound pleasant.

Velvet grinned charmingly and bit her lower lip, wrinkling her nose and giggling. “Open it.”

Avalon didn’t think she really needed to open it. The box was black with silver scrolls, the ribbon was crisp white satin. This box was in her wedding colors. Avoiding the impulse to sigh heavily she untied the handsome ribbon that secured the lid to the base and, putting a hand on either side of the lid lifted up until the lid surrendered its hold on the base.

And it was. It was a box of wedding invitations. Gorgeous, expensive wedding invitations. Oh, and cards with directions to the resort upstate.

“They’re beautiful.” Avalon said flatly. They were that. They were also nothing at all like she wanted them to be and they now had misinformation on them. All over them.

“What’s the matter?” Velvet asked, her brow crinkling.

“Don’t get upset,” Avalon prefaced, and Velvet sat back a little in her chair, bracing herself. When Velvet had made a little nod, given the signal that she was ready and had consented to ‘not get upset’, Avalon continued: “but…Ben and I changed our minds.”

Velvet’s already large eyes grew enormous and her brows tilted upwards. “Oh, Avalon.” She breathed, putting perfectly manicured hand to her chest.

“Mum, please—“ Avalon darted her eyes around the small café. Her mother could be dramatic sometimes and she sincerely wanted to avoid a scene. She’d hoped bringing her to a public place would help quell Velvet’s tendency for big emotion, but it was always a bit of a risk that she might go ahead and have a big reaction and that reaction might be for an audience of townies.

“Oh Ava, why?”

Avalon took a deep breath. “Well, a lot of reasons. We talked about it and—“

“Is he having an affair?”

Avalon blinked, her mouth still open from being in the middle of a sentence. Her mother’s green eyes were brimming with tears.

“Ex-cuse me?” Avalon felt fire flare in her veins.

“Honey, you can tell me,” Her mother gushed, pushing the invitation box to the side and reaching across the café table to take her daughter’s hand. “I, of all people, understand!”

She blinked rapidly and had the urge to slap her mother across her perfect face. “We changed our mind about the resort.” Avalon said coldly, plying her hand out of Velvet’s and wrapping her fingers around her heavy coffee mug with all the strength she wanted to be using on her mother’s throat.

Velvet looked confused for a moment, and maybe, what was that? Did she appear just a little bit disappointed?

“Thanks for thinking the worst about Ben though, that was great.” Avalon added uncharitably.

Velvet had the grace to flush. “Sweetie, I just—“

“You just assumed my fiancée had grown tired of me already and was sleeping around?” She lifted the dark roast to her lips and sipped it, even though it was still far too hot. She refused to let her face betray the searing pain that flashed across her lips and tongue. She did, however, glance toward the counter and wonder if they’d set the machine on super-hot just for her benefit. This was torture. They were definitely moving the wedding back to Cedar Falls; she couldn’t take this constant assault from all corners.

Velvet swallowed, swept a tear away from one of her pale green eyes and sniffled daintily. “No, no, not at all, I’m so sorry, that was wrong of me.”

Avalon felt a stirring of guilt. She knew what her mother’s first husband had done to her. Hell, the same man had done a very similar thing to Avalon—broken her heart as carelessly and cruelly. Then she felt another flash of white-hot- rage. So what if Vaughan Grey was a total asshole? That didn’t mean all men were. It didn’t mean her Dad was, for instance, and it certainly didn’t mean that Ben was. Avalon felt like screaming in frustration. Instead she tapped her toe and counted to ten in her head.

“Ben loves me, mother, and I trust him.” She explained for what felt like the seventeenth time to this woman. “Don’t you trust Dad?” Jonah Delaney was the finest man she knew. Her mother frankly didn’t deserve him.

Velvet’s face softened and she looked so irritatingly apologetic. Avalon bit the insides of her cheeks to keep from cursing. “Of course. I’m sorry.” She tried a small smile. “I just misunderstood! I thought you were calling off the whole wedding!”

“And the only possible reason just had to be that Ben was screwing around.”

Velvet blinked. “Well, no,but—“

Avalon was incredulous. “But What?!”

“Well, I just didn’t think it would be you—“ Velvet wisely stopped herself before saying any more.

But she didn’t need to finish the thought for Avalon to understand the gist. She laughed in disbelief. Shaking her head and smiling a completely humorless smile she could no longer even bring herself to look at her mother. She had the impulse to stand up and walk out, the woman made her so insane.

Her mother didn’t think she, Avalon, would be the one having an affair. Because Avalon wasn’t pretty enough, sexy enough or exciting enough to have a little fun on the side. Because Avalon wasn’t as gorgeous as her legendary mother, who had been able to get away with a 23 year affair with the worst man in Cedar Falls.

“Because I know you love Ben so much and you wouldn’t want to call off the wedding for anything.” Her mother tailored her response quietly and with shaking hands lifted her mocha to her lips.

Avalon ground her teeth together and willed herself to be civil. “Yes.” She started. “Ben and I love each other very much and we are getting married and all I wanted to tell you was that we changed our minds about the resort.” There was no hiding her disgust with her mother at this point so she focused on being as thorough and civil as she could manage. “We want to get married here afterall. In Cedar Falls. Where we grew up. Where we fell in love. Where we plan on living and raising a family together.” She glanced at her mother now and was irritated to see her looking so sweet and sappy and ugh!

“I think that’s wonderful.” Said her mother in a hushed, reverent sort of way that made Avalon roll her eyes.

“And I just wanted you to help me break the news to Dad.” She said, glancing at the invitation box. “Sorry you jumped the gun and went and had the invitations made.” More of Dad’s money, she thought to herself grumpily.

Velvet put down her latte and waved her small hand dismissively. “Oh don’t worry about a thing!” She said assuringly, which only seemed to peeve Avalon all the more. Her mother never seemed to worry much about anything. It must be nice being so damned perfect and beloved everyday of your precious life. “They haven’t gone out yet, so no harm done.”

Avalon raised one skeptical eyebrow. “They look really pricey.” She said bluntly.

Velvet blinked, nonplussed. “Yes?”

Avalon really wished the kitschy chandelier suspended above their heads could just leap off its chain and land on her mother’s pretty little head.

“Well now they’re forfeit and we have to buy all new ones.” She said, but Velvet still didn’t seem to see the problem. “Dad?” Avalon pointed out expectantly.

Understanding dawned finally and Velvet rushed to brush it off. “Oh! Oh, of course. Oh, don’t worry at all, you know what? I’ll eat the cost on this. It was my silly impulse, so I’ll pay, of course, he doesn’t even need to know, oh don’t give it another thought!”

One more little secret. One more tiny white lie. Avalon promised herself for the zillionth time that she would never lie to Ben the way her mother lied to her father.

But she nodded. Fine. He wouldn’t have to know. Avalon hadn’t ordered these invitations so she felt perfectly comfortable with letting her mother pay for the cost of them. “But what about the deposit on the resort?” It was non-refundable, it was a good chunk of money, and Jonah had already paid it so there was no getting around that one. On top of already having lost the deposit on the Cedarwood Pavilion, which they’d now have to pay again…

Her mother bit her lower lip and shrugged. “Well that can’t be helped.” She said with a small sigh.

“Do you think he’ll be angry?” Avalon asked, twisting the ribbon on the invitation box between her fingers. She loved her father and hated to put this burden on him but he’d insisted…

“Oh honey no, not at all!” Velvet assured her smoothly. “He wants you to be happy!” She exclaimed with a bright smile. “If getting married her in Cedar Falls is what will make his little girl happy then he will be behind it one hundred percent!”

Avalon began to lift her croissant to her lips and stopped. She glanced at the counter where the Barista and a busboy watched. She glanced back at the croissant and slowly returned it to the plate without chancing a bite. “We want to get married here.” She said, a little over-loudly. “At the pavilion.”

Velvet beamed. “Wonderful.” She looked at the croissant too. “Wise choice” she added with a wink. “We’ll be dress shopping soon, so no more buttery pastries!”

Avalon clenched her teeth together. She hated her sometimes. She really did. She fumed behind a passive mask and watched her mother gather up the useless invitations and return them to the earth-friendly stationary bag.

“Hey, what’s that one?” Avalon asked, spying another box, this one a different set of colors and a slightly different size.

Her mother gasped a little. And then bit her lip as her mouth spread into a huge grin. It was a surprise. Velvet always made that exact face when someone discovered she was hiding a surprise.

“Mum, what is it?” Avalon knew she would find out. Her mother was no good at all at keeping surprises a secret.

“I shouldn’t.” She said excitedly.

“Mum?” Avalon recognized that she sounded a lot like her Dad when he used that very teacher-y sort of tone.

She made an exclamatory little noise in her throat and pulled out the other box with barely-suppressed glee. Sliding it across the table she made Avalon vow not to tell anyone else, told her they had to wait just a few more days.

Impatiently Avalon agreed and then removed the box lid. Inside was a neat stack of handsome single-sheet announcements. Avalon re-read the bulletin three times, not able to make much sense of it.

“What the hell is this?” She asked, genuinely befuddled.

“Avalon, language.” Her mother said through her delight. “It’s a marriage announcement.” She answered, her voice flushed with girlish glee.

Was it a joke? “Did the printers make a mistake?”

Suddenly panicked, Velvet snatched one off the top of the stack and her eyes skimmed over the script so rapidly that they looked like a greenish blur. When she reached the bottom she sighed with relief and smiled. “Oh my goodness, you had me worried!”

Avalon sneered. So her mother did worry occasionally. What an enormous comfort. If only she might be bothered to muster concern for things that really mattered. She waited expectantly for her mother to explain what the hell this ridiculous piece of paper meant.

Velvet blinked, her smile slipping. “Aren’t you thrilled? It’s so exciting!”

Avalon took a breath and asked the heavens for patience. “This implies that ‘Calder Grey Delaney and Magdalena Teresa Ramirez have wed’.”

Velvet nodded enthusiastically and clapped her hands together giddily.

“Excuse my language Mum, but what, the hell, is this?”

Velvet looked slightly dismayed for a moment but rallied swiftly. “Your brother eloped! Several days ago!” She looked a little misty. “They’re on their honeymoon now and I wanted to have this announcement ready to send out as soon as they get back.” She looked very proud of herself.

Avalon could do little besides stare dumbly.

Her mother scrambled to cover the awkwardness. “She’d absolutely lovely, Ava, you’ll just love her! And they eloped and I met her father and he’s such a sweetheart, protective, you know? But sweet. They own the Mexican place over on the corner of Maple and Elm? Her family does. Her mother died, isn’t that sad? But you’ve been there. And she works at your uncle’s shop too! She sells wine! That’s where they met, oh isn’t that sweet?”

“You have got to be joking.” Said Avalon finally, unable to endure her mother’s bubbling chatter.

Velvet looked momentarily quelled. “No. It’s true.” She said sweetly. “She’s lovely and, well, they got married at city hall before telling anyone they were even engaged and, well, we’re keeping their secret until they’re back from the honeymoon, and I really think she’s going to make him very, very happy.”

This was insane. “I’ve never even heard of this girl.” She said disdainfully.

“Isn’t that just like your brother?!” Her mother exclaimed adoringly.

No. No it wasn’t. It wasn’t at all like Grey to up and elope. Something was very fishy. Last Avalon had heard Grey was hooking up with Cassidy Sheridan’s younger sister. And that had been, like, two weeks ago.

City Hall? Had he been drunk? Cedar Falls wasn’t exactly Vegas. Avalon didn’t think it worked like that around here. Here you’d pretty much have to know what you were doing.

Avalon didn’t have anything nice to say so, as her father had so often taught her, she didn’t say anything at all. She decided that even if her coffee had cooled she wasn’t sure she wanted to take the chance that it hadn’t been tampered with. She reached for the bottle of water she’d purchased and twisted the safety seal, thanking the inventors of those little indicators of foul-play.

“You have a new sister-in- law!” Her mother exclaimed after a long moment of stubborn silence on Avalon’s part. “We have a new member of the family!”

Avalon set her jaw and clucked her tongue in abject aggravation “Does this mean I have to add her to the wedding party?”

Status Quo

Hey friends. Guest writer today! Here's a piece Aaron did for a writing exercise that explored the dramatic structure.

This is the beginning, the status quo, how it all begins. This was a big deal because a rich status quo, with lots of possible story threads on which to pull, makes for the best stories, the best dramatic structure an development. The assignment was to create a status quo and then send it to the next person who pulled out an inciting incident, then that went to the next person who wrot a collision factor and well, the whole class finished with a (hopefully) interesting tale!

It ended up going in a wayyy different direction that Aaron or I imagined it would, but in any case the Status Quo was indeed rich and layered and filled with wonderous, delicious possibilities for a writer to grab hold of and run with!

So please enjoy: STATUS QUO

*****************

I like to think that I’m a decent person. By the time I’ve finished my story you may or my not agree; it depends on how you define “decent”. I’ve never cheated or stolen, never lied, nothing big anyway, I don’t smoke, I rarely drink, I vote, I file my taxes in January, and I give to charity when I can. Hell, I’ve never even called in sick. And that’s not for lack of temptation.

You see, I work in a zoo--not like “Geez my office is a real zoo sometimes”; no I work in a literal zoo, animals, cages, gift shops filled with over-priced plastic critters and custom printed doodads, the whole bit.

Now, you might be thinking a zoo doesn’t sound that bad; maybe I get to play with the animals or maybe I work in one of the pleasantly air conditioned gift shops. Nope. I clean. I’m a custodian. I don’t clean the cages--excuse me--enclosures, I don’t go near the animals, no nearer to them than the visitors do anyway. In fact being a custodian in a zoo is pretty much like being a custodian anywhere else except for a couple key differences.

The first difference is that, unlike your average grocery store or office janitor, I’m constantly surrounded by the insipid flirting between the animal handlers. The animal handlers have the fun jobs, they’re the ones who feed the animals and play with them and all that. But really they are a bunch of oversensitive twenty-something bleeding-hearts living out some altruistic dream of saving the natural world by putting little pieces of it into cages--sorry--enclosures. When they’re not praising each other, and by proxy, themselves, these self-righteous do-gooders are fulfilling the secondary ambition of all self-praising good Samaritans: chasing tail. I’m surrounded, on a daily basis, by more cheesy hormone-driven banter than a speed-dating host.

The second major difference is that I spend most of my time outside, year round, rain, sleet, or snow. In the summer I remove hornets nests from the snack stands and gift shops (a task at which I’ve become increasingly an expert) and in the winter I shovel snow. The zoo is closed in the winter, which on the one hand is nice because I don’t have to pick up after a bunch of yuppies, but on the other hands the sidewalks and pathways I shovel go mostly untraversed, which gives me a feeling of pointlessness.

Thirdly, there’s my boss. He acts like some kind of hardass, but he wears hemp sandals to work and he drives a Prius. He’s a vegan and his skin is this sallow kind of orangey color. Worst of all he seems to innately distrust me. He makes no secret of his distrust, he’s always creeping around when I’m working, giving me the stink-eye and sometimes going so far as to outright inform me that he’s keeping an eye on me.

Anyway, my point is that I have plenty of reasons to simply not show up, or to call in sick, but I show up everyday without fail. I show up, despite the temptation not to. I guess that’s were I’m going with all this, what I’m trying to say is that everyone experiences the temptation to do bad things; it’s the successful resistance of that temptation that makes us good people, decent. Where though is that line? The line where the thing is so awful, so contemptuous, that the very temptation, the simple urge to commit the sin--whatever it may me--makes you a degenerate beyond reproach; a thing so undeniably treacherous that despite your resistance to it, you are still an irredeemable monster. Maybe my story can help to answer that question, or maybe not.

It’s nearly spring now and school fieldtrip season will start in a couple weeks. I hate spring.