The Pendulum 2009
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St. Luke’s School 377 North Wilton Road New Canaan, CT 06840 (203)966-5612 flachsbarts@stlukesct.org
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Introduction
Kara Clark
The procedure is simple. Wednesdays during our Lunch Period, The Pendulum Staff meets to review the work of our peers. We’ve seen poems of all forms, stories, critical essays, even collages. The following pages contain works that made us feel or think about something you should also experience: Interpretation is everything. What we perceive and what you perceive can lead to completely different conclusions. This is especially true in literature. While you might think I am speaking of love or beauty, I may actually be referring to heartbreak and bitterness. Literature and art are the transformation of events in reality to written word or an artistic medium. But what happens when the creator of art transposes his work in a subjective way? This is a form of distortion. So distortion is the theme of this year’s literary magazine. Prefaced by the ambiguity of a Presidential election, and sustained by economic and ethical uncertainty, this year, has been unique, and we have been fascinated by the way our writers and artists have transformed or distorted the things they have written about or depicted. Outlandish poems, humorous prose and manipulated photos make up this year’s issue of the Pendulum. This array of creativity is yours for the taking. So read on and be entertained, baffled, or even slightly disturbed by this year’s Pendulum. We know you’ve been waiting for it.
The Pendulum Editor - Kara Clark Layout Design - Jon Salamon Business Manager - Alyssa Ericson Artistic Editor - Maren Engh Literary Editors: Alex Polyakov Anna Van Munching Faculty Advisor - Stephen Flachsbart
Staff Members: Connor Stirland Cooper Baer Jake Pressman Sam Fomon Emily Bergmann ZoĂŤ Panopoulos
Printed by Allegra Printing, Westport, CT
Staff
Inventory
Literature
11 12 13 15 16 17 19 20-21 22 23 24-25 29 35 36 37 38 39 39 41 44 46 46 47 48 49 50 51 51 52 53 54 59 60 60 61 63
Boy Enter Theodore Seventeen My Dear Goon Destined for Success Porcelain Library A Darkening Sky SHUT UP AND DRIVE Just So You Know… The Accident The Closet Quest Something Insane Mr. U.S.A. Just the Way It Is What is Bad Weather? Grendel’s Revenge In a Stuffy Restaurant Where Is Hollywood? Same Old Story Naïveté plus Rocks plus Cars Heaven Hell A Human Dilemma Why? Sorry Katie The Snuggy Game Over Do Not Eat Carrots Night Grandfather Rhetorical Musings A Lithuanian Summer If I Were an Instrument Unsettled The Odd Couple MCMLXXVIII
Kara Clark Teddy Benson Joe Tedder Carrie Osborn Chip Larsen Sam Fomon Alexandra Jaffe Ryan Giggi Erica Cross Kim Callaghan Ellie Werner Olivia-Rose Tow Glenn Champion Clara Xie Kara Clark Chris DeMond Alex Polyakov Will Clayton Will Delano Jon Gestal Maren Engh Matt Connors Jessie Haims Zoë Panopoulos Kelly Sullivan Glenn Champion Will Clayton Maren Engh Alex Polyakov Kara Clark Billy Prince Jon Salamon Beau Duncan Anonymous Emily Bergmann Billy Prince
Inventory 10 13 14 15 17 18 21 22 23 25 26 27 28 28 29 30 31 32-33 34 37 40 42 43 45 45 47 48 51 52 53
Manipulated Photograph Photograph Charcoal Pencil Photograph Charcoal Photograph Photograph Marker Silk Brocade Jacket Photograph Photograph Photograph Photograph Pastel Photograph Photograph Photograph Photograph Acrylic Photograph Collage Collage Manipulated Photograph Photograph Manipulated Photograph Photograph Mixed Media Charcoal Pencil
Art
Chris Santoro Conor Swanberg Priyanka Bajaj Dominique Bandoo Gabrielle Levion Jacob Parker-Burgard Maren Engh Andrew Veidenheimer Priyanka Bajaj Dominique Bandoo Gabrielle Levion Maren Engh Conor Swanberg Cole Bishop Dominique Bandoo Gabrielle Levion Cole Bishop Cole Bishop Zach DeVito Priyanka Bajaj Carla Savino Maren Engh Chip Larsen Amy Brown Amy Brown Chris Santoro Carla Savino Dominique Bandoo Dominique Bandoo Jack Henson
54 55 56 57 58 61 62 63
Pencil Pencil Photograph Charcoal Charcoal Photograph Charcoal Manipulated Photograph
Alex Fomon Alex Fomon Zach DeVito Dominique Bandoo Dominique Bandoo Alie Smith Emlyn Hilson Andrew Veidenheimer
Cover Art - Zach DeVito (Photograph) Inside Cover Art - Alie Smith (Manipulated Photograph) Back Cover Art - Jon Salamon (Digitally Manipulated Image)
Chris Santoro -10-
Manipulated Photograph
Boy
Popping Primary Colored Pills & Dating a girl with a face for radio Would only feel this good for a moment In the dull neon TV-light he Ate the popcorn carelessly And wondered if Angelina Jolie Would ever kiss him back But he would have to try
==ca== -11-
Kara Clark
Enter Theodore
Teddy Benson
O, what a prisoner am I! Indomitable is the oppressor That condemns all who think with hands, All who feel with minds. But vanquish The incentive of the soul he will not, For ‘tis ubiquitous – it lives in the Glands used to breathe, in the ears That hear the songbird sing. Birth into this suppressive era makes Idealists of us all –but is it not A natural flaw that gives a woman Her internal beauty, a writer his Distinct style, a painting its racy aura? Will these shackles that forbear hands from prayer Be released before Athena is awoken By the collision of Cloud and soil? Or must the battle cries of artists alike Sound from the hilltops as the draconian Elites scramble into formation In the valleys below? Ay, but the Mind and immediate worth of creation Perish with time, and one must examine The value of his existence against The gravity of his own emotions. He exits.
-12-
Seventeen
Joe Tedder
I am seventeen I’m on top of the world I know everything Two plus two equals four Bunny ears, loop, swoop, and pull I can drive a car I can parallel park Well no, sometimes it doesn’t work But, I can see an R-rated movie I want to be a teacher and help the world No... I want to work on Wall Street I want to live a life of luxury How do I write a check?
Conor Swanberg
-13-
Photograph
Priyanka Bajaj
Charcoal -14-
My Dear Goon
Carrie Osborn
An endearing gap between your two front teeth And the fact that you are slightly cross-eyed. Your collard shirts and giant, goofy, glasses, You swim with dolphins while only wearing tie-dyed shoes. Spiky hair and scruffy five o’clock Cocking your head to the side, puzzled. Ties that are too bright for a funeral, And your eyebrows raised in a boyish smile. Sometimes you make up funny accents, And create your own make-shift dances. Your favorite band is Russian Techno And you live to wash the dishes in slippers. Only making me love you more, my goon. And so I will take my chances with you, And ask you in a Russian tone, Will you be mine, my Valentine?
Dominique Bandoo -15-
Pencil
Destined for Success
Clayton Towers Larsen, Jr.
Even for this WASPy area, my name is a little over the top. It just reeks of fancy boarding schools and private yachts, trust funds and the Ivy League. I’ve always hated it; it made me feel like a snob. The last name is fine, but Clayton Towers sounds like a stuffy Englishman from some boring Jane Austen novel. How in the world am I supposed to live a normal life with a name like that? It was never easy; I was always the only “Clay” or “Chip” in all of my elementary school classes. That’s not an easy thing to be in a room with three Steves, two Johns, and an assortment of Bills, Wills, and Billys. Sure it’s nice to be unique, but at that age all I wanted to do was fit in, and how could I do that when I was up against an army of peers with cookie-cutter first names? If I were a Clay I was teased for being rich and stuck-up (of which I was neither), or worse yet, a form of Play-Do. When I was Chip I was subject to comparisons between me and a multitude of popular snack foods. At that age, I just wished I had been given some generic biblical name: Peter, Paul, Matthew. Even Ezekiel would have been better, in my mind. The crazy part of the whole business is that my family is the last one you would expect to bestow such a name on a child. My father, the original Clayton Towers Larsen, was the son of teachers, second-generation immigrants. My father graduated from Yale and did pretty well for himself afterwards. So when my dad got married and had a kid, he assumed that the name would bring similar success. So far it hasn’t worked. Although I may have wallowed in self-pity over my unconventional name, I think I received more ridicule about it from myself than from anyone else. But having a name like mine isn’t all bad; every once in a while, sounding important can be helpful. And if I ever achieve much success in my own right (though some would say that this is a doubtful prospect), “Clayton Towers Larsen, Jr.” will look great on the brass nameplate of my mahogany desk in the corner office.
-16-
Gabrielle Levion
Photograph
Porcelain Library
Sam Fomon
I like reading in the bathroom Perched cross-legged on the porcelain throne Tired and uncomfortable Where the lights are bright and the air is thin When I don’t know what time it is And I can’t tell that the night is getting older Never look at the clock Never really look at anything but pages And I don’t really care what time it is I don’t feel tired enough to stop The book isn’t bad enough to put down And I guess I’ll finish it before dawn Just to know I did -17-
Jacob Parker-Burgard
Charcoal -18-
A Darkening Sky
Alexandra Jaffe
He sat in the road with thousands of others in the summer of ’68. Refusing to move out of the road; out of the country, across the ocean to fight for the egos of men with starched ties and American flags pins on their lapels. Then he grew up and forgot those childish things. Finished school, raised a family, got promoted to “regional manager” He walks through the factory day after day He sees His success Shadowed in the coal and Reflected in the oil That powers the machines. Where did the boy go Who stood up for what was right? Why did that generation disappear? Or maybe they just grew up. The The The The And The The Too
factory runs all day and all night. smoke and smog rise into the clouds. sky darkens clouds cry in protest scar buildings with acid burns. world is on fire. earth moans, exhausted by the fight, tired to continue the struggle.
I sit in the road Alone Refusing to move Into the darkness. So I look up at the sky Watching the clouds fly by overhead Casting shadows on the earth. -19-
SHUT UP AND DRIVE
Ryan Giggi
I consider myself a sports fan. Whether I’m watching a game on TV, or even better at the event itself, I have great fun witnessing the prowess of the athletes on the field, not to mention telling anyone near enough to listen how much smarter I am than either of the coaches on the field. While I have my favorites, I find myself able to get into watching nearly any sport that I find on TV, or that I may happen upon in real life when going about my daily endeavors.
That is to say, every sport except NASCAR.
Whenever I encounter NASCAR fans in the world, I am forced to scratch my head. Really, what is the appeal of watching cars go around in circles for hours in one sitting? I have tried personally driving around and around the cul-de-sac on the road I used to live on, so I can say from experience that playing the sport is no fun. All it is, is monotonous motion; around and around and around in the same circle, over and over again. And this phenomenon draws thousands of alreadysunburned masses to the track every time it happens, with still more watching it on TV. Outrageous! By far, my favorite part of all these shenanigans is when they call in the “expert analyst” for the segment on NASCAR when I watch Sports Center. Often times, these analysts have valuable information to offer. A baseball analyst, for example, may shed light on why a particular player is not performing this week due to poor mechanics in his swing, or why another team may be ready to make a run for the playoffs. Given the mind numbing simplicity of NASCAR, what is this analyst supposed to point out to us? “Well, if this driver wants to win the race he’ll have to drive his car faster than everyone else,” or, “if he runs out of gas he may just lose this one.” Anyone with an IQ over 70 and a toddler’s command of English could point out as much, and this guy is being touted as an “expert analyst?” Are we kidding here? The last detail to behold here is the collection of unwashed hooligans who go to the sacrilegious extent of calling themselves “sports fans.” To my bewilderment, every time I flip past a NASCAR race on TV, the track is always packed with spectators who are so invested in the race itself that I sometimes wonder if the constant motion around and around hypnotizes them. They get emotionally behind these cars, and the drivers in them, to the point where spectators will actually fight each other over who’s favorite driver can keep the car floored and turn left better. They would be better off fighting over whether Mac computers are better than PCs, as it would have just about as much relevance -20-
to the real world of sports, and would accomplish just as much in its resolution. Even more outrageously, these people are hell bent on justifying their “sport” as legitimate. I’m sorry, but the word “sport” by definition requires some sort of skill, and there really is none in NASCAR. The guys don’t need to go fast, they have machines to do that for them. The guys don’t need to be in shape, their machines are worked on instead. The guys don’t even need to know how to fix the machine they depend so heavily upon, as they have other people hired to take care of that for them. And think of the money these drivers make; they are made famous for effectively sitting still and letting machines do their work for them. Unforgivable. I consider myself a sports fan, and as such I am insulted by the inclusion of NASCAR in my daily dose of sports intake. I am insulted that such a lowly group of miscreants insist on being recognized as sports fans, and I am doubly insulted that I must share such a title with said miscreants. And lastly, I am insulted that NASCAR as a whole has worked its way to national prominence. Congratulations, now you may bore the world with your monotony. In parting, I would like to offer some sound advice to all those who support this ridiculous ritual: Please, seek help immediately.
Maren Engh
Photograph -21-
Just So You Know... Erica Cross I took the green rain jacket from your closet that you probably Needed later because it is rainy, cold and blustery outside. So I’m sorry, but it looks as if you might get a little wet. (A tribute to William Carlos Williams)
Andrew Veidenheimer
Photograph -22-
The Accident He lay motionless at the foot of the stairs While his girlfriend sobbed at the top. In his hand was a golden ring And blood poured out of his chest. While his girlfriend sobbed at the top. The banging on the door persisted And blood poured out of his chest. Commotion was all around The banging on the door persisted Commotion was all around And the neighbors barged in Then silence filled the air. He lay motionless at the foot of the stairs In his hand was a golden ring And the neighbors barged in Then silence filled the air.
Priyanka Bajaj -23-
Marker
Kim Callaghan
The Closet Quest
Ellie Werner
I shut the door just loudly enough so my mother could hear my annoyance in the slam. Spending a Friday night cleaning out my closet was not my idea of fun, but since I wasn’t allowed out of the house unless I did, I guess I had no choice. I grudgingly dove into the challenge and swung open the double doors to a vortex of clothes and random knickknacks. Here is what I came across: In the drawers running down the center of my closet was an overflowing plethora of clothes. In the top drawer was an assortment of socks, not one of them having a matching pair, and an old Snickers bar stuffed behind them that I had been saving from last Halloween. In the drawer below were T-shirts I would never wear out of the house from school events, sports teams, or running races my dad was in, all of them being at least 2 sizes too big, and almost all of them having some sort of stain. The next three drawers consisted of pajamas, dress pants, and clothes with tags still stuck to the sides that fell into the category of “I bought it because it looked great on the mannequin, but when I got home and tried it on, it looked horrible on me.” I found a sky blue glove in the drawer filled with dress pants, and a pair of matching socks in the pajama drawer. I took out the dress pants and refolded all them, finding in the pockets: a hair clip, a coupon for ten dollars off my next purchase at Old Navy that expired five months ago, a receipt from CVS, a ticket to the movie “Twilight” and six dollars and thirty-seven cents. I moved on to the shelves surrounding the drawers. On the barely reachable very top shelves were my riding boots I only wear in the summer, baseball caps, a tin box that contained a two-dollar bill and old jewelry, a deflated beach ball, a water damaged alarm clock decorations from the 4th of July, cans of silly string and hair dye, and a deck of cards with pictures of sailboats that was missing the Queen of Hearts. On the rest of the shelves that were actually in my reach were more piles of clothes. On one shelf was a bunch of sweaters and brand new long sleeve shirts that had only been worn or twice, and mixed in to those was another sky-blue glove. The shelf below was composed of many different articles of clothing thrown together, including 3 scarves, 4 long sleeved shirts that I bought so long ago I don’t even remember where they were from, 2 skirts, fishnet tights I had worn last Halloween (when I got the snickers bar), and a bathing suit top, but no bottom. -24-
The last and smallest shelf contained multiple belts and purses, a figure eight ball, my kindergarten yearbook, and a small stuffed-animal monkey my brother won for me the first time I had been to a carnival. I did not bother with the hanging clothes, for while they were a mismatch of dresses, oxford shirts, jackets, and sweatshirts, they looked neat enough to pass my mother’s inspection. My final challenge was the closet floor, mostly consisting of mismatched shoes that simply needed to be straightened and paired, the floor also was a home to other items such as a very old Britney Spears CD, a pair of pink shorts, a pillow case I used at camp over the summer, one of those portable fans that also sprays water, and old head phones that you would never see anyone with today. After I disposed of anything I could live without and straightening up what was left, my mom checked my closet, gave her approval and I was out the door just in time for the 9 PM showing of the new James Bond movie.
Dominique Bandoo
Silk Brocade Jacket -25-
-26-
Gabrielle Levion
Photograph
Maren Engh
Photograph
-27-
Conor Swanberg
Cole Bishop
Photograph
-28-
Photograph
Dominique Bandoo
Pastel
Something Insane Olivia-Rose Tow
I saw people playing Quidditch – or trying – On the shafts of mops. Mops can’t fly. Some things are best left to the imagination.
-29-
Gabrielle Levion
Photograph -30-
Cole Bishop
Photograph -31-
Cole Bishop
-32-
Photograph
-33-
Zach DeVito
Photograph
-34-
Mr. U.S.A
Glenn Champion
If I were king of the United States I’d declare that‌ I would have the rights to any house I want I would wipe my self with a Phillip Rivers Jersey All schools and Universities would have mandatory 3 day weekends Prime Rib and Mashed Potatoes would be a national symbol And Canada would become the 51st state. The people of Quebec could no longer speak French because they butcher it We would no longer waste our money on Prisoners, Instead we would let them fend for themselves on some God- Forsaken Arctic Island In the new 51st state. Last but not least, my birthday would be a national holiday focusing on self-righteous behavior and would be known as Ganoog-a-Palooza.
-35-
Just the Way It Is
Clara Xie
Everyone has a Dream, Deserves a chance to dream. Dirt on the road or diamonds in the crown; Sand on the beach or pearls around the lady’s neck. Day by day, year by year, Generations continue the journey Of the American dream. Come from nowhere, start with nothing, All we have is a dream, That shines with sweetness of lollipops or the kisses of heaven. But it tastes like a piece of old, dry bread, Stuck in our throats. And the journey feels like hell. The devil lives in heaven but cruelly tramples upon us, Laughing, As if he’s never been there Just like us. It is just the way it is. Dream big and work hard, Like working in hell for the devil. And then, Day by day, year by year, Dirt may become a diamond; Sand may become a pearl; We may be in charge of the hell; Laughing at the new comer’s dream It is just the way it is.
-36-
What is Bad Weather?
Kara Clark
Sunny days are bad days. Heat radiates off the pavement, making anything above it blurred. It hurts my eyes, makes them water violently. But it’s timely: I won’t have to see the people. Sunny days have been decreed as “outside days,” precious days that mustn’t be wasted. Everyone is out, children running through sprinklers, men laboring in the yard or on the roof; women in sundresses gossiping over their sweet tea. But what makes sunny days the worst of all is that they gather people together. Away from me. And it’s days like these that awaken the animal within me.
Priyanka Bajaj
-37-
Acrylic
Revenge
Chris DeMond
I should have taken more, 30 being far too easy to slay. The songs
are unbearable to listen to as they speak of God and his abominations. They drink and laugh heartily, leaving me, Grendel, holed in this cave filled with nothing but darkness. Alone I am, with only my mother watching over me. They still cry, many hours since I last tore through Herot, making them regret their celebrations. Grendel can’t be stopped; the King and his last fools will know that soon enough. The taste still lingers, but it will not last. What am I to do, as nothing but the sound of water dripping from the withered trees to the murky pools is heard. No other of my kind exists; a demon of the evil Cain. I had resisted the urge to tear through the kingdom for so many years as their victory songs and bellows assaulted me. I had slain many beings before them, never showing remorse, for they showed none to me. The Danes had bellowed great stories of God and the fortune he bestowed upon them, and my fury was unleashed. God had banished my ancestors and made me a grotesque being, looking nothing like the humans that now fear me. I am an outcast just as Cain was before me and I will not listen to them any longer. Songs of joy will be replaced by hymns of mourning, and laughter will turn to tears. Herot will be devastated at my hands and none will be spared. When the sun has gone down, the King will surely know my wrath. My attacks will not cease until all life in the kingdom had been taken and I have my revenge. I am Grendel and no man shall silence me. (Creative response to Beowulf) -38-
In a Stuffy Restaurant
Alex Polyakov
As I sit at my table, I see men in club jackets And women in pearls. They’re drinking wines they can’t pronounce From years they can’t remember. Smooth jazz wails over the speakers. It’s lost in their slightly drunk conversation. The waiter brings me my cranberry juice. With a straw in it. What the hell.
Where Is Hollywood?
Will Clayton
If Paris Hilton gets paid millions of dollars just to chow up at nightclubs, If Britney Spears has millions of adoring fans, And all she does is sit at home, If Lindsay Lohan is on the cover of every magazine I see, And is in rehab more often that not, If Matthew McConaughey makes millions for every movie he makes, Even though he has the acting talent of a bumble bee, If Spencer Pratt can take out any girl he wants, But I still have no idea what he’s even famous for, What am I doing wrong? -39-
Carla Savino
Photograph -40-
Same Old Story Same old story A boring routine every day I need something more But what can I do to satisfy this void? A boring routine every day I have to spice it up But what could I do to satisfy this void? Something crazy, something stupid. I have to spice it up I could just jump Something crazy, something stupid Panic takes over, as doubts fill my head I need something more I could just jump Panic takes over, as doubts fill my head Same old story
-41-
Will Delano
Maren Engh
Collage -42-
Chip Larsen
Collage -43-
Naivete plus Rocks plus Cars
Jon Gestal
Just after tennis, I was foolish, a youth, My comrades and I resolved To throw stones over the hill. To the best of our knowledge, We were doing no harm. The small rocks that we threw, Flew sleek and true. It was all fun and games, Until we heard a sound. It was not pebbles hitting pavement, No. This was something different. The sound of a rock Piercing a car window Followed soon by a blasting alarm, And the pitter-patter of young, frightened footsteps.
-44-
Amy Brown
Manipulated Photograph
Amy Brown
Photograph
-45-
Heaven
Maren Engh
Between two grassy hills is a town, seemingly taken right out of a simpler time. Lacking big industrial megaplexes, the town boasts its small cabin-like homes and the boardwalk situated on the bay. Seagulls sing the song of summer while dogs rest soaking in the sweet sun. Cobblestone streets wind through the small alleys that smell like the sweet bakeries that line them. The sea breeze blows lightly through the streets filled with pedestrians picking up their beach necessities. The soft noise of laughter and clinking glass carries along the boardwalk and the boats bump gently into the docks. The July sun fills the open plaza with light where vendors call out to pedestrians, offering deals for their sweet berries and fresh cantaloupe. Musicians strum their guitars harbored in the cool shade, entertaining passersby. Kids laugh, running with their kites in tow, chasing the birds picking up pieces of pastry left behind in the streets. The summer days seem to last forever; and as the cool evenings come, the clinking of glass gets louder and banter and song emanate from the cozy valleys.
Hell
Matt Connors
If you were to try to find civilization by opening this unforgiving door, you would not find anything pleasant. The dirty floors startle you as you step into the tiled room. Grime and bodily fluids coat the walls and ceiling. The stench hits you like a punch in the face, stinging the nostrils. Nothing is clean. There is no light. You go to do your deed, trying not to make eye contact with the figure next to you. Your conversation is short and stupid. All the while you want to flee for your life, hoping to never see that person again. Chunky soap and a lack of paper towels force you to use your shirt as a towel. Just to top things off, wandering eyes make the experience uncomfortable.
-46-
A Human Dilemma
Jessie Haims
If I could hear the thoughts of everyone’s privy mind what kind of danger could I be in? I would know everyone’s deceit, horrors, fears, and more, But would it help me forget the past? Humans crave feeding off the pains of others, reveling in that deathly glow Would it make me feel better to know the suffering of another? Everyone judges, everyone talks, and no one knows the truth. If I could hear the thoughts of everyone’s privy mind I would learn their story Learning their pain Without judging them Without treating them differently Discover the real meaning in that miscreant smile Truthfully…no one would know anything But me.
Chris Santoro
-47-
Manipulated Photograph
Why?
Zoe Panopoulos
Why? That’s the question Burning at the back of my throat, But you’re not here to answer. I could have stopped you I saw the pain in your eyes Chose to ignore it, Told myself it was nothing And started to believe it Now I ask again: Why? But you’re not here to answer.
Carla Savino
Photograph -48-
Sorry Katie She was eating my special snack, my butter popcorn My mom only made it when I was a good girl I demanded that she stop But she wouldn’t listen
I devised a plan to punish her I placed a Barbie stroller Beneath her feet, next to the couch Knowing she would fall
She put her foot down To get another handful And she slipped on the stroller And cut her head open
I asked her what happened Even though I knew An hour later My sister came home with seven stitches
-49-
Kelly Sullivan
The Snuggy
Glenn Champion
The Snuggy. What the hell? Have Americans really entered an era of consumerism where they would actually pay for something like this? The world may be ending. For those who don’t know, the Snuggy is a fleece blanket that has sleeves and looks similar to a robe. The TV commercial pitches this item in a way that makes it sound like your life is meaningless unless you own a Snuggy. Now people can read, change the channel, or use the phone with the blanket that has sleeves. Hooray! Do people really get frustrated enough to buy a Snuggy because they have to move their hands from under the blanket to perform routine tasks (changing the channel, etc.)? For heaven’s sake, it’s not that big of a deal! The fact that people would be willing to blow 25 dollars to own a blanket with sleeves is beyond me. The commercial shows a happy family all wearing Snuggies to a football game on a brisk autumn day: unbelievable! They look like they are from some obscure cult rather than a happy family trying to stay warm. Next thing you know the happy family dressed in Snuggies will be sharing mysterious Kool-Aid within the fans and we will have a national tragedy on our hands. But maybe, in these dire economic times, Snuggies are a practical solution to get through the bitter winter. One can save energy and money by wearing one; go green and save money all with the purchase of a Snuggy. That is why I have a message for Barack Obama: forget the billions of dollars the country would potentially waste of the economic stimulus package; the Snuggy IS the new economic stimulus package. If the President addressed the nation in a Snuggy he would start a national phenomenon. Snuggies would spread like wildfire, saving energy and heat, and bringing money into the economy; hence rescuing the country’s citizens from this financial nightmare. Kill two birds with one stone: rescue the economy and reduce energy consumption by cleaning our planet’s air. Genius! After President Obama’s soon to be world renowned State of the Snuggy Address, the Snuggy will be the new robe worn all around the world. I can see it now, from the Buddhist Monks in Tibet to the Roman Catholic priests in the Vatican, Snuggies will be worn everywhere. Even the Supreme Court justices will be sporting the new robes. Ruth Bader Ginsberg is going to look damn fine in a Snuggy. Come to think of it, I would look damn fine in a Snuggy… -50-
Game Over
Will Clayton
He ducked in and out of buildings, trying to find cover from the barrage of enemy fire. He took up a position, reloaded his rifle, and started to shoot at the oncoming Nazi soldiers. Then his mom told him to shut off the game and come to dinner.
Dominique Bandoo Mixed Media
Do Not Eat Carrots
Maren Engh
Susie’s favorite food was carrots and she ate them every day for every meal. People used to tell her that she shouldn’t eat them because they turn you orange. She wanted to try so she ate 200. The next morning, she walked out her door for school and a rabbit ate her. -51-
Night
Alex Polyakov
Hopping along, we felt pangs Of unsatisfied hunger. “This place looks good,” You informed me. I decided to concede to your desire And to settle for the dim beacon. Seemingly simple, so far as we saw, The waitress looked at us with Hesitant welcome. The man at the corner Seemed contented, Cold malted milkshake in hand. I wished we’d hopped farther. Still though -At three AM, anything tastes good. Even if it looks like a shoe.
Dominique Bandoo
Charcoal -52-
Grandfather
Kara Clark
With a mermaid on his chest and an anchor on his arm, The sea captain flew his family to the West, Where he would guard a parking lot, While his patient wife cleaned toilets, And his maiden daughters danced and married one by one. And after all of them were gone, with old age on his shoulders He smoked Newports and played Zelda, the only real adventure left. Now that he is gone, the grandchildren remember him By smoke scented hugs and Mortal Combat. But most prominent, the green dinosaur at Burger King, the invisible one, They always passed too fast while on the bus.
Jack Henson
Pencil -53-
Alex Fomon
Pencil
Rhetorical Musings Good leaders can be like undistributed Middles. They taste exactly the same. passed opponents on the skyline, We’re messed, we think that’s funny! You rest your replay and share. -54-
Billy Prince
Alex Fomon
Pencil -55-
Zach DeVito
Photograph -56-
Dominique Bandoo
Charcoal -57-
Dominique Bandoo
Charcoal -58-
A Lithuanian Summer The metal octopus always dances, but never on Tuesdays because tea is served late in the day. Mother arrives home before dawn and always sews the mud between the wretched ones and the disciples. “Rest, rest, rest!” shouted Adam on the eve just before the metal octopus received the grant for his research on why butter tastes so good. It is with this that Permafrost based his whole documentary on, it won many awards but never ventured into the forest for more than a decade’s time. The metal octopus took a class once, Opera, was it? Its voice ricocheted causing problems for the neighbors. It wasn’t worth the money, But nothing ever really is.
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Jon Salamon
If I Were an Instrument
Beau Duncan
If I could be any instrument, I would pick the plastic “Rock Band” drums, where 12 year olds become YouTube celebrities and professional musicians fail to play their own songs. Here, music-reading skills are optional, and the glorious romance ballads of the 80s can be played without a single lesson. The plastic simulacrum allows grown man to go back to the days when they slammed their fists on Tyco toys, and rewards them for such regressive behavior. In a miracle of engineering, an impressively simple creation can evoke the strongest of emotions. The rush of performing in front of thousands is now readily available to anyone who can get his hands on it. The item is the perfect manifestation of the increasingly popular American mindset of instant gratification and entitlement. No longer does one have to invest his soul in what used to be an art, the art of musical mastery, to feel the satisfaction of being a rock star. This sentiment is now readily available at Wal-Mart.
Unsettled The jaded onlooker that has stopped bothering to look You feel your surroundings frozen in a mundane cycle Numb to the outside, overwhelmed by internalities Your senses dulled by time, you look inward Your organs feel twisted like your thoughts Both churning and boiling within Can’t move, Can’t stay still Can’t eat, Can’t be silent You want them to understand but can’t explain Forced upon you, like a victim, unable to escape Trapped with a heavy body, a vacant soul and a racing mind Your circumstances grip you tightly as you remain clamped in your seat. -60-
Anonymous
The Odd Couple
Emily Bergmann
He walks in, disheveled and confused He coughs, peers through the haze of cigarette smoke that has been there for hours His suit is tweed, mousy looking The pants are too short, the sleeves are too long. He fingers the frays. Freshly polished loafers make a path that only he knows She sits silently Stilettos tap on mahogany Her dress is hot pink, low cut, Disastrous-like her. She picks at a steak, runs her finger around the rim of a wine glass It’s merlot-she prefers chardonnay, but she didn’t cause trouble. Their eyes meet, and they know. He remembers, she thinks He wants, she needs He feels, she loves. Him and her-they-walk away Loafers and stilettos side by side
Alie Smith
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Photograph
Emlyn Hilson
Charcoal -62-
Andrew Veidenheimer
Manipulated Photograph
MCMLXXVIII
Billy Prince
In the middle of the night, A Pentecostal Crayola of unabridged fame Dug Deep in a series of aviationary revolutionary change. It’s been four years of evolution in this world of words. It’s the Dictionary of Art, It’s the Art of the Dictionary. It’s always a challenge to be first and last without looking like a jerk. ‘Cause hate and animosity can be vaguely insulting to the kind eye. Reese’s pieces never looked so facetious. -63-
Where are you? We lost you in space, You are non-existent In this distorted world. What are you doing? We need you; We miss you; There is little time left. Come back, Please. This is our plea: To Allie Lee
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