(Warning: many items on this list I may end up accomplishing after all.)
1. Mold time.
2. Change bodies (without any lasting commitments here), so that I can see what it’s like to experience what other people experience.
3. Wear my hair down without it interfering with my current activities.
4. I wish I could tamper with evolution just a little bit, so that it is possible for life to exist without eating other life (because eating flavored cardboard is still eating trees).
5. I wish I could change the fact that sugar is bad for one’s teeth.
6. I wish I could change the fact that I am not actually from Harry Potter, and I can’t cast spells.
7. I Wish I could change the fact that humans are not built with wings.
8. I wish I could invent colors.
9. I wish I could change the fact that the ocean needs to be salty, because I find it unpleasant to swim in salt.
10. I wish I could change the fact that it is difficult to speak with other species of animals.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Christy Rozek--Assignment #7--Pistol, sunflower, professor, salt shaker, studebaker
My hand hesitated as I reached for my pistol “hands behind your head, give me all the salt shakers you’ve got!” The store clerk thought I was crazy, but he loaded-up a bag with all the salt shakers (with no salt in them, of course), and handed it to me cautiously. This was my second heist, I’ve moved up in the world, from electrical plugs, to salt shakers. I stood there, with my gun raised, arms extended, ready to get scary if anyone tried to call the cops. I felt my gun being grabbed from someone behind me, and I turned around to see my chemistry professor. I tried to grab the pistol back from her, but she recoiled and fired two shots at me, I looked down to see two sunflower seeds; split upon impact against my rock-hard abs. I was shocked that my professor would ruin everyone’s belief that I had real bullets in there. I ran for it, across the parking lot, and into a nearby Laundromat. “Okay kid “screamed my professor “put down the salt shakers and nobody will get hurt” I thought that was an unreasonable request, after all, she had given me a c on my paper about sodium chloride. “I won’t, I won’t do it! “Not until you let me rewrite my paper!” I fled again, now into the Studebaker lot, they seemed to have an inordinate amount of wagons willed with produce for these modern times. I hid behind a bronze statue of Henry Studebaker and tried to reassess my options.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Page one of Bartholomew's final story ignore the spelling and grammer please
“Who the hell could that be?” growled Bartholomew Erasmus impatiently responding to the soft tap of the door. He spoke with a heavy Scottish accent.
He waddled down the winding stairs, his black heavy army boots pronounced his movements over the old creaking steps. He was a short and thin old man of about five feet four inches. He wore tan corduroys held up by geeky red suspenders that he was always re-adjusting. He also wore a plain white shirt that had a ketchup stain on the right collar, left over from his afternoon snack of a cheese burger and fries. There was a messy handkerchief stuffed in the front pocket that also had a stain from wiping his face earlier. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up over his shoulders exposing a scar that remained from his encounter with a grizzly bear during his world travels.
There was another tap on the door, more impatient than the last.
“Open the darn door McGregor, fer cryin out loud!” he called to his butler and caretaker Lawrence McGregor. He was a tall man of 56, partially bald with an unsightly growth to the right of one of his nostrils. He wore a black vest over a wrinkle free shirt, a black bowtie that he was an expert at tying, and long black pants that came down over his ankles. He walked in a brisk upward motion, almost as if he were climbing stairs.
He grasped the door knob lightly and stepped to the side as he opened the door. On the steps were Bartholomew’s nephew Edgar Wilson, accompanied by his wife Edna and their son Rupert.
“Good evening sirs and madam” he announced in a phrase he probably practiced in the mirror, “may I take your coats?”
“Of course my good man,” began Edgar with a chuckle “Now where’s my uncle, I haven’t seen him in ages!”
Edgar was short and plump at age 50. He had a fake smile constantly spread across his face under his bushy mustache. He wore a very expensive looking tuxedo and had a top hat tilted to one side on his completely bald head. His wife opposite him was rather tall and frail. She had short hair and a long green dress and a scarf made out of the pelt of a fox. She looked at everything with the same cheap smile as her husband. Their son was nine years old and a spitting image of his dad, short and plump only he had hair. He wore the same clothes with a stupid yellow beanie on his head which made him look completely ridiculous in a black tuxedo.
“What the hell are you doing here?” exclaimed Bartholomew as he looked down at them from the stairs in the lobby. Bartholomew owned a huge estate in the middle of Scottish farmland. It stood on top of a hill and had a total of 27 rooms, more than enough for an old man who rarely left his T.V room. The T.V room was composed of three 56 inch flat screen televisions and an armchair with a single super remote to control it all.
“Oh uncle, you were always such a kidder,” started Edgar putting on an extra toothy smile “It’s your birthday remember?” Edgar spoke in a low English accent that had annoyed the heck out of Bartholomew every time he had seen him.
“Oh right, forgot about that,” He mumbled, itching his head as he walked down to great them. “Who’s this?” He exclaimed, pointing a bony finger at Rupert. A scowl crossed the little boys face as he folded his arms in disgust.
“You remember Rupert don’t you?” said Edna, offended that he had forgotten his grandnephew. Bartholomew had never married, his older brother on the other hand had married and Edgar was their first son. His older brother had long since died and Edgar was Bartholomew’s most immediate family.
“Sure, I remember you had a kid, but this is more like a hippopotamus!” laughed Bartholomew, surprised at the size of Rupert and how much weight he had put on. He continued, “What do you feed him, pork at every meal.” Bartholomew had doubled over laughing while Edna was trying to hide her fury the best she could.
“This way please,” said Lawrence, trying to guide the guests away from storming out of the house. They were only the first to arrive of 8 (Bartholomew hates large amounts of people) who would be attending the old mans 95th birthday party not including the butler of course.
He waddled down the winding stairs, his black heavy army boots pronounced his movements over the old creaking steps. He was a short and thin old man of about five feet four inches. He wore tan corduroys held up by geeky red suspenders that he was always re-adjusting. He also wore a plain white shirt that had a ketchup stain on the right collar, left over from his afternoon snack of a cheese burger and fries. There was a messy handkerchief stuffed in the front pocket that also had a stain from wiping his face earlier. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up over his shoulders exposing a scar that remained from his encounter with a grizzly bear during his world travels.
There was another tap on the door, more impatient than the last.
“Open the darn door McGregor, fer cryin out loud!” he called to his butler and caretaker Lawrence McGregor. He was a tall man of 56, partially bald with an unsightly growth to the right of one of his nostrils. He wore a black vest over a wrinkle free shirt, a black bowtie that he was an expert at tying, and long black pants that came down over his ankles. He walked in a brisk upward motion, almost as if he were climbing stairs.
He grasped the door knob lightly and stepped to the side as he opened the door. On the steps were Bartholomew’s nephew Edgar Wilson, accompanied by his wife Edna and their son Rupert.
“Good evening sirs and madam” he announced in a phrase he probably practiced in the mirror, “may I take your coats?”
“Of course my good man,” began Edgar with a chuckle “Now where’s my uncle, I haven’t seen him in ages!”
Edgar was short and plump at age 50. He had a fake smile constantly spread across his face under his bushy mustache. He wore a very expensive looking tuxedo and had a top hat tilted to one side on his completely bald head. His wife opposite him was rather tall and frail. She had short hair and a long green dress and a scarf made out of the pelt of a fox. She looked at everything with the same cheap smile as her husband. Their son was nine years old and a spitting image of his dad, short and plump only he had hair. He wore the same clothes with a stupid yellow beanie on his head which made him look completely ridiculous in a black tuxedo.
“What the hell are you doing here?” exclaimed Bartholomew as he looked down at them from the stairs in the lobby. Bartholomew owned a huge estate in the middle of Scottish farmland. It stood on top of a hill and had a total of 27 rooms, more than enough for an old man who rarely left his T.V room. The T.V room was composed of three 56 inch flat screen televisions and an armchair with a single super remote to control it all.
“Oh uncle, you were always such a kidder,” started Edgar putting on an extra toothy smile “It’s your birthday remember?” Edgar spoke in a low English accent that had annoyed the heck out of Bartholomew every time he had seen him.
“Oh right, forgot about that,” He mumbled, itching his head as he walked down to great them. “Who’s this?” He exclaimed, pointing a bony finger at Rupert. A scowl crossed the little boys face as he folded his arms in disgust.
“You remember Rupert don’t you?” said Edna, offended that he had forgotten his grandnephew. Bartholomew had never married, his older brother on the other hand had married and Edgar was their first son. His older brother had long since died and Edgar was Bartholomew’s most immediate family.
“Sure, I remember you had a kid, but this is more like a hippopotamus!” laughed Bartholomew, surprised at the size of Rupert and how much weight he had put on. He continued, “What do you feed him, pork at every meal.” Bartholomew had doubled over laughing while Edna was trying to hide her fury the best she could.
“This way please,” said Lawrence, trying to guide the guests away from storming out of the house. They were only the first to arrive of 8 (Bartholomew hates large amounts of people) who would be attending the old mans 95th birthday party not including the butler of course.
The end of Bartholomew
I'm sorry to do this but all good things (talking in literary terms not in terms of Bartholomew) must come to an end. I am announcing that I have been working on Bartholomew's final story. It will be very long and I will be posting by page. Please not that I have changed some of his physical characteristics. Don't worry, he is still the same Bartholomew on the inside and I have also introduced more characters to the story and a permanent setting. *SPOILERS AHEAD*
I am sorry to announce he does die in the story. Like I said all good things must come to an end.
Just so you can gauge how long it is, chapter one is six pages so far and not yet finished. I could post by page if that would work. Comment your opinions on the story and whether or not you think he actually should die.
Thank you and enjoy the final story of Bartholomew Q. Erasmus.
Alex
I am sorry to announce he does die in the story. Like I said all good things must come to an end.
Just so you can gauge how long it is, chapter one is six pages so far and not yet finished. I could post by page if that would work. Comment your opinions on the story and whether or not you think he actually should die.
Thank you and enjoy the final story of Bartholomew Q. Erasmus.
Alex
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Christy Rozek--Assignment #6--Ten Thing I Will Do
1. I will attend a sleep away college.
2. I will make sure I strive to be a self-actualized person.
3. I will enjoy fresh coconut.
3.5. I will try not to yell at people.
4. I will write a book.
5. I will continue to work on my drawing and painting technique.
6. I will always be enthusiastic to try new things.
7. I will make sure a hearty amount of my genes are passed on.
8. I will be able to carry on a coherent and fluent conversation in Italian (and know what the other person and I are actually saying).
9. I will meet and hopefully study under Professor Alex Filippenko.
10. I will peruse a job that I enjoy.
2. I will make sure I strive to be a self-actualized person.
3. I will enjoy fresh coconut.
3.5. I will try not to yell at people.
4. I will write a book.
5. I will continue to work on my drawing and painting technique.
6. I will always be enthusiastic to try new things.
7. I will make sure a hearty amount of my genes are passed on.
8. I will be able to carry on a coherent and fluent conversation in Italian (and know what the other person and I are actually saying).
9. I will meet and hopefully study under Professor Alex Filippenko.
10. I will peruse a job that I enjoy.
Christy Rozek--Assignment #6--Astronaut, blue staircase, kitten, palm tree
Astronaut, blue staircase, kitten, palm tree.
I am a palm tree; I see many interesting things. I have seen things from the ground up to the sky, and I’ve even made a few coconuts in my time. You may picture me on some corporate campus, put there to make the atmosphere tropical, but in fact I am not one of those palm trees. I live in Florida, in the United States, in ‘gator land. My prime purpose is to watch over those coconut devouring fiends, and to make sure that crazy Italian tourists don’t try to bring in blue staircases and try to pose with the alligators on them.
If this were an interview and you the reader were asking in-depth question of me, the palm tree, I’d have some in-depth answers for you. Like for example, what is the scariest thing I ever encountered? Once a kitten managed to climb up my trunk, and nestle himself in my leaves. He meowed a bunch, and all these people started calling law enforcement. Finally the Southern Floridian fire department arrived and stuck ladders all over me and things were just fine.
Now, if you asked me if I’ve had any extra-terrestrial experiences lately, I would have to say that…I haven’t. If your question were, what is the coolest thing you’ve ever seen? Well! Because I’m located in ‘gator land, I’m obviously in Florida, and because I’m in Florida, there are spaceship launches. Neil Armstrong actually got his picture taken with me! He made me a wood burning (with some other tree’s wood) that has both our signatures on it, and built a fountain for pets to drink out of at my base.
I am a palm tree; I see many interesting things. I have seen things from the ground up to the sky, and I’ve even made a few coconuts in my time. You may picture me on some corporate campus, put there to make the atmosphere tropical, but in fact I am not one of those palm trees. I live in Florida, in the United States, in ‘gator land. My prime purpose is to watch over those coconut devouring fiends, and to make sure that crazy Italian tourists don’t try to bring in blue staircases and try to pose with the alligators on them.
If this were an interview and you the reader were asking in-depth question of me, the palm tree, I’d have some in-depth answers for you. Like for example, what is the scariest thing I ever encountered? Once a kitten managed to climb up my trunk, and nestle himself in my leaves. He meowed a bunch, and all these people started calling law enforcement. Finally the Southern Floridian fire department arrived and stuck ladders all over me and things were just fine.
Now, if you asked me if I’ve had any extra-terrestrial experiences lately, I would have to say that…I haven’t. If your question were, what is the coolest thing you’ve ever seen? Well! Because I’m located in ‘gator land, I’m obviously in Florida, and because I’m in Florida, there are spaceship launches. Neil Armstrong actually got his picture taken with me! He made me a wood burning (with some other tree’s wood) that has both our signatures on it, and built a fountain for pets to drink out of at my base.
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