Random Musings

So I'm sitting at work, we just finished finals last week, and we have a two and a half day week then we break for Thanksgiving. It was my assumption that the students would be relatively useless during that time and so thought that I would give the kids a break from the regular lecture and write routine. I decided that I would bring in three games that deal with language and foster interpersonal communication skills, but games that are supposed to be pretty fun none the less. I brought in Apples to Apples, Baulderdash, and Mad Gab. Each game, in my opinion deals with language in an interesting and fun manner, and I figured that the kids would enjoy the games and the break from regular instruction. Apparently I was wrong. The old adage is definitely true! You cannot please the masses.

What should have been a simple exercise has turned into an uphill struggle with a bunch of whiners! I had to make the activity of playing games AN ASSIGNMENT! I actually had to threaten kids with a ZERO in order to get them to play games for the three days! What is wrong with this generation when they refuse to even play! Even when I told them that playing was an assignment, they still complained and I had to threaten giving them a larger essay assignment if they refused to play games. He frustrating thing is that some kids were almost obstinate enough that they were on the fence of choosing the essay over PLAYING GAMES! I don't get it! When I was in school I would have killed to have three day of playing. Kids these days are a pain in my ass!

A couple of weeks ago I posted some pictures of the face that I was building out of clay. I was really proud of it because it was the first piece of art that I had seriously worked on in several years and I was feeling really good about how it was turning out! In the past few months I have somewhat rediscovered my latent artistic talents and have been enjoying sketching and modeling different characters and such. Well I finally finished the profile that I was working on about a week ago. I figure that in total it most likely took me around 16 to 20 hours from beginning to end and I was really really excited about how it turned out. It wasn't perfect, but for a beginners go, I was feeling really good about it. There were some definite changes that I would have made to it if i were to restart, but I was excited about where I was at and looking forward to drying, firing, glazing, and painting the project. The new art teacher at AF has been a great motivator in helping me along. Anyway, here is what it looked like then it was all done ...
I was especially proud of the Sideburns and the Pompadore hairdo.
Here is a sketch of what I had in my mind as I was working on the project.

Here are the images of the finished product. I was really excited by how everything turned out.I though that it all worked really well together and that I had accomplished a fairly impressive feat for never really having worked with clay that much.

Well I had finished the project, I was excited to get it to school where I could let it dry slowly and then fire the piece. After getting it to school and letting it dry for a few days I realized that I needed to do a bit of repair to some small portions that were starting to crack. I had driven Emmy down to the school so that I could deliver the empty futon frame that we have been carting around for the last few years to a co-worker who had purchased it. We are trying to sell everything we own because we are tired of the material world.

Anyway, after school I loaded my school work and the clay piece in the passenger side of the bus and drove to the co-workers house to drop off the futon frame. I was having a difficult time unlocking Emmy's side door and so I tried leaning over the passenger seat into the back to unlock the door from the inside (apparently a task that requires not just a small amout of being double-jointed, but a certain amount of divine inspiration as well). As I stepped up into the buss to reach around and unlock the door, my foot slipped off the door jam, and my forearm plumeted towards the clay.

BAM!!! (this is just for effect, there was actually no sound to accompany the connecting of my forearm with the cardboard holding the clay)



I broke it ...

I was really sad ... I'm still quite sad, but I will survive. I'm actually planning my next attempt at modeling with clay already. As you know, I am addicted to Mighty Muggs and this whole urban vinyl movement. I want my next attempt to be a more cartoony looking figure. I have a few sketches done and I'll post them as I start working on the actual piece, but until then I guess I'll just keep you in suspense.

If you want to see what I am trying for with this next attempt you can check out kidrobot.com. They are an urban vinyl toy company and they are very popular right now. I am attempting to work with them on a school wide project for this next term where we bring in several of their munny figures, hand them out to the kids, and have them design and write about thier experience. This is a project that the art teacher and I are working on together and I think that we will display the final products/pieces at ther studio up here is Pocatello.

Anyway, that is what I have going on; I will be posting more a little later regarding the entire family.

Cheers,
Price

Baby Laila and Company!

Playing With Clay

So I picked up a bag of clay from the art teacher at the school where I teach. I have been feeling really stressed lately and I just needed to get some of that out of my system. I have always loved to play with clay and mold things, I just never felt that I was any good at it. Anyway, I took the block of clay and just decided to go for broke. I remembered a project that some of the art classes did when I was in high school that always looked really fun; they would take a lump of clay and shape it into the profile of a face, I'm sure that it has a technical term a relief or something fancy like that, but I can't remember. Anyway, this is what I came up with as I started to sculpt out a profile. I wanted it to be a bit of a caricature, and so far I am pretty pleased with what I have. I'm sure that most people will say that I looks like me, and maybe it does. If so, I guess this is how I see myself right now. What would Freud and Jung say about that? So, this is me ... playing with clay.

stage 1

stage 2

stage 3
These first three images show the progression of the piece so far. I'm not sure if you can see it very well, but in the first picture the eye is much farther forward in the face, and a bit smaller. I didn't like the way that it looked so I scraped off the first go and worked for a few hours to get the second version, a little bigger, and more true to where it should be on an actual face. It made the brow a little heavier than I wanted, but I think that the trade-off works. I think it simply looks better now. Also, I added the goatee and the sideburns. I think that I am going to turn him into a Elvis like character with a big pompadour hairdo.


close up on nose and mouth before the goatee

during the building process for the goatee, it ended out being much larger.

First attempt at the eye

Second attempt at the eye



just after finishing the ear, I liked the way it came out.

Just the ear

Aiden was helping me out as I was working on the face. He was busy with his play dough and while I was working he tried to run the face over stating the my face "needed tire marks too!"

He is too cute!

Cheers,
Price

My Process Essay

I gave my students the assignment to write a process essay by taking something that they thought was monumentally boring and turning it into something more fun and exciting. I also challenged myself to do the same. They had a word limit of 1000-1200 words, and I have no limits so ... her is what i have so far. The final draft is due tomorrow, and in typical high schooler fashion I am procrastinating the project until the end.

Cheers,

Price

The Art of What to do when in a Coma

It is a commonly held myth that when you are in a coma there is little to do apart from lie there and be comatose. I would argue that this is absolutely untrue. The fact of the matter is, when you are in a coma—and many of will just have to take my word for this since you will probably never be in a coma—you can pretty much do just about anything that a fully functioning human can do. Now, I don’t mean that “in your head” you can do these things; no, I mean that even though you are in a state of essential mental and physical vegetation you are still capable of interacting with the people around you.

How is this possible? Are you having an out of body experience like Patrick Swayze in Ghost? When in a coma do you really get to see and talk with angels? Is it like having a near death experience? Do you actually get to see what goes on in the 90% of your brain that you don’t use for all the innate day-to-day interactions that one must endure? Do you get superpowers that enable you to move things with your mind and influence the decisions of others? I know that may of you are asking this same questions and I will get to those answers in a moment—yes to a few, no to a few more, and I wish to the last one; but for the time being, lets focus on exactly what may have landed you in this predicament and a few of the steps that any regular person can take to prepare for the possibility of being comatose at a later date.

You never know when a coma will sneak up on you--they are somewhat like a ninja in that regards, a really good ninja who comes up from behind and hits you with a ninja-silent kung-fu chop to the sciatic. Not only do you not see this ninja coma avenger coming at you because he attacks from behind, but his silent attack is so quick that more often than not you are not even aware that you have been coma chopped. This was the case for me. I was sitting there, minding my own business, enjoying a leisurely climb up the main peak of the Grand Teton, and the next thing I know I’m waking up in a hospital bed three months later. What happened in the mean time? How was I able to entertain myself, I tend to have a very short attention span, for such a long time? Why was it that I had no recollection of the events that had taken place in my hospital room? How had I gone to the restroom … oh, wait, I think I have that one figured out … yeah, that’s not really comfortable! These, and many others, were the immediate questions that I had running through my head as I slowly returned to the world of the lucid. Looking back, I know that the experience was one filled with adventure, humor, and mindless (pun intended) pranks. So, for the rest of you I submit the following guide for what to do when you too enter a coma. Consider this a list of tools at your disposal

Being in a coma really isn’t as boring as one might think, sure you will have little to no recollection of the time you spent “out of it” once you wake, but the benefits of the added sleep and time spent alone with your thoughts is invaluable. There are many false assumptions that have been made about the comatose in the past: that they are simply hollow shells of their former selves, that they are oblivious to what is going on around them, that they smell. Each of these assumptions is derived from a gross misunderstanding of the comatose and could not be farther from the truth. The comatose are filled with all sorts of things: guts and gore, bodily fluids—some less disgusting than others, muscles that is rapidly deteriorating; you see that whole hollow shell stuff is simply untrue. As for the rest of the rumors they too are simply untrue. Studies have shown that if you place a comatose persons hand in a bowl of hot water they are still very likely to wet themselves just like they did when you pulled the same prank in 7^th grade; as for the smell, they ge5t regular sponge baths—an awesome benefit unless your nurse is a 40-something CNA who once worked as a roadie for WWE Raw and had a nickname like Mandible or Bone Crusher. Other than the obvious drawback of not really being able to communicate with anyone life is pretty good for the comatose. Three square meals injected directly into your body via tubes shoved in, up , and down every orifice (not as uncomfortable as you would think, until you wake up that is), plenty of rest (24 hours a day of sleep that you will not even remember when you wake up), regular baths at the hands of Mandible and Bone Crusher … yeah … moving on.

This is not a discussion about the joys of being in a coma, alright maybe it is in a round-about way, what we really want to discuss is the steps one should take to entertain themselves and their loved ones when one is in a coma. This is a subject that is really quite simple to address since there are a few things about the comatose that prohibit them from really interacting the people around them directly. Firstly, if you are in a coma you really have no higher brain functions. Secondly, because of the brain thing, you are unable to speak with or, as the old AT&T slogan goes, “reach out and touch someone.” Lastly, because of the brain/communication thing, you are purely at the mercy of your loved ones … and Mandible Bone Crusher. Recognizing and understanding these challenges is the first step in moving towards comatose entertainment. I must interject here a simple caveat to this discussion. As mentioned earlier, once you are in a coma you will have little to no memory of what it was like to “out.” Much or the joy that you provide and the humor that you endure will come after the fact when you are looking through the coma scrapbook that your mom made for you during the experience. The book, much like the rest of your like will be filled with embarrassing pictures, quirky comments, and nostalgic journals written by your friends and family to remind you or the pain and suffering they had to endure because of your stupidity/carelessness. So, do not mistake this list is suggestions as a cure all for coma-boredom; you won’t remember being bored anyway. If anything, this is a guide for how you can help entertain your family and friends while you rest the peaceful rest of the dead without actually being … dead … so … again … moving on.

In order to effectively enjoy your coma, and provide others with a similar sense of enjoyment, you must take one simple precaution. You must place, in writing, a list of activities that must be engaged in during your brief sleeping spell. There are a few things that are a must for this list. Had I thought of this list earlier, my first coma would have been much more endurable, and I would have had some great memories. Here is a sample of items from my list. They will serve as the focus for the rest of this essay and will give you a good sense for the type of activities that you will want to make sure are on your own coma-list.

My Coma-List of Activites

1. Practice your best impersonation of a cadaver.

2. Spend a day reenacting the final kiss from Sleeping Beauty to see if it will help wake you up, and to see if you can find your own Prince Charming/ Aurora.

3. Have someone paint the top of your eyelids to look like your eyes are open and see how long it takes people to notice you are not actually awake.

4. Hire a psychic to be your personal voice for a day, communicating your every wish and desire to your family. If no real psychic can be found hire some bum off the street to fill the roll and pay him with a day of McDonald’s finest food.

Again, this is just a sampling of things that are on my coma-list. I have chosen the handful of activities that seem to be the most fun for everyone involved, and will spend a little time explaining each activity. But first, a word of advice: as you begin to prepare your own list you must make sure that you recognize a simple fact—there is no telling how long you will be in a coma. You could be out for as little as a few hours, or as long as it takes for you to wake up (years even if your insurance is that good). As you begin to brainstorm activities for your own personal coma-list you need to take into consideration these time restrictions. I usually will include a simple set of instructions for the person I have donned the mantle of List Guardian upon. This is the person you trust will most accurately, and with the most flare, carry out each activity. Also, it is important to recognize that the list should be lengthy yet filled with structure. If you are only out for a few days you definitely want to make sure that you fill each day with something for people to look forward to. On the other hand, you don’t want to overload the list with too much at the beginning and then loose steam by the end. You need to have a good mix of big and small activities in the list. Also, take into consideration that you are in a coma and this is going to be a bit of a shock for the rest of your family. They will need a bit of time to adjust and mourn your untimely coma-venture. I recommend giving people a minimum of two days, maximum four days, to feel sad about what has happened before I bring in my first activity. This is a simple precaution that is placed in with the rest of the instructions given to the List Guardian. Now that the mourning is over, let’s get on with the fun and games.

Holga Images

I have been meaning to post these pictures for a while. Last May I picked up a new pinhole camera called a Holga. It shoots on 120 film and is really fun to play with. I am still getting used to judging distance with it, and figuring out how the focus ranges are best judged, but here are a few images from my first excursion with the camera.


I took this one while riding the Colossus roller coaster at Lagoon. I was a chaperon for the senior sneak last year and spent the day riding rides and avoiding kids. It was great!















This was the entry way to a ride. I was playing with double exposures. One cool thing about the Camera is that you control the film progression so if you want you can take several pictures all on the same film plate. Kind of cool!












Another double exposure experiment. I liked the way this one came out and the ghost
















This is Alex, he was one of the seniors that went on the sneak. I thought it was interesting how I got a bit of a light flare just over his left eye.
















This is an image of Aiden and his Cousin playing in a puddle by my parents house. Aren't they so cute!















This is a great image of my mom sitting one her porch swing with three of her grand kids. I though it was very cute.















This is a picture of some dude that I saw at Animal Kingdom one of the Disney theme parks in Florida. He was exactly what I imagined a Buffalo Soldier would look like on his free day. I loved his intensity and am hoping to write a character similar to him into one of the books I am working on. I also like the fact that I feel like where's waldo in this image. Can you find me?











Here are a few images from the beach in Florida. Holgas will do interesting things wiht colors because of the type of film that they are shooting on, and because they are pin hole cameras. One of my favorite features is the natural gradient that it throws around the edges of the image. They are shadows from the camera's apature. My favorite is the shadow self portrait. I am enjoying taking pictures of myself in interesting ways. Reflected in sunglasses, shadowed, as a pair of feet, Photography is too much fun!

Here are links to two previous writing entries.

This is what I had to say about homecoming last year.

Here is the revised process essay I wrote for my first college comp class.

Two new posts in one day! WOW you are lucky!

I gave my 101 class the assignment to write a process driven essay and challenged myself to do the same. I wrote one during my first year at college, I even posted a revised version of it here as one of my first posts. Here is what I have so far, this is the opening three paragraphs. I'll try to post the rest of it was I complete it section by section along with the students.

Cheers,
Price

The Art of What to do when in a Coma

It is a commonly held myth that when you are in a coma there is little to do apart from lie there and be comatose. I would argue that this is absolutely untrue. The fact of the matter is, when you are in a coma—and many of will just have to take my word for this since you will probably never be in a coma—you can pretty much do just about anything that a fully functioning human can do. Now, I don’t mean that “in your head” you can do these things; no, I mean that even though you are in a state of essential mental and physical vegetation you are still capable of interacting with the people around you.
How is this possible? Are you having an out of body experience like Patrick Swayze in Ghost? When in a coma do you really get to see and talk with angels? Is it like having a near death experience? Do you actually get to see what goes on in the 90% of your brain that you don’t use for all the innate day-to-day interactions that one must endure? Do you get superpowers that enable you to move things with your mind and influence the decisions of others? I know that may of you are asking this same questions and I will get to those answers in a moment—yes to a few, no to a few more, and I wish to the last one; but for the time being, lets focus on exactly what may have landed you in this predicament and a few of the steps that any regular person can take to prepare for the possibility of being comatose at a later date.
You never know when a coma will sneak up on you--they are somewhat like a ninja in that regards, a really good ninja who comes up from behind and hits you with a ninja-silent kung-fu chop to the sciatic. Not only do you not see this ninja coma avenger coming at you because he attacks from behind, but his silent attack is so quick that more often than not you are not even aware that you have been coma chopped. This was the case for me. I was sitting there, minding my own business, enjoying a leisurely climb up the main peak of the Grand Teton, and the next thing I know I’m waking up in a hospital bed three months later. What happened in the mean time? How was I able to entertain myself, I tend to have a very short attention span, for such a long time? Why was it that I had no recollection of the events that had taken place in my hospital room? How had I gone to the restroom … oh, wait, I think I have that one figured out … yeah, that’s not really comfortable! These, and many others, were the immediate questions that I had running through my head as I slowly returned to the world of the lucid. Looking back, I know that the experience was one filled with adventure, humor, and mindless (pun intended) pranks. So, for the rest of you I submit the following guide for what to do when you too enter a coma. Consider this a list of tools at your disposal

Homecoming Revisited

The halls are plastered with red and black crepe paper, home-made posters geared towards motivating our teams to victory, calendars informing the student body about the many different activities taking place both on and off campus--a root beer chugging contest today at lunch, powder puff football tonight. The students race back and forth past my door cheering their class, harassing the underclassmen (freshmen get no respect), basically being typical high school students. In may ways this week is little different from any other week at AFHS, except that this week we focus on our fall sports teams as they strive to bring a sense of pride and prestige to the school.

I never really understood the ritual of homecoming. When I was in school I tried my hardest to avoid anything that required me to spend more time than was absolutely necessary at the school. I was the kid that sat at the top of the bleachers, hair hanging reclusively in front of my face to ward off any and all extraneous interactions. Arms held tightly at my side as I refused to participate in any activities, cheers, chants, or screaming matches. I took pride in my school, don't get me wrong. My senior year I and several of my friends decided that it would be a fun activity to streak across the football field during the halftime activities wearing little more than capes, ski masks, and speedos, and running shoes. Most of us made it to the other side, one good friend was hog tied in the middle of the football field because he was the slowest of the pack (always make sure you are faster than one other person and you should be ok). But homecoming always seemed a little funny to me. Sure it was fun to get out of school a little early, or to miss out on class time for pep-rallies and assemblies, but there was no real sense to the title.

Homecoming ... where had the teams gone that they needed to return? I saw the "star" quarterback in class everyday. He made a habit of demonstrating is amazing throwing ability by zinging little pieces of paper across the room at me. I had often wished that he would have gone somewhere, anywhere, else, but no, he was always right there, tormenting me from afar when the teachers backs was turned. I would have loved to throw something back in defense, a desk, a dictionary, at least sharpened pencil, but when you weigh little more than 120 pounds, and are roughly the size of a tall yard gnome, you very little recourse for rebuttal. So I took the punishments that were dolled out with the best sense of dignity that my tiny frame could muster. It wasn't much, but I did what I could. At the assemblies it wasn't that I refused to support the teams, not at all; it was that I refused to support certain players on the teams, hence I applied a carte blanche ban on all cheers and jeers.

Today I find myself in an interesting position. As a teachers at American Falls I want to see my kids engaged in their school. I hated high school and I think a part of me wants to make sure that the students whom I see myself reflected in the most are not having the same permanently scarring experience that I am. Is this possible? Is it plausible? Why do I care? The answer, I guess, to all of these questions is a resounding I don't know. Perhaps part of it is because I am a teacher and that is what I'm supposed to do--I inspire! (Ha Ha Ha, that sounds so canned!)Anyway, what ever my reasoning is, I'm sure that it all boils down to the fact that I am crazy. So, returning to the paper draped hallways of my present employment, I find myself reliving a very troubled youth. I run around like a mad man now because I refused to then. I swallow live goldfish so that I will be accepted and thought of as a "cool" teacher. Sure it is fun, and yeah I enjoy it now. I just wish that I had taken the time to enjoy it then as well. Perhaps my experiences would have been different and in retrospect I would look at high school with a more hopeful feeling.

Holland

Here is a bit more from the Christmas story i'm working on, It should pick up where the previous post leaves off, and then the end is more summary information I wrote out while at a conference. Some of it is simply recapping what I already have down and some of it is new.

Cheers,

“Holland, what is it that you want to be when you grow up?” Ms. Roan asked one afternoon while she and Holland sat in her 6^th grade classroom.

Holland pulled his attention away from the Holland pulled his attention away from the Times crossword puzzle that he had been working. His gaze shifted to the window where he seemed to be watching his fellow classmates play in the piles of leaves they had managed to build using makeshift branches as rakes. It was fall, Holland’s least favorite time of year.

“Holland?” She asked again, her gaze matching his.

“A business man I guess.” He responded flatly, his attention still focused on the children who seemed to be having so much fun, and with such ease.

“What kind of business man?” Ms. Roan persisted; her curiosity was becoming a bit annoying.

“My grandfather worked in sales initially, and eventually he started his own business; I’ll probably follow in his example. I deliver papers for the Oak Tree Press right now, so perhaps I’ll start my own newspaper, there are several things occurring in the community that are left out of the current Press and I would like to see these things given more attention. Although I’m not sure that I see myself as a media mogul, there is too much attention given to frivolous enterprise in most newspapers, so perhaps that is not the best idea. Yes, I think that business is my best option. I can’t picture working under another person; I would much rather work for myself, you know be my own boss.”

“What about a Policeman or Fireman, or even an Astronaut? Don’t those sound like exciting jobs too—and more traditional for a 6^th grader?”

Oh no, those jobs simply will not work. I’m terribly anti violence, and because of my asthma there is no way I could work around smoke all day. No I believe that business is my true calling.”

“I see. Well it is a very practical job, though a little average for someone of your unique talents.”

Holland knew what Ms. Roan was trying to do. She was trying to bait him into a conversation on the benefits of simply being a kid. They had this conversation on average once a week. Though he knew what she was doing each time, he still allowed her; he knew that she simply had what she thought were his best interests at heart. Besides, Holland had a secret crush on Ms. Roan, and his opting to spend recess inside with her was evidence of this. Now this is nothing new, children have had crushed on their teachers since the first school was organized. What was different was that Holland, because he had grown up as a seventy-something retiree, did not know what these feeling he had for Ms. Roan were—like imagination and anything fun, expressions of love or affection were severely frowned upon in Hidden Oaks. In fact, the most affection that Holland had ever received was an awkward handshake/hug combination that his grandmother had given him the previous year after placing first in the Hidden Oaks annual New York Times Crossword Competition. His grandfather, who was the reigning champion and now runner-up, was less than excited about Holland’s victory. Holland simply remembers the event as being somewhat odd, that neither he nor his grandmother quite knew how to express their emotions over the announcement. There was no smiling or excitement over the presentation of Holland’s award, a small nondescript plaque which Holland had sitting on his nightstand, his grandmother simply approached him, held out her hand for him to shake, and then thinking twice about it dropped her hand before Holland’s could clasp on, she re-extended her hand again a moment later grasping Holland’s and then reached across his shoulder with her other arms and in a quick motion patted him on the back twice and then withdrew. The whole experience lasted in Holland’s mine for no more than a few seconds, but the awkward expression of affection seemed to last for weeks afterwards. From that point on, Holland simply decided that physical contact was something best avoided.

Summary of story:

Holland is a 6^th grader who is somewhat unusual—he acts much older than he is. As a child, Holland’s parents were killed in a car wreck and he was sent to live with his only living relatives, his grandparents. For most kids this would be great; grandparents are, as we all know, designed for spoiling grandkids. This is not the case for Holland who lost two kind and loving parents and was instead passed on a set of grandparents who loved peace and quiet more than an infant child. But, since he was an infant at the time, Holland didn’t know what he had missed.

Holland grew up in a senior living compound called Hidden Groves. Hidden Groves is a place where retired, elderly people go to literally get away from everyone. Surrounded by a very tall and very black stone wall, Hidden Groves more resembles an impenetrable fortress than a living community. The one entrance is guarded by an armed guard day and night. Hidden Groves is populated by retirees who did not want to be visited by anyone. The avoided family at all cost, though of children as a nuisance more bothersome than a swarm of flies at a picnic. Play was a disease contracted by spending too much time at picnics where flies were present. Imagination was four-letter word in Hidden groves. Holidays were not celebrated, they were a frivolous waste of time which caused people to use their … imagination—a sin of the highest order.

Holland is a very serious child. At school his teacher tries to get him to play with the other children but he is more interested in doing the New York Time crossword puzzle or playing chess. At Hidden Groves Holland is never heard and seldom seen. At the community paperboy, Holland hand delivers every paper, quietly placing each one on an empty doorstep or in the association approved boxes located near the front door of select homes. Each month Holland would carefully calculate each subscriber’s bill, adding fifteen percent for wear and tear/ maintenance to his shoes and bicycle, materials (rubber bands and weather bags), and gratuity, giving him an extra $150.00 each month—on top of his regular income of $300.00 from the local newspaper.

$450.00 is a lot of money for anyone, let alone a twelve-year-old. His income is, again, an indicator of how practical Holland is. 50% of each check would go towards his college fund, 30% towards his savings, 15% would be spent on bike maintenance, shoe repair, and materials, and 5% was used for personal spending—which he allotted himself a weekly stipend of $5.60. Holland would spend this small stipend on the New York Times, so he could do the puzzle each day during lunch at school, the remainder he would spend on bird seed in the summer when he would read at the park located at the center of the Hidden Groves, or the very occasional box of Panda black licorice chews. The latter Holland would reserve for very special occasions such as his or his grandparents’ birthdays, or field trips to the museum in the next town over. At school, Holland’s only real friend was Ms Roan, his 6^th grade Language Arts teacher. While the other children found Holland to be too weird for their taste, Ms. Roan felt sorry for him. Still, she was surprised by how easy it was to talk with him about everything from politics to literature.

Time for my monthly update

This is part of a story that I am currently working on. It is a christmas story and right now it is the one project that has my attention most fully. I like the idea of a child protagonist who acts much older than he is. I see this as a convention used all too often in stories today and i want to play with this idea by over exaggerating the effect. Hopefully it will come off as humorous as i imagine it will.

Cheers,
Price

A Christmas Story

Holland was a lonely boy. He lived in a lonely town, on a lonely street, in an immensely large, quiet, and very lonely house. You see Holland was an only child. He was also the only child in his neighborhood, and what felt like the only child in his town. It’s not that there were no other kids in Hidden Oaks, there were plenty; they just didn’t live in the same part of town as Holland, and odds are that if given the choice they would not move-in next door. The reason Holland was the only kid on his block was because he lived in the Hidden Oaks Retirement Community. Hidden Oaks Retirement Community was not your average run of the mill community. Instead of an unimposing rod-iron gated entrance, it had a twelve foot high security fence that was monitored by motion sensor cameras, trained attack dogs, and armed guards. There was only one way in or out of the community, and that was through a single archway barely big enough to fit one car at a time. The arch was manned night and day by a guard whose one duty was to make sure that “non-residents” did not get in. While most elderly people enjoy the occasional unannounced visit from their children or grandchildren, the residents of Hidden Oaks expressly forbade it. They detested anything childish, anything fun, and most importantly anything family. It was like a special preserve built specifically for the bitter, angry, cranky, and dejected, and Holland lived there.

It was not by volition that Holland had chosen to spend his formative years in Hidden Oaks Retirement Community; given the choice, Holland could easily think of a million places he would rather live, the least of which would have been a hundred times better than his current place of residence. Holland had been sent to live in the retirement community after the death of his parents. Holland had been two at the time, and though he had fragmented memories of his parents, the byproduct of a picture he kept hidden under his mattress, he had never lived the life of a child. At school, Holland was not the most popular; in fact, it was quite the opposite. At recess, while all the other children were playing games of kick ball, freeze tag, tether ball, and four-square, Holland would sit inside to play chess with the teacher and read the newspaper. When the teacher asked, one day, why Holland chose not to go outside and play with the rest of the class, Holland simply replied, “I have allergies,” and the next day Holland came to school with a doctor’s note excusing him from any recreational activities due to his allergy to “the outdoors.”

While Holland did have allergies, they were not the real reason Holland did not play with all the other kids at recess; he would have loved nothing more than to run around the school yard chasing the other kids in a game of freeze tag, or shoot hoops with the athletic kids, the fact was that Holland did not know how to play with the other kids. He had tried once when he was in the first grade, but because he grew-up around people who thought of imagination as a four letter word, Holland had never really used his. He had a hard time pretending that a stick was a sword, or that with his hands clenched in a partial fist, the fore-finger and thumb extended in the shape of an L, his fingers could resemble six-shooters. So he quit trying.

How Much Are You Worth?

This is a little blue, but funny.