The Witches of Macbeth: 80's PUNK

I am the one with the short, spiked hair.

 

The other girls are Crystal (Elvira looking) and Murri (Axel Rose/Brett Micheals)

 

For the actual show, we are going to have white contact lense. Should be a great halloween performance.

 

 

 

 

 

Strange Situations

For those that have been following:

• Linda (Tyler's mother) is still not up to speed. However, the steroids are helping. The only problem is that they are unsure if there is a tumor, or some other malfuncition in the optical nerve. They have 5 specialists working on her, including parasitic, and cognitive studies.

• I have recieved a part time position at the Turlock Journal. I start tomorrow, following my drug test. The Patterson Irrigator (my internship that I've been working for free) is happy for me, but also wants to hire me full time when the necessary payroll opportunity arises. It is nice to feel desired as a writer.

• I hit my brother's girlfriend's car accidentally while they were at the movies. My parents screamed at me, and my father told me I was horrible at driving. I've never felt so humiliated.

For the most part, my situations have been on the up and down. But at least I can count on Tyler to keep me happy, even if we continue to be far away from one another.

Mishaps and Miseries

I was at the Irrigator, running through our preliminary runsheet, when I got a text from my boyfriend, Tyler.

“I wish you were here, I need to talk about stuff”

My heart aches: “What kind of stuff?” I know he loves me, so I didn’t doubt that this was a typical break up scene. Nevertheless, I was cautious, and quite un-content. What do we need to discuss? My lack of income; our long separation; or/and the troubles of our future?

None of the above.

“Mom is in the hospital.”

This was the first time I’ve ever heard him call his mother Mom, instead of Linda. She was always Linda to me. She was quite unique from any mother I’ve ever witnessed; though quite beautiful, and intimate with others in an appropriate, social manner, she never seemed like the doting mother, nor Tyler the needy boy. But today, in his rising concern and defeated front, she was Mom. I always wanted him to call her Mom, and was quite vocal in making my point on the subject; but he would just give me one of those beautiful side smirks and say nothing.

Perhaps she broke a bone, or hit her head. Afterall, Tyler wasn’t running out the door, or calling me intensely with a great apprehension and distress. He was still at work.

“Doctors aren’t sure, but think there is a tumor in her brain by her optic nerves. She’s blind in the left eye and rapidly losing vision in her right. It has all happened over about a week. I’m worried she will never see me, again.”

I had a rising panic at the office, but continued to answer phone calls and enter fictitious business statements within the first half hour before I could answer his call with appropriate attribution. I thought of calling, but didn’t want to neglect his feelings if I had to hang up suddenly. I tried to stay involved, and continuously damned the clock by the minute; if only it was my lunch hour. One hour to go, forty-five minutes left, forty minutes, now thirty-nine…

I was so nervous, but tried to remain civil and obedient.  

His text had shaken me. I knew Linda to have health problems before. She had a tumor while he was in high school, which was quite life threatening. When I finally had the chance to get to my phone, I urged him to see her immediately. He declined.

I think it is hard for him to have to come to terms with her blindness. I was selfish that I didn’t want to call him; I didn’t want to hear his raspy voice, how it squeals a little when he (and most men) cry. What an idiot I was today, to not comfort him further. I wanted to call, I wanted to drive down to Santa Cruz and hold him, but at the same time…I just didn’t want to be the rock. I’m not a strong person emotionally. I could never find the right words to say in a pinch such as this.

“I’m worried that she will never see me, again,” his text said. I was shocked by the rest, and sorry for Linda’s misfortune. But the last sentence struck me. It had obliterated every hesitation that I had ever wondered about their warm relationship. I knew that they were civil people, maybe a little too uptight for my taste; but their love was just as strong as any between a mother and son. They just had a unique, reserved way of showing their love than I was ever accustomed to.

Many texts later, and after a carefully planned travel excursion to Petaluma, we plan to take off for the weekend to visit his mother.

I hope, however, that when we see her, I can be his rock, and hers too, if need be.

Even if she can not witness my emotional trauma through her blindness, I do hope that she will see me and Tyler as active participants who will always, and willingly, be there as her guide through any emotional suffering and devastation so that she may find happiness and comfort throughout the rest of her years.

But I’m so petrified that I would fail to comfort her, or him.

Literary Jests

Jane Austen

Porn and Penetration: Jane Austen's sexual novel


 Jane Austen is my homegirl rap
Love this rap. Tons of ladies, and one man. I love the fact that they laugh about their own circumstances and those of the women back in those days.

The Bronte's

Bronte Sister Power Dolls

"Take this you sexist pig!"

What an absolute joy to watch. A little informative about Emily, the most forgotten of the two.

The Other Bronte Sister

An imaginative look at the past, and future of literature and storytelling! Very creative, though I do admit that I enjoyed the middle compared to the end.

The Third Bronte Sister

Viewer advised: Menstraution jokes. Though I don't expect Seth McFarlen to research on literary figures, let it be known that there are actually 5 sisters. The oldest, Maria, did not publish, but was considered the brightest by intimate relations. Elizabeth, the second oldest, died very young, indeed.
Emily's "Agnes Grey" is considered just as respectable as her siblings' novels.

 

Lord of the Rings/Harry Potter

South Park: The Downfall of Harry

We get a small insight into Trey Parker's thoughts on Harry Potter.

Rap Battle Gandalf vs Dumbledore....Begin!

Amptly named "Epic Rap Battles of History"
Please, continue to look these up. Some are funnier than others, but I'm sure you will find one that does not disappoint--Dr. Seuss vs Shakespeare,

 

Honorable Mentions

Mashable's Literary Twitter Satire

Who would have thought that Charles Dickens and Walt Whitman were capable of working a twitter account when my own mother doesn't even know how to upload a photo to her facebook account?

Three Witches from Macbeth

Daniel Gardner's amazing portrait of Georgiana, Lady Melbourne, and Anne Damer; The Three Witches from Macbeth

 

Due to unfortunate circumstances, I have been asked to perform as Witch #3 and Murderer #3 for the legendary play, Macbeth. The original woman has dropped her part, finding a new job that requires working weekends and nights (why couldn't I have been so lucky?). I have 2 weeks to memorize my lines! We perform just before Halloween, so the play is more centered on a Gothic Punk setting. However, after witnessing Daniel Gardner's rendition, I think I would be more interested in the role.

Regency Reveries

Despite the fact that I have a strong attachment to my roots, I find myself frequently fantasizing, through an instagramed lense, a different lifestyle that closely resembles the Regency era.

I imagine lovely country homes placed within small villages, a lovely scenery that surpasses my vision of heaven, common courteously and polite young people sprinkling the countryside.

I would find no end to a soothing, wonderful place to read my many novels with relevance and appropriation. Finally, I could  physically place myself in the interesting roles of women such as Anne Elliot, Cathy Earnshaw, or many of the other heroines I am destined to read in the future.

Though I am not in need of a grand home, I do require a comfort that only the hilly countryside can provide in comparison to the flat valley I live now. I love walking, exploring, envisioning a life beyond borders and restrictions.

I am not prone to running, but enjoy taking my writing by way of a leatherbound journal.

Most importantly, I imagine a life with my long distance boyfriend, Tyler Stevenson, walking towards me, stunningly clad in a regency attire.

He has the strong jawline that I associate with Mr. Darcy, and a strong passion similar to Mr. Rochester; his dark features and smoldering black eyes remind me of Heathcliff (though I know Wuthering Heights to be Edwardian, not Regency).

My mom regards my passions with little consideration and thinks me silly for wishing I could dress, speak, and live like my many heroines.

We are country women, and we know the toil that is associated with such a living.

Romantic notions are replaced, in her mind, by following the contestants of the X Factor, and the need for basic electricity.

She calls my style of dress, at best, unbecomingly (my own words). I prefer to think my style timeless. I love the longer train at the end of my dresses, whereas she prefers to not wear any sort of dresses.

I wish for her to witness the world as I do. I see it with breathtaking soft glows, men of manners, or at least true passion, and beautiful shades of pastel colors expressed in books that have nothing to do with "50 Shades of Grey." (Btw, if you do wish to read a classic story with lots of sex scenes, even a gay one, I would try Fanny Hill. Not only is it interesting, but it was quite brave for a man to print in his time period.)

But the romantic trances the occupy my mind are of no consideration to the world I live in now.

When I couldn't find a writing position, I told my mother that perhaps I should have been a curator for some sort of Literary museum, since I have experience speaking to the general public as a tour guide for one of my previous internships.

With a literary background as broad as mine, it was essential to research historical occurences, manners, and style of dress in all the texts that were assigned; thus begins my love for historical dresses, which my mother finds hideous.

I prefer to think of it as timeless, classic, and romantic.

With a breast size of D-DD, it is hard to look elegant without looking slutty. Though I am estatic to be well endowed with such a gift, I do wish I could look like the intellect I believe myself to be.

Gradu-Fail-tion

 

Perhaps it was juvenile to refuse UC Berkley and Sanford over UC Santa Cruz. Frankly, it could be assumed that I would not have kept an A- grade point average while working 3 jobs; one full time, one internship, and one volunteer program as an editor for the Creative Writing Department. Perhaps it is also considered a greater foolishness to have a degree in Literature, a necessity I evidently value and can not consider without. I prefer Jane Austen, Henry Miller, and Toni Morrison to Honey Boo Boo, her idiotic family, and other pop culture references that are demeaning to the human race.

                However, I am proud and honored that I have, and will continue, to do my best to reach my goals. I want nothing more than to be a book editor, since my Creative Writing Professor, Micah Perks, said I was among the most pervasive, interested, and detailed student editor she had ever met.

My previous work experiences are varied from manual labor to intellectual toil, and yet, it is not considered enough to win over this overwhelming economic struggle. I am currently working (for free) at the Patterson Irrigator in my hometown as an Advertising Intern. I went in to get a possible job as a journalist, but they have no need for any other employees, considering they are under Chapter 11 Bankruptcy.

 I want to write, and yet, it seems impossible for someone who graduated with the highest honors, and three jobs throughout their college career, to even attempt at such an endeavor. I did not previously wish to relocate from California, but now I am forced to apply anywhere I can, despite not having enough to get myself settled.  I am lucky enough that my parents are proud of my past successes, and allow me to stay home without paying rent. They know I have absolutely nothing. They have seen the places I’ve lived, and out of pity one year, bought me a bed so I would no longer have to sleep on the ground of my closet sized apartment.

There was no doubt that when I graduated from college with honors, I believed myself capable of being the first of my friends to land a career; my cockiness caught up to me. Sorely, I found myself left with nothing but self-pity and lost connections. My previous professors no longer work at UCSC due to budget cuts, or a promotion elsewhere, thus their @ucsc.edu email addresses no longer work, forcing me to lose ties and direct references considering my editing ability. All I have are old references on my expired portal, which most companies explain to be less than satisfying.

 Of course, I can ask for references from my three jobs, but there is little need for editorial input when one works as a supervisor for Marini’s Candies, INC or an internship as a Promotions Assistant at Atlantis Fantasyworld, a comic distribution center. To be clear, I enjoyed these jobs immensely, but wanted an adult profession, something to be proud of, something that I can call my own, and most importantly, something I can write.

So here I am, scripting my woes.

No one will read, but at least I will continue to write.

It soothes to me to think that I’m not the only one in this predicament, but something has to be done to hardworking individuals working for free. I invested so much time, so much money, believing that if I worked hard enough, no matter how little I had, I would prevail. And not just prevail in terms of monetary value, but a value in pride and self-worth for accomplishments that I wanted to execute. And I’ve tried so hard to sell myself to the public, to snag that chance, but I can’t even get my foot into the door. I’m silenced before I even speak.

 It’s appalling to think that I’m not abrasive enough, that I’m uninteresting enough to not even obtain a phone interview.

Something has to change.

If anyone is reading this, I could use some insight. Please.

 Please.