Saturday, May 24, 2008
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Apologies to William Goldman
My name is Robert Parker. I sit here in a small town in Columbia with my associate Harry Alonzo completely surrounded by the Columbian National Army. I have 6 shots left and am wounded badly, as is Harry. We are prepared to face death in a blaze of glory and smoke bursts. Our past few months stuck in this wretched country has made me miss our former lives in the United States. How I miss hot dogs and apple pie. Things were a whole lot better then.
My story starts when I was fairly young. My life of crime began in an innocent enough way, needing a horse to get home. I was later imprisoned for some other crimes I swear I am innocent of. While I was in jail I met my associate Harry and once we got out we started a gang called the Untamed Group. We were a bunch of wild and reckless adventurers who made financial gain at the expense of local banks. We justified our actions because the banks were the real robbers of the common people, and we were just evening the playing field. We hit every bank we could and no one could stop us. With the fastest guns in the West and my expert planning, we eluded every law official that came after us.
As the Untamed Group grew we were able to walk about with fearless power. Anything we desired would fall into our hands. Women, booze, guns… anything. But as the gang grew, so did the desire of others to have the power we gained. One of the members of the Untamed Group who I had come to like a lot challenged my position and said we should go for bigger fish than just local banks. I quickly made an example of him and his foolishness of challenging me, but I liked his idea. I decided it was time to take this Untamed Group and put them in the history books. We performed our first few railroad robberies with great success. We hit the payroll trains and banked on a couple hundred thousand clams in just one job.
Our execution was simple really; barricade the tracks and when the train stops we would fight off the guards and blow open the safe with some dynamite. But things went wrong one time when we used too much dynamite. The safe blew wide open and so did all the money. As the paper bills rained down on us I spotted another train coming upon the site we stood. I watched it curiously as it stopped. Then to my surprise a door flew open and out jumped a posse on horseback armed to the teeth. Our gang was quickly dispersed and some were even hit right away. Harry and I split away from the rest of the group hoping they would follow them, only to find the posse still hot on our heels. The railroad companies had gotten word of our notoriety and wanted us out of the picture and were willing to use all necessary force.
We used all the tricks in the book to get rid of our pursuing tail. Walked in circles, rode the horses off separately, and walked on rocks and through rivers. Nothing could stop them. No matter what we did the posse was at most a day behind us. Some sort of Indian tracker must have been with them or even the devil himself. We could feel the noose slipping around our necks. Our time seemed over when we found ourselves caught next to a canyon with the posse right behind us. Harry wanted to fight but I was reluctant. I decided it was still best to run. We both jumped down the canyon into the rocky waters below and miraculously survived. We took this as a sign from God that we were getting a second chance to live a good life, so we took off for a new country.
Columbia got boring fast. Our attempts to live quiet lives frustrated us and we soon found ourselves back to our old tricks. We were hitting up banks again as soon we learned the language well enough. It was pretty easy to take advantage of these trusting locals. What we didn’t account for was the lack of tolerance for bank robberies of national banks by the Columbian government. This brings us to the situation that I am in now. I have seen the mistakes of my pride and arrogance as I attempt to take on feats that could swallow me whole, but now I will go out in a firestorm, successful or not.
My story starts when I was fairly young. My life of crime began in an innocent enough way, needing a horse to get home. I was later imprisoned for some other crimes I swear I am innocent of. While I was in jail I met my associate Harry and once we got out we started a gang called the Untamed Group. We were a bunch of wild and reckless adventurers who made financial gain at the expense of local banks. We justified our actions because the banks were the real robbers of the common people, and we were just evening the playing field. We hit every bank we could and no one could stop us. With the fastest guns in the West and my expert planning, we eluded every law official that came after us.
As the Untamed Group grew we were able to walk about with fearless power. Anything we desired would fall into our hands. Women, booze, guns… anything. But as the gang grew, so did the desire of others to have the power we gained. One of the members of the Untamed Group who I had come to like a lot challenged my position and said we should go for bigger fish than just local banks. I quickly made an example of him and his foolishness of challenging me, but I liked his idea. I decided it was time to take this Untamed Group and put them in the history books. We performed our first few railroad robberies with great success. We hit the payroll trains and banked on a couple hundred thousand clams in just one job.
Our execution was simple really; barricade the tracks and when the train stops we would fight off the guards and blow open the safe with some dynamite. But things went wrong one time when we used too much dynamite. The safe blew wide open and so did all the money. As the paper bills rained down on us I spotted another train coming upon the site we stood. I watched it curiously as it stopped. Then to my surprise a door flew open and out jumped a posse on horseback armed to the teeth. Our gang was quickly dispersed and some were even hit right away. Harry and I split away from the rest of the group hoping they would follow them, only to find the posse still hot on our heels. The railroad companies had gotten word of our notoriety and wanted us out of the picture and were willing to use all necessary force.
We used all the tricks in the book to get rid of our pursuing tail. Walked in circles, rode the horses off separately, and walked on rocks and through rivers. Nothing could stop them. No matter what we did the posse was at most a day behind us. Some sort of Indian tracker must have been with them or even the devil himself. We could feel the noose slipping around our necks. Our time seemed over when we found ourselves caught next to a canyon with the posse right behind us. Harry wanted to fight but I was reluctant. I decided it was still best to run. We both jumped down the canyon into the rocky waters below and miraculously survived. We took this as a sign from God that we were getting a second chance to live a good life, so we took off for a new country.
Columbia got boring fast. Our attempts to live quiet lives frustrated us and we soon found ourselves back to our old tricks. We were hitting up banks again as soon we learned the language well enough. It was pretty easy to take advantage of these trusting locals. What we didn’t account for was the lack of tolerance for bank robberies of national banks by the Columbian government. This brings us to the situation that I am in now. I have seen the mistakes of my pride and arrogance as I attempt to take on feats that could swallow me whole, but now I will go out in a firestorm, successful or not.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Apologies Dave Barry
How would you enjoy a beautiful Sunday afternoon in the middle of May? Playing baseball? Fishing off a boat on your pond? Well how about inside of a dark humid high school auditorium? No you say? Well that would be a reasonable way to think, but I love my Mom so I go to her dance recitals at least once a year anyways and sit through the same procession. It's almost come to the point where I'm well versed enough in the world of dance that I can critique it. In fact it's close enough that I plan to do so.
I've been going to dance recitals for as long as I can remember for not only my Mom but also my Grandmother. I've sat in small high school auditoriums like Horace Mann middle School in Franklin or Blackstone Milville Regional High School and grand theaters like Brandies College, but they all have their striking similarities. I've seen it from all the angles, backstage and backrow. I find quirks so stupifying that when they happen I can't help but be annoyed to the point of slamming my fist to my head, but for some reason I still identify with them.
First off, it's important to know that everyone who is part of one of these programs has dedicated nearly 90 percent of their waking lives to it in the last month, putting much of that time into the sewing of sequins and listening to someone shout loudly in a strange count that musicians are baffled by, "5, 6, 7, 8!" 1 through 4 are for some reason always missing. Anywho, the dedication that these dancers have for their spring recitials is immense and very apparent in the lack of knowledge of any outside happenings. What, you mean Father's day is the same day as the recital? Oh, well I'm sure he'd love to spend it watching 2+ hours of dancing.
As strange as these goings on are outside the show, the strangest and sometimes most annoying is what happens during the recital. Shout-outs... if only there were a way to write that would convey someone putting their forehead in the heel of their palm and gritting their teeth. Yes we all know you love your friends, especially Shannon, WOOOO Shannon! We love you Shannon, screw you Stephanie. Yes there is no better way to annoy me, alienate an audience that is mostly there to only see one person, and alienate half the dancers on the stage at the same time. I think after every shoutout the increase of crying babies increases tenfold, which is already at annoying levels to begin with.
The last thing I must address with dance recitals is the handing out of flowers and awards at the end of the show. Every production does this and I for one can completely respect the fact that those who have worked hard should be acknowledged. Unfortunately things usually go way too far. It's when multiple carts full of flowers have to be wheeled out that I lean back in my chair and know I'm not going anywhere soon. Each flower being handed out comes with a full 5 minute speech using phrases like "hard work", "dedication" and "sequin sewing abilities". Then the senior dancers get to go up and present their inside joke to an audience full of outsiders. Thanks, we are really glad you struck a pose and said a phrase that makes no sense to everyone in the audience.
As much as I am ripping on the practices of dance recitals that I am describing here, I must say that I am coming at this completely with a neutral mindset and have even participated in some of my own. Yes, that is what happens when your mom teaches dance and makes you come to her dance studio after school every other day of the week. I don't mind watching dance recitals because honestly, with the family I have, it's part of my life.
I've been going to dance recitals for as long as I can remember for not only my Mom but also my Grandmother. I've sat in small high school auditoriums like Horace Mann middle School in Franklin or Blackstone Milville Regional High School and grand theaters like Brandies College, but they all have their striking similarities. I've seen it from all the angles, backstage and backrow. I find quirks so stupifying that when they happen I can't help but be annoyed to the point of slamming my fist to my head, but for some reason I still identify with them.
First off, it's important to know that everyone who is part of one of these programs has dedicated nearly 90 percent of their waking lives to it in the last month, putting much of that time into the sewing of sequins and listening to someone shout loudly in a strange count that musicians are baffled by, "5, 6, 7, 8!" 1 through 4 are for some reason always missing. Anywho, the dedication that these dancers have for their spring recitials is immense and very apparent in the lack of knowledge of any outside happenings. What, you mean Father's day is the same day as the recital? Oh, well I'm sure he'd love to spend it watching 2+ hours of dancing.
As strange as these goings on are outside the show, the strangest and sometimes most annoying is what happens during the recital. Shout-outs... if only there were a way to write that would convey someone putting their forehead in the heel of their palm and gritting their teeth. Yes we all know you love your friends, especially Shannon, WOOOO Shannon! We love you Shannon, screw you Stephanie. Yes there is no better way to annoy me, alienate an audience that is mostly there to only see one person, and alienate half the dancers on the stage at the same time. I think after every shoutout the increase of crying babies increases tenfold, which is already at annoying levels to begin with.
The last thing I must address with dance recitals is the handing out of flowers and awards at the end of the show. Every production does this and I for one can completely respect the fact that those who have worked hard should be acknowledged. Unfortunately things usually go way too far. It's when multiple carts full of flowers have to be wheeled out that I lean back in my chair and know I'm not going anywhere soon. Each flower being handed out comes with a full 5 minute speech using phrases like "hard work", "dedication" and "sequin sewing abilities". Then the senior dancers get to go up and present their inside joke to an audience full of outsiders. Thanks, we are really glad you struck a pose and said a phrase that makes no sense to everyone in the audience.
As much as I am ripping on the practices of dance recitals that I am describing here, I must say that I am coming at this completely with a neutral mindset and have even participated in some of my own. Yes, that is what happens when your mom teaches dance and makes you come to her dance studio after school every other day of the week. I don't mind watching dance recitals because honestly, with the family I have, it's part of my life.
Saturday, May 17, 2008
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