hungry journalists, and the 99 cent pizza place waited a block away,
past the smoke of hotdog stands and hoards of dawdling tourists on 33rd Street.
dollar bills in hands for cheesy slices.
a long and narrow corridor led to the large circles of pizzas on a small counter in the back -
and a languishing Indian server looked at the eager customers wearily.
two greasy slices on an undersized paper plate on a tray too large.
journalists talked curiously to one other as they chewed,
a hungry eater wore unsatisfied eyes,
the servers gawked, and so we slid off the slimy stools.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Monday, May 17, 2010
I thought I had overcome the sensory overload I experienced so much when I go to new places. I don't like the unfamiliarity right off the bat. I don't like the ignorance I feel when I'm out of control of what I smell, see, and hear.
But the small Hispanic woman sitting next to me on the bus coming up from Baltimore reminded me of how much I miss out on if I close my eyes and ears to what happens around me. I quietly watched her as she pulled her tote bag down from the rack above halfway through the trip and pulled out a spicy chicken sandwich rapped in a single piece of foil. Carefully she peeled back the silver foil and took slow bite after bite. I couldn't see her eyes beneath her hair, and she didn't look around as she ate. The smell consumed all of our seat and the ones around it.
The black woman sitting a few rows in front of us toted a daughter dressed in a small frock-like school uniform. The mother darted her eyes to the back and then the front of the bus continually; she wore a hairnet all the trip up to New York and finally - at the end of the trip - pulled it off as if it were a clump of hair stuck in the drain she didn't want to pull out.
The lights outside of my room illuminate my desk and bed even at night. It's slight but always noticeable, and in the quiet at 3:00 in the morning I hear every siren outside and the mattress beneath me becomes harder on my sore back.
Tonight a vendor outside the Empire State building tried to sell me sugar-coated cashews. His accent lured me in, and I stood and talked to him for a while. His wife stood and watched our conversation - smiling without any words - but I knew she was thinking about our conversation because she graciously watched our conversation unfold.
The guard just inside the building smiled at me like dad-like men used to smile at me when I was younger and I wanted a piece of gum or something. He asked me how he could help me, standing chipper in his dark red suit. "I think you're the person I want to talk to."
"What? Well, I don't know about that." He smirked. He couldn't help me because he's just a guard. I wanted help from a man in a deep red suit. Alas.
The older girls who ask questions during class are quick to come up with good words and calm as the sea when they pose them to the speakers.
I don't want to ever give up getting overdosed by what I see or hear or smell.
But the small Hispanic woman sitting next to me on the bus coming up from Baltimore reminded me of how much I miss out on if I close my eyes and ears to what happens around me. I quietly watched her as she pulled her tote bag down from the rack above halfway through the trip and pulled out a spicy chicken sandwich rapped in a single piece of foil. Carefully she peeled back the silver foil and took slow bite after bite. I couldn't see her eyes beneath her hair, and she didn't look around as she ate. The smell consumed all of our seat and the ones around it.
The black woman sitting a few rows in front of us toted a daughter dressed in a small frock-like school uniform. The mother darted her eyes to the back and then the front of the bus continually; she wore a hairnet all the trip up to New York and finally - at the end of the trip - pulled it off as if it were a clump of hair stuck in the drain she didn't want to pull out.
The lights outside of my room illuminate my desk and bed even at night. It's slight but always noticeable, and in the quiet at 3:00 in the morning I hear every siren outside and the mattress beneath me becomes harder on my sore back.
Tonight a vendor outside the Empire State building tried to sell me sugar-coated cashews. His accent lured me in, and I stood and talked to him for a while. His wife stood and watched our conversation - smiling without any words - but I knew she was thinking about our conversation because she graciously watched our conversation unfold.
The guard just inside the building smiled at me like dad-like men used to smile at me when I was younger and I wanted a piece of gum or something. He asked me how he could help me, standing chipper in his dark red suit. "I think you're the person I want to talk to."
"What? Well, I don't know about that." He smirked. He couldn't help me because he's just a guard. I wanted help from a man in a deep red suit. Alas.
The older girls who ask questions during class are quick to come up with good words and calm as the sea when they pose them to the speakers.
I don't want to ever give up getting overdosed by what I see or hear or smell.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
A dog that doesn't know how to play.
A computer that is losing battery power.
A door closed early in the evening for sleeping.
Light from a small lamp bouncing off of blank walls.
Eyes refusing to look into mine.
Crumpled clothes fallen on a cold floor.
A hurried good bye.
An empty coffee mug in the morning.
A mirror void of reflection.
Unfilled corners of a room.
A talented teenaged boy.
A reunion following shoddy correspondence.
Small-town businesses at night.
New pavement.
A computer that is losing battery power.
A door closed early in the evening for sleeping.
Light from a small lamp bouncing off of blank walls.
Eyes refusing to look into mine.
Crumpled clothes fallen on a cold floor.
A hurried good bye.
An empty coffee mug in the morning.
A mirror void of reflection.
Unfilled corners of a room.
A talented teenaged boy.
A reunion following shoddy correspondence.
Small-town businesses at night.
New pavement.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Rain Poses No Threat for Festivities
by Adrienne Belz
Despite a rainy start to the day, Covenant College's annual musical festival, Bakertree, swept up the campus in a flurry of activities this Saturday, April 17.
Musicians found center stage in Covenant's cafeteria throughout the afternoon. Student musical groups sang one or two songs in five and ten minute slots while crowds sat in chairs and on hay bales.
"Bakertree is a great opportunity for younger musicians like us to perform because it's laid-back and goes all day," according to Robbie Brown, a student performer.
Student artists brought out their pottery, jewelry, and paintings for their peers and faculty to buy. Freshman Stephen Bates said, "The art is fantastic. It feels so good to buy real art from your friends and support them in what they do."
The festival was going to be outside on the two front lawns of campus, according to sophomore Peter McCrory, the concert coordinator for the campus actives board (CAB) who planned most of the event. But light drizzle in the morning forced tables and stage inside the dining hall and outer lobby for the day.
McCrory expects that more people would have come had the day started out brighter. CAB emphasized the art from students more this year though. According to Scott Schindler, a senior at Covenant, the closed space of the lobby brought a market-like feel for the students walking around.
Besides the art and music, the campus activities board also set up inflatable obstacle courses, set out potted flowers, and handed out gold fish as prizes.
Students also enjoyed a chalk drawing contest as well as a cardboard castle contest and a pie-eating contest.
The day culminated in a picnic dinner for the student body and an official full concert by Third Lobby, Covenant's own product.
Annie Huntington, a freshman, said "Today has been such a great break from all the work at the end of the year."
Matt Brown from Third Lobby Interview
Covenant students Melissa Wise and Ashley Pierce perform a Colbie Callait song. Photo taken by Adrienne Belz.
Musicians found center stage in Covenant's cafeteria throughout the afternoon. Student musical groups sang one or two songs in five and ten minute slots while crowds sat in chairs and on hay bales.
"Bakertree is a great opportunity for younger musicians like us to perform because it's laid-back and goes all day," according to Robbie Brown, a student performer.
Student artists brought out their pottery, jewelry, and paintings for their peers and faculty to buy. Freshman Stephen Bates said, "The art is fantastic. It feels so good to buy real art from your friends and support them in what they do."
The festival was going to be outside on the two front lawns of campus, according to sophomore Peter McCrory, the concert coordinator for the campus actives board (CAB) who planned most of the event. But light drizzle in the morning forced tables and stage inside the dining hall and outer lobby for the day.
McCrory expects that more people would have come had the day started out brighter. CAB emphasized the art from students more this year though. According to Scott Schindler, a senior at Covenant, the closed space of the lobby brought a market-like feel for the students walking around.
Besides the art and music, the campus activities board also set up inflatable obstacle courses, set out potted flowers, and handed out gold fish as prizes.
Students also enjoyed a chalk drawing contest as well as a cardboard castle contest and a pie-eating contest.
The day culminated in a picnic dinner for the student body and an official full concert by Third Lobby, Covenant's own product.
Annie Huntington, a freshman, said "Today has been such a great break from all the work at the end of the year."
Matt Brown from Third Lobby Interview
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Some House
A shelf of books with a glass cover on the front porch is the first sign that we are at an interesting little abode.
"It snowed the other day, but we pulled most of them in and saved 'em before the three feet of snow covered the porch," explained Posie, Annie's good friend in Cambridge.
Posie and Levi spill into the front door of their house, tumbling in different directions as soon as the door comes undone. Posie runs up the green carpeted staircase to her mother's room, and pulls her down soon after disappearing.
"I was just reading about the Mexican War. Have you ever learned about the Mexican War? I never had. It's scaring me!" exclaims Mrs. Lewis as she came down, her big eyes engaging me without my consent, but I happily listen.
Mrs. Lewis's long grey curls topple all over her head and fall around her shoulders. Posie runs up and hugs her around the waist - a waist that meets the shoulders of an eleven-year-old Posie.
Annie and Mrs. Lewis catch up as we all stood on a Persian rug in their living room, an little burnt golden (that's not a color, but I just made it one) arm chair, olive walls, some rock n' roll guitarist seeping out of the kitchen painted in orange and blue in the back.
Outside again, before we leave, we discuss the books we've been reading at college.
"Have a lovely visit, girls!" said Mrs. Lewis.
We walk home to Annie's for fresh chocolate chip cookies and milk with Posie and Levi
The Cambridge sunshine lightly balming us inside and out as we make we our way back.
"It snowed the other day, but we pulled most of them in and saved 'em before the three feet of snow covered the porch," explained Posie, Annie's good friend in Cambridge.
Posie and Levi spill into the front door of their house, tumbling in different directions as soon as the door comes undone. Posie runs up the green carpeted staircase to her mother's room, and pulls her down soon after disappearing.
"I was just reading about the Mexican War. Have you ever learned about the Mexican War? I never had. It's scaring me!" exclaims Mrs. Lewis as she came down, her big eyes engaging me without my consent, but I happily listen.
Mrs. Lewis's long grey curls topple all over her head and fall around her shoulders. Posie runs up and hugs her around the waist - a waist that meets the shoulders of an eleven-year-old Posie.
Annie and Mrs. Lewis catch up as we all stood on a Persian rug in their living room, an little burnt golden (that's not a color, but I just made it one) arm chair, olive walls, some rock n' roll guitarist seeping out of the kitchen painted in orange and blue in the back.
Outside again, before we leave, we discuss the books we've been reading at college.
"Have a lovely visit, girls!" said Mrs. Lewis.
We walk home to Annie's for fresh chocolate chip cookies and milk with Posie and Levi
The Cambridge sunshine lightly balming us inside and out as we make we our way back.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Awesome
I like to think of myself as a concise person. At the dinner table in high school I minced my words so I wouldn't lose my three brothers' looming gazes too quickly. Stories found their best parts quickly. Words found their place in my mouth. And I succeeded at sounding like I knew what was saying. I cast certain words to the wayside, eliminating them for their ambiguity or meaninglessness.
Teenage boys are the only people that can use the word "awesome" because it's just silly to use casually unless the speaker is talking about Halo or blue frosting-glazed poptarts. That's an obvious one though. I don't like the word "yummy" because I feel like I'm trying to be this cutesy college-aged girl eating goat cheese or some other health-food snack made by Kashi.
Words like "weird" bother me because anything from a soccer kick to a cup of tea could be described as weird. Let me assure you - I use these words far too often. And so I am losing speed in my speech. My tongue spouts sentences like, "Wow, this book is great. Some of the characters are weird though, and I don't really understand everything, but the writer is an awesome author."
Other words irritate me too. Somehow adverbs find their way into sentences, completely changing and totally disproportionalizing them.
Let's shelf these words. It's not a snooty recognition to abolish their use. I would like to retain my older brothers' listening ears. I would like to be intentional and creative with my conversations with you.
Teenage boys are the only people that can use the word "awesome" because it's just silly to use casually unless the speaker is talking about Halo or blue frosting-glazed poptarts. That's an obvious one though. I don't like the word "yummy" because I feel like I'm trying to be this cutesy college-aged girl eating goat cheese or some other health-food snack made by Kashi.
Words like "weird" bother me because anything from a soccer kick to a cup of tea could be described as weird. Let me assure you - I use these words far too often. And so I am losing speed in my speech. My tongue spouts sentences like, "Wow, this book is great. Some of the characters are weird though, and I don't really understand everything, but the writer is an awesome author."
Other words irritate me too. Somehow adverbs find their way into sentences, completely changing and totally disproportionalizing them.
Let's shelf these words. It's not a snooty recognition to abolish their use. I would like to retain my older brothers' listening ears. I would like to be intentional and creative with my conversations with you.
Friday, August 14, 2009
snap trap
A gopher with long claw-like nails got caught in the trap outside in our yard the other night. His beady eyes looked up at us seeking our own eyes
on that warm milky summer evening.
Our neighbor was called. He brought his gun and shot that little critter (it was causing a messy ruckus in the ground all around our house). Our neighbor picked up its hind leg and slung it into the soybean field.
Today we caught a rabbit in that trap. I came near to see if I could help it out. It spastically fipped around; its mouth was all bloody from gnawing on the cage's wire.
Another neighbor came to greet my mother just returned from California. He's a science teacher. He'll know what to do with this little trap contraption.
The door was pinched open and that furry brown rabbit, nervous and terrified, zinged out of there. In a second it had turned a corner. Gone, forever.
on that warm milky summer evening.
Our neighbor was called. He brought his gun and shot that little critter (it was causing a messy ruckus in the ground all around our house). Our neighbor picked up its hind leg and slung it into the soybean field.
Today we caught a rabbit in that trap. I came near to see if I could help it out. It spastically fipped around; its mouth was all bloody from gnawing on the cage's wire.
Another neighbor came to greet my mother just returned from California. He's a science teacher. He'll know what to do with this little trap contraption.
The door was pinched open and that furry brown rabbit, nervous and terrified, zinged out of there. In a second it had turned a corner. Gone, forever.
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