Thursday, April 7, 2011

4-7-11 Journal

This class...
Well, creative writing was a first for me. I really enjoyed the fact that all of the assignments were up online, along with some sort of example. It really made it easy to go back and look over if you didn't fully understand. Most of the time, it was a quiet, friendly environment(besides when we had a sub) and that really helps to make it easier to work and stay concentrated. To find lyrics for an assignment, I found it quite fun. It allowed you to express yourself through music(and poetry) within the boundaries of what it appropriate. For the first time, i really enjoyed going to class. I'm not trying to suck up, because frankly i find sucking up to be a sign of weakness. This class was fun, that is why I'm stating my opinion.
Along with it ups, creative writing certainly had its downs. The class is based entirely on the computer. This brings technology into the equation. Many of the days when i didn't feel like working i had an easy way to divert myself from focusing on the matter at hand. Internet access makes it hard to stay on track, and I'am sure that i do not stand alone on this matter.

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

worst restaurant experience

My worst restaurant experience that i have encountered was probably at a sports bar in St. Louis. We had been out for most of the day and the sun was criconing above, high in the sky. The thermometer had peaked at 104 degrees early on around 3pm and let me stress this. It was not getting any cooler, if anything the temp was rising. I remeber walking down the cobblestone roads that lined the Mississippi. The entire day had been spent outdoors except for a few exceptions. I began to feel like a fish when you place it on the ice. Laying out in the open with the sun reflecting off the ice and baking your skin like a skillet on a hot summer day after breakfeast at our camping site. Not to my surprise i wasnt the only one feeling this way. My cousin and his parents were dreading this heat as well. The clock above the cathedral still chimed at the beginning of every hour. It sent piercing soundwaves across the city seven times before silencing itself. A few blocks down was a commonplace to find a good bite to eat. According to my uncle it had some of the best jazz in the midwest. Home to many blues muscicians over the years its sweet melody soothed its customers as they enjoying delicious harty old American meals. We sat down for ten minutes before panic struck. A couple of St. Louis Cardinals fans, dressed in Mark McGuire and Albert Pujols jersey stormed the front door with guns. Instantly i hit the deck, scared half to death, it was only five minutes but it was the longest five minutes of my life.

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Bubba's Bar and Grill

The food industry has been transformed dramatically since its origins. Personally i would have to say that it was at its peak in the 1950s throughout the the 1960s. But that comes with the fact that so was America. Most entrepreneurs try something new. Something the world has not yet experienced, but as one myself i will have to travel in the footsteps of my redneck ancestors.
Given that I had no cap space to expand my horizons i would create the ultimate redneck beer joint/sports bar. It would be secluded, like my favorite restaurant the Chainsaw sisters saloon. God how i miss it. The frame would be made from logs, it would be completely built by hand. It would of course have two stories. Upstairs would be for those who seeked a nice bite to eat(American food of course) and a fun environment to watch his or hers favorite games.
Down the wooden staircase which would wind up around a large tree trunk is the place where the real action is at. A country music band would always have the stage from 7- closing time and games would be on 24/7 even if that means we watch re runs of famous games of our past. Hockey would take first over all. Followed by nascar then football.
Most of all, a shuttle would be parked outside waiting to pick up those who were to, well under the weather to drive home safely. This would prevent any accidents from occurring and keep the liberals quiet. Only one rule would apply. If you wanted to settle a fight you would take it into the octagon out back. Gambling on the fight would of course be kept quiet but, whats the fun of a fight if you cant win from it.
We would sponsor a annual pond hockey tourney and promote youth hockey associations. Small towns, who could not afford the proper equipment could receive donations from our fund to help keep hockey prospering across the United States. The most important part of this combination of sports bar/ casino would be to have fun.

Monday, April 4, 2011

Edgar Morrenz was a Chicago native. He spent his first thirty years serving in the Chicago Police Department. At a young age he retired from the police force, claiming he was fit to live a life without work. His path would take him to to the edge. Like many others, Edgar would take to the mountains. The only difference between Edgar and the seemingly decimated rest of the mountain men was that the span in which the lived was nearly one hundred years.
So in the spring of 1941 Edgar set fire to his small apartment in north Chicago with only the clothes on his back and a nap sack with all he needed to survive. The journey to the rocky mountains took him close to two or three months. But when he reached Denver, it was decided that he wouldn't survive in the Rockies without shelter. He accent to the Rockies was treacherous but one week after he had left Denver he had made it to a seeming oasis where he would set up camp, permanently.
For months he worked around the clock, stopping only to sleep and eat. His objective, to have a small shelter strong enough to withstand the harshness of the Colorado winter. He would survive his first winter, but not before going mentally insane from the lack of food and oxygen. His shelter was submerged under ten feet of snow, Colorado's largest blizzard in ten years. He lived off the rats and bugs which infested his home. Water was melter from the snow he could reach his hands on but it seemed that he was trapped. In mid February he took the lamp he had found on the highway outside of Denver and instead of sticking out the winter took his own life. One by one bashing his head in with the lamp.


To all of those whom i do not know, hello
My name is Andrew and i play the Cello
Every night i cook a steaming bean stew
It is always scrum diddly umpshious
And sooths the stomach like a warm cup of milk
While i sit inside my house and ride out this storm
My eyes are focused on this solo worm
It crawls across the wooden plank
Its color pail green and very blank

Friday, April 1, 2011

Daily Journal 4-1-11

Behind her the noise escalated, quickly she jumped into the woods rolling down an embankment winding up in a pool of muddy water. A sign of relief fell over her as she felt invisible from the searching eyes of anyone driving down the bumpy old road. The sound of the old eighties truck began to became more and more clear. Now almost able to make out the song playing over the radio, she panned her body out across the small patch of grass lying a few arm lengths from where she had landed. The lights of the truck were now visible from where she was hiding. A large fog light was held from the bed of the truck panning the woods searching for any sign of the girl. It was now rolling pebbles down the hillside that lined the path. They were so close.
The truck had arrived, the light swept across the ditch inching its way to her. It skipped over the rock near by and lit her body up like a escaping prisoner being identified by the guards. A flash of light from the passenger side was followed up with a loud sound. A burst of leaves popped up and at that point she realized she was done. The shooter didn't miss his next shot. Another flash of light was followed by darkness.
The men jumped from the truck sliding their way down the slope to her body. Upon their arrival they the grabbed her arms and legs and dragged her up the hill. A single hole in her forehead gushing blood. They put a plastic bag over her head to keep the bed from getting stained with her blood and drove off into the night.

Daily Journal

I wish someone had told me that everything was alright. Since last winter i have been suffering the fate of having to bare a broken heart. As you get older you start to dismiss its exsistance because you question whether or not their is such a thing as love. For those who have not experienced it, you may feel that it is not for everyone but that is certainly not true. Things seem great as progression sets in; but after awhile as things seem to be evening out you start to feel the routine set in. Things arent as exciting as they once were and you miss that excitement. So naturally you go seeking for an alternative. More than often it is found and for awhile it seems to be working but then guilt sets in. It is an overwhelming emotion, one that cannot be easily dismissed. Your mind debates between whether to evade the truth and live your life in the shadows for the time being or to come clean and go all in. The answer that makes sense doesnt sit well because by fufilling it you even further betray the closest thing to your heart. Many nights pass as you lay sleepless in best, tossing an turning from the pressure your consciense feels. You sanity has now come into play. Every decision, every step in your daily routine comes into play and must fit like the pieces in a puzzle. You snap! Its two in the morning and you wake up the one next to you and confess, it is off your chest but the results are not in your favor. Should you have done it?

Wednesday, March 30, 2011


The clock winked at me as if it were saying hello to a friend. This house has forever been filled with mischief and unexplainable. Years have passed by as if they were a blur, and all that holds them together is the strange occurrences that i have witnessed throughout them. I began noticing that all was not right the night i moved in. My life in the city was over as far as i could tell. I needed to get away and spend time to work on myself as a whole. Living alone in the wilderness was an option that i had considered for as long as i can remember. As a child i had loved the time i spent camping and fishing but i never had the chance to experience life out in a small community.
I merged right off of the interstate baring northbound towards Silow a farming community of around seven hundred. As we passed through the half mile span which was the town folks glared at us as if we had been on the most wanted list for years. The moving truck was piloted by two Latinos whom didn't want to help us unpack. They dropped our belongings off a the edge of the driveway and took off not even bothering to collect.
That night after i had managed to move all into the garage we sat in the spacious living space. Our dinner was the luxurious peanut butter sandwich's we had been able to scrap together. I looked out the window picturing a hot summer day with kids running around but this was interrupted by the reality of a figure making its way across the front yard. 
To be continued....

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

3-3-11 Villanelle

People scatter, as the sirens blare. They run for cover, as the streets are bare
Hidden from the clouds of the British sky, the Luftwaffe's bomb bays open as they pass the shorlines by
Leaving behind a path of destruction, their has left a massive concussion

Waves, and waves of bombers enter the city, their payload will certainly not be pretty.
Destruction is their main objective, you cannot view this from any other perspective
Fear strictens the small island as it shake, the bombs make each person quake.

Citizens cram against one another, the shelters feal like sandwich meat being smothered
Loved ones hold eachother closely, their hands are shaking fratically
They try to think of a happy time, but they are interupted by the sound of a woman's cry

A shriek breaks the silence, as the worst seems to have passed
Suddenly the sirens begin to blast
Another wave is closing in, the peril begins to seep back in

The roar of engines fills the sky, with their goal many will die
Houses around are burning to the ground, the fire is used as a target newly found
Led and dynamite fill the air, as seconds pass as their descendence blares

Hours pass and it is finally over, one night is gone, but they war is certainly not over
For those who survive live in fear, that one day they bomb will find them and end them
Lives devastated by the thundering death, houses destroyed peoples lives are a wreck
It would be years before it finally ends, and when it does the streets will be filled with cheer.

Saturday, March 19, 2011


to the waves
how relaxing
they sound as they hit
the pale, rocky shoreline
they splash upon arrival
a single drop lands on my foot
slowly it trickles down to my toes
the tide submerges my foot in water.
Mitchell Deinhammer

Thursday, March 17, 2011

Daily Journal 3-17-11

I once dreamed about a time in the future. A time where my seemed at its peak. It was the spring of 2014 and we had just landed in Boston. Now I doubt that the draft is going to be at Boston in 2014 but thats where it was in my dream. Like all draftees i was nervous. As we left the boarding area pacing towards the baggage drop off two men in black suits intersepted us. "Your luggage will be sent to your hotel. It should arrive shortly after you do. Follow us, we will be your security for the remainder of your trip."
My mom looked over at me in disbelief. She was never informed that we would have security; we knew it was a big deal going high in the top ten but we never thought it would be of this magnitude. They led us outside to a black suburban with government plates. I dont understand why they would waste man power keeping us safe. As we pulled out of the airport parking heading east towards the highway leading downtown the man in the passenger seat turned around and briefed us. He had recieved orders that becuase of our flights delay we had been late and missed the majority of the pre draft traditions. Instead of taking us to our hotel room our plans were to go directly to the arena to commence the draft.
We pulled up with less than an hour to go before the draft was scheduled to begin. I was escorted downstairs to a dressing room where they had a pair of dress pants and shirt laid out for me. A lady came in and told me that if they didnt fit she could get me another pair, but they did. I stepped out of the dressing room and followed her to the seating arrangements. There she took me to where my family was sitting. I sat down to their left two seats from the isle. About ten minutes later the red lights went on and the draft began. The comissioner came out and gave his speech welcoming all. Then the team manager with the first pick stood up from their table and walked up to the podium with his advisors. They thanked the city and then began to talk about their pick. "with the first oveall pick in the 2014 NHL entry draft, on behalf of the Minnesota Wild we select from Eastview High School Mitchell Deinhammer."
I stood up shaking the hands of my brothers and hugging my mom and sister then proceeded down the steps to the stand. He hand me a Jersey with the #14 on the back i shake the GM's hand and smile for the cameras before walking down from the stage. I take a few interviews and go sit back up with my family filled with excitement. They day goes on as the NHL welcomes the new leaders of a dynasty.

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Daily Journal 3-15-11

It was a mild in Nagasaki as I drove into work. My country had duties for me to attend to as the US ambassador for Japan. My driver pulled onto a street ( a cannot spell or pronounce it) which for this time of day seemed kind of crowded. Not on the streets of course but people were lined up along the sidewalks onlooking the road as if their had been some spectacle going on. Soon enough it came to my attention that behind us speed a funny looking car. It resembled a shoe. A brown formal shoe. Now in America this would be considered to be a creative car that only some sort of comedian or inventor would drive; but in Japan everything is magnified. So as i looked on in laughter the driver started to speed up. If i had been more informed about Japanese culture i would have know that something like this is most certainly frowned upon. As the shoe of a car started to disappear as we pulled away i realized that the road itself was getting narrower. The crowd which had once been along the sidewalk was now approaching the center of the roadway with one thing on their mind. They approached the driver with faces filled with rage and frustration. Finally they reached the car, tearing the driver from the tip of the sneaker and casting him into the crowd. If his intention were that he wished to be a shoe they very well granted it. One by one they stomped upon the man as the roared down the street. A mob had now formed around the shoe. People started throwing burning shoes at the car in hope that it would catch fire to the brown vehicle of death. One landed in the cockpit. Ashes singed the seat and lit the leather on fire sending the crowd backwards like a cat from a bathtub. The car lay in rubble as the crowd started to disperse, the man piloting the contraction lay on the ground motionless.

Monday, March 14, 2011

My Journey on a Pirate Ship

Twas mid summer of 1639 and all had been going swell. The crew and I were longing for home. It had been four months since we last saw land. We clung to life by surviving off of the collections that we obtained upon our raids. For years we had made our living chasing down merchant vessels. We jumped aboard their deck and ravaged their crews. After we had slaughtered all left on board we ripped threw the ship in search for belongings for ourselves and food and water. As we departed from our victories the last man off would set fire to the deck assuring that no one would survive, even if they had evaded our initial searches. Hundreds of innocent lives were lost between the years we spent turning the open waters red with the blood of commoners. In 1637 we returned home finally, after being abroad for two years terrorizing the seas. My hope was that we could live among the kind folk of Charleston quietly without any trouble from the authorities. But luck was never on our side, and after three weeks we had to flee from mobs in search for revenge for their fallen. So for two years now we have not come across the sight of land. Until now. It seems that we have come across an empty isle. Abandoned, i will stay behind when the crew decides to depart. I will live the rest of my life in peace in search for retribution for all of my sins. In hope that someday god will forgive me as i stand before him at the gates of heaven.

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

It was another late night at the sheen house as it always is on weekends. Once again charlie was enjoying life to the fullest along side two of his special friends. What once was an everyday occurrence had seemed to become a very uncommon thing to see happening at the Sheen residence.
Charlie was busy in the bathroom snorting a line of coke; his legs wobbled as he tried to stand up. After sometime he managed to lift himself up by the doorknob. The handle started to turn but it appeared to be moving away from Sheen as if it were running; then everything went dark.
Squinting at the ceiling as if he were a newborn just appearing from the womb. Slowly he stood up realizing with every waking moment that he had been passed out in the bath tub. Charlie starts to freak out, his blood pressure spikes as his mind recalls the wild night that he had woken up from.
Staggering out the bathroom door Sheen is greeted by a shocking sight. His house had been cleaned out. The walls bare, carpet stripped from the floorboards. All that was left behind was a note laying on the floor in the living room. He lifts it up and starts reading it as if it were Chinese, he takes his time but makes out what it says. "We have it all! Your furniture your cocaine and your women! Its over!"
He crawls to his room and jumps off his balcony he cannot bare to live without his one true love.

Monday, March 7, 2011

Joey Catsalgi  was a young itallian american trying to make his way out of a poverty stricken household in the the late 1920s. With world war one far behind the citizens of this great US of A many had tried their luck in the stock market. It was promising business that had made many fortunate previousley. With a national high came a devistating low that would soon send america into a spiral of unfortunate poverty. That along with the decreasing number of jobs thousands were left homeless.
Joey was determined to make something of himself. In the summer of 1929 he started working in a bar in Brooklyn, New York. He didnt plan on sustaining this job for more than a few months under the circumstances. His luck all changed on the evening of July 9 when while he swept the floors preparing to close up shop when his boss stormed in with two men dragging something heavy in a bag behind them. At the time they didnt know what to do with the potential witness whom they didnt expect to come across.
After discussion they turned to Joe and threw a shovel at his feat. Joe spent the remainder of the night burrying his dead.
The day after Joe met with his boss requesting a job opportunity that he would soon come to regret. He would join the mafia and eventually end up in prison after being caught with another body in his trunk.

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Daily Journal 3-2-11

How ridiculous I was as a child. If you analyzed my actions and tried to sum them up with one word there would only be one option, goofy. I was indeed a silly child, when our family lived in Iowa I used to run into the living room and hide underneath the coffee table whenever I believed that I was in trouble. Just by seeing me curled up in a ball, my clothes dreched with sweat from the fear that overwhelmed me; you knew I did something wrong. It was as if I was admitting to my faults. Even when in reality you now realize that what you did was not nearly as bad as you believe it to be you look back and laugh because your head has images of you being punished racing through your mind. In Detriot during the playoffs for the Red Wings a fan threw an Octopus onto the ice believing it to be good luck. Most wouldnt have done such a thing in fear that they would be kicked out. This ended up becoming a tradition that is still used today by Detroit Red Wings fans. This act that many would consider to be troublesome actually benifited the overall moral of the team and the fans.

Monday, February 28, 2011

2-28-11 Concrete Poem

Goal Horn
during a game
when your presence
is heard as that light
that bright red light flips
on the crowd cheers as you play
your tune of victory you electrify
the players as they strive to achieve
the most important component to winning in
this game we play upon the frozen surface which
lay beneath our feet it is a gift from the hockey gods
to embrace the overwhelming mood that your sound sways over
the entire arena it is so special to hear your lovely tune play.