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.

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.

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.

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.

Assonance

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

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?