Alternate Lead

        I’m a visual learner. For instance, the day I saw Becky for the first time, I learned that she was an uncool, social retard. When I met Brad Pitt, I learned that fame isn’t everything, and wondered why he wouldn’t go to the Spring Fling with me because he wanted to go with Angelina Jolie. That’s when I learned that she’s a complete and utter slut.

Setting for “The Lamp at Noon”

        Sinclair Ross’ “The Lamp at Noon” takes place in an arid, barren desert in the Prairies during the Depression. Dust storms are a constant worry, inducing poor health conditions and cold war-like tension between the two newlyweds, Paul and Ellen. The dust storms are so great that within a few seconds of the gale’s commencement, the couple’s dishes become coated with a thick, dry layer of filth. The sun’s futile attempts for its light to reach the couple’s land was barricaded by the thick dust and cloud cover. 

        The vast countryside seemed to go on forever. It was almost impossible to see anything past their “isolated acre”. Dust and more dust filled the air and everything else, it seemed. The nauseating notion that Ellen was “trapped in a cage” droned into her outlook on life, making her testy and angry at her husband.

        This setting is essential because the whole story revolves around the fact that there is an extreme drought and that their farm is suffering because of it. It’s also essential for the theme of isolation. Being on a farm far away from anyone and anything, save each other and their baby, it was only a matter of time before they would become angry and depressed with their lonely situation. The previous notion plus howling wind battering their solitary shack, and it is not wonder one would become extremely depressed. It is apparent, therefore, that Sinclair Ross would choose such a setting for her story.

My *NEWER!* Metaphor

        My father is a rugged cave located deep in a South American rainforest. It is a long and grueling journey through piercing thorns and harsh downpours to reach this cave. It may take months, even years, to reach it. The cave’s exterior is rigid and stern, casting dark shadows that petrify even the most brave of souls. Many wouldn’t consider entering this seemingly dreary cavern. However steriotypically cold the outside may seem, it is from the interior that one can fully appreciate the cave’s warmth and shelter from the elements. A tranquil river ligned with lilies and other assorted flowers leads into the cave where warm, comforting features are in abundance. Lush textures and expressive colours make this otherwise dark and dreary cave appear bright and attractive. The rich greens, solemn yellows, and harsh reds give the cozy space a deep contrast and intriguing personality. Once inside for a few moments, one truly feels safe and secure.

Murder That’s Hot

            “Becky, that sweater looked fugly last year. What made you think that it would be hot now?”

Becky was completely fashion sense deficient. I mean, those shoes looked like someone vomited pig’s blood and then sent the remnants to a shoe making facility. She was so lucky to have someone like me to show her the ropes. She was even luckier that I invited her to my annual tea party in the Hampton’s.            

“Sorry, Lafawnduh,” Becky replied earnestly, “I just thought that maybe, you know…”           

“You just thought that ugly things would be in, did you? What’s wrong with you? Are you retarded, or something? Maybe it’s all those days spent reading that has messed with your fashion sense and ability to do anything right.”           

“Oh, Lafawnduh, what would I do without you?”

I knew what she’d be doing: mopping up vomit and half-defrosted hamburgers at some fast food joint with druggies offering her diluted ecstasy every half hour. Wow, That sounded good! Anyways, the point that I’m trying to get across is that she truly didn’t appreciate all that I did for her.           

My tea party was gonna be the shizzit, you know, “happenin’”. All the hottest and, therefore, most bulimic celebrities would be there, but none that could compare to me.            

I had to hand it to Becky: even though she walked around looking like a hobo in a burlap sack, she had the hookups. This was probably due to the fact that her father owned M&G Records and a swimming pool. I mean, a swimming pool! Yep, with swimming pools come hot boys, and with hot boys come hot cash! And I needed cash for those botox shots.  

                                       ***            

I woke up and immediately removed my facial mask and accompanying cucumber slices. I rolled over, turned off my de-humidifier and sprang into action. Today was gonna be the day that changed my life. Today, I was gonna drink some tea!           

All the preparations were complete. I had caught and bred some starving children from the ghetto (mighty fast, they are). Their sole purpose in life was to prepare for this party, pouring punch for and attending to all the guests. I locked my little brother in a cage with a Bengal tiger and told him the training would begin. It didn’t matter if he came out alive, just so long as the tiger could escort Becky to the party, complete with knowledge of the English language and proper kissing technique.           

My plastic doll of a mother awaited my arrival in the kitchen. Her lips looked plumper than ever; undoubtedly the work of Dr. Fitzgerald. She offered me some collagen and toast and I was on my way. I elegantly hopped on my hot pink segway (with salmon coloured exhaust) and departed for the Hampton’s.           

With my shiny white iPod earbuds in my ear and the new James Blunt song blasting from them, I happily put-putted my way towards the party of the century. I was blissfully unaware that in a few short minutes, the wheels of my segway would smack a rather large boulder, capsizing my segway and propelling me 50 feet away from the accident.            

Vision blurry and Gucci sunglasses askew, I meandered my way towards where I thought was my segway. When my eyesight finally improved, I noticed Miya Miguel, the Olympic hammer throw gold medalist, stealing my latest in transport accessories.           

“Yo! Miya! Get your overly muscular palms off my segway!” I bellowed.           

At this, Miya sprinted in the opposite direction, grasping the segway tightly in her abnormally large hands. Sweat glimmered on her highly defined biceps.            

“Fiddle sticks!” I exclaimed. “Now how am I going to show off my new nose at the tea party?”           

Just as I had almost given up hope that anyone would compliment me on my new facial arrangement, Angelina Jolie appeared through the harsh fog.           

“Lafawnduh, is that you?”           

“Why yes, Angie,” I declared, “have you come to save me?”           

“No, I’ve come to adopt those starving children you are having pour punch at the tea party.”           

“Well, you can’t have ‘em! I need them! The punch isn’t gonna pour itself, now is it?”           

“Now, Lafawnduh, I have a proposition for you!”           

“Mmm,” I exclaimed. “I love cakes!”           

“No, no, Fawny. I mean, if you let me adopt those children, I will take you to the party on my hog!”           

“That’s an offer I can’t refuse!”           

Angelina offered to let me sit in Maddox’s sidecar, which was surprisingly roomy. He had left a few picture books in the pouch that I read with pleasure.           

Upon arrival at the tea party, I hastily snatched the ghetto children by the skin of their necks and hoisted them into the sidecar. I turned around and witnessed an obscene, well, scene: Becky was standing on one of my lace-adorned, carefully placed coffee tables with a chicken bone in one greasy hand, and a book in the other. Chicken meat was lodged in between her two front teeth and it looked as though she had spilled some “Curious” by Britney Spears down the front of her Chanel gown.           

“Becky, you know better than to read in front of company,” I whispered sternly, “it’s bad for your image.”           

“Oh, I know, Lafawnduh. It’s just that it’s Sunday, and I…”           

“This,” I said while shoving Vogue magazine into her grimy paws, “is your new bible. Memorize every detail and report back to me in a few hours. Oh, and try to do something about your hair. Up does are harsh on your angles.”           

With Becky’s self confidence shattered, I felt my job was done. I wandered over to the snack table and grabbed a cucumber slice and some chocolate covered laxatives.            

“Summer, Autumn, how are you?” I said with a fake grin.           

“Oh, you know how it goes,” Summer replied, eying the chocolate laxatives. “I think I’ll go see what they have at the food table.”           

“And you, Autumn?”           

“Oh, well, my surgery’s tomorrow.”           

“I don’t see why you’re doing this,” I mused. “I mean, you’re already so beautiful.”           

“No you are,” she replied.           

“No you are,” I said.           

“No you are.”           

“Shut the f*ck up, b*tch! You’re f*cking hot!”           

Silence filled the room as everyone in the vicinity looked at me. I wondered if my profanities had caused this, or if the culprit was my intense hotness. Maybe both.           

“You’re right,” Autumn reflected. “I am.           

As Autumn left to empty her stomach in the restroom, Becky appeared from under the tablecloth.
            “Don’t you think that you were a little insensitive to Autumn’s needs out there?” Becky questioned.           

“Of course not,” I replied. “I was being nice, duh. And when did I teach you to defend yourself and others? It’s not a good look for you, Becky.”           

“Oh yeah, well, I’m tired of you pushing me around. I have feelings, too, you know.”           

“I think you’re mistaking feelings for your ugly appearance,” I retaliated.           

“Ugly appearance… you can say it, but can you spell it?”           

Damn. She knew my one weakness: thinking related activities. Whatever, knowing things never got anyone anywhere, did it?           

“Well, Becky, it seems your newfound confidence is testing my patience. Prepare to be obliterated.”           

At this, I grabbed my Dolce & Gabbana Special Edition pistol and pointed it straight at Becky’s horn-rimmed glasses. She immediately grabbed her bible and held it in front of her face. I pulled the trigger and… nothing happened. The book and Becky were completely unharmed.           

“God loves me,” Becky said, “but not you.”           

At this, Becky grabbed my firearm and pistol whipped my chest.           

“OH NO!” I screamed. “My implants!”           

Before I could retaliate, my vision became blurry and I could remember no more. 

***

            “Am I, in heaven?”

            A red figure appeared from within the scorching red flames.

            ”Of course not, Becky,” replied the devil. “You’re in hell.”            “Hmm… whatever. Being nice just isn’t my style anyways. What’ve you got to eat around here?”            “Nothing.”

            I smiled with pleasure and proclaimed to the world, “I’m home.”

Murder That’s Hot

            “Becky, that sweater looked fugly last year, what made you think that it would be hot now?”

Becky was so not with it. I mean, those shoes looked like someone vomited pig’s blood and then sent the remnants to a shoe making facility. She was so lucky to have someone like me to show her the ropes. She was even luckier that I invited her to my annual tea party in the Hampton’s.            

“Sorry, Lafawnduh,” Becky replied earnestly, “I just thought that maybe, you know…”           

“You just thought that ugly things would be in, did you? What’s wrong with you? Are you retarded, or something? Maybe it’s all those days spent reading that has messed with your fashion sense and ability to do anything right.”           

“Spot on, Lafawnduh.”           

My tea party was gonna be the shizzit, you know, “happenin’”. All the hottest and most bulimic celebrities would be there, but none that could compare to me.            

I had to hand it to Becky: even though she walked around looking like a hobo in a burlap sack, she had the hookups. This is probably due to the fact that her father owned M&G Records and a swimming pool. I mean, a swimming pool! Yep, with swimming pools come hot boys, and with hot boys come hot cash! And I needed cash for those botox shots.  

                                       ***            

I woke up and immediately removed my facial mask and accompanying cucumber slices. Today was gonna be the day that changed my life. Today, I was gonna drink some tea!           

All the preparations were complete. I had some starving children from the ghetto pour punch for all the guests. I locked my little brother in a cage with a tiger and told him the training would begin. It didn’t matter if he came out alive, just so long as the tiger could escort Becky to the party, complete with knowledge of the English language and proper kissing technique.           

My plastic doll of a mother awaited my arrival in the kitchen. She offered me some collagen and toast, and I was on my way. I elegantly hopped on my hot pink segway (with salmon coloured exhaust) and departed for the Hampton’s.           

I was blissfully unaware that in a few short minutes, the wheels of my segway would roll over a rather large boulder, propelling me 50 feet away from the accident.            

When I finally came to, I noticed Miya Miguel, the Olympic hammer throw gold medalist, stealing my latest in transport accessories.           

“Yo! Miya! Get your overly muscular palms off my segway!” I bellowed.           

At this, Miya sprinted in the opposite direction, grasping the segway tightly in her abnormally large hands. Sweat glimmered on her highly defined biceps.           

“Fiddle sticks!” I exclaimed. “Now how am I going to show off my new nose at the tea party?”           

Just as I had almost given up hope that anyone would compliment me on my new facial arrangement, Angelina Jolie appeared through the harsh fog.           

“Lafawnduh, is that you?”           

“Why yes, Angie,” I declared, “have you come to save me?”           

“No, I’ve come to adopt those starving children you are having pour punch at the tea party.”           

“Well, you can’t have ‘em! I need them! The punch isn’t gonna pour itself, now is it?”           

“Now, Lafawnduh, I have a proposition for you!”           

“Mmm,” I exclaimed. “I love cakes!”           

“No, no, Fawny, I mean, if you let me adopt those children, I will take you to the party on my hog!”           

“That’s an offer I can’t refuse!”           

Angelina offered to let me sit in Maddox’s sidecar, which was surprisingly roomy. He had left a few picture books in the pouch that I read with pleasure.           

Upon arrival at the tea party, I hastily snatched the ghetto children by the skin of their necks and hoisted them into the sidecar. I turned around and witnessed an obscene, well, scene: Becky was standing on one of my lace-adorned, carefully placed coffee tables with a chicken bone in one greasy hand, and a book in the other. Chicken meat was lodged in between her two front teeth and it looked as though she had spilled some “Curious” by Britney Spears down the front of her Chanel gown.           

“Becky, you know better than to read in front of company,” I whispered sternly, “it’s bad for your image.”           

“Oh, I know, Lafawnduh. It’s just that it’s Sunday, and I…”           

“This,” I said while shoving Vogue magazine into her grimy paws, “is your new bible. Memorize every detail and report back to me in a few hours. Oh, and try to do something about your hair. Up does are harsh on your angles.”           

With Becky’s self confidence shattered, I felt my job was done. I wandered over to the snack table and grabbed a cucumber slice and some chocolate covered laxatives.            

“Summer, Autumn, how are you?” I said with a fake grin.           

“Oh, you know how it goes,” Summer replied, eying the chocolate laxatives. “I think I’ll go see what they have at the food table.”           

“And you, Autumn?”           

“Oh, well, my surgery’s tomorrow.”           

“I don’t see why you’re doing this,” I mused. “I mean, you’re already so beautiful.”           

“No you are,” she replied.           

“No you are,” I said.           

“No you are.”           

“Shut the f*ck up, b*tch! You’re f*cking hot!”           

Silence filled the room as everyone in the vicinity looked at me. I wondered if my profanities had caused this, or if it was because of my intense hotness. Maybe both.           

“You’re right,” Autumn reflected. “I am.           

As Autumn left to empty her stomach in the restroom, Becky appeared from under the tablecloth.
            “Don’t you think that you were a little insensitive to Autumn’s needs out there?” Becky questioned.           

“Of course not,” I replied. “I was being nice, duh. And when did I teach you to defend yourself and others? It’s not a good look for you, Becky.”           

“Oh yeah, well, I’m tired of you pushing me around. I have feelings, too, you know.”           

“I think you’re mistaking feelings for your ugly appearance,” I retaliated.           

“Ugly appearance… you can say it, but can you spell it?”           

Damn. She knew my one weakness: thinking related activities. Whatever, knowing things never got anyone anywhere, did it?           

“Well, Becky, it seems your newfound confidence is testing my patience. Prepare to be obliterated.”           

At this, I grabbed my Dolce & Gabbana Special Edition pistol and pointed it straight at Becky’s horn-rimmed glasses. She immediately grabbed her bible and held it in front of her face. I pulled the trigger and… nothing happened. The book and Becky were completely unharmed.           

“God loves me,” Becky said, “but not you.”           

At this, Becky grabbed my firearm and pistol whipped my chest.           

“OH NO!” I screamed. “My implants!”           

Before I could retaliate, my vision became blurry and I could remember no more. 

***

            “Am I, in heaven?”

            A red figure appeared from within the scorching red flames.

            ”Of course not, Becky,” replied the devil. “You’re in hell.”

            “Hmm… whatever. Being nice just isn’t my style anyways. What’ve you got to eat around here?”

            “Nothing.”

            I smiled with pleasure. “I’m home.”

“The Metaphor” Character Analysis

        Budge Wilson’s “The Metaphor” is a story about extremes. The first is a flamboyant, overly enthusiastic teacher named Miss Hancock. The second is our protagonist’s mother, a cold, heartless perfectionist who demonstrates cleanliness and order, rather than love and affection.       

        The character that I have chosen to describe is the mother, who is unnamed in this story. Her daughter, Charlotte, portrays her very well in her metaphor, in which she depicts her mother as “a flawless, modern building” where “computers (and) typewriters… are buzzing and clicking away”. She also writes, as a final sentence, “There are no comfortable chairs in the lobby”. Charlotte’s metaphor represents her mother as an uptight entrepreneur that would by no means relax in a cozy chair when important business was to be done.

        The mother is an emotionless robot, save for the fact that she demonstrates a strong dislike for flashiness and drama, qualities that Miss Hancock flaunts with pride. She doesn’t hesitate to call Miss Hancock brassy and overdone, casting aside any concern for Charlotte’s feelings about the seventh-grade teacher.

            In another metaphor about her mother, Charlotte says that she is “a white picket fence [that] stands in a field of weeds [and] is bounded on its other sides by thorny bushes and barbed wire”. In this passage, Charlotte further unveils her harsh opinion of her mother. She believes that, while she may appear to be the perfect mother and wife, she is really a bitter broad with a holier-than-thou persona.            

            While it may seem that the mother has it all and more, she is sorely lacking the one thing that is genuinely true: love. Rather than putting neatness and organization to the side in order to fully love and appreciate her daughter and her feelings, she has chosen to sterilize and disinfect every nook and cranny of her spotless house. It is in this way that she reminds me of a Stepford Wife. She never complains, chastises by unbearable niceness, and fulfils the role as a working woman and stay-at-home mother at the same time. She never really stops to appreciate the finer, day-to-day things in life.            

            The main point that I wanted to establish is this: appearances can be deceiving. Just because someone/something looks perfect, doesn’t mean that that is how it truly is.

Boys and Girls

      ”Boys and Girls” depicts the story of a young girl troubled by the daunting task of accepting society’s view of her as a mere girl. Despite her impending fate, she has been quite content to help her father with his fox pelting operation on the farm. She even beemed with pride when her father introduced her as the “hired man.” She was happy that her father thought of her as more than “just a girl.” Previously, she had believed the word “girl” to be innocent, but it now defined who she was to become. Whenever her parents called her a “girl,” she always noticed the touch of disappointment in their voices.

      She is not very close with her mother, who she feels “no longer safe” with. Her mother attempts to confine her inside, doing tasks that are “endless, dreary, and particularly depressing.” She believes that her mother is torturing her “because she knew [she] hated it”. The girl begins to feel even more worried when she discovers her parents conspiring to replace her as the “hired man” with her younger brother; Laird. She wonders how her mother could expect her “lazy and incompetent” brother to do the chores that she did so well.

      The thing that really scares her though, is the fact that she is beginning to accept her fate as a young woman. She begins to enjoy putting on dresses and even completing the household chores she once thought to be “depressing.” She believes that if so many people expect something of her, they must be right.

      I can understand but not personally relate to this girl’s situation. I know how society’s harsh standards could sway someone’s personality and daily habits, but I wouldn’t let those standards hinder my choice of becoming something I really wanted to become. For example, if I really wanted to become a nurse (a predominently female profession,) I wouldn’t hesitite, not letting society shame me into choosing a more manly occupation. However, this may be a matter of the time that this girl was living in. Because a war was going on, I assume that she was living in the first half of the 20th century. Things then were considerably more different than in our age of acceptance and understanding.

      When the truth finally comes out that the girl delibrately opened the gate for the horse to escape, her father says with resignation in his voice, “Never mind, she’s only a girl.” It seemed as though her father, who had been pulling for her the whole time, had finally given up. The girl didn’t protest because she thought, “Maybe it was true.”

Alan’s Writing Ideas

• 17-year-old kindergarten student
• stereotypical “white nerd” being accepted into group of “fly homies”
• young socialite murders man
• tea party turns murderous
• man artificially impregnated with alien baby
• ocean animal rappers
• new job making coffee for Paige Campbell
• story about “nothing”
• drug scandal in the white house
• baby shower infiltrated by enemy paintballers

‘Sup, world.

I’m gonna see the world and the world is gonna see me! You make me feel trapped in this tiny town of ours, but daddy, I’m bustin’ out!