Stories and More - March 2008

THE RETURN OF KITTY KASAI
By Erin Brown

I ran cross country in High School. Well, "ran" is a strong word. Usually
about six minutes into practice, Rebeca, our team captain, would say
something like, "My house is a block away and there is leftover lasagna in
the fridge."

Our team consisted of me and three other very serious runners. There was
Rebeca, who still remains a good friend. After college she lived in London
for a few years, and now she "runs" around speaking like Madonna. "Oh
look I just bought the most amazing British novelty. It's soo British! Look,
mini tablecloths!"

"Um, Bec those have been around for a while, and we call them placemats."

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JOUT!
By Drew Droege

Sitting on the Sunny Delight-stained carpet of my new friend Lynon's
doublewide, hunched over a Travis Tritt CD, snorting crushed Percodans
through a cut-off Wendy’s straw, trying to pay attention to the Nicolas Cage
masterwork "8MM" on her huge Magnavox television, smelling the distinct
odors of dry Alpo and Wild Cherry Swisher Sweets, and watching Lynon's 3
year old daughter Brianna skip and giggle around us, it hit me - this is the
end of the world.

It wasn't supposed to be like this!

For you see, I was a graduate of Wake Forest University, a prestigious
liberal arts institution nestled in idyllic Winston Salem, NC. I'd taken master
classes with Alec Baldwin and Claire Bloom! I learned Romanian for my
multiple roles in Caryl Churchill’s "Mad Forest"! I spoke in rhymed couplets
and wore Chinese silks in "Tartuffe"! I'd even spent a summer in London,
screaming Shakespeare - "With mirth and laughter, let old wrinkles come!"
- and I knew what it meant! I'd paid my dues, and I was ready to become a
professional actor.

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OH, COME ON, IT’LL BE FUN!
By Mark Miller

During courtship and dating, women, being the more creative and
imaginative gender, will often come up with the majority of suggestions for
where they'd like to go and what they'd like to do with their romantic
partner. One would think this would be a positive thing. After all, their
motivation appears genuine. "Oh, come on, it'll be fun!" they frequently say
to us. And yet according to the latest Aw, Jeez, Do I Have To? Survey, 96%
of these suggestions are viewed by men as embarrassing, boring, or
uncomfortable; events and activities in which we would never have
chosen to become involved if we were still single. Which leads me to the
public service portion of this discourse. Ladies, the following is inside
information - a select listing of some of your most common activity
suggestions, what we men don't like about them, and what you might
instead suggest as non-nauseating alternatives.

CAMPING

Let's take camping, for example. Camping - an activity many men look
forward to with the same relish they take in reading Aristotle in the original
Greek, receiving a prostate exam, or attending a Celine Dion concert. The
way we see it, nature is way over-rated. How many flowers can you smell?
How many sunsets can you ooh and aah over? How many coyotes can you
worry about being in the vicinity? No access to the Internet or email. No TV
sports. Bugs everywhere. What about any of this spells "fun"? Unless you
look at "fun" as the first three letters of "funeral."

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I'M IN LOVE WITH CHEKOV
By Carol Schlanger

I'm an old hippie. In the early 70's I lived on an anarchistic commune deep
in the woods of coastal Oregon. Our simple, back to nature life had fierce
complications.

At night, to read and cook we lit kerosene lanterns and our world was
illuminated by a soft glow. Often the only outside sound was the wail of the
coyotes and the wind. Inside, we were the best of friends, telling stories,
reading, playing chess. Time melted.

On very cold nights, as heat rose, all fourteen of us slept in the loft we had
built by hand above the main space. Our sleeping bags were laid side by
side on foam mattresses. One night, I lay in the loft on my back, reading
"Black Elk Speaks". The others, including Ginger, a visiting ex-nurse, sat
down stairs or rather ,down ladder, talking softly. Ginger had been married
to Doc a much loved man in our circle, because not only was he an
excellent dentist, but because he also worked for barter or in cases of
need, for free. Doc had recently dumped Ginger for Meadow, Ginger's
former best friend. Ginger was terribly wounded but did her best to put on
a good face. It was clear she wanted and felt she had to find another man.
Living in the remote rural Northwest is rough and lonely for a single woman
and Ginger's desperation was apparent. She gave off a powerful musk as
she arched her back and swung her hips seductively. Her every move
cried: " Take me, take me please." We had men and Ginger wanted one, the
best one she could get.

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