Expecting the Unexpected: My Pre-Halloween Weekend

Hello again, all.

Happy early Halloween.  Friday and Saturday nights must have been an interesting one for countless people, quite possibly an extremely fun time for some.  My weekend was worthy of note, but not anything quite “Halloween” – like.

This past weekend, I went out east, back home out to the east end of Long Island.  I actually didn’t really have a choice in the matter, being that I had to get home to work at my family’s restaurant since both of my parents are overseas enjoying themselves for their anniversary.  Since my uncle was alone, I was asked to help out Saturday night, but went out Friday to tend to small errands I had to accomplish before the weekend came.

With that, I made my way over to the restaurant/pizza parlor that has become such an important part of who I am.  To give a brief history, in 1971, my grandfather opened the business after bringing his family over the year before from Palermo, Sicily.  In 1989, I was born. Being part of a family business has ultimately shaped much of my personality to date, considering I’ve worked there since before I can remember.  So, when asked to help out, I do.  Even when I am not asked to help, I do anyway.  It’s part of a life I’ve tried to avoid, yet still continue to accept because of the pride I take in knowing the business has such a long, rich history of family tradition.

Though the schedule tries to remain as consistently correct as possible, it never quite happens that way.  I was actually only scheduled to work Saturday night, not Friday.  Considering my friend Mike works there, I went in around 5:00 on Friday night to give a quick hello before the dinner rush came in.  Little did I know that, by 5:15, I was tied my apron on and was opening clams for Linguini White Clam sauce and preparing countless orders of Eggplant Parmigiana.   The dining room was filling up, and I happened to be the only person in the kitchen other than the dishwasher. Because my eldest brother, a Social Studies teacher in Brooklyn, had parent/teacher conferences and was stuck in traffic with no way of getting to the store before the rush hit. 

Eventually, my brother came to save me.  By 9:15, the last table left, and I was just starting to mix the pizza dough.  For the next hour, we were cutting the dough balls to the perfect weight and rolling each one up to the perfect ball.  After cutting and rolling approximately 120 balls of dough, I cleaned up a bit, went home, showered, and put on my mask: Michelangelo from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (it was actually a cheap imitation of a mask that I basically threw together at the last minute.  Give me a break, I unexpectedly worked all night).  Then, I went out with some friends and enjoyed the Friday before Halloween.

Not a bad weekend, if I say so myself.  Was it unexpected?  Of course.  But life seems to be that way, so I’ve learned to stay prepared to put on my apron whenever my name gets called.

A Close Call - Creative Writing Piece

The streets of Cairo were engulfed in chaos.  Abasi, a strong, and determined young man, wearing tarnished clothes that had not been washed in days, charged the streets with fellow protesters for the fifth day in a row.  Abasi met friends early in the morning to discuss their plans of rebellion for the day over a hearty meal of fava beans, tomatoes and pita bread.  However, a sudden feeling struck Abasi causing him to abandon his companions at breakfast with no explanation.

            Alone and on foot, Abasi entered the dangerous streets of Cairo.  He passed several houses with boarded up windows and doors to prevent more looting from occurring, while cars and buildings were still smoking from the rampage of the previous night.  Everything was shut down.  Functioning restaurants, homes, shops, and rest areas seemed to only be a memory.  Cairo: a city known for its cultural life including beautiful Islamic architecture was beginning to look about as attractive as a broken toilet.  A true cesspool of outrage. 

            Still alone floating around the streets, Abasi began to fear for his wellbeing.  He had an uneasy feeling in his stomach, as if something horrible would soon happen if he did not act immediately.  Determined to change his current mood, Abasi continued forward on his mysterious journey.

            Abasi then saw his neighbor Archna on the sidewalk passing by.  Archna was slightly younger than him, but he had always thought she was a very cute girl, whom he predicted would one day turn into a beautiful woman.  Abasi briefly greeted Archna with a smile, but after shortly realizing he had no time to stop and chat he continued walking.  After a few more blocks of drifting, Abasi noticed Archna had been following him.  “I can’t hang out right now Archna,” shouted Abasi.  Though he seemed dismissive, the lovely young lady remained in his proximity.

            The streets painted with skid marks reeked of burnt rubber and turmoil.  Abasi felt as if he was about to explode like the many buildings in the city’s warzone.  “Abasi!” shouted a tender voice.  It was Archna, this time only a few feet behind the young man.  “I don’t think you should be alone, the police will mistake you for a looter.”  Archna’s concern made Abasi want to compliment her on her beauty, but he held back.  “I’ll be fine on my own, you’re the one who shouldn’t be alone in this part of town,” replied Abasi with a skirmish look on his face as if he had been looking directly at the sun.   “Where is it that you’re going in such a hurry?  My parents said everyone in our neighborhood was supposed to meet by the mosque at noon.  Why don’t you come with me?” asked Archna.  Her eyes, which to him seemed deeper than the Nile, caught his attention.  He could feel her look judging him as if she knew exactly what was wrong.  He had to go.  “I have to go, I’ll meet up with everyone later..I just have to go now!” shouted Abasi.  Archna’s eyebrows crinkled in curiosity.  “Okay, well, I guess I’ll see you later,” she shortly replied.  She then quickly turned around and marched in the opposite direction. 

            Abasi was now almost running through the disastrous city.  His legs were stiff and straight, similar to the walking motion of the Frankenstein monster.  Weaving in and out of tanks and army vehicles Abasi began to think about Archna.  Perhaps he was rude to her, but it was for her own good.  He had to be alone right now.  He had to keep moving.  He would apologize to her later, and perhaps comment on her beauty.  The thought of her allure reminded him of how Cairo was once a physically admirable place.  Such a thought     temporarily relieved Abasi of the agitated sensation he felt deep inside him.  However, the sounds of gunshots in the distance quickly stole any feelings of composure away from him. 

            Abasi began running at full speed.  He had almost made it to his goal.  It was in sight, but the faster he ran the further it appeared.  Each step seemed an eternity.  Abasi’s toes began to curl and his forheard started to perspire profusely.  His palms sweating with his pulse exploding Abasi felt ill.  Doubts began to enter his mind, and he considered abandoning his mission.  His vision became cloudy as he felt no control over himself.  He was so close.  The pain would soon be gone.  The end of his suffering was becoming more and more familiar.  Abasi began to think of his parents- he wanted them to help him.  Just as his agony peaked to a place he had never experienced, Abasi loosened his belt.

The sounds of terror echoed the walls of the public restroom as Abasi let out a serious fudge dragon.  The dookie appeared to be larger than King Tut’s tomb.  Abasi’s suffering had finally vanished.  He then promised himself never to eat fava beans for two days straight ever again.  Now that his internal struggle had been conquered he was able to pursue his participation in the revolution.  He would go on to join his fellow rebels to flush away the oppressive ways of Mubarak, and perhaps have a go at the relationship he could now confidently spark with Archna.  

Finding a Way to Deal...

Hello again, everyone…feels good to be back to a free-write.  These last couple of weeks have been pretty eventful.  I guess I’ll use this blog as a little vent session to make up for it.

In my first blog, I gave a brief history of the NBA Lockout and how it has affected my life.  Well, something pretty awful happened.  NBA commissioner David Stern announced the cancellation of the first two weeks of the NBA season.  There hasn’t really much else to say about that.

However, something pretty awesome happened.  Both the NBA TV and MSG networks have been playing classic NBA games from the early ‘90s (since it is considered illegal to play any games that contain any NBA players that are currently playing in the league because the lockout disallows it). 

There are a few ways of reacting to this.  While, on one hand, I am saddened that training camp hasn’t begun on time and the first two weeks are cancelled, I am happy to see that these networks are playing classic games from a time period that ultimately made me a fan.  The gritty-ness that these players displayed (before absurd player and TV contracts came into play) reminded me of why I became an obsessed fan. 

During this time, the league displayed players who placed commitment above all.  Their physical and mental makeup was designed around a team concept rather than any individual accolades.  These players would never pull a Lebron James and decide to join the “enemy.”  They remained committed to their cities, striving to give that city a time to remember through sports.

Leaving your respective cities, unless you were traded, was basically unheard of.  Players based their contracts around the success of their team, relating their contracts to other players on their team because they ultimately wanted to win in the city that they played in.  Were they still making millions of dollars?  Of course!  This is America, where famous people rule just about everything.  These players, though, gave their fans a different feel. 

So, while the league continues this absurd lockout, I’ve found a way to get my basketball fix.  I hope that, through this process, today’s players realize just how awesome that time was for basketball fans.  Maybe they can learn a thing or two.

Critical Lens Essay (Revised)

“Art is the lie that makes us realize the truth.”

Pablo Picasso

According to Pablo Picasso, “Art is the lie that makes us realize truth.”  In other words, all forms of art, including novels and plays, show us an ever-present reality that are ably seen through a work of art.  This is shown to be true in The Things They Carried, written by Tim O’Brien, where the author uses his experience in the Vietnam War to create fictional stories that craftily describes the feelings of war. This is also evident in the play, Death of a Salesman, written by Arthur Miller, where he skillfully uses his fictional play as a way to depict the lives of certain characters in postwar 1950’s America.  Both stories inherently portray usages of tone through their stories to help their audience see how art reveals truth through their works of art.

            In his fictional novel, The Things They Carried, Tim O’Brien creates many different war stories during the Vietnam War.  While Tim O’Brien clarifies that he was in the Vietnam War, he creates these stories as a form of art to dexterously describe a soldier’s feelings during the war.  For example, in one chapter titled “The Man I Killed,” the author artfully describes the story about the Vietnamese soldier he killed.  In doing this, he describes the most intricate details, describing the soldier as a “dainty young man (p. 118).”  In the process, though, O’Brien later writes, “I want you to feel what I felt.  I want you to know why story-truth is truer than happening-truth” (p. 171).  Tone is represented here in a dreary state.  This allows the reader to experience something that may or may not have really happened.  While he admits to the story being a “lie,” he uses his words to make the reader feel this “truth” that often comes from the art of story telling. 

            Similarly, in Death of a Salesman, Arthur Miller uses his fictional play to create a critique of 1950’s America. Willy Loman, the play’s main character, has a belief that someone who is “well liked” equates to success in the world.  He says, “The man who makes an appearance in the business world, the man who creates personal interest, is the man who gets ahead. Be liked and you will never want” (Act I).  However, as the play goes on, Willy begins to realize that happiness is something that one cannot attain simply through being “well-liked.” In this scene, the tone seems hopeful, but not quite believable.  Willy’s tone seems to be something that he does not necessarily believe, but he has used it in hopes of “getting ahead.” Ultimately, Willy kills himself by the end of the play, tragically unable to “get ahead.” Through his artful techniques, Arthur Miller reveals a character that lives by a concept that leaves him upset with the state of his life.  Being “liked” never helped Willy become successful; it only led to his demise. 

            Although two very different stories, both Tim O’Brien’s The Things They Carried and Arthur Miller’s Death of a Salesman reveal truth through clever techniques.  In The Things They Carried, the author uses creative language in his novel to portray gruesome events of a war.  In using the creative technique of describing a war that he was a part of, he ably describes events using his story-telling abilities to craft feelings of a soldier in the war.  Like Tim O’Brien, Arthur Miller uses his play to create characters that are affected by their surrounding world.  In his wonderful ability to create characters that define a time period, Miller allows his creative ability to resonate through his playwriting, a technique that ably defines truth through a fictional play.   

            “Art is the lie that makes us realize truth.”  In Tim O’Brien’s The Things They Carried, truth is realized through O’Brien’s war experience, especially his experience of “the man he killed,” is well described through his ability to describe a story that didn’t necessarily happen to him, but probably happened to a soldier in the war.  In Arthur Miller’s Death of a Salesman, Miller writes of a character who slowly realizes how his philosophy that someone who is “well liked” is one who succeeds fails him, leading to his demise.  In the process, both stories use tone as a form of enhancing Picasso’s quote.  In the postwar state that America was in, Miller evokes a tragic character in search of deeper meaning in his life.  Both works of art, although quite different, portray art as a form of truth through the authors’ skilled ways of doing so.

The Five Paragraph Essay (Yikes)

“Art is the lie that makes us realize the truth.”

Pablo Picasso

            According to Pablo Picasso, “Art is the lie that makes us realize truth.”  In other words, all forms of art, including novels and plays, show us an ever-present reality that are ably seen through a work of art.  This is shown to be true in The Things They Carried, written by Tim O’Brien, where the author uses his experience in the Vietnam War to create fictional stories that craftily describes the feelings of war.  This is also evident in the play, Death of a Salesman, written by Arthur Miller, where he skillfully uses his fictional play as a way to depict the lives of certain characters in postwar 1950’s America.

            In his fictional novel, The Things They Carried, Tim O’Brien creates many different war stories during the Vietnam War.  While Tim O’Brien clarifies that he was in the Vietnam War, he creates these stories as a form of art to dexterously describe a soldier’s feelings during the war.  For example, in one chapter titled “The Man I Killed,” the author artfully describes the story about the Vietnamese soldier he killed.  In doing this, he describes the most intricate details, describing the soldier as a “dainty young man” (p. 118).  In the process, though, O’Brien later writes, “I want you to feel what I felt.  I want you to know why story-truth is truer than happening-truth” (p. 171).  While he admits to the story being a “lie,” he uses his words to make the reader feel this “truth” that often comes from the art of story telling. 

            Similarly, in Death of a Salesman, Arthur Miller uses his fictional play to create a critique of 1950’s America. Willy Loman, the play’s main character, has a belief that someone who is “well liked” means that they are a successful person in the world.  Her says, “The man who makes an appearance in the business world, the man who creates personal interest, is the man who gets ahead. Be liked and you will never want” (Act I).

However, as the play goes on, Willy begins to realize that happiness is something that one cannot attain simply through being “well-liked.” Ultimately, Willy kills himself by the end of the play, tragically unable to “get ahead.” Through his artful techniques, Arthur Miller reveals a character that lives by a concept that u leaves him upset with the state of his life.  Being “liked” never helped Willy become successful; it only led to his demise.

            Although two very different stories, both Tim O’Brien’s The Things They Carried and Arthur Miller’s Death of a Salesman reveal truth through clever techniques.  In The Things They Carried, the author uses creative language in his novel to portray gruesome events of a war.  In using the creative technique of describing a war that he was a part of, he ably describes events using his story-telling abilities to craft feelings of a soldier in the war.  Like Tim O’Brien, Arthur Miller uses his play to create characters that are affected by their surrounding world.  In his wonderful ability to create characters that define a time period, Miller allows his creative ability to resonate through his playwriting, a technique that ably defines truth through a fictional play.   

            “Art is the lie that makes us realize truth.”  In Tim O’Brien’s The Things They Carried, truth is realized through O’Brien’s war experience, especially his experience of “the man he killed,” is well described through his ability to describe a story that didn’t necessarily happen to him, but probably happened to a soldier in the war.  In Arthur Miller’s Death of a Salesman, Miller writes of a character who slowly realizes how his philosophy that someone who is “well liked” is one who succeeds fails him, leading to his demise.  In the postwar state that America was in, Miller evokes a tragic character in search of deeper meaning in his life.  Both works of art, although quite different, portray art as a form of truth through the authors’ skilled ways of doing so.