NURSERY HAM ON RHY...ME
By: Angelica Hart and Zi
Reflecting back on the period of time when we were writing KILLER DOLLS I recall during a Lamestorming session proposing something much like the following. Grand ideas find their genesis in the courage to present them. Lamestorming is the process we utilize where an idea is thrown on the table to see if it is viable or lame.
A: What are you doing with your dog?
Z: Correcting a mistake. (Zi was washing and drying the top of the dog's head. Apologizing and scolding)
A: Mistake? (Angelica looked perplexed)
Z: Unbeknownst to me the curious pup followed me into the bathroom and while I was splashing porcelain she put her head between my legs and well... thus the need for her cleansing.
Z: What about the story I left for you to read?
A: That was a ton of purple prose. Says nothing. Adds nothing. Just fills space.
Z: But I like it.
A: I like my date book but I would not try to publish it.
Z: Let me read it out loud to you. My great voice and intonation may sway you.
There once lived a bear family. The Thrice Ursines. A Poppa Bear. A Momma Bear. And a Baby Bear. This can be a standard modern day bear family. Zero population growth. You might have heard this story. If not, where the H E double toothpicks have you been?
One Saturday they sat down to breakfast of porridge, that's old story talk for oatmeal. The Poppa Bear tasted his porridge and said it was too hot. The other bears agreed and they decided to take a walk in the local forest so as to let the steamin' stuff become a more consumable temperature. Thus providing a possible answer to that age old question, "Did da bear shat in the woods?"
In addition one was sure that the to-be-Poopa Bear (pun intended) was also about to scold the Momma Bear about not paying attention to the cookin', thus perpetuating the social standards for gender interaction as the baby watched. That man's-king-of-his-domain stuff knows no animal kingdom boundaries. Shame on the old bear, he needs to watch 'im some Oprah Bear.
"What could you possibly have been thinking to allow the porridge to become scaldin'," i.e., a scoldin' on scaldin', alliteration intended. He could have been far more insulting but he did love his wife. And she did have very large teeth.
Well, the story continued. It does get a little more spirited. Along came a little girl named Goldilocks w/ long blonde gold hair, so transparently weak of a naming by the original author, lazy, but thus the name. Gads, I bet you knew that. Goldilocks. Imaginative parents. (Go with me for the story's sake) Probably they shared the same brain. (Weak analysis on my part... Ignore the previous comment) She saw the house and broke in. First degree breaking and entering. Criminal. A common burglar. Another commentary on the parenting thing albeit a lack of it by her parents who probably were self-absorbed. A trophy wife who spent all her time at the gym firming gravity influenced fleshy parts and a workaholic father who was having an affair with of all folks the mother's gynecologist. Lessons and values begin at home. That's another tale.
Well, she saw the three bowls of oatmeal and tried one, the Poopa Bear's, and naturally uttered, "This stuff is too #@%* hot!" Because she was a modern and undisciplined teenager she actually used the vulgar word. I am above that. Then she tried the next bowl, the Momma Bear's. "This stuff is too #@%* cold," she said flipping the bird. Shame on her. No one saw but it does speak to her lack of prudence. Then she tried the next bowl, the Baby Bear's. "This stuff is just right," and she ate it all up, so goes the story. What a piggy.
I'm certain most any middle American has heard this tale so let me move through it more quickly. She then did the chairs ... too #@%* hard ... too #@%* soft ... just right and then breaks the damned thing. Oops, I said damned but that's pseudo-ok. This all was an obvious statement to her size and/or the poor workmanship of the furniture maker. The modern girl of this day and age had a bit more mass on her arse then had her bulimic mother at her same age. The fast food phenomenon? Who knows. The Japanese would insist that it was the workmanship but it is all a mute point to the story. So forget I said anything.
Well, off to the bedrooms ... this bed too #@%* hard ... too #@%* soft ... obviously they have separate sleepin' accommodations an elderly thing of the first order of why Poopa Bear had such a poopa attitude. Additionally, an apt explanation as to why they have just one babe.
Moving on, quickly, we are moving, moving, moving, and then the baby's bed and that's just right and bingo to sleep she falls. This itself speaks to the nature of this girl. A bizarre thing to do. Consider this, you are breakin' and enterin' and for whatever reason you decide to take a nap. One must suspect she had a subconscious desire to be caught. Psycho-101.
Well, the furry family returned. You knew that. Shats accomplished. Myth no longer a mystery. You didn't know that. And now it began. The who's been eatin' my stuff... blaa blaaa... yes and ate it all up... my chair... blaa blaaa and broke it... the beds who's been sleepin' in my bed... who's been sleepin' in my bed finally said Momma Bear and messed up the frilly comforter. So gender cliché.
At this moment the baby bear opened his door a crack and looked in, turned to his parents, smiled and said, "Good night Mom and Dad!"
Z: The end. Well?
A: Wasteful exercise.
Z: Did it make you smile?
A: A little. (Grinning a lot)
Z: Then we need to find a place for it.
A: The trash bin.
Z: Fine. Break a writer's spirit.
A: Don't do the Jewish Mother guilt dump.
Z: Fine. You do know I am an excellent animal trainer. Taught my Elmo to crap on command. You might reconsider leaving your purse anywhere than on the floor... you mean destroyer of a writer's spirit person... you!
A: Are you done?
Z: Why, yes, I am. I have another story about a boy named Jack with some magic beans.
The moral to this story. Not all words even if you wrote them are good.
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Angelica Hart and Zi
Killer Dolls ~ September 2009
Snake Dance ~ February 2010
Chasing Gravitas ~ July 2010
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