Monday, October 26, 2009

Oh geez wat did i do last week u guyz

Remember at the beginning of this blog, I posted erratically, and when I did post, the posts were of varying lengths and sometimes really short?

Rule: Don't give me the swine flu.

Also: somewhere near you, there is a takeout menu with number/letter combinations on it. Is there an H1 and an N1?

Somewhere in Michigan, they are serving N1 up as chicken pad thai.

Monday, October 19, 2009

I'm very good at lying.

Wow! I really didn't post 1.5 times last week, did I? It was more like .5 times. HAHAHAAAA... yeah. sry guyz. ANYWAY. Here's what I submitted for your judging eye and analytical reading. Feel free to point and laugh in the comments.

The ribs were already pre-braised and I was tasting the sauce as Amy walked in the door. I poured it into the Bar-B-Q Sauce jar, most of it blorping onto the counter. Amy nagged about the mess. I drew the letters "BBQ" into the sauce on the counter and set the jar squarely in it. I wanted to infuse the whole house, actually. I pretended to be careless and swiped my hand on the counter reaching for a paper towel, spattering the stove. I glanced at Amy for a second, but she was already staring at me and met my eyes. She shook her head and evaluated the kitchen while chewing on a hangnail.

I dipped the brush into the jar and painted her arm. She frowned, scraped a bit off the counter and threw it at my pant leg. I did the same, but with my eyes closed in case of spatter; the vinegar could potentially sting. She yelped as it hit her head: a drippy hat. I tasted the sauce again now that it wasn't blisteringly hot, and asked Amy to try it. She took an entire spoonful of the spicy tonic, grimaced, and nodded.

We started slathering the ribs, Amy with the brush, and me with a spoon. We ended up just using our hands and rubbing it in. I dug my hand into the jar and squeegeed the last of it onto the tender meat. I had sauce in my eyelashes; Amy’s eyebrows were slick with the stuff. I could hear my hair crackle as the sauce dried into it. We sat on the floor. We looked into that metal box and watched the meat accept the sauce. When it was done, we opened the oven and felt the hot air whooshing out and stood there with our eyes closed, feeling it billow our clothes.

My eyelashes curled as the sauce dried and my eyes watered. I opened my eyes, and saw Amy's hair start singeing as it floated in the swirling heat, so I slopped on it the dregs of the sauce from the pot. Goosebumps pricked our arms and our faces were flushed. It had been a long time since anything had breathed on our faces, even pork ribs in an oven.

Rule: Try your best not to lie to your readership.

Monday, October 12, 2009

On things. Stuff. Objects.

Sorry about the missing post last week, 1.5 posts this week to make up. Going back to stories + objects, Slate recently put out an article featuring a project by Joshua Glenn and Rob Walker to pair writers up with random things and write stories about them (sound familiar to a previous blog post?). They also have issued a challenge to readers to create a story about a BBQ Sauce brush with holder that will be sold on eBay, the cash moneys going to the author.

Honestly, thinking about doing it. Will post story if I do.

Those who want to get in on it:
From Slate: You'll write a short story (500 words or fewer) in which this object plays an important role. (Please do not make reference to the fact that the object is being sold on eBay, and do not mention the penny that appears in the photo for scale—the story's plot should be independent of the project's context.) The stories must be e-mailed to by Oct. 16 at 5 p.m. Please also tell us your full name and the city and state you're writing from. All submissions may be quoted—and attributed to their author—in a follow-up article on Slate announcing the winning entry.

Rule: Seriously consider this contest, and post thoughts in the comments. I'm interested to see what people come up with.

The Slate bit

The Significant Objects Project