2008-06 Vital Source Mag – June 2008
Now in 3D!
You might not think Hillary Clinton and Alanis Morissette have much in common, but somehow, Broadminded’s rendition of Hillary’s concession speech as the spoken lyrics of “You Oughta Know” sheds new light on the current presidential campaign season as well as the media coverage consuming it: exactly what the four women of Broadminded are aiming for in their newest multi-media sketch show, Broadminded: Now in 3-D. Each sketch targets an aspect of modern media and exposes the skewed, the superficial and the downright ridiculous. The four women of Broadminded – Stacy Babl, Anne Graff LaDisa, Melissa Kingston and Megan McGee – got together two years ago after taking classes and performing at ComedySportz. All four collaborate in the writing, direction and production of each sketch. They are ego-less in their synergy, producing light comedy with a serious underlying point, like the ultra-conservative news pundit who insists the answer to controlling illegal drugs is right there in the second amendment, or the sober BBC anchor interviewing girls she believes to be Chinese exchange students, but are really just Americans who want a few bucks on a promised prepaid Master Card. The show incorporates video sketches with the live performance, spoofing a Dateline exploration of “Prodigious Progeny.” The most notable chronicles the nurturing that goes into raising a daughter believed to be the anti-Christ. After all, the number six can look an awful lot like the letter “G” if not practiced over and over with strict parental guidance. LaDisa is eerily charming as the hoped-for anti-Christ. Broadminded: Now in 3-D is the group’s first attempt at a completely thematic show. Each sketch spins satirical on aspects of the media and entertainment, including television, radio, news and advertising. It’s smugly satisfying to see a version of those yogurt commercials in which live-culture lovers admit they’re still hungry. And who knew there’s now a prescription drug called Urbanadrene, a cure to the disease Suburbanitis? Side effects include but are not limited to eating organic produce and using public transportation. The four women don’t just throw together a few funny ideas and hope for the best: research is an integral part of their creative process. Most will recognize syndicated radio host Delilah as an effortlessly bland surgeon of the heart, patching up relationships with generic pop songs of the past two decades. But Kingston’s phenomenal interpretation of an alcohol abuser lining up shot glasses on the sound board while producers try to break into her studio is based in truth, which makes it even better. Performers in comedy sketches have just a few seconds to establish personas for the audience. Broadminded uses body language, voice and very few props to convey character immediately. All four women completely invade their roles, and each sketch is crisp and distinctive. The video sketches provide time for make-up, hair and costume changes. Some of the physical comedy occasionally slides into stereotypes that Broadminded could have avoided, but despite this, the women never rely on an article of clothing or […]
Jun 23rd, 2008 by Russ Bickerstaff
Triptych
By Nicholas Grider Triptych sells itself as a cross-disciplinary experiment in the ways that three different media — visual arts, dance, and music — mesh and fail to mesh in a performance setting, and on those terms alone it’s a great success, despite the somewhat apologetic attitude of the piece’s creators. The result of both collaboration and independent (but side-by-side) work, Triptych presents the efforts of composer Christopher Burns, visual artist Leslie Vansen and choreographer Luc Vanier to explore how effectively their methods might be synthesized. The fact that the answer to this question is yes and no provides the audience with a rich, provocative experience of a work that already has multiple points of entry. And besides that, the work is a sheer pleasure to watch. Luc Vanier’s choreography, in particular, was a welcome shove away from traditional dance concert, with roots in the work of the Judson Dance Theater and Allan Kaprow’s early happenings (as well as a pretty direct nod to Goat Island). Vanier uses the various rooms of the performance as a means to break or ignore many of the conventions of traditional dance theatre. My favorite piece of inspired recklessness: the well-lit floor space where you expect the dancers to stay doesn’t represent any real boundaries at all, and often dancers would swing very close to the audience or move completely out of the light so matter-of-factly that the rooms themselves became sculptural spaces and light became as much of a participant as the music, choreography, or animations. (Also keep your eyes peeled for the play with gender roles in the duet in part two.) There were smaller signs of a tossed-aside rulebook, too – like the lack of presence or tension in the dancers’ arms during their more quotidian moves – but in the mashing-together of art, music, and dance, it is Vanier (and the uniformly excellent dancers) who does most of the heavy lifting. This is not to say that Burns and Vansen’s contributions aren’t just as engaging – just crowded out a little by the physical fact of bodies in motion. This is one discovery that Triptych makes, and even if it’s not new, it’s relevant: it’s awfully hard to balance very different modes of expression (as was the plan in part two of the triptych). Sometimes simply setting things alongside each other is more successful, as it was with Burns’ lead-off percussion solo in the first act (think Morton Feldman with the volume cranked) and the labyrinth of the triptych’s third part, in which Vansen’s drawings and animation appeared as projections through which dancers and audience members have to navigate, filling Vansen’s elegant abstractions with the narrative implications of both the dancers’ and spectators’ shadows. I still feel, here, as if I’m selling Triptych somewhat short, because what’s ultimately thrilling about it beyond its quality is that it’s openly and unrepentantly an experiment, a kind of willingness to raise the stakes that Milwaukee has rarely seen since Theatre X in its […]
Jun 23rd, 2008 by Vital Archives
Summer days, summer nights with De La Buena
By Amy Elliott and Amber Herzog De La Buena is: David Wake, Cecilio Negron Jr., Andy Noble, Julio Pabon, Aaron Gardner, Eric Jacobson, Mike Pauers, Jesse Sheehan, Holly Haebig, Elladia Regina James Wake (De La Baby). Not pictured: Jeremy Kuzniar, Jamie Breiwick. Ready for festival season? We sure are, especially because it inevitably means the return of De La Buena, one of Milwaukee’s most distinctive party bands. We sat down with band leader David Wake waaaaay back in February after they played a smashing set at the City of Milwaukee Birthday Party. We thought you might like to hear more about them now, though, since it’s sunny, hot, and everyone’s ready to salsa. Viva De La Buena! And read on … Ed. Describe the sound of De La Buena. In simple terms, De La Buena is a sophisticated dance band. First and foremost, we’re a Latin Jazz band, but we are no doubt influenced by the traditions of Salsa and Samba infused by the great bands of the 1960s and ’70s coming out of New York, Puerto Rico, Brazil and Cuba. We have a big sound that includes a four-to-five-piece horn section, Hammond organ, bass, and three percussionists (one of which is a kit drummer). The instrumentation we employ stretches beyond tradition and allows us the freedom to step into other realms of musical and artistic expression. Obviously, De La Buena is a large band full of musicians from eclectic backgrounds. Where do they come from, how did they come to De La Buena, and what do they bring the project? The band shares a very strong family bond and we’re family people who take their art and their craft seriously. Most of us inherited a deeply rooted love of Latin music from our families, and have the ability to stay true to that history and those traditions without becoming predictable. We love to have fun and make music, but we also want to put out music that has integrity and taste. What’s the appeal of the music you play – for you and for your fans? We bring something for both body and mind. People come to the shows to listen, and people come to the shows to dance. Folks really seem to love a big band with a big sound and they know that when they come to a De La Buena show, it will be a culturally diverse scene, especially in a town so infamous for its segregation. For the band, our appeal lies somewhere between tradition and innovation. We learn about and share the history of Latin music, but always leave room for innovation and new ideas. How has the band grown and changed over the past five years? We started as a trio. Adding a drummer, a tenor saxophonist, and a trumpet was another, more improvisational phase of the band—a period of discovery. Our songs consisted of much less organized ideas and grooves that we would use as launch pads for improvisational explorations. Our album, […]
Jun 16th, 2008 by Amy Elliott
Born to be free
Free the Galazan 5! Inova/Kenilworth June 13 – July 27 Opening reception: Friday, June 13, 6 – 9pm Gene Galazan left Milwaukee years ago and fled to Arizona. I remember him from the way back days when he and his artist spouse were active participants in Milwaukee art events, so I was intrigued to learn that Inova/Kenilworth will be exhibiting five of his Cor-ten steel sculptures in an exhibit titled Free the Galazan 5! (June 13 – July 27). I found images of the 5! online at the antique and art site of Gary Gresl, who owns the sculptures and is offering them for sale. The spin surrounding the exhibit is pinned to the “story” behind the sculptures: that they were left to languish in a warehouse when deemed to be too “dangerous” and too “abstract” for public consumption. The sculptures, fabricated in 1980 for CETA, a federally funded jobs program, were shot out of the saddle. Here’s an excerpt from an article written by Dean Jensen (yes, that Dean Jensen), in the Milwaukee Sentinel March 2, 1982: “The pieces, fabricated from Cor-ten steel and weighing 200 to 250 lbs. each….are gathering dust in storerooms in the old Town of Lake water tower on S. 6th St., and in a Public Works Department structure in the Menomonee Valley.” The article goes on to note that Galazan was planning a demonstration outside of City Hall, “seeking to free the sculptures he claimed were being held by the city.” A friend of mine who attended UW-Milwaukee recalls Galazan’s parents as being “civic-minded trendy art junkies with a big house on Lake Drive.” They were active in Jewish Vocational Services (his mom ran the JVS pottery department) and were as “sweet as can be,” or so remembers my friend. Of course, most artists have tales to tell, particularly those with bones to pick, and Galazan was (like other artists of his era) highly theatrical. That said, Inova/Kenilworth decided these sculptures and their colorful history would be useful in enlightening viewers about the problems of making art for the “public.” A good example of things gone awry is the current flap surrounding the proposed sculpture memorializing the sinking of the Lady Elgin. Most people involved in the arts will also recall when Dennis Oppenheim’s proposal for the Blue Shirt sculpture was hung out to dry. However, the basic question remains: are these five sculptures worth the effort of pondering, let alone building an exhibit around? Inova curator, Nick Frank, first saw the Galazan 5 during a visit to Gresl’s home, where they sat among weeds and high grasses. He listened to the back story and decided to have all five hauled by truck and placed in Inova/Kenilworth’s vast gallery space. The largest sculpture is priced at $2,000. You can view it and the others at www.greslartmarket.com. It’s a shame that the five are being sold separately. They clearly belong together. Prior to writing this and visiting the gallery, I went online to see what […]
Jun 12th, 2008 by Stella Cretek
The Girl in the Frame
What would life be like with the perfect partner, romance, or relationship? Exploring all these possibilities, Jeremy Desmon’s 2003 play The Girl in the Frame closes In Tandem Theatre’s season. This tribute to the romantic ideal focuses on the seldom-realized fatal discrepancies to these overrated dreams. The Girl in the Frame intersperses musical numbers throughout the two acts while centering on the faltering relationship between Alex and Laney, two 30-somethings who have been engaged for four long years. Alex, who seemingly unemployed waits for executive-on-overdrive Laney to return every evening, begins to imagine another person in their home, a beautiful girl in one of those stock images from the picture frame he gives Laney as a gift on their anniversary. He dreams about her while once again Laney catches a flight overseas to straighten out a business deal gone awry. To Alex’s surprise, a very real girl sashays through his bathroom door that evening. This is the girl in a white dress, whom he names Evelyn, that lived mid-twirl inside the picture frame and begins to fulfill his every need, including cooking chicken Florentine and chocolate mousse for dinner. When Laney returns home from her European business trip she discovers Alex and Evelyn, this figment of her fiancés imagination, replacing her in the bedroom. So she conjures her own fantasy fireman, Tomas. For a short time, the four live in unimaginable bliss, everyone’s dream a reality. But the dreams begin to fade over time, which allows Laney and Alex to discover a fitting end to their dueling dilemmas through humor and love. An entertaining evening full of many delightful moments, The Girl in the Frame fills the stage with touches of truth. What woman would refuse to imagine or flirt with the idea of a sensuous sculpted fireman who cleans, cooks and carries your favorite flowers to your arms every evening? The play’s musical score occasionally obscures the story, but the twisted duet between Tomas and Evelyn, “What Would You Do,” describes the traumas of remaining ever perfect with precise timing. Courtney Jones as Evelyn and Travis A. Knight as Tomas, both newcomers to In Tandem, capture these faultless ideals and the essence of their roles. Knight charges the stage, incredibly versatile, visually enhancing the capable sexy fireman that rescues Laney from routine as he fans the flame of her every desire. Alison Mary Forbes as Laney and Simon Jon Proven as Alex both revel in developing their fantasy relationships, although Alex’s character in the script could be more developed. But together the four create chemistry on stage, giving the play’s premise a credibility the audience embraces even if the set could use a sophisticated tweaking to brighten the scenes. Anne Von Deusen deserves special applause as the piano accompanist throughout the performance. When the enjoyment and laughter of the evening recedes, the production grapples with several questions regarding the expectations of romance and relationships, especially over long time spans. The disillusioned Laney admits in one scene, “Sometimes you outgrow […]
Jun 4th, 2008 by Peggy Sue Dunigan
Faster than the speed of time
I don’t know anyone who doesn’t waste at least a little thinking space over how much time speeds up as we age. The phenomenon has spawned numerous mathematical theories and countless arguments about physiology and environment that keep mathematicians and social scientists eternally butting heads in the halls of academia. In real life, the passage of time manifests itself as an increasingly kaleidoscopic sense of memory and the feeling that summer gets shorter every year. After all, when you’re six and you only have linear memories from maybe the last three years, an 11-week summer vacation is effectively 7% of your whole life. At 40, 7% is 145 weeks, or almost three years. That’s quite a difference. For ongoing, in-depth exploration of time acceleration theory, I suggest having a bunch of kids and spreading their ages out over as many years as you can. My sample is rather small for this model: I have five kids aged 10 to 18, with nieces and nephews expanding the data set to the ages of 5 to 21. My research has nothing to do with the kids’ perception of time, but with my own. I can’t keep up with how often these kids are metamorphosing, while my own growth has slowed to a barely evolutionary crawl. Two years ago my oldest daughter Alex was a high school junior looking forward to her 16th birthday, feeling like she had the world by the ass. This morning she probably got up early in the south side apartment she shares with her boyfriend, let the dog out and took the bus to her cashier job. She’s figuring herself out, and for now she just wants to work and live on her own. At this time in 2006, my son Harrison was having a hell of a time understanding that he wasn’t the center of the universe (partly my fault, for sure). Since then, he’s been through a slew of changes that could erode the emotional security of any man, but he seems more grounded than a lot of people I know, kid or adult. Savannah just reached the delightful age of 14, complete with all the age-appropriate trappings, and Jesse is starting to smell like puberty is not far off. But right now it’s Cassidy who amazes me the most. When I met Cass she was freshly 14, and the family member everyone was afraid of provoking. Known for her dark bursts of temper, she kept to herself a lot, painting her nails black and staring moodily into space for hours on end. As I was getting to know her siblings, I found some way to bond with each of them, but Cassidy was a pissed-off Cheshire Cat to me. I even lowered myself to her engagement style once or twice, to my great personal mortification. But in the thick of what I think back on as “the dark times,” Cass started sitting in the kitchen while I cooked, slicing vegetables for sauce and helping out […]
Jun 2nd, 2008 by Jon Anne Willow
Pygmies in Chimayo
By Justin Burke Long before they filed for divorce late in 2004, Mr. and Mrs. Bourbon had lost their hankering for the Corriente cattle ranch. Over the last decade they had made the venture successful and had profited greatly from the growing rodeo market. In March of the following year they auctioned off the stock, equipment, and work vehicles while a realtor out of Las Vegas placed a “For Sale” sign to the left of the massive log placard that arched over the entrance and read in a deep wood-burned script: Bourbon Ranch National Corriente, Ltd. Ocate, New Mexico Mr. Bourbon moved to Phoenix where he had a girlfriend and she moved back east to be with her own people. After cleaning out and locking up the living quarters, the score of ranch hands embraced and wished each other luck before sauntering out in a dusty line of pickups. They all had plans, or at least they all claimed to have work lined up elsewhere. Everyone, that is, except Darren. Until the dissolution of the business and the dispersement of the family of co-workers he had known for the past five years, he assumed — at the age of 28 — that he would grow old on the Bourbon Ranch. Darren had imagined an unbroken destiny of outdoor work, busy hands, the daily pitting of man and beast, the surreal midnight birthings, hooves of horse and calf pounding an anxious beat along the pink earth and the whir of hemp cycling through a dry blue sky. The young man could hardly fathom an end to the monthly Saturday dinners at the Las Vegas Hotel — hearty meals courtesy of the Bourbons, chased by cold pilsners, petty gambling, shots of whiskey that fell in quality at every round, jovial boasts and fibs, and finally, with any luck, a shrugging off of desire and waking to a quiet Sunday morning with Sandy the hostess, who, for the last two years, had demanded nothing of him. All in all his ambitions were met. During the sell off, the most commonly asked question around the ranch was “What are you gonna do?” And until he turned and looked for the last time at the weathered placard towering above the “For Sale” sign, Darren still had little idea. Since they had barely spent a sober moment together and though she had offered respite, he was wary of imposing upon his goodtime girlfriend in Las Vegas. A mother and sister in Oklahoma held no interest for him. But he did have an open invite from an old school friend living in Chimayó and thought he’d pay him a visit—Tricky Nick, currently managing properties and as always, selling marijuana on the side. Without enthusiasm Darren made up his mind and throttled his old S-10 outside of the gate, kicking up dried sprigs of chamisa on his way out. “No, Bro. You can have it,” said Nick as he jarred the entry door, rattling the length of the […]
Jun 1st, 2008 by Vital Archives
Gone Fishing
Photos by Erin Landry Summer is never so sweet as it is after a crushing winter. So it’s time to pull out the fishing rod and relax to the tune of water lapping at the shore. Here are two easy fish and shrimp dishes for your catch – with a cocktail to wash them down. Fishbone’s Ragin’ Cajun Pasta Executive Chef and Partner Jessie Souza Fishbones Cajun & Creole 1704 Milwaukee Street Delafield, WI 53018 262-646-4696 For the past eight years, Chef Souza, formerly Corporate Chef for Louise’s in California and Milwaukee, has been wowing patrons with his Cajun-Creole fusion at Fishbones in Delafield. Diners enjoy the colorful, festive décor inside or peaceful view overlooking Lake Nagawicka from the bar or outside deck. Harkening to his roots, the chef has recently introduced a Mexican menu. Particularly notable are his crispy flautas with a moist, tasty chicken filling. ¾ lb Andouille sausage ¾ lb grilled chicken 2 small tomatoes, chopped ½ c sliced mushrooms 1 pint heavy whipping cream 12 shrimp, cleaned 6 T olive oil Salt & pepper to taste Cajun seasoning to taste 1 lb spaghetti pasta (cooked) Method: In a medium sauté pan, add the oil and heat for 2 minutes. Add the sausage and cook for 1 minute. Add chicken and cook for 1 minute. Add shrimp and cook for 2-3 minutes. Add tomatoes and mushrooms, cook for 3-4 minutes. Next add the whipping cream and season with salt and pepper. Let the cream reduce for 3-4 minutes, then add Cajun seasoning to your liking. Finally add the pasta and mix well, place in a medium bowl and serve. Serves four. Tropical Salmon Fantasy + Summer Sensation Cocktail Auto Zone store manager Joseph Russell loves to cook daily feasts and fancy dinner parties for friends. He got his chops from his mother and working as a chef on Amtrak’s Southwest Chief line. 4 salmon filets (about 4 ounces each) Extra virgin olive oil 2 T fresh dill, or 1 T dry Salt and pepper to taste Dust salmon filets with salt and pepper and dill. Place in baking dish skin side down. Drizzle with extra virgin olive oil and bake at 375 degrees for 10 to 15 minutes or until flakey. Serve with Mango Tango Salsa. Mango Tango Salsa ½ papaya, diced ½ mango, diced ¼ c chopped scallion, green part only ¼ c diced red bell pepper 1 T finely diced fresh jalapeno pepper 1 T chopped fresh cilantro 1 small clove garlic, minced 1 T fresh lime juice ¼ t salt ½ t extra virgin olive oil Combine all ingredients and chill for at least one hour. Serve with baked salmon. Summer Sensation Cocktail 1 shot vodka Prepared raspberry lemonade 1 Lemon wedge 2 Strawberries Fill a highball glass with ice. Pour in vodka and chill in freezer for a few minutes. Take out of freezer and fill glass with raspberry lemonade. Squeeze lemon wedge into drink and garnish with quartered strawberries on a swizzle […]
Jun 1st, 2008 by Cate Miller
The smell of fresh water
This short story was a finalist in VITAL Source's 2008 fiction contest.
Jun 1st, 2008 by Vital Archives
The Long Blondes
If Kate Jackson, vocalist and co-songwriter for the Long Blondes, were really the “glamorous punk” she proclaims herself to be, she’d understand that it takes time before an “out” trend can become “in” again. Still, her Sheffield, England-based five-piece insists on reconstituting what Franz Ferdinand and Bloc Party did better just a few years ago. Angular post-punk guitars and new-wave synth are go-to on their sophomore release, but Jackson’s voice puts a unique stamp on the boys’-club genre. Her whimper is solid, backed by snarls from bassist Reenie Hollis and keyboardist Emma Chaplin on tracks like “Here Comes the Serious Bit,” a vivacious romp about emotionally listless hookups. But when something more exact is required (“Nostalgia,” “Century”), she wavers. The undeterred Jackson continues to challenge her larynx’s limits on drag-racing, trash can stomp “Round the Hairpin,” but in this instance, risk pays off and compliments the song’s reckless overtones. Driving the album’s relationship concept home, songs about slip-ups in fidelity and perpetually being the third wheel – “Guilt” and “The Couples,” respectively – possess peak pop danceability. Though the Blondes pointedly avoid the autobiographical in their songwriting, taking on perspectives from country bumpkin to jet-setter, they must get out of their heads and be less procedural. The Blondes think they’re clever, they think they’re smart, but they’re “just too clever by half,” says the song titled by those lyrics. Fashion lesson number two for Miz Jackson: the coolest girl in the room is always the most effortless.
Jun 1st, 2008 by Amber Herzog
The Phreaks
By Ken Brosky I knew this guy, babe, he could do things with his mouth you ain’t never seen. And I ain’t talking about sex here, all right? All right? Get your head out of the gutter and listen to me, because this is a story that’s gonna blow your mind. There was a guy named Steve who called himself Nines and a guy named Simon who called himself Case. And they were both Phreaks — not the kind we used to make fun of back in high school, not those freaks. I’m talking about Phreaks, babe: phone hackers. Guys who could work the phone system like a clitoris. They could do things that weren’t even supposed to be possible. Getting free calls was just the beginning for these guys, babe. Let me start with Nines, because Nines was the godfather of them all. Nines didn’t really start the whole idea of phone hacking, I don’t think, because there’s no way to tell who really first started hacking phones, you know? But Nines was something incredible, and he knew it and he flaunted it. What did he do? I’ll tell you what he fucking did. He whistled. It all started in the 1960s, when Cap’n Crunch cereal included a free toy whistle in every box. The whistle just so happened to produce a 2600hz tone, which is the exact same tone that AT&T used as a steady signal for unused long-distance lines. Bear with me, babe, bear with me. I’m gonna explain this so even you understand it and appreciate it. What happened was someone figured out that by dialing a number and blowing the whistle into the phone, the phone company was tricked into assuming that the line wasn’t being used. After you blew the whistle, you could call anyone in the world for free. You get it, babe? We’re talking free phone calls anywhere in the world, just by blowing that whistle into the phone. Think of AT&T Bell as a big fat bitch—she’s tough to get by, but she’s gotta have a sweet tooth of some kind. You get it? Good, so get this: Nines taught himself to whistle that tone. Not only did he match the 2600hz pitch, he could whistle all of the tones for each of the numbers, which made it even easier to dial free long-distance anywhere. It started as a parlor trick, something he could do at college parties to get free beer or to get laid. Hey, how bad could that have been? Sure the guy was ugly as hell, but those long-distance bills to the parents could put a dent in the drinking money. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t consider it, babe — three minutes of sex with the lights out in exchange for a free half hour of family talk? Hell, I’d consider too, back in those days when there weren’t any cell phones and shit. We’ll get back to the sex, because the sex turns out to be […]
Jun 1st, 2008 by Vital Archives
Chickens
By Craig Reinbold It was already mostly bone when he found it, the rooster, white ends picked clean, marrow exposed, sucked dry, bone still stuck here and there with pieces of feather, little strings of meat. The head was untouched, preserved, pristine, except for the eyes, which had been eaten. Chickens will eat their own, once it’s dead, if it’s left, if it’s not cleaned, not disposed of. It had been there for days. He only found it then because she had driven off that morning and in the new quiet he had heard them—and remembered it had been a week since they’d been fed. That was the morning. Now it’s night, a Friday in August. The air is warm, the sky is clear, and at this time, this far out from the city, there is nothing to do. He sits at the edge of the patio behind their house, a glass with more whisky than coke on the concrete beneath his hand. His feet kick at the dirt that will still someday—he hopes—be grass. He listens for something, but there is nothing to listen for and he knows that — this is what he wanted. To live next to nothing, and in doing so to have everything. That was the idea, his idea. The chickens had been hers. He can barely hear them now, all their squawking, though there are a dozen of them twenty feet from the house, cooped up. He thinks of sleeping, but doesn’t want to move. Stars, stars, trees, and darkness, and nothing in the world to do. He wonders when she will come home. * They drove his Civic out to the lot on a Sunday so Sarah could see the land before they made it theirs. Forty minutes on the freeway, twenty more on small roads past land separated by wires and fences. It was being offered cheap. The owners were an old retired couple. One had died, the other was put in a home. They had lived there less than a year. The house was almost new, but none of their family wanted to live that far out, better to sell it quick, get what they could for it. The mailbox was one of those big specialty mailboxes, painted with a muscular bass splashing out of green water, an oversized hook caught in its lip. The driveway was unpaved and lined on either side by a row of small pines. They parked the car, stepped out onto the gravel. Some small deciduous trees, it was hard to tell what kind exactly, were scattered around the yard. “Someday these trees are going to be big.” “Where’s the grass, George?” “He said the yard needed some work.” She surveyed their potential land. “Is the house at least finished?” “He said it’s in perfect shape.” They looked towards the single-story saltbox house at the bottom of the driveway, light-blue, with a black shingled rooftop. “The yard’s why we can get it so cheap.” “Right.” He […]
Jun 1st, 2008 by Vital Archives
