2008-06 Vital Source Mag – June 2008
The Undiscovered
By Ken Olson A door closed noisily. With a lazy start, Greg Norton woke up. Even in the dark, he squinted as he propped himself up on one elbow, listening. Had the door been one of those inside his apartment? Or even the front door? It took him a moment to remember that he wasn’t home alone as he normally was. Tonight he was babysitting his best friend Gina’s son Adam. Maybe the kid had gotten up and gone to the bathroom. Only, it didn’t look like the living room light was on. If it were, he could see it under the bedroom door. Surely Adam would need to turn a light on in order to find his way to the bathroom. The layout of Gina and Adam’s apartment three floors above Greg’s, 602, was the same as his, so maybe not. Greg listened for a minute or two, waiting to hear the toilet flush, or any other sound. But after a few minutes, there was still nothing. He clicked his bedside lamp on, and the room was filled with a golden light, throwing deep, black shadows to all corners. He pushed the sheets behind him and got out of bed, picking up a T-shirt that he’d dropped onto a chair. Greg put the shirt on and stuck his head out the bedroom door. From there, he could see the rest of the apartment. The bathroom door was ajar and the light wasn’t turned on. In the living room, the fold-out bed was indeed empty. There was no one in the kitchen. “Adam?” he called, stepping toward the bathroom door. He leaned in and turned on the white light. Nobody there. He rushed into the living room and turned on the nearest lamp. The kid was gone. “Shit,” Greg said aloud, throwing a glance at the front door. The bolt was unlocked, and the chain was hanging loose. He’d locked them both after he’d put Adam to bed. He jogged to the front door and opened it. He called Adam’s name again, looking side to side down the pale green hall. He didn’t see anybody. “Fuck. Adam?” he called more loudly, stepping out and closing the door behind him. Greg suddenly realized that he wasn’t wearing anything on his feet, and he didn’t want to leave the apartment unlocked if he left to go looking for the kid. With another curse he returned to the apartment and put his keys in the pocket of his sweat pants. He sat on the edge of the fold-out bed and put his shoes on. While he tied them, he thought back to the previous day, Saturday, when Gina had first asked him to babysit Adam. When he’d hesitated to say yes, Gina had said, “Please? Come on, there’s no one else.” “But I don’t like kids.” Out of range for Adam to hear it of course. “It’s just for one night. I’m not leaving until seven, he goes to bed at eight, and […]
Jun 1st, 2008 by Vital Archives
Every day’s a holiday
One Friday in the middle of May, my children woke themselves early and were in the kitchen, dressed and ready for breakfast, by 6:30. As I poured my coffee, delighted that we were more than a half an hour ahead of schedule, my youngest ran at me. He grabbed me tight around the middle and shouted, “Happy High Interest Day, Mama!” My middle daughter joined in the hug. “Happy High Interest Day, everybody!” The chatter at the table was light and fun and when it was time to leave for school, the kids raced to the car. The thrill in the air that day was due in equal part to two things. The first is obvious: my children love high interest day at their school. The idea of a whole day free to learn new sports, crafts and skills turns them on intellectually; they look forward to high interest day all year. The second may be less evident: we love holidays at our house, and are always looking for a way to have more of them. Holidays can be useful. No, really, they can! I have to admit, I’ve passed my preference for low-impact celebrations to the kids. Fourth of July and Halloween are our family favorites. Watching parades, cooking out, planning costumes and trick-or-treating have become tribe traditions, and the kids rely on knowing that the outline of these days is going to remain basically the same. As a matter of fact, we have built tribe traditions to celebrate almost every major holiday. These events give structure and a sense of ritual to the year, as they do for families all over the world. But created holidays are more spontaneous and just as joyful. They can also brighten almost any situation. Last winter a friend of ours decided to drive in from out of town for dinner and board games. The kids and I were excited for some levity in the middle of all that snow and cold. We planned the menu carefully and Lena helped me cook while Emma and Jeffrey “decorated” the table. About 30 minutes before she was due to arrive, she called to say that due to a series of setbacks, she was running late. She called back again a little while later; traffic was at a standstill and she wasn’t sure when it would be moving again. She encouraged us to eat without her. But the kids really wanted to wait for her, and were searching for a justification. We declared the day “European Dinner Day,” and had snacks until supper was served around 9:00 p.m. It’s not even hard The need to celebrate must be hardwired. Those months between Valentine’s Day and Easter often stretch out bleakly before us. A similar sense of emotional drag occurs between Easter and Memorial Day. Finding excuses to dress up, have a party or spend the day outside laughing with friends and family relieves the tension of day-to-day life. It can revitalize a sagging family morale, which […]
Jun 1st, 2008 by Lucky Tomaszek
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
