| Advertisements and Young Adult Literature. |
[09 Jul 2006|10:25am] |
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www.abraxastheatre.com |
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Now this is something I never use...but what the hell.
Friday the 14th to Sunday the 30th (Three weekends)
This Is Our Youth
by Kenneth Lonergan
Directed by Ethan Weiss
Starring:
Michael DeSantis
Zoe Zimmerman
Jesse Kane-Hartnett
If you want some information on where it is or how much it costs go to
http://www.abraxastheatre.com
Its got the good stuff there. Anyways, I hope you're all doing well. And um...I dunno I feel wrong using this for just advertising so here is a brief exerpt from a Bras and Broomsticks by Sarah Mlynowski. Feelings feelings, etc.
"
I’ve wished for lots of things in my fourteen years . . . a boyfriend, world peace, cleavage. But none of my wishes have come true.
Until now.
I’m standing by my locker, zipping up my black puffy coat, when I notice the sneakers. They’re the green suede designer ones I admired at Bloomie’s last week. My mom said I couldn’t have them because they cost more than our TV. And they’re on my feet.
“But how—” I mumble, blinking in confusion. Where are the beaten-up black boots I always have on? “I mean, when . . . ?” Did I accidentally swap shoes with someone after gym? Am I a thief? Impossible. The only time I ever took anything that wasn’t mine was when I inadvertently wore Jewel’s retainer. Gross, yes. But criminal? No.
My heart starts beating erratically. This is so weird. How did these shoes get on my feet? Wait a millisecond. Maybe my mom bought them to surprise me? Not that she normally does stuff like that, but I have been on my best behavior lately (after being grounded for something completely ridiculous, don’t even ask) and she’s big on rewarding good deeds. I guess I must have laced them up this morning without even noticing. Lame. But I went to bed really late last night, and I’m always zoned out when I’m tired. That still doesn’t explain why I didn’t notice I was wearing them until now though. I glance back down. The shoes are a luminous green. Sparkling, even. They’re practically screaming at me to notice them. Whatever. New shoes! The ideal accessory for my awesome after-school plans. I smile like someone who just got her braces off.
“Can I borrow your phone?” I ask Tammy. She’s busy rummaging through her satchel. The least I can do is thank my mom—maybe she’ll cave on a cell phone for me next.
“Cool shoes,” Tammy says, glancing down. “When did you change?”
“I . . . didn’t. I’ve, uh, been wearing them all day.” Haven’t I? Now I’m totally unsure again.
Tammy gives me a thumbs-up sign with her right hand and passes the phone with her left. She uses finger signals to indicate her thoughts. She learned to scuba dive with her family last year in Aruba and now frequently communicates by underwater mime. Thumbs-up means “Let’s get out of the water,” which means she wants to hightail it out of here.
My mother answers on the first ring. “Mom, thanks for the sneakers. They’re perfect! Sorry I didn’t notice them this morning.”
Pause. Then muffled static.
“You still there?” I ask, tapping my heels together. Who knew green suede could look so glam? “I can’t hear you.”
There’s furious whispering in the background, and then a loud “Shhh!”
“You need to come home,” my mom tells me.
“What? Why?” I ask. My stomach free-falls.
Another pause. More furious whispering. “I have something to talk to you about,” my mom says. Her voice sounds uneven. “Something extremely important.”
“But I have extremely important after-school plans!” My destiny is waiting for me at Stromboli Pizzeria! This is a complete and utter disaster. “And when I called you an hour ago you said I could go!”
“Things have changed,” my mother says, her clipped words ruining my life. “I want you back at the apartment.”
My down-filled coat starts to feel like a furnace. “Can’t we talk about whatever is so earth-shattering later?”
My mother heaves one of her why-must-I-carrythe- weight-of-the-world-on-my-thin-shoulders sighs. “Rachel, enough.”
“Fine.” I sigh right back. I have a sigh of my own, and it’s just as martyrish. In a small triumph, I press the pink End button before she can say good-bye. “I can’t come,” I tell Tammy, handing her the phone. My cheeks feel all blotchy. Why couldn’t I have just thanked my mom when I got home?
Tammy adjusts her light brown ponytail and makes a fist in front of her chest, her “low on air” sign, meaning she feels bad for me. Tammy is an excellent sympathizer, as well as smart and reliable. She’s always there when I need someone to talk to, and more important, when I unintentionally sport poppy bagel seeds between my teeth, she immediately and covertly lets me know by tapping her lips. She’s a great friend. It’s just that—okay, I hate to play favorites—I like Jewel more. But the way Jewel has been treating me, I might
as well be walking around with an I-just-got-dumped sash across my nonexistent chest.
Sigh.
Over the past four months, since she strutted her stuff for the JFK fashion show tryouts and got in, Juliana Sanchez (Jewel for short, Bee-Bee for shorter/longer) has morphed from my sidekick and best friend into a card-carrying member of the inner circle. Yes, she made the A-list. Except for a few minutes in math class, I hardly ever get to talk to her anymore. I miss her.
Going to Stromboli’s would have been a step toward reclaiming our Bee-Bee status. (Sorry for the cheddary Best Buds acronym, but Jewel and I have been using it forever.) The entire cool crowd will be there. I was lucky even to have been asked. Mick Lloyd invited Jeffrey Stars, who invited Aaron Jacobs, who invited Tammy, who invited me. And you don’t go if you don’t get an invite. You can’t. You wouldn’t know what pizza place/coffee shop/parentless apartment the A-list selected, so you wouldn’t know where to show up. If only they would just choose the same place every time, like they did on Friends. Monica never showed up at a new coffee spot, The Not-So-Central Perk, wondering where everyone was.
Down the hall I see Raf Kosravi at his locker, pulling out his coat. A strand of his midnight black hair falls into his matching dark eyes, and he brushes it away
with the back of his hand.
Heart. Beating. Erratically. Not. Because. Of. Shoes.
Sigh. Because of my mother, I will potentially be missing out on precious flirting time with Raf, the boy I’m in love with.
I am also in love with Mick Lloyd. Yes, I know it seems strange to love two boys at the same time, but since I’ve never spoken more than two words to either of them (“Happy Holidays!” to Raf and “Excuse me” to Mick), I’m not concerned about my divided heart. Mick Lloyd is the cute, blond, all-American type that’s cast on every dating show. Big smile, dimple in each cheek, great hair. Raf is more mysterious-slash-sexy. He’s not too tall, only around five foot six (which is still much, much taller than me at five foot one—I’d better still be growing), and has a lean, fit body like a champion tennis player or an Olympic swimmer (not that I’ve ever watched professional tennis or swimming). Raf is also in the fashion show with Jewel.
Ah, the fashion show. It’s really a dance show with a catwalk and designer outfits. Or so I hear. Since I’m only a freshman, and the show is in April, I’ve never seen it. And since a former JFK student who’s now an It Guy Hollywood director launched the idea ten years ago to raise money for the prom, it’s always been a cool thing for guys to do. Like football or baseball. There is an overlap of boys who play football with those who are in the show. Unfortunately for the
school trophy case, the quarterback is a better dancer than he is an athlete. Mick isn’t in the show, but he does play on the JV baseball team, the only sports team at our school that doesn’t always lose. And—impressive residence alert!— he lives in a massive brownstone. Since his mom and dad are frequently out of town, he throws a lot of wild parties (not that I’ve ever been). Raf and Mick are both very, very A-list. But that isn’t the reason I like them.
Raf buttons up his coat and slaps one of his friends on the back.
Sigh.
I am such a liar. Of course that’s why I like them. I don’t even know them, so why else would I like them? They’re hot and cool—as in sexy and opular—and ifeither of them were interested in me, I would actually have a real kiss to brag about. (I claim my first was with a Texan named Stu who I met on a cruise. This is a total lie. Although there was a boy named Stu from Texas, he was seven.) Plus, I would instantly be promoted from the B-list (B+ on an excellent hair day) to the A-list.
I really want to be A-list. Yes, I know I’m being colossally pathetic, and I’ve seen enough movies to know that popular people always get their comeuppance. And being A-list in high school doesn’t guarantee you’ll be cool in college. But . . . like blondes, the A-list always seems to have more fun.
I ask you: Is it so wrong to want to be happy? Is it so wrong to want to be liked? Is it wrong to want my life to be like a soda ad, with lots of laughing, jumping, and high-fiving?
Aaron, otherwise known as Tammy’s connection to the A-list, waves to her from across the hallway.
Tammy doesn’t believe it, but Aaron has a thing for her. Aaron isn’t quite A-list, but he went to junior high with Mick and is friends with Mick’s best friend,
Jeffrey, so sometimes he gets invited through a few degrees of separation. Tammy says that if Aaron liked her, he would have asked her out by now. Instead they’ve become “friends.” They IM every night. Tammy claims she doesn’t like Aaron, but I don’t buy it. She giggles around him and her hand signals go into overdrive.
“Ready?” he asks, bundling his scarf like a helmet around his neck and over his ears. He looks like one of the evil sandmen in Star Wars who try to kill Luke.
Yikes. Only a freak would allude to Star Wars. How am I ever going to achieve cool status when I’m such a loser? I need to start laughing and jumping. Maybe if I raise my hand, Tammy will give me a high five?
Not.
Instead, Tammy gives Aaron the scuba OK, which conveniently happens to be the universal okay sign, an O with the thumb and index finger. This has always
mystified me. Where’s the K? What if you just want to say Oh, as in Oh, Raf, why don’t you notice me? Or, Oh, at least I have cool new shoes.
“See you tomorrow,” she tells me.
Oh why oh why do I have to go home?
***
I turn the corner onto Tenth Street and run the last bit to my apartment building—I hate to do this to my virgin new shoe soles, but I have no choice.
My earlobes have frozen into blocks of ice, and now the doctor will probably have to amputate. Seriously. That’s what they do with frostbite. Just call me Van
Gogh.
I press the Up button to call the elevator. To pass the time—what’s taking it so long?—I make a mental list.
"
Ah man...yeah. Thanks for listening.
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[21 Dec 2005|02:05pm] |
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Home
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[04 Nov 2005|05:08pm] |
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music |
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R. Kelly's Urban Opera Chapters 6-8 |
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My birthday is Tuesday:
Ethan Weiss '09
Skidmore College
815 North Broadway
Saratoga Springs, NY
12866
I turn 19.
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[22 Sep 2005|01:29am] |
Do you still remember
How we used to be
Feeling together, believe in whatever
My love has said to me
Both of us were dreamers
Young love in the sun
Felt like my saviour, my spirit I gave ya
We'd only just begun
Hasta Manana,
Always be mine
Viva forever, I'll be waiting
Everlasting, like the sun
Live forever,
For the moment
Ever searching for the one
Yes I still remember,
Every whispered word
The touch of your skin, giving life from within
Like a love song that I'd heard
Slipping through our fingers,
Like the sands of time
Promises made, every memory saved
Has reflections in my mind
Hasta Manana,
Always be mine
Back where I belong now,
Was it just a dream
Feelings unfold, they will never be sold
And the secret's safe with me
Hasta Manana,
Always be mine
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[21 Sep 2005|12:37pm] |
Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind.
Dr. Seuss
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[01 Sep 2005|04:46pm] |
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There are things that drift away like our endless numbered days.
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[17 Aug 2005|04:38pm] |
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No one's written anything in here for a while. So I did. And I know something as simple and stupid as this will generate a million and one comments.
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[27 Jul 2005|09:14am] |
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The joy that isn't shared dies young.
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| continued... |
[18 Jul 2005|01:26am] |
As I stood up slowly, covered in black soot from the enormous cloud I watched this beast before me crying her small (in comparison to her body) eyes out. "Well maybe we could help each other" I said, although my suggestion may seem selfish at the time I was desparate. The gigantic mammal seemed to respond but through the tears I could hear nothing. " Well," I said trying to change the subject "I'm looking for the finest bisqiuts and gravy in all the land." Suddenly, all at once the tears seemed to drift away from the pink monster's face. "I can help you." She said sniffling. "My Great aunt's second cousin's niece's husband makes the best bisquits and gravy in all the land. I will take you there only if you..sniffle...sniffle...help me look for my sunglasses." So the pink rinocerous and I made it a deal and continued down the narrow sidewalk lined with chewed bubble gum. After this conversation I had just plain forgot about the object in my pocket...
The bubblegum trail soon transformed itself into a dark and winding cobblestone road leading through a forest of yellow flamingos. "I've never been through hear before, are you sure you know where your going?" I asked the pink monster. "Well I am after all a prince, of course Iknow where I'm going!" (apperently HE) snapped back. I immediatly tried to replay the previous twenty minutes in my head trying to make sure I hadn't called the prince "mam" or "miss". After convinceing myself that I hadn't, I focused once more on our journey ahead. The road was long and dark and for a some time there had been no speaking between us. After a while my legs felt sore but instead or taking a break the pink prince bid me upon his back. So there I was on top of a royal rinocerous tromping through the forest of the yellow flamingos looking down constantly for the lost glasses but being taken to the finest bisquits and gravy in all the land. At this point my adventure seemed fulfilable. After another half hour or so of silent walking, as I was just nodding off , suudenly I was awakened by an exteremely loud and high pitched scream. Immediatly I jumed off the prince and assumed a fighting position. With both of my hands drawn and ready for attack, I looked around but could find nothing out of the ordinary. Suddenly the shrill came again. To my left, ( I would tell you which direction but as I told you before my shiny compass was taken by thosed darned rebel caterpillars), a faint red light shined. I skwinted my eyes to try and see but all I could make out was the tiny red light. After much disscusion the pink rino and I made up our minds to see what the fuss was about. Afterall, the forest of the yellow flamingos was no place to be caught alone in. The faintness of the cries became louder and louder until finally the prince and I discovered a small naked monkey hopping about from tree to tree. "Where are your clothes?" I asked. "That! that! that the the... monk..the... monk.. the big... the big..that!" were the only words I could decipher from the poor animal's mouth. Monkeys do not normally reside in the forest of yellow flamingos (especially without clothing) so I knew something was wrong. The helpless animal looked so flustered that rather than ask it more I suggested that it hop on the prince's back and we would lead it to safety. At first it seemed to throw a bit of a temper tantrum, but after a while looked as though it had forgotten why it was upset in the first place and jumped atop the large pink rinocerous and joined us on our journey.
...to be continued agian
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[17 Jul 2005|03:42pm] |
I set out early yesturday morning in search of the finest biquits and gravy in all the land. My journey began by way of tricycle, the squeaky contraption seemed to be doing the job when suddenly a group a rebel caterpillars stopped me. They demanded that I supply them with shiny objects immediatly. The only thing I had in my possesion at the time was a compass that my grandfather willed to me. I am not particularly fond of shiny things myself so I kindly handed it over to the violent insects. This wasn't enough to satisfy there hunger however, so, in a fit of anger they knocked me off of my tricycle and broke the darn thing. This left me without a suitable mode of transportation and no way to tell which way to go. I am a person a determination and wasn't going to let this stop me. I continued on foot through swamps and deserts, shopping malls and football fields, when I began to smell something familiar. I followed the sweet air as best I could until my nose finally recognized the smell... BISQUITS AND GRAVY!!!! As you can imagine, my heart was lifted and my eyes even began to water a bit. I hurried along a narrow sidewalk lined with chewed bubble gum until I caught the source of the smell. To my extreme dissapointment a came to find not a small quaint home with a dear old woman cooking the finest bisquits and gravy in all the land, but a large concrete tower with a neon sign that read "Museum of Wax Bisquits and Gravy" underneath that a fairly large banner read " Authentic Smell All Week". I collapse in front of the building fillled with a sense of self doubt. If only those catterpillars hadn't taken my compass! I though to myself. But as I laid in a pile of sticky chewed bubble gum, indulging in my self pity, a cloud of smoke surrounded me. At first barely noticable, then thick black with the smell of tar. Coughing and heaving I tried to find my way to the source of the smoke or at least my way out it. In all of my panic I tripped on something rather hard. Feeling around on the ground I found the object and quickly put it in my pocket. I ran as fast a my feet would take my and finally got out of the smoke. I fell to the ground on my hands and knees and crawled as fast as I could away from the billowing black clouds. I rubbed my eyes and looked around. In front of me sat a giant pink rinoceros. He (or she) was crying. "Why are you crying?" I asked. " Because I have lost my sunglasses." she replied. (this response led me to believe it was a female because, really, what man would cry over a pair of lost glasses?)
to be conitnued
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[12 Jul 2005|06:05pm] |
You are Zooey. You are intelligent, determined,
and have a quick sense of humor. You have
compassion the lost, broken, and forgotten.
Unfortunately, you also
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| Hey Ethan! |
[30 May 2005|05:49pm] |
Happy Summer!!!
♥
You Know Who
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[15 Apr 2005|06:13pm] |
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Please write an absurd scene and post it or send it to me. any subject, any length. be absurd.
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[14 Apr 2005|10:28pm] |
Breath
'Faint brief cry and immediately inspiration and slow increase of light together reaching maximum together in about ten seconds. Silence and hold about five seconds. Expiration and slow decrease of light together reaching minimum together in about ten seconds and immediately cry as before. Silence and hold about five seconds. '
-By Beckett
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[02 Apr 2005|02:17am] |
Chapter 3
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck
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[06 Mar 2005|06:11pm] |
In such need a man that has no horse will go on foot,
and he will not ask for leave to follow the trail.
Nor will he count the heads of the enemy save with a sword.
I am not weaponless. ...
Here is the Sword that was Broken and is forged again!
Will you aid me or thwart me? Choose swiftly!
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[28 Feb 2005|08:52pm] |
i love boon and meghan...period.
hi ethan
-meejin and boon
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[15 Jan 2005|08:02pm] |
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Today I met a dog.
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| Sing little sack, sing. |
[12 Jan 2005|01:40pm] |
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mood |
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Cynical |
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music |
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Minnie the Moocher |
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If music be the food of love, play on;
Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.
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