Sunday, October 26, 2008
REALLY?
Has this blog died? Maybe, maybe it's just ill. I don't know. Just an update, for anyone who still checks it.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
An Oasis in the Cornfield Pt. 4
As John conducted his brutal chainsaw symphony outside, Bill was still coping with what he was sure most people would call an alcoholic. It wasn’t that Sandi was treating him badly, but she just didn’t seem like the kind of person one would want for a landlord. What if the toilet broke at 10:00 p.m.? Could he call her, would she pickup, could she pickup? All these thoughts raced through Bills mind he and Sandi stepped into his new living quarters.
The front of the house consisted of staircase that made a hard right and a hall that led to a large maple door. He followed Sandi up the stairs, a trail of smoking guiding his way.
“This one is yours ... you mind if I smoke.” Sandi asked as she unlocked the door at the top of the steps.
“Uh...n..no, not really.” The truth was he did mind but her request seemed more like a statement than a question.
As Bill entered the apartment, he was pleasantly surprised. The living room consisted of beautiful wood floors and a giant window facing Jefferson Blvd. His bedroom was directly off of the living room and down a short hall was the bathroom and a small galley kitchen. All the fixtures, ranging from the two sinks to the bathtub seemed to come out of the early 60s. But for the price he was paying for rent, they would do just fine.
“And lastly, this is your stove. It works pretty well, but if ya start to smell gas, one of the pilot lights prolly went out. Besure to start it back up, don’t want your place filling with gas.” Sandi said, followed by a horse laugh that quickly turned into a cough.
“Ok, well I appreciate this Sandi.”
“Hey no problem, round here most people are nice, even Johnny down there. If you need any furniture or anything else feel free to give me a call.”
“Alright, thanks again.”
WIth that Sandi, her now empty Busch Light and almost extinguished Virginia Slim made their way back down the stairs.
What the hell have I gotten myself into thought Bill. He stood in front of his giant window and peered into his new domain. The crazy man with the chainsaw down to his right, his landlord falling into her car to the left, and a middle aged man ridding a bicycle while pulling a lawnmower in front of him. This was going a strange ride to say the least.
The front of the house consisted of staircase that made a hard right and a hall that led to a large maple door. He followed Sandi up the stairs, a trail of smoking guiding his way.
“This one is yours ... you mind if I smoke.” Sandi asked as she unlocked the door at the top of the steps.
“Uh...n..no, not really.” The truth was he did mind but her request seemed more like a statement than a question.
As Bill entered the apartment, he was pleasantly surprised. The living room consisted of beautiful wood floors and a giant window facing Jefferson Blvd. His bedroom was directly off of the living room and down a short hall was the bathroom and a small galley kitchen. All the fixtures, ranging from the two sinks to the bathtub seemed to come out of the early 60s. But for the price he was paying for rent, they would do just fine.
“And lastly, this is your stove. It works pretty well, but if ya start to smell gas, one of the pilot lights prolly went out. Besure to start it back up, don’t want your place filling with gas.” Sandi said, followed by a horse laugh that quickly turned into a cough.
“Ok, well I appreciate this Sandi.”
“Hey no problem, round here most people are nice, even Johnny down there. If you need any furniture or anything else feel free to give me a call.”
“Alright, thanks again.”
WIth that Sandi, her now empty Busch Light and almost extinguished Virginia Slim made their way back down the stairs.
What the hell have I gotten myself into thought Bill. He stood in front of his giant window and peered into his new domain. The crazy man with the chainsaw down to his right, his landlord falling into her car to the left, and a middle aged man ridding a bicycle while pulling a lawnmower in front of him. This was going a strange ride to say the least.
Monday, October 20, 2008
An Oasis in the Cornfield Pt. 3
The myth goes that John Kender came out of the womb with a chainsaw, but most people know that’s a falsehood. True friends of John will correct anyone who makes this mistake of origin, because they know John came out of the womb with a double-headed axe, not a chainsaw.
Today, John was feeling particularly happy. A storm had just passed through town, giving him free rain over anything with leaves and branches. Looks like wind damaged a branch on that tree? Is it on city property? Take it down! And so it went for a week after any sever weather.
Any time a storm gray diesel Ford F-350 comes barreling down a street, the residents pray the winds of fate will spare their trees. John’s presence has been known to cause mild heart attacks to the most diehard arborist in Alfresdon.
Included in the mythos of John the Tree Cutter is the story of a battle between he and, what some might consider a “tree-hugger” whose name has been lost in the annals of history. According to the story, the tree-hugger had a beautiful oak on the city easement next to his house. Unfortunately the tree had begun to rot from the inside out. Both adversaries had noticed it, and it became a war of attrition. After any storm, the tree hugger’s street would be the first the F-350 would cruise down, John looking out from his tented windows, hoping there was some structural damage to the tree, the man hoping the opposite. Their battles went on for the better part of a decade, until, during a particularly harsh windstorm, a large, hollow branch had blown off the oak and into the street.
Within a half hour of the storm’s passing, John had his cherry-picker truck out there, and was ready to cut the monster down. The arborist was outside as well, and having no better ideas, tied himself to the tree. This works in the movies, he thought to himself.
“You got two choices boy, either stay there and get hit with these branches as I drop this bastard or move while I cut these branches and drop this tree, either way I don’t care.”
Before the man could respond, John had his chainsaw started. The tree-hugger, being the noble spirit he was, decided to call John’s bluff, the problem being that John wasn’t really the bluffing type -- one of the reasons he was always invited to any poker game in town. As the branches began to rain down, the man tried to get away, but wasn’t quite so lucky. He suffered a minor concussion when the limb struck his head and tried to sue John for hospital expenses. However, since wherever John works is considered a hardhat area and the man was not wearing a hard hat, he lost the lawsuit too.
That was the last time anyone tried to stop John from doing his job.
Today, John was feeling particularly happy. A storm had just passed through town, giving him free rain over anything with leaves and branches. Looks like wind damaged a branch on that tree? Is it on city property? Take it down! And so it went for a week after any sever weather.
Any time a storm gray diesel Ford F-350 comes barreling down a street, the residents pray the winds of fate will spare their trees. John’s presence has been known to cause mild heart attacks to the most diehard arborist in Alfresdon.
Included in the mythos of John the Tree Cutter is the story of a battle between he and, what some might consider a “tree-hugger” whose name has been lost in the annals of history. According to the story, the tree-hugger had a beautiful oak on the city easement next to his house. Unfortunately the tree had begun to rot from the inside out. Both adversaries had noticed it, and it became a war of attrition. After any storm, the tree hugger’s street would be the first the F-350 would cruise down, John looking out from his tented windows, hoping there was some structural damage to the tree, the man hoping the opposite. Their battles went on for the better part of a decade, until, during a particularly harsh windstorm, a large, hollow branch had blown off the oak and into the street.
Within a half hour of the storm’s passing, John had his cherry-picker truck out there, and was ready to cut the monster down. The arborist was outside as well, and having no better ideas, tied himself to the tree. This works in the movies, he thought to himself.
“You got two choices boy, either stay there and get hit with these branches as I drop this bastard or move while I cut these branches and drop this tree, either way I don’t care.”
Before the man could respond, John had his chainsaw started. The tree-hugger, being the noble spirit he was, decided to call John’s bluff, the problem being that John wasn’t really the bluffing type -- one of the reasons he was always invited to any poker game in town. As the branches began to rain down, the man tried to get away, but wasn’t quite so lucky. He suffered a minor concussion when the limb struck his head and tried to sue John for hospital expenses. However, since wherever John works is considered a hardhat area and the man was not wearing a hard hat, he lost the lawsuit too.
That was the last time anyone tried to stop John from doing his job.
Friday, October 17, 2008
An Oasis in the Cornfield, Pt. 2
A middle aged women wearing cut-off sweat pants and a halter top two sizes too small emerged from the house. With a cigarette in one hand and Busch Light in the other she moved more or less towards Bill, occasionally taking a two or three step detour her left or right.
“Hi I’m WIlliam Stiller, I talked to a Sandra Perkins about renting an apartment at 407 Spring Street ... Is this the right place?” Bill half-shouted over the chainsaw.
“Sure is Willy. And you can call me Sandi.”
With that she stuck her cigarette in her mouth and extended her free hand for a handshake, her grip almost bringing Bill to tears.
“Well ... uh ... it’s good to meet you Sandi.”
“Pleasure’s all mine. Sorry bout Johnny down there, that man isn’t happy unless he’s cutting down a perfectly good tree.” “HEY John, YOU MIND SHUTTING UP FOR A SEC TRYIN TO SHOW MY NEW TENANT ROUND!”
John didn’t hear a word Sandi uttered, partially due to the chainsaw running and partially due to his near deafness.
“Anyways, don’t mind him. lemme show ya round your new home.”
“Hi I’m WIlliam Stiller, I talked to a Sandra Perkins about renting an apartment at 407 Spring Street ... Is this the right place?” Bill half-shouted over the chainsaw.
“Sure is Willy. And you can call me Sandi.”
With that she stuck her cigarette in her mouth and extended her free hand for a handshake, her grip almost bringing Bill to tears.
“Well ... uh ... it’s good to meet you Sandi.”
“Pleasure’s all mine. Sorry bout Johnny down there, that man isn’t happy unless he’s cutting down a perfectly good tree.” “HEY John, YOU MIND SHUTTING UP FOR A SEC TRYIN TO SHOW MY NEW TENANT ROUND!”
John didn’t hear a word Sandi uttered, partially due to the chainsaw running and partially due to his near deafness.
“Anyways, don’t mind him. lemme show ya round your new home.”
Thursday, October 16, 2008
An Oasis in the Cornfields Pt. 1
***The following is part one in a I don't know how many part series detailing the life of Bill Stiller. It is based on true events. The names, places and events have been changed to protect the innocent and the guilty.***
The stop light at the junction of Route 8 and Route 17 in Alfresden is the same as most other stop lights in America, with the standard Red Yellow Green left turn arrow configuration. Anyone from out of town would most likely forget about the light once the it turned green. But for the residents of Alfresden, it serves as a point of pride because before 1987, no town in Ropston County a traffic signal. Now, 22 years later, folks still tell visitors “you see that light, we were the first in Ropston County to have one. Yeah, Melston didn’t get one until the 90’s.”
They add that little fact about Melston because Alfresdenites still feel slighted by Melston. The feud originated in the early 1900’s. Ropston County had just been formed and was in need of a city to house its court house. Both Melston and Alfreden vied for the honor, wanting the prestige and business being the seat of law would bring. After some heated debates, Melston won and ever since the sons and daughters of that feud have continued the tradition of disdain. Though now the aggression is confined to sporting events between the two high schools, the athletes being reminded of the evils of the other town before each game.
But William Stiller, didn’t know all the history behind the traffic signal at the meeting of Routes 8 and 17. He was also unaware that Melston had since installed another traffic signal, bringing their grand total to two and ensuring the long standing rivalry between the two towns would burn for another several generations. In fact, he didn’t know a lot about Alfresden. And what he did know came from the people who hired him to be the editor of weekly Alfresden Register. They gave enticements such as “Alfresden is a great place to raise kids,” despite him not having children, or even a wife for that matter.
These thoughts crowded Bill’s head as red gave way to green on the traffic signal. After a slight grace period, the driver in the red Dodge Ram behind him gave a honk, bringing Bill back to reality.
“Sorry” he yelled back, in return the driver of the Ram gave the patented farmer wave -- pointing the index and middle finger towards upward for a two count then lowering them back to the steering wheel to rejoin the remaining fingers.
This is going to take some getting use to Bill thought.
He drove down main street and into downtown, though for someone who had grown up in a relatively large city, three blocks of mom and pop businesses is hardly a downtown. Not knowing that the people of Alfresdon religious views prevented them from believing in crosswalks, Bill have several close calls with pedestrians. However, it seemed the two elderly ladies and the one professional contractor didn’t even notice near roadkill status.
As Bill put one hand over the other, turning onto Spring Street and pulling up next to building that was suppose to house his apartment, a chainsaw roared and a tree limb crashed to the ground near the ally, pushing his nerves close their breaking point.
He opened the door of his 2000 Honda Civic and pulled his 6’3” gangly frame from the compact. Surely this is the wrong address Bill thought to himself. He hesitantly moved towards the front of what looked like a family home when the door exploded open.
The stop light at the junction of Route 8 and Route 17 in Alfresden is the same as most other stop lights in America, with the standard Red Yellow Green left turn arrow configuration. Anyone from out of town would most likely forget about the light once the it turned green. But for the residents of Alfresden, it serves as a point of pride because before 1987, no town in Ropston County a traffic signal. Now, 22 years later, folks still tell visitors “you see that light, we were the first in Ropston County to have one. Yeah, Melston didn’t get one until the 90’s.”
They add that little fact about Melston because Alfresdenites still feel slighted by Melston. The feud originated in the early 1900’s. Ropston County had just been formed and was in need of a city to house its court house. Both Melston and Alfreden vied for the honor, wanting the prestige and business being the seat of law would bring. After some heated debates, Melston won and ever since the sons and daughters of that feud have continued the tradition of disdain. Though now the aggression is confined to sporting events between the two high schools, the athletes being reminded of the evils of the other town before each game.
But William Stiller, didn’t know all the history behind the traffic signal at the meeting of Routes 8 and 17. He was also unaware that Melston had since installed another traffic signal, bringing their grand total to two and ensuring the long standing rivalry between the two towns would burn for another several generations. In fact, he didn’t know a lot about Alfresden. And what he did know came from the people who hired him to be the editor of weekly Alfresden Register. They gave enticements such as “Alfresden is a great place to raise kids,” despite him not having children, or even a wife for that matter.
These thoughts crowded Bill’s head as red gave way to green on the traffic signal. After a slight grace period, the driver in the red Dodge Ram behind him gave a honk, bringing Bill back to reality.
“Sorry” he yelled back, in return the driver of the Ram gave the patented farmer wave -- pointing the index and middle finger towards upward for a two count then lowering them back to the steering wheel to rejoin the remaining fingers.
This is going to take some getting use to Bill thought.
He drove down main street and into downtown, though for someone who had grown up in a relatively large city, three blocks of mom and pop businesses is hardly a downtown. Not knowing that the people of Alfresdon religious views prevented them from believing in crosswalks, Bill have several close calls with pedestrians. However, it seemed the two elderly ladies and the one professional contractor didn’t even notice near roadkill status.
As Bill put one hand over the other, turning onto Spring Street and pulling up next to building that was suppose to house his apartment, a chainsaw roared and a tree limb crashed to the ground near the ally, pushing his nerves close their breaking point.
He opened the door of his 2000 Honda Civic and pulled his 6’3” gangly frame from the compact. Surely this is the wrong address Bill thought to himself. He hesitantly moved towards the front of what looked like a family home when the door exploded open.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Another
So I am going to let this blog lose focus and if you don't like it then obviously your taste is flawed. Now for some poetry
Another one dies
Under a waving flag
Another mother cries
Over a body bag
21 guns shoot
on a rainy day
One last salute
To send him on his way
Another gun shot
At an innocent
Another bomb dropped
a million dollars spent
A man kills himself
For a religion
Companies gain wealth
The only ones who win
Another war fought
Without a reason
More destruction wrought
In this killing season
No end in sight
For a senseless war
Less we end the fight
And even the score
Another one dies
Under a waving flag
Another mother cries
Over a body bag
21 guns shoot
on a rainy day
One last salute
To send him on his way
Another gun shot
At an innocent
Another bomb dropped
a million dollars spent
A man kills himself
For a religion
Companies gain wealth
The only ones who win
Another war fought
Without a reason
More destruction wrought
In this killing season
No end in sight
For a senseless war
Less we end the fight
And even the score
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
tell me what to do!
Dear readers
I have come to a bit of a fork in the road for this blog. After several months in Springfield, I have depleted my knowledge of places to eat or other sources of entertainment. However, I want to still maintain this blog. So, I need your help. Do you have suggestions on where I should go? Have something you would like to see? How about some serialized pieces of fiction? Do you enjoy the pictures, or are they better suited for a different outlet? I appreciate any feedback.
Drew
I have come to a bit of a fork in the road for this blog. After several months in Springfield, I have depleted my knowledge of places to eat or other sources of entertainment. However, I want to still maintain this blog. So, I need your help. Do you have suggestions on where I should go? Have something you would like to see? How about some serialized pieces of fiction? Do you enjoy the pictures, or are they better suited for a different outlet? I appreciate any feedback.
Drew
Labels:
entertainment,
springfield illinois
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