The alien cry...

Today in the writing lab, someone had their child with them. Probably only two or three years old. This fact was unknown to probably everyone in the room, including myself. Unknown until this small child fell out of her chair. It wasn't a long fall, and it wasn't hard, but as children do, she cried after hitting the ground. This cry was calmed quickly by the loving caress of her mother accompanied with soothing words of comfort... The only reason I am writing about this, and the reason for the name of the this blog entry is everyone in the room looked about when the cry began. Almost like they had never heard the cry of a child. Students had the look of concern on their faces, not annoyance like I'd actually expect to find. Several students took off their earphones, the permanent fixture to one's head anymore... They removed these earphones and listened... listened to the soft quiet howl of this child in need, almost looking on in awe. If nothing else, it's the sound not heard often on the campus of a University. Maybe that's the only reason people looked on with such intent. However it made me think of the future of mankind... Will there be a day when the cry of a child is truly alien? When will this happen? Will it be global in effect? I know some places in Europe like Italy where the death rate outweighs the birth rate.. is this cry already alien to them? Something to think about.

Clammy

Touche! You win, I will place my tail betwixt my legs now and scamper off.


Dictionary.com Unabridged (v 1.1) - Cite This Source - Share This clam·my Audio Help /ˈklæmi/ Pronunciation Key - Show Spelled Pronunciation[klam-ee] Pronunciation Key - Show IPA Pronunciation –adjective -mi·er, -mi·est.

1.	covered with a cold, sticky moisture; cold and damp: clammy hands.

2.	sickly; morbid: She had a clammy feeling that something was wrong at home.

Crane, you never read these.

Dr. Cranebrain. You never read these blogs. I know this because I have insulted you in more blogs than this. We pretty much just write a whole bunch of crap and then you never read it because you're busy and I understand this. I do however expect an A out of this class. I've worked so hard. Harder than Carly. (Actually no, she's a pretty decent writer, even if you do pick her writings apart) Anyhow, good stuff. I'm saddened that this class will soon be over. Although I won't miss Torsten who is always reading my screen and letting me know what web pages I'm looking at.

Sigh.. Bloggity blog.

many are cold but few are frozen

possible topics from my narrative

Juvenile Crime.
Firefighters and childhood obsession with fire.
Government employing petty crooks.
Torsten and his compulsive obsession with looking at my screen.
Torsten and his need to fill me in on his 15,000 dollar check that won't cash from UCCU.
Crane and his need and desire to talk the entire class period, when in fact he should just be giving us funny things to read like the chemical childhood and the stuff white people like. For the elitists in the class like myself he should just talk guns.

My first paper revised...

In one last ditch effort I revised my first paper a tad to try to get a bit better of a grade on it. DCrane told me that I would get a B+, this paper is going to attempt to reach more of the A Minus or A range. Wink wink.. smile...

I added some good information on how much money 40 billion dollars is. That's how much Exxon Mobile made in profits last fiscal year. 40 billion dollars! That's more than 1,200 dollars a second!

Cowboys and Aliens

Does the sound of a firetruck or any siren for that matter conjure up any sort of memory for you? I can most certainly tell you that they do for me. Whenever I hear or see the sights and sounds of a firetruck, I am called back to a time in my life when things were exciting, friends were abundant, theivery was rampant, and the very air we would breathe would seem to pulse.

The sound of firetrucks takes me back to a day that involved all of those above mentioned things. "Let's go to Allens Grocery store!", said Eric. Allens just so happened to be our favorite place for killing time, purchasing 1 cent candies and buying the now extinct Clearly Canadian... It just so happens that Allens also happened to be our favorite place for stealing things. Anything.

Today on the menu was ciggarette lighters. Why? Because every 8 year old boy needs a ciggarette lighter, especially in the middle of July, in a vacant field... What goes better with lighters? "I'lll get the W-D 40!" shouted Brickden. Now he was on to something! We'd all seen the effects of fire mixed with a steady stream of W-D 40, this was like the flame thrower from the movie Alien which none of us were allowed to watch but did while Charley's parents were away. Before long we'd played out the entire scene of Sougourney Weaver as she battles creatures from another planet...

Off in the distance we could hear sirens, only adding to the heightened situation. We did what 8 year old boys would do naturally when they sensed trouble, or the reprecussions of trouble, we ran. Thinking we'd escaped with nothing other than our sweet rendition of a classic horror film, we each made our way to our own house with some elaborate lie already in hand about where we'd been for the past few hours. We were in the clear.

I didn't see it when I turned the corner to my house, maybe I wasn't paying attention to things in the now very observant manner that I now portray, but it was hard to miss as I got closer. A firetruck and a police car in my drive way. There was no way... was there? My heart nearly exploded out of my neck it was pounding so fast. Might as well have been acting out a new scene from a different alien movie with the mutant creature climbing out of my throat, leaving me, the shell it's been using for who knows how long bloody and dead on the sidewalk. That would have been better than the ideas that were now aflurry in my mind.

After talking with the authorities and a very very stern, never to be forgotten lecture from mom, I realized that I got away with one of the most awesome childhood stories a kid could hope for. Aside from being grounded from my friends for the entire summer, and doomed to 3 months of folding laundry, I got off scott free!

Luckily 8 year old boys don't get thrown in the slammer for playing with fire. They save that opportunity for adolescents and grown ups. To this day the sound of a firetruck evokes a very distinct memory of flames, aliens and adventure. I also think it's a bit strange, perhaps ironic that my first job outside of highschool was none other than a Firefighter for the federal government, who just so happens to still employ this little alien crusader.