Hi folks:
Sorry to say that the old ball and chain (and by that I mean my job) is doing another round at full-time "plus," so I'm taking a quick break from Danny.
Look for a new post on Monday, the 29th.
Thanks,
Alex
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Monday, February 15, 2010
I8: Ignorant or Miriam's Story Begins
From H8:
Danny sat back in his plastic seat.
"If I could, I'd like to tell you a thing or two."
More than enough thoughts jostled to reach his lips: Seriously? Who ARE you? No offense, but I only have a half-hour for lunch... "OK?" he settled on instead.
"Good. Thank you." She looked around. "I'm just going to get some tea. Can I treat you to...?" Her eyes roved the creamy salad, the small side of fries, the massive coke.
He put his hands behind him and pushed his chest forward while sucking his stomach in. "Oh, no, thanks. I'm fine." He tried to put a twist on it so she'd be clear he wasn't some needy fool.
As she sped nimbly off toward the salad place, he wondered what was going on. "Heartsick," she'd called him. Who was she? He jabbed his fork deep into the bowl and pulled up a huge chunk of blue cheese which filled his mouth with enough flavor to push off the bad mood. He was a manager at the bookstore. He was paying his own rent. He was thinking about designing again some day. He wanted to lose some of the weight. Who was she? Ignorant, is what she was.
He managed to polish off the fries, crumpling the greasy half-cone and tossing it two booths down. When she returned, he sat waiting, as expectant as a homebound puppy, when she returned.
Danny sat back in his plastic seat.
"If I could, I'd like to tell you a thing or two."
More than enough thoughts jostled to reach his lips: Seriously? Who ARE you? No offense, but I only have a half-hour for lunch... "OK?" he settled on instead.
"Good. Thank you." She looked around. "I'm just going to get some tea. Can I treat you to...?" Her eyes roved the creamy salad, the small side of fries, the massive coke.
He put his hands behind him and pushed his chest forward while sucking his stomach in. "Oh, no, thanks. I'm fine." He tried to put a twist on it so she'd be clear he wasn't some needy fool.
As she sped nimbly off toward the salad place, he wondered what was going on. "Heartsick," she'd called him. Who was she? He jabbed his fork deep into the bowl and pulled up a huge chunk of blue cheese which filled his mouth with enough flavor to push off the bad mood. He was a manager at the bookstore. He was paying his own rent. He was thinking about designing again some day. He wanted to lose some of the weight. Who was she? Ignorant, is what she was.
He managed to polish off the fries, crumpling the greasy half-cone and tossing it two booths down. When she returned, he sat waiting, as expectant as a homebound puppy, when she returned.
H8: Heartsick or Miriam Puts it On the Table
From G8:
"Danny, right?" She placed both hands on the table and deftly slipped into the seat across from him. "Miriam," she offered, placing on mottled hand to her chest. Danny stared, straw in mouth: the diamond on her finger was insane. "Nice to see you again."
"You too?" A sprig of cold lettuce hung from his lip. He didn't want to be rude. Miriam reminded him of his Jewish grandmother: a Jewish grandmother he actually - not being Jewish - never had. She smiled.
"Listen, Danny," the diamond sparkled across the table and the fingers that supported it stopped his hand from forking another pile of sodden lettuce. "I know you probably want to read your..." her eyes trailed the bright pink cover and bikinis of US Weekly, "magazine, but, well," she sighed and looked over at the movie theater across the way. "You just look so heartsick." She tapped his hands again.
Danny sat back in his plastic seat.
"If I could, I'd like to tell you a thing or two."
"Danny, right?" She placed both hands on the table and deftly slipped into the seat across from him. "Miriam," she offered, placing on mottled hand to her chest. Danny stared, straw in mouth: the diamond on her finger was insane. "Nice to see you again."
"You too?" A sprig of cold lettuce hung from his lip. He didn't want to be rude. Miriam reminded him of his Jewish grandmother: a Jewish grandmother he actually - not being Jewish - never had. She smiled.
"Listen, Danny," the diamond sparkled across the table and the fingers that supported it stopped his hand from forking another pile of sodden lettuce. "I know you probably want to read your..." her eyes trailed the bright pink cover and bikinis of US Weekly, "magazine, but, well," she sighed and looked over at the movie theater across the way. "You just look so heartsick." She tapped his hands again.
Danny sat back in his plastic seat.
"If I could, I'd like to tell you a thing or two."
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Writing: A Quick Detour
This is an odd process, writing always forward with no revision, without having planned a true narrative arc and without taking the time to assess too closely what's come before.
Going into this, I knew Danny would be broken quickly. I knew that he would be far quirkier, funnier, and more stylish than The Zookeeper's Sam. I knew he'd eat the way I dream about eating all the time.
I didn't know I'd have to return over and over to Roddy's death, in order to figure out how Danny gets through it. I didn't know how remarkable this starting prompt - this loyalty to the alphabet rosters I created a year ago -would be. That the word "elegy" would detour me back to more mourning. And I didn't know that a word like "Unitarian" would introduce me to a mall-walking Miriam who I now think might matter to Danny quite a bit.
It makes me wonder - who are Danny's parents? We know his friends a bit now - Marina, now Miriam - but where are his gay boy friends? His parents and siblings? Does he still dress so dapperly as he did on page 1?
OK - detour over. Tomorrow will bring another Danny day.
Going into this, I knew Danny would be broken quickly. I knew that he would be far quirkier, funnier, and more stylish than The Zookeeper's Sam. I knew he'd eat the way I dream about eating all the time.
I didn't know I'd have to return over and over to Roddy's death, in order to figure out how Danny gets through it. I didn't know how remarkable this starting prompt - this loyalty to the alphabet rosters I created a year ago -would be. That the word "elegy" would detour me back to more mourning. And I didn't know that a word like "Unitarian" would introduce me to a mall-walking Miriam who I now think might matter to Danny quite a bit.
It makes me wonder - who are Danny's parents? We know his friends a bit now - Marina, now Miriam - but where are his gay boy friends? His parents and siblings? Does he still dress so dapperly as he did on page 1?
OK - detour over. Tomorrow will bring another Danny day.
G8: Grate or She Walks Back In to His Life
From F8:
Walking into the food court, he stalked and strutted and drummed the air with his hands.
From the corner of his eye, he spied some free samples at the Bourbon chicken place, and detoured to pop a sweet glazed bit of chicken into his mouth. Kelis pounded rhythm into his steps, and he bopped his head. He designed himself a special Cobb salad at Chop't, making sure the Asian girl behind the glass sneeze guard grated extra parmesan on top. Sweet soda in his mouth, he dropped into a quiet corner with the latest US Weekly magazine.
Head in the magazine, Beyonce screaming "Crazy In Love" in his ears, and fork-deep in creamy salad, Danny didn't notice her standing over him until she rapped two bony knuckles on the table.
"God!" His heart pounded. His body wanted to shake. He didn't want to recognize her, but the track suit and pointed squint made it impossible not to. "Oh. Hi."
"Danny, right?" She placed both hands on the table and deftly slipped into the seat across from him. "Miriam," she offered, placing on mottled hand to her chest. Danny stared, straw in mouth: the diamond on her finger was insane. "Nice to see you again."
Walking into the food court, he stalked and strutted and drummed the air with his hands.
From the corner of his eye, he spied some free samples at the Bourbon chicken place, and detoured to pop a sweet glazed bit of chicken into his mouth. Kelis pounded rhythm into his steps, and he bopped his head. He designed himself a special Cobb salad at Chop't, making sure the Asian girl behind the glass sneeze guard grated extra parmesan on top. Sweet soda in his mouth, he dropped into a quiet corner with the latest US Weekly magazine.
Head in the magazine, Beyonce screaming "Crazy In Love" in his ears, and fork-deep in creamy salad, Danny didn't notice her standing over him until she rapped two bony knuckles on the table.
"God!" His heart pounded. His body wanted to shake. He didn't want to recognize her, but the track suit and pointed squint made it impossible not to. "Oh. Hi."
"Danny, right?" She placed both hands on the table and deftly slipped into the seat across from him. "Miriam," she offered, placing on mottled hand to her chest. Danny stared, straw in mouth: the diamond on her finger was insane. "Nice to see you again."
Saturday, February 13, 2010
F8: Fantastic, or Danny Let's the Music Move Him
From E8:
He closed his eyes and focused inward, breathing carefully, gripping hand to hand. Every part of his body wanted to flail and shout and run for the back of the church, but he had to hold it together. Becca was up there, the family knew who he was. So he stayed in his seat through the service, clutching his own hand like a lost child's, and waiting for every person around him to disappear.
***
He felt fantastic, for the first time in months. His first morning as Assistant Manager had gone smoothly, and Kelis' "Milkshake" was pounding strength into his bones. In three hours he'd gotten a six-box shipment shelved, talked Jenny (the sheepish sixteen-year-old they'd hired for weekends) down from a panic attack, and - he thought - flirted with a big meaty Italian guy who was looking for motorcycle magazines.
Walking into the food court, he stalked and strutted and drummed the air with his hands.
He closed his eyes and focused inward, breathing carefully, gripping hand to hand. Every part of his body wanted to flail and shout and run for the back of the church, but he had to hold it together. Becca was up there, the family knew who he was. So he stayed in his seat through the service, clutching his own hand like a lost child's, and waiting for every person around him to disappear.
***
He felt fantastic, for the first time in months. His first morning as Assistant Manager had gone smoothly, and Kelis' "Milkshake" was pounding strength into his bones. In three hours he'd gotten a six-box shipment shelved, talked Jenny (the sheepish sixteen-year-old they'd hired for weekends) down from a panic attack, and - he thought - flirted with a big meaty Italian guy who was looking for motorcycle magazines.
Walking into the food court, he stalked and strutted and drummed the air with his hands.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
E8: Elegy or The Funeral Makes Danny Quit His Job
From D8:
On the couch, first pizza downed, moving onto just a slice or two of the second, Danny was happy. Glad to have donated the nine dollar tip to Mike's middle-aged life. It felt like a down payment on something, he mused, opening the Phish Food and nestling under a blanket with only the ice cream and spoon exposed. A down payment, he thought, on the skinnier, happier Danny he couldn't yet find it in himself to see.
****
During the elegy, Becca had talked a lot about how happy she was that Roddy had found "someone" and was finally living his life for himself. She was wearing a black Anne Taylor suit that fit well at the waist but pinched her shoulders in. An inverted triangle of Roddy's favorite red poked out where her cleavage should be.
Danny sat more than halfway back, his ass sore on the hard pews, his suit pinching, his chest tight. A sheen of sweat rose and receded like nausea on his forehead. The idea that Roddy - nearly closeted, afraid of his family, only tentatively peeking his neck around the corner of life in D.C. - had it all together terrified Danny. A panicky, shaky realization rose in his throat. He wouldn't go back to the office, or any other day. Sassy Marina. Sexy Mitch.
He closed his eyes and focused inward, breathing carefully, gripping hand to hand. Every part of his body wanted to flail and shout and run for the back of the church, but he had to hold it together. Becca was up there, the family knew who he was. So he stayed in his seat through the service, clutching his own hand like a lost child's, and waiting for every person around him to disappear.
On the couch, first pizza downed, moving onto just a slice or two of the second, Danny was happy. Glad to have donated the nine dollar tip to Mike's middle-aged life. It felt like a down payment on something, he mused, opening the Phish Food and nestling under a blanket with only the ice cream and spoon exposed. A down payment, he thought, on the skinnier, happier Danny he couldn't yet find it in himself to see.
****
During the elegy, Becca had talked a lot about how happy she was that Roddy had found "someone" and was finally living his life for himself. She was wearing a black Anne Taylor suit that fit well at the waist but pinched her shoulders in. An inverted triangle of Roddy's favorite red poked out where her cleavage should be.
Danny sat more than halfway back, his ass sore on the hard pews, his suit pinching, his chest tight. A sheen of sweat rose and receded like nausea on his forehead. The idea that Roddy - nearly closeted, afraid of his family, only tentatively peeking his neck around the corner of life in D.C. - had it all together terrified Danny. A panicky, shaky realization rose in his throat. He wouldn't go back to the office, or any other day. Sassy Marina. Sexy Mitch.
He closed his eyes and focused inward, breathing carefully, gripping hand to hand. Every part of his body wanted to flail and shout and run for the back of the church, but he had to hold it together. Becca was up there, the family knew who he was. So he stayed in his seat through the service, clutching his own hand like a lost child's, and waiting for every person around him to disappear.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
D8: Donate or Danny Eats His Way Happy
From C8:
When Danny had balked at Roddy's assumption that they'd share a pie, he'd joked that he'd promised some pizza to one of his housemates and her girlfriend. Quickly enough, they'd started calling the second pizza the "girlfriend" pie. Now, two years and fifty-two pounds later, the joke was flavored with bile.
He folded two twenties into Mike's hand and waved off the change, backing into the wall to swing the door shut with one hand, using the same hand to turn the bolt.
Feeding slice after slice into his mouth as he watched TV, Danny tried to imagine himself at the mall the next morning. To turn himself into the chipper, muscular host on TV.
He'd been made assistant manager by Solange largely, she'd informed him, "due to the quality of his displays, not the quality of his work." He'd grinned, given her the finger behind her back, and treated her to a giant mochachino in thanks.
On the couch, first pizza downed, moving onto just a slice or two of the second, Danny was happy. Glad to have donated the nine dollar tip to Mike's middle-aged life. It felt like a down payment on something, he mused, opening the Phish Food and nestling under a blanket with only the ice cream and spoon exposed. A down payment, he thought, on the skinnier, happier Danny he couldn't yet find it in himself to see.
When Danny had balked at Roddy's assumption that they'd share a pie, he'd joked that he'd promised some pizza to one of his housemates and her girlfriend. Quickly enough, they'd started calling the second pizza the "girlfriend" pie. Now, two years and fifty-two pounds later, the joke was flavored with bile.
He folded two twenties into Mike's hand and waved off the change, backing into the wall to swing the door shut with one hand, using the same hand to turn the bolt.
Feeding slice after slice into his mouth as he watched TV, Danny tried to imagine himself at the mall the next morning. To turn himself into the chipper, muscular host on TV.
He'd been made assistant manager by Solange largely, she'd informed him, "due to the quality of his displays, not the quality of his work." He'd grinned, given her the finger behind her back, and treated her to a giant mochachino in thanks.
On the couch, first pizza downed, moving onto just a slice or two of the second, Danny was happy. Glad to have donated the nine dollar tip to Mike's middle-aged life. It felt like a down payment on something, he mused, opening the Phish Food and nestling under a blanket with only the ice cream and spoon exposed. A down payment, he thought, on the skinnier, happier Danny he couldn't yet find it in himself to see.
Monday, February 8, 2010
C8: Courtliness or Pizza Brings Back Memories
From B8:
"Hey, Mike."
"Two pies and breadsticks. Your lady friend coming over again tonight?" Mike winked - he was fatherly, with a mustache that obscured his upper lip. Somehow, Danny was still using "the girlfriend" to explain his orders away.
"You bet."
The "girlfriend" had started as a tiny lie between Danny and Roddy, when they first dispensed with the courtliness of downtown restaurants and museum dates and gave in to their first pajamas-and-take out night home.
When Danny had balked at Roddy's assumption that they'd share a pie, he'd joked that he'd promised some pizza to one of his housemates and her girlfriend. Quickly enough, they'd started calling the second pizza the "girlfriend" pie.
"Hey, Mike."
"Two pies and breadsticks. Your lady friend coming over again tonight?" Mike winked - he was fatherly, with a mustache that obscured his upper lip. Somehow, Danny was still using "the girlfriend" to explain his orders away.
"You bet."
The "girlfriend" had started as a tiny lie between Danny and Roddy, when they first dispensed with the courtliness of downtown restaurants and museum dates and gave in to their first pajamas-and-take out night home.
When Danny had balked at Roddy's assumption that they'd share a pie, he'd joked that he'd promised some pizza to one of his housemates and her girlfriend. Quickly enough, they'd started calling the second pizza the "girlfriend" pie.
Friday, February 5, 2010
B8: Bet or Danny Lies About Food
From A8:
Danny gave himself one last look, pulling down his lower eyelid to expose the red blood vessels underneath. Rather than take the shower, he left the bathroom and limped over piles of clothes and back to bed.
Chapter X
The buzzer rang, and Danny buzzed the pizza delivery guy in. His pulse quickened and he shoved a few pillows back into the proper places on the couch. It was Saturday night and he had a Buffy marathon planned.
Tugging the bottom of his t-shirt down with both hands, he trotted toward the door, already tasting the cheese and pepperoni in his mind. At the knock, he swung the door back.
"Hey, Mike."
"Two pies and breadsticks. Your lady friend coming over again tonight?" Mike winked - he was fatherly, with a mustache that obscured his upper lip. Somehow, Danny was still using "the girlfriend" to explain his orders away.
"You bet."
Danny gave himself one last look, pulling down his lower eyelid to expose the red blood vessels underneath. Rather than take the shower, he left the bathroom and limped over piles of clothes and back to bed.
Chapter X
The buzzer rang, and Danny buzzed the pizza delivery guy in. His pulse quickened and he shoved a few pillows back into the proper places on the couch. It was Saturday night and he had a Buffy marathon planned.
Tugging the bottom of his t-shirt down with both hands, he trotted toward the door, already tasting the cheese and pepperoni in his mind. At the knock, he swung the door back.
"Hey, Mike."
"Two pies and breadsticks. Your lady friend coming over again tonight?" Mike winked - he was fatherly, with a mustache that obscured his upper lip. Somehow, Danny was still using "the girlfriend" to explain his orders away.
"You bet."
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
A8: Androgynous or More Self-Hate (sorry readers, I'm working through something here!)
From Z7:
Instead he lay there, a specimen in a freak zoology experiment, while his phone buzzed and stung and he ignored everything from the outside. Light smacked aggressive shadows onto the walls.
On the third day, out of food and realizing he would be required to leave his studio for lunch, Danny set out to take a shower.
The whole process was a farce. The tiny bathroom barely had room for his fat frame, and his feet splayed on cracked, moldy tiles. The mirror showed him a pale, androgynous slug, more gelatinous than marshmallow, and his hair retreated from his forehead in slick, choppy disarray. As he peed, he scratched his butt until he realized how fat it was. Everything seemed green. Roddy was dead. He deserved all the shit he was in.
Danny gave himself one last look, pulling down his lower eyelid to expose the red blood vessels underneath. Rather than take the shower, he left the bathroom and limped over piles of clothes and back to bed.
Instead he lay there, a specimen in a freak zoology experiment, while his phone buzzed and stung and he ignored everything from the outside. Light smacked aggressive shadows onto the walls.
On the third day, out of food and realizing he would be required to leave his studio for lunch, Danny set out to take a shower.
The whole process was a farce. The tiny bathroom barely had room for his fat frame, and his feet splayed on cracked, moldy tiles. The mirror showed him a pale, androgynous slug, more gelatinous than marshmallow, and his hair retreated from his forehead in slick, choppy disarray. As he peed, he scratched his butt until he realized how fat it was. Everything seemed green. Roddy was dead. He deserved all the shit he was in.
Danny gave himself one last look, pulling down his lower eyelid to expose the red blood vessels underneath. Rather than take the shower, he left the bathroom and limped over piles of clothes and back to bed.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Z7: Zoology or Danny Lays Still
From Y7:
After the funeral, Danny had climbed into bed at six in the evening and stayed there, except to piss, shit or forage in the fridge, for three days.
The TV had never gone off: when he'd exhausted his ability to watch home improvement and cooking shows, he'd dozed through an entire bowling tournament, two seasons worth of "Buffy the Vampire Slayer," and a meticulously rigorous show about sailing - "Ask me what a yard-arm is," he'd have showed off, if he was able to talk to anyone, or even change his pajamas and the same black t-shirt that was starting to smell as rank as his sheets.
Instead he lay there, a specimen in a freak zoology experiment, while his phone buzzed and stung and he ignored everything from the outside. Light smacked aggressive shadows onto the walls.
After the funeral, Danny had climbed into bed at six in the evening and stayed there, except to piss, shit or forage in the fridge, for three days.
The TV had never gone off: when he'd exhausted his ability to watch home improvement and cooking shows, he'd dozed through an entire bowling tournament, two seasons worth of "Buffy the Vampire Slayer," and a meticulously rigorous show about sailing - "Ask me what a yard-arm is," he'd have showed off, if he was able to talk to anyone, or even change his pajamas and the same black t-shirt that was starting to smell as rank as his sheets.
Instead he lay there, a specimen in a freak zoology experiment, while his phone buzzed and stung and he ignored everything from the outside. Light smacked aggressive shadows onto the walls.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Y7: Yard-arm, or "Danny Fell Apart" aka There is no X7
From W7:
I'm so fucking weak, he thought, raising a hand to the departing fanatic and his collector's books. I can't even stare down an old lady in the store.
****
After the funeral, Danny had climbed into bed at six in the evening and stayed there, except to piss, shit or forage in the fridge, for three days. The TV had never gone off: when he'd exhausted his ability to watch home improvement and cooking shows, he'd dozed through an entire bowling tournament, two seasons worth of "Buffy the Vampire Slayer," and a meticulously rigorous show about sailing - "Ask me what a yard-arm is," he'd have showed off, if he was able to talk to anyone, or even change his pajamas and the same black t-shirt that was starting to smell as rank as his sheets.
I'm so fucking weak, he thought, raising a hand to the departing fanatic and his collector's books. I can't even stare down an old lady in the store.
****
After the funeral, Danny had climbed into bed at six in the evening and stayed there, except to piss, shit or forage in the fridge, for three days. The TV had never gone off: when he'd exhausted his ability to watch home improvement and cooking shows, he'd dozed through an entire bowling tournament, two seasons worth of "Buffy the Vampire Slayer," and a meticulously rigorous show about sailing - "Ask me what a yard-arm is," he'd have showed off, if he was able to talk to anyone, or even change his pajamas and the same black t-shirt that was starting to smell as rank as his sheets.
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