Random
Friday Night Lights (Group Effort #2 and Rule of Threes)
Taylor Kitsch of Friday Night Lights
1. It’s Friday night. Remember when that meant something? We’d get dressed up in our tutus and paint little pink circles on our cheeks and pirouette the night away. Our thirties are different, are dark around the edges, are full of tennis matches and distracting tv shows that we don’t even watch on televisions anymore. Speaking of we, I remember loving The Virgin Suicides, particularly for Eugenides’ use of that wily, sometimes achingly beautiful first person plural.
2. Friday Night Lights is actually a pretty good show.
3. Here’s another group effort prompt for those of you who also don’t leave the house many Friday nights, smoking your cigarettes and drinking your delicious quiet with a straw. Let’s write a story this time. Keep your contribution to a few sentences, por favor.
We are goober. We are brontosaurus. In the back of a car, we are dumb luck.
Tags: friday night lights, group effort, the virgin suicides
We drink our quiet through a straw and piss whispers behind the neighbor’s shed.
We drink our quiet through a straw and piss whispers behind the neighbor’s shed.
Sometimes, when we are sleeping, ferns the size of houses make us cry. Not because we are sad. But because they are beautiful. And we are hungry.
Sometimes, when we are sleeping, ferns the size of houses make us cry. Not because we are sad. But because they are beautiful. And we are hungry.
*They*, however, have shown no interest in us or our activities. For that we are grateful, though not a little bemused. Was it not they who, after considerable wining and dining, sold us on moving here? Did they not offer our sons their daughters? We must be vigilant, lest we be unmoored.
*They*, however, have shown no interest in us or our activities. For that we are grateful, though not a little bemused. Was it not they who, after considerable wining and dining, sold us on moving here? Did they not offer our sons their daughters? We must be vigilant, lest we be unmoored.
Our parents have no idea! Even though we are so close to home! They never know we are hungry! They never think we are asleep!
Our parents have no idea! Even though we are so close to home! They never know we are hungry! They never think we are asleep!
And so one night we wake, the hunger in our heads spilling out like lantern light at last. We shake our daughters from sleep and dress them, lacing their toe shoes and lowering their tulle veils. We tiptoe down the courtyard, past our full and sleeping parents, and lead our dancing daughters to their bridal feast. Our greed is a moonslice on the gravel.
And so one night we wake, the hunger in our heads spilling out like lantern light at last. We shake our daughters from sleep and dress them, lacing their toe shoes and lowering their tulle veils. We tiptoe down the courtyard, past our full and sleeping parents, and lead our dancing daughters to their bridal feast. Our greed is a moonslice on the gravel.
[…] We’re doing another Group Effort over at HTMLGiant. This time a story-ish type thing. Join in! Why I like doing Group Efforts: […]
I saw Buzz Bissinger in Pittsburgh. He sounds a lot like Lewis Black. Called a guy who asked a dumb, confrontational question a “fuckhead.” I like Buzz Bissinger a good deal.
I saw Buzz Bissinger in Pittsburgh. He sounds a lot like Lewis Black. Called a guy who asked a dumb, confrontational question a “fuckhead.” I like Buzz Bissinger a good deal.
“Oh, woe!” cried the sisters. The tulle-veiled, toe-shoed, whispering fern-dream sisters. “We don’t like Pittsburgh! And we don’t like Lewis Black! Pleas don’t make us marry him! He sprays spittle! Every time he speaks!”
“Oh, woe!” cried the sisters. The tulle-veiled, toe-shoed, whispering fern-dream sisters. “We don’t like Pittsburgh! And we don’t like Lewis Black! Pleas don’t make us marry him! He sprays spittle! Every time he speaks!”
*please don’t make us…
*please don’t make us…
I read that Buzz Bissinger hung himself the next day. He didn’t even leave a note. Just a birthday card from his mother. The card was three weeks late and did not even make a joke of its own belatedness. I doubt the sisters read the newspaper. I know *they* don’t. Our parents don’t read at all.
I read that Buzz Bissinger hung himself the next day. He didn’t even leave a note. Just a birthday card from his mother. The card was three weeks late and did not even make a joke of its own belatedness. I doubt the sisters read the newspaper. I know *they* don’t. Our parents don’t read at all.
[…] HTMLGIANT / Friday Night Lights (Group Effort #2 and Rule of Threes) […]