Saturday, September 29, 2012

Assignment #2

            Looking at the glass bottle from my position on the bed, the viewer can only see half of the bright yellow label, half of the attractive Latina women I know to be smiling up at me, half of the brand name bolding declaring, “ula” in red, block letters.  This particular glass bottle, stoppered with a smooth,  blonde, wooden cork belongs with its comprades in the downstairs kitchen cabinet, los amigos who sometimes go by the name “hot sauce” around town. 
            The afternoon sun, filtered by a multitude of green and yellow autumn leaves finds its way into the room, lighting up the side of the bottle facing me.  It leaves a streak of skinny light down the glass bottle’s side, allowing a reflection of the outside world in, a minute tree, the asphalt on the road below, sandwiched between the tomato-red hot sauce.
The glass bottle, in its pristine condition, has sat on the vanity for weeks, like a queen in a game of chess, knowing her time to move is nigh, but allowing the player to think.  Waiting to knock down the glass-bottled perfume acquaintances that surround her, that have forced her into a world of makeup, hair, fresh scents and glamour to which she has never belonged.  Anticipating the day when she will once again be reacquainted with the rich smells of cooking, the sounds of grease sputtering when it gets hot.  But above all, she awaits the day when she will be once again be reminded of the exquisite feeling of being tasted by a tongue.  

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

Assignment #1

I haven't had much time as of late to blog, so I thought it might be fun to post my non-fiction writing assignments.  They are, hmmm. Close to my usual subject matter.

Let them forever be enshrined here.

           With the doors and windows closed, my bedroom takes on a musty, trapped smell that is created by a combination of the long, late morning slumbers of two people deeply breathing in a small space with no air flow, and an animal with free reign of the bedroom.  The layout of the room is such that upon entering, the eye is naturally drawn to the well-used vanity standing next to the south window. The vanity is littered with perfume bottles both empty and full, cups of makeup brushes, wooden boxes from far-away places I have never been to, jewelry draped haphazardly over the mirror and its wooden supports, as well as earring cardboards and a plethora of pictures stuffed in the small slit between the mirrored-glass and the wood encasing it.  A fine dust of translucent, powdered makeup can be observed covering the length of the table and its occupants.
            Further investigation of the cluttered scene uncovers an intruder among the perfume bottles-a tall, upright, unashamed bottle of Cholula hot sauce, complete with a wooden stopper.  Its label is bright and cheery, yellow and red with an attractive Latina woman smiling up at her audience.  The contents of the bottle nearly reach the top, and there are no telltale signs of usage, no streaks of hot sauce running down the inside of the glass, back to the waiting and welcoming hot sauce pool gravity has drawn together.  The bottle, clearly not perfume, has been waiting patiently for its owner (myself) to reunite it with its hot sauce companions down in the kitchen cabinet for quite some time now, but until I do, the tolerant bottle must wait.
            Sitting atop the wooden mirror, a tiny, rotund, red, also-wooden Buddha carefully reigns over the bedroom.  He is easily recognized as jovial by the wide, open-mouthed grin splitting his face, although at his size the viewer may have to squint to fully appreciate his joy.  Although not often noticed by many, his good fortune continues to bless those that dwell in his presence.