I Just Read About That…

SOUNDTRACK: FOALS-Antidotes (2008).

This CD had been getting a lot of buzz just before I ordered it. And then, the day after I ordered it I saw a review that really trashed the record. Uh oh, I thought.

But then I played it. Aside from the cover, which I can’t stand, there’s nothing I dislike about the disc. Immediately, I thought it sounded like a cross between King Crimson and Gang of Four. And then I heard more sax and had to add X-Ray Spex in for good measure.

The guitar lines as the disc opens sound so much like they could be King Crimson song…and this continues throughout the record…and then when the rhythm guitars come in you think, oh, Gang of Four (or the Futureheads if you must). And then you hear them together and it blows your mind a little bit.

For those of you who live in the twenty first century, the CD probably sounds closest to Modest Mouse: angular guitars, somewhat shouty vocals, but they don’t have the fluidity that Modest Mouse has. Not that that’s a complaint, just an observation. I’ve listened to this CD a bunch of times now, and I don’t dislike anything on it. Each listen brings out someone new that I hear. One of the reviews I read suggested that they used to a more prog rock band, but were giving up that aspect of their music. And yet, if you reference King Crimson, it’s impossible to think you’ve given up prog rock. I don’t know what The Foals describe their music as, and it is totally not for everybody, but I think it’s pretty wonderful.

[WRITTEN: Some time in the late 1990s] Complex Sentence.

In my previous post (Sister Bernadette’s Barking Dog) I said that I had written a short story about diagramming sentences. I took some creative writing classes a decade or so ago, when I had a lot of free time. I churned out quite a few stories, and then hit the wall that is job, family and kids. Sadly, I don’t have exact dates for when I wrote these stories (what kind of writer doesn’t keep track of when the stories were written for pity’s sake). But maybe if I can ever hack into more poor old Macintosh and uncover the original files it will give me some idea of their origin.

And so, the critic exposes himself to the critics.

Here, in its full glory, is…

Complex Sentence

Jeff Dolenz stood stoically at the blackboard as he diagrammed his sentence. He heard his seventh grade classmates snickering behind him. He tried to block out the sound, but he kept thinking about the last time that he was publicly humiliated in class.

Mrs. Malone’s kindergarten class was placed at the furthest corner of St. Joseph’s school. When it was time to go to the lavatory, Mrs. Malone lined up the students in the hall: boys on the right, girls on the left. The students marched past the principal’s office and two classrooms before the hall split. The girls continued straight; the boys had to turn to the right and walk past the gymnasium before reaching their lav. Mrs. Malone stood at the fork where she said she could see and hear everything that happened in not only the lavs, but also her classroom.

Mrs. Malone always lined up the students according to height. It seemed to Jeff that the kids were constantly jockeying for position in line. But Jeff was invariably near the front. Although he was embarrassed about being so short, he secretly enjoyed being near the front of the line. Mrs. Malone would send only four students at a time down to the lavatory. When those four finished, she would send the next four. Sometimes, when Jeff returned to the classroom, he silently sniggered at the taller boys squirming at the back of the line.

When he reached the classroom, he sat at his desk near the back of the room and waited quietly for Mrs. Malone to return. Although most of the students were too fearful to rebel, some of the future class clowns were already displaying their colors. Until Jeff turned thirteen, his favorite color was pale yellow.

The clever boys had figured out that Mrs. Malone wouldn’t come back to the classroom until all of the boys had finished. They agreed that Liz Marshall would be their unknowing lookout. Liz was the tallest girl and there were more boys than girls, so when Liz crossed through the door, they knew that Mrs. Malone would be following shortly. Frankie Sparr usually shot off a few rounds of spitballs or rooted through Kevin Donaldson’s desk for change. And John Digby would try to lift up Sandy Trudeau’s skirt or knock Jeff’s books off his desk. But when Liz took her seat next to Kevin, the clowns became saints.

In late April, as Jeff was walking to the lavatory, Mrs. Malone pulled him aside and made him retie his shoelaces. Most of the class had mastered this fine art by then, but Jeff was unsure about securing knots. He knelt, red-faced, approximating the look of a knot by making big loops and sticking the ends under the tongue. Most of the boys had already gone to the lav by this time, and Mrs. Malone hurried Jeff along to due his business. On his way back to the classroom, Jeff could hear John and Frankie laughing. Delighted that he wasn’t the subject of their abuse, Jeff decided to take this opportunity to try and prove that he was cool, too.

The boys in class had discovered baseball. Although most of them didn’t fully understand it, they had watched enough to have the basic ideas down. Jeff decided that he would show off his baseball skills to impress the guys. He poked his head through the doorway, trying to attract some attention. When he was sure that even Frankie Sparr was looking, he nudged his tongue between his lips and sprinted to his seat near the rear radiator.

Although his attention was focused on home plate, he couldn’t help but see the shocked look on Liz Marshall’s face. When he was three paces from his desk, Jeff slid. In later years, this slide would assist Jeff in becoming Little League stolen base champion. But in this attempt, he was clearly out.

Jeff slid feet first into the radiator and made a triumphant leap into his seat. He looked appreciatively to the class, awaiting his applause. As he surveyed the silent classmates, his smile slowly faded. Then he saw Mrs. Malone’s horrified red face frozen in the doorway.

The only sound in the room was the dimming reverberation of the radiator cover. It seemed like the entire room was hypnotized by the ring. As soon as it faded, Mrs. Malone blurted, “Jeffrey Dolenz! Is that how we walk to our seats?”

Jeff was struck dumb. But no answer was expected.

“Jeffrey, come over here,” Mrs. Malone stood with her finger pointing to the tile in front of her.

Jeff shuffled, head down, to Mrs. Malone’s side. She grabbed him roughly by the shoulders, “Straighten your back, young man.”

Jeff stood erect, tears forming at the corner of his eyes. He tried not to look at anyone else in the class, but he could already hear them stifling their laughter. Mrs. Malone had grabbed the 1,000 page Visual Dictionary. She placed the book on top of Jeff’s head.

“Jeffrey,” she snapped, “show the rest of the class how we are supposed to walk back to our desks. Keep your back straight, your head up, and do not let that book fall to the floor.”

Tears slid down Jeff’s face as he walked the familiar route to his desk. His lower lip trembled as he silently prayed that the book would stay on his head. But his shoulders hunched and the book slapped onto the floor.

“Again, Jeffrey!”

Jeff picked up the dictionary and returned to the doorway. Mrs. Malone replaced the book atop his head and Jeff walked no more than three steps before the book crashed to the ground again.

“Let me see you walk without the book, Jeffrey.”

Jeff returned to the doorway. He put his shoulders back and his head up at a preposterous angle. He walked slowly and stiffly to his desk and sat down.

“Very good, Jeffrey.”

Jeff exhaled and allowed his shoulders to slump as he held back the tears.

“Now, this time with the book,” Mrs. Malone demanded. He turned to her and saw that same resolute expression and that same finger pointing to that same tile.

It took Jeff three attempts before he was able to make it back to his desk without dropping the book. By that time the class could barely contain its laughter. When he successfully sat down, he had to rise once more to bring the dictionary back to Mrs. Malone. He shuffled back to his desk, put his head down and spent the remaining ninety minutes of the day sniffling tears. When the final bell rang, he walked briskly out of the building to his mom’s car and said nothing as he climbed in.

For the next few years, Jeff feared acting up in class again. But he started to realize that the other kids could act up in little bits and be given only a scolding. By the time he had entered fourth grade, Jeff started to assert himself. Nearly all of the boys were playing Little League baseball that year, and Jeff had already become notorious for his ability to steal second base. He had faked out nearly all of his classmates when he played against them, and they grudgingly grew respectful of his ability.

He began acting up in class—never anything big enough to get caught—but enough to get a chuckle out of the boys sitting next to him. He tried mouthing off to some of the girls, but in their eyes, he hadn’t earned the right to talk to them that way. He was still Quiet Jeff to them.

Despite these minor incidents, Jeff remained a good student. Although he liked trying to get his classmates to laugh, he was always delighted by the appreciation of his teachers when he got good grades. And, when he was in seventh grade, Miss Largent recommended that Jeff be put in her advanced English class. Jeff looked forward to English class even though Miss Largent was very strict.

Most of the class had learned dirty words by this time. The kids with older brothers and sisters would be sure to pass along the latest, funniest curses. Miss Largent would inadvertently set the class to giggling when she read sentences from the text. Even the quiet girls would chuckle at the word “pants.” But the class could barely contain itself if Dick was mentioned, especially if he was walking abreast of someone.

When Frankie’s brother told Frankie that you could say “cheek” when referring to someone’s behind, Frankie and Jeff had started a new game in Miss Largent’s class. Miss Largent always wore slacks to class. After writing on the board, she would turn around and lean against the chalk ledge. When she faced the board again, there was a chalk line on her pants. The game was to see who could notice the chalk line first. Frankie sat behind Jeff. He had the advantage, because he could tap on Jeff’s shoulder and whisper, “Left cheek,” before Jeff could risk turning around to whisper to Frankie.

Jeff smiled to himself as his chalk scratched on the board. He thought about leaning against the ledge himself, but he didn’t want to distract Frankie from his task at hand. Jeff finished his diagram and walked back to his seat.

Miss Largent followed the same procedure for every diagramming class. She would pick one student from each row. That student would diagram the sentence that he or she had made up for homework. When everyone was finished, she would ask a different student to decipher the diagram and read the sentence. If there were any questions or problems they would stay on that example until everyone understood.

The assignment that day had been to create a compound sentence with two subjects, a verb and two objects. Miss Largent picked Sheryl White to read Jeff’s sentence aloud. Sheryl looked at the sentence, paused, and then said, “Dick grew three inches, but Rod grew five.” The class giggled and Miss Largent’s face hardened. She said the sentence was fine and moved on to the next diagram.

Jeff’s heart raced as he awaited his punishment. He didn’t dare look at Miss Largent. But after she had corrected two other diagrams, Frankie slapped him on the back and whispered that he was crazy. He lifted his head. From across the room, John Digby gave him a thumb’s up. Jeff glowed in his triumph for the last twenty minutes of class.

When the bell rang, everyone filed out to the playground, but before Jeff could leave, Miss Largent calmly stated, “Mr. Dolenz.” Jeff loitered near the doorway as Miss Largent gathered her books. She remained quiet as she walked towards him. She grabbed him by the shirt collar, “Come with me,” she said.

Jeff instantly feared that he was being taken to the principal. But rather than heading down the stairs, Miss Largent brought him to the empty classroom across the hall. Before Jeff could figure out if he should sit down, Miss Largent slammed the door shut and spun around to face him.

“Jeffrey, just what were you thinking?”

Jeff tried not to look at Miss Largent, but she remained silent until he finally looked up. He saw that her eyes had begun to water. He didn’t want to get in trouble, but he certainly didn’t want to see Miss Largent cry.

“Yes, Miss Largent?” he muttered.

“Jeffrey, I am so disappointed with you.”

“What did I do?” Jeffrey asked, choking back tears.

“Don’t play games with me.”

“I— I don’t understand what you m—mean.”

“Damn it, Jeffery, who do you think you’re fooling? I know very well why you chose those names to write on the board.”

“They were in the book.” Jeff pleaded.

Miss Largent sighed deeply. She walked to the teacher’s desk and dropped her books onto it. She leaned against the desk and stared at Jeff. He tried to look at anything in the room but her face. Finally, she stood up and walked towards him.

“Jeffrey,” she began. “I’m not stupid, and I know you’re not stupid. I know why you chose those words, and I know you were trying to make the class laugh. It worked. Congratulations. You must be very proud.”

“But, Miss Largent, those names were in the book,” Jeff repeated.

He watched, transfixed, as Miss Largent’s nostrils flared. He realized that saying this was a mistake. He tried to think of anything to say to make it better, but before he could say anything, Miss Largent clenched her fists and took a step closer to Jeff. She blurted, “Jeffrey, I am far too exasperated to argue about whether or not you knew what those words meant. I believe you did. In fact, I know you did. And if you think it’s funny to write slang words for ‘penis,’ then you’ve got a lot of growing up to do, young man. And,” she paused, “if you ever write them on a blackboard in my classroom again, you will be sent straight to the principal’s office. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Miss Largent.”

“Hmm?”

“Yes, Miss Largent.”

“Normally I would insist that you clean that filth off of my board, but I am too upset to let you back into my classroom. Be thankful that you have Mrs. Taromini this afternoon, because I really don’t want you in my room again today.”

Jeff couldn’t take his eyes off Miss Largent’s face. He wanted to say something but he couldn’t.

Miss Largent pointed to the door, “Go,” she said, as she walked back to the desk.

Jeff tried to stifle the tears as he headed down the back stairs. With every step, he heaved gulps of air. He didn’t know how he was going to face his classmates. As he opened the door to the playground, he saw that most of his English class was waiting for him. Some of the other kids in his grade gathered around as the grapevine explained what had happened.

“You are crazy!” Frankie shouted as Jeff approached them.

“I can’t believe you wrote that,” Sheryl White said.

“I can’t believe you read it!” John Digby said to Sheryl.

“Ha Ha.” Mocked Sheryl.

Someone from the back of the crowd asked, “So, Jeff, what did she say?”

“Yeah, man, did you get in trouble?” John Digby asked.

The crowd moved closer. Jeff looked at their expectant faces, unsure of what to say. Tears of shame competed with tears of joy to be the first to sting his cheeks. Finally, Liz Marshall said, “Come on, Jeff, what’d she say?”

“Well,” Jeff laughed uncomfortably, “Miss Lardass said ‘penis!’”