6.26.2010
6.24.2010
The Night of the Punch
I almost never try to punch anyone in the face anymore; although I have to admit the desire to do so has reared its ugly head more than once. Actually, it’s been more than 20 years since I indulged the feeling, and it was against my sister, so it’s at least kind of understandable. If you had known my sister then, you might have wanted to punch her also, particularly if she disturbed your sleep as much as she did mine. The punching occurred in the middle of the night because she wouldn’t shut the hell up. Did I mention I think I also had a fever so I believe I had less than usual self-control?
Let’s back up. I lived with a boyfriend when I was about 20 to 21 years old. That year taught me a lot. It taught me about self worth. It taught me about my demons. It taught me that I had no place with that man and he had no future with me. It was a year-long complete waste of my life that culminated with a light bulb moment. The bulb said that my life was worth so much more than I had realized and when that light bulb went off, I luckily had a place to go. I went to my dad and my sister’s place. They had moved from our suburban teenaged hometown of Cerritos to the swingingest pad a man and his kid ever thought to go. It was a round high-rise apartment in Downtown Long Beach. Jill and dad had moved to the 2nd to the top floor of about a 30 story, round building that still reminds me of the Capitol Records building I pass daily on the Hollywood Freeway. At the time we lived there its address was 666 Ocean Boulevard, but that got changed to 700 Ocean Boulevard later when the building went condo. I thought the address was part of its charm and I was sorry to see the change.
You may have seen the building. It was featured in the beginning of the first scene of the first Lethal Weapon film. It is the building that the woman gets thrown off of at the beginning of the movie. Of course she really got “thrown off” of the 2nd story onto a huge pad that was just feet below her. In the movie, it looks like she gets thrown off the apartment directly above mine, the penthouse. When the scene pans out to the surrounding city, it looks just as it did when I stood on my balcony. I was completely used to it then and was amazed to see my “view” on the big screen, but now when I see the movie I just think it looks terrifying. During the filming I stood next to Danny Glover during a break in our front drive area. I had no idea who he was at the time when I asked him, “Have you seen Mel Gibson? I hear he is in this movie”. Mr. Glover looked at me with surprise and said, “Are you kidding, no I haven’t, man that is cool”.
I’m moving off topic. I’ll get back to the punch. I moved into my sister’s room and that wasn’t fair to her. We had shared rooms off and on for most of our lives, but Jill was used to having her own room at that point. She had also obtained a driver’s license that had her face and my 21-year-old information. This meant that she was 18, but could go out and drink if she so chose. Did I ever mention my sweet sister has a mean side? It only comes out on occasion. You know other people like this, I’m sure. First they are sweet and funny and then the horns pop out. I’m sure I’m the same way.
Anyway, Jill, Dad and I lived in the “round building” as I called it for about a year together. For the most part it was a fun time. Dad spent most of his time getting over a broken heart. Jill and I didn’t have very much direction. I think at this time Jill was working as a waitress and attending trade school for the travel industry. I was working as a waitress with her and attending Long Beach City College where I was heavily involved in a student-run radio station.
Then we three had to vacate our groovy round high-rise because of a condo-conversion and so we moved next door to a less groovy, rectangular less high-rise apartment. It was on the other side of the empty lot that spanned the two buildings. It was in this apartment that Jill and I had bought ourselves two futons which we slept on and technically could fold up into seating. Futons are the devil’s furniture as far as I’m concerned. God those corners are hell on ankles. Mine were constantly colliding with their sharp wooden angles.
It was in this apartment that Jill’s best friend Judy came to live with us for a while. Judy had stayed with us on-and-off during her teen years. Judy has been sober, upstanding citizen for a long, long time but at 18, she and Jill were a force for partying. They were connected hipsters that were either on the hunt for a party or show, on their way to one, on their way to pick up someone who knew where one was supposed to happen or they were passed out in the car in front of where the show or the party was either over or still going on. They were young. I know there are other young people that don’t behave this way, but those people weren’t in my immediate family.
The punch happened on one of these late weekend nights that Jill and Judy came home in the wee small hours. Judy was quiet, as always, and Jill was mouthy, as usual. I’m sure I spurred Jill’s mouthiness by saying something thoughtful like
These kinds of statements have never gotten me anywhere. At least I know that now. Then I just let them flow out of my sweet mouth.
Well, this exchange ranged on while Jill and Judy’s got changed and got into bed and went on for a while after the light had gone out.
It went something like this
Me - Would you shut the hell up!
Her - You can’t tell me to shut up
Me - I sure can, shut the hell up you idiot
Her - F**k you, you’re the idiot
Me - F**k you
Her - F**k you, you moved into my room.
Her – mumble mumble
Her – I had my own room and you moved into it.
Me – seething silence
Her – Yeah, F**k you, mumble mumble mumble yeah see
Me – more seething silence
Her - mumble mumble you mumble mumble
Her - mumble mumble you mumble mumble
Her - mumble mumble you mumble mumble
Her - mumble mumble you mumble mumble.......
I might explain the layout of our room at this point. I remember that we had a relatively small room with two full-size futons with about two feet between them. Jill’s futon was in one corner of the room against a wall, then there was a space of about two feet and then my futon was there and then about a foot on the other side of mine was a closet. I don’t remember the rest of the room but I assume there was a dresser at the bottom of our futons with just a little space between. Jill always, and I mean always, slept on the wall side of her futon and Judy slept next to her closer to my futon. I slept alone on my futon, except the night of the punch. The night of the punch they had switched places. Of course they had. I didn’t realize this until I was on top of Judy with my fist pulled up ready to smash into her face. I realized I was on top of Judy and not on top of Jill when Judy’s huge Basque eyes opened wide staring into mine in a silent scream. I might add at this point Jill was still mumbling and didn’t realize I was there.
It was Judy’s wide-eyed silent scream that warned my fist away from her. It came down and then moved awkwardly to the left, catching Jill across the face instead of straight down on it. It is a testament to her drunkenness that she didn’t react to me flying over her onto Judy. She didn’t realize I was there until I hit her. She may contradict me on this. But honestly, I don’t think she would remember the “before” part as I do.
This initial punch turned into a two-person brawl that ranged all over our room, bumping into the closet, against the futon, into the dresser. We were yelling and cussing and frankly she was kicking my ass. Judy was cowering in the corner during this whole thing and somehow my father amazingly slept through it. The fight went on until we were done, spent and panting. I’m sure I was crying. I grabbed my feminine cabbage rose-covered pink comforter and slunk into the living room, muttering and bleeding, pissed off and full of hate and deflated fury.
I was sore and bruised the next day, just as I deserved. I could barely move without pain as I recall. Jill strode out of the room as if nothing had happened. She may have even been smiling. She acted as if nothing had happened and everything was normal. Except for the glaring at me part. I was miserable until I caught her in the bathroom, examining the inside of her lower lip. It was cut and looked painful and swollen. This filled me with glee.
With my Dad’s help I moved out shortly thereafter. I found a single unit on 4th Street. I think it was $350 a month, which was a stretch, but it was better than sharing a room with my sister and an apartment with the swingingest father a girl ever had. He had somehow transformed into one of the Rat Pack in the period we lived in the two apartments and the “Pack” drove me crazy.
I had the new apartment to myself for about 2 glorious months until Jill called me to ask me if she could move in. Dad wanted her out. I think he had threatened to throw her stuff off of the balcony. He had thrown other things like chairs off the balcony. Jill didn’t doubt that he would. I said, sure she could move in, why not.
Let’s back up. I lived with a boyfriend when I was about 20 to 21 years old. That year taught me a lot. It taught me about self worth. It taught me about my demons. It taught me that I had no place with that man and he had no future with me. It was a year-long complete waste of my life that culminated with a light bulb moment. The bulb said that my life was worth so much more than I had realized and when that light bulb went off, I luckily had a place to go. I went to my dad and my sister’s place. They had moved from our suburban teenaged hometown of Cerritos to the swingingest pad a man and his kid ever thought to go. It was a round high-rise apartment in Downtown Long Beach. Jill and dad had moved to the 2nd to the top floor of about a 30 story, round building that still reminds me of the Capitol Records building I pass daily on the Hollywood Freeway. At the time we lived there its address was 666 Ocean Boulevard, but that got changed to 700 Ocean Boulevard later when the building went condo. I thought the address was part of its charm and I was sorry to see the change.
You may have seen the building. It was featured in the beginning of the first scene of the first Lethal Weapon film. It is the building that the woman gets thrown off of at the beginning of the movie. Of course she really got “thrown off” of the 2nd story onto a huge pad that was just feet below her. In the movie, it looks like she gets thrown off the apartment directly above mine, the penthouse. When the scene pans out to the surrounding city, it looks just as it did when I stood on my balcony. I was completely used to it then and was amazed to see my “view” on the big screen, but now when I see the movie I just think it looks terrifying. During the filming I stood next to Danny Glover during a break in our front drive area. I had no idea who he was at the time when I asked him, “Have you seen Mel Gibson? I hear he is in this movie”. Mr. Glover looked at me with surprise and said, “Are you kidding, no I haven’t, man that is cool”.
I’m moving off topic. I’ll get back to the punch. I moved into my sister’s room and that wasn’t fair to her. We had shared rooms off and on for most of our lives, but Jill was used to having her own room at that point. She had also obtained a driver’s license that had her face and my 21-year-old information. This meant that she was 18, but could go out and drink if she so chose. Did I ever mention my sweet sister has a mean side? It only comes out on occasion. You know other people like this, I’m sure. First they are sweet and funny and then the horns pop out. I’m sure I’m the same way.
Anyway, Jill, Dad and I lived in the “round building” as I called it for about a year together. For the most part it was a fun time. Dad spent most of his time getting over a broken heart. Jill and I didn’t have very much direction. I think at this time Jill was working as a waitress and attending trade school for the travel industry. I was working as a waitress with her and attending Long Beach City College where I was heavily involved in a student-run radio station.
Then we three had to vacate our groovy round high-rise because of a condo-conversion and so we moved next door to a less groovy, rectangular less high-rise apartment. It was on the other side of the empty lot that spanned the two buildings. It was in this apartment that Jill and I had bought ourselves two futons which we slept on and technically could fold up into seating. Futons are the devil’s furniture as far as I’m concerned. God those corners are hell on ankles. Mine were constantly colliding with their sharp wooden angles.
It was in this apartment that Jill’s best friend Judy came to live with us for a while. Judy had stayed with us on-and-off during her teen years. Judy has been sober, upstanding citizen for a long, long time but at 18, she and Jill were a force for partying. They were connected hipsters that were either on the hunt for a party or show, on their way to one, on their way to pick up someone who knew where one was supposed to happen or they were passed out in the car in front of where the show or the party was either over or still going on. They were young. I know there are other young people that don’t behave this way, but those people weren’t in my immediate family.
The punch happened on one of these late weekend nights that Jill and Judy came home in the wee small hours. Judy was quiet, as always, and Jill was mouthy, as usual. I’m sure I spurred Jill’s mouthiness by saying something thoughtful like
“SHUT THAT F*****G LIGHT OFF AND SHUT UP”.
These kinds of statements have never gotten me anywhere. At least I know that now. Then I just let them flow out of my sweet mouth.
Well, this exchange ranged on while Jill and Judy’s got changed and got into bed and went on for a while after the light had gone out.
It went something like this
Me - Would you shut the hell up!
Her - You can’t tell me to shut up
Me - I sure can, shut the hell up you idiot
Her - F**k you, you’re the idiot
Me - F**k you
Her - F**k you, you moved into my room.
Her – mumble mumble
Her – I had my own room and you moved into it.
Me – seething silence
Her – Yeah, F**k you, mumble mumble mumble yeah see
Me – more seething silence
Her - mumble mumble you mumble mumble
Her - mumble mumble you mumble mumble
Her - mumble mumble you mumble mumble
Her - mumble mumble you mumble mumble.......
I might explain the layout of our room at this point. I remember that we had a relatively small room with two full-size futons with about two feet between them. Jill’s futon was in one corner of the room against a wall, then there was a space of about two feet and then my futon was there and then about a foot on the other side of mine was a closet. I don’t remember the rest of the room but I assume there was a dresser at the bottom of our futons with just a little space between. Jill always, and I mean always, slept on the wall side of her futon and Judy slept next to her closer to my futon. I slept alone on my futon, except the night of the punch. The night of the punch they had switched places. Of course they had. I didn’t realize this until I was on top of Judy with my fist pulled up ready to smash into her face. I realized I was on top of Judy and not on top of Jill when Judy’s huge Basque eyes opened wide staring into mine in a silent scream. I might add at this point Jill was still mumbling and didn’t realize I was there.
It was Judy’s wide-eyed silent scream that warned my fist away from her. It came down and then moved awkwardly to the left, catching Jill across the face instead of straight down on it. It is a testament to her drunkenness that she didn’t react to me flying over her onto Judy. She didn’t realize I was there until I hit her. She may contradict me on this. But honestly, I don’t think she would remember the “before” part as I do.
This initial punch turned into a two-person brawl that ranged all over our room, bumping into the closet, against the futon, into the dresser. We were yelling and cussing and frankly she was kicking my ass. Judy was cowering in the corner during this whole thing and somehow my father amazingly slept through it. The fight went on until we were done, spent and panting. I’m sure I was crying. I grabbed my feminine cabbage rose-covered pink comforter and slunk into the living room, muttering and bleeding, pissed off and full of hate and deflated fury.
I was sore and bruised the next day, just as I deserved. I could barely move without pain as I recall. Jill strode out of the room as if nothing had happened. She may have even been smiling. She acted as if nothing had happened and everything was normal. Except for the glaring at me part. I was miserable until I caught her in the bathroom, examining the inside of her lower lip. It was cut and looked painful and swollen. This filled me with glee.
With my Dad’s help I moved out shortly thereafter. I found a single unit on 4th Street. I think it was $350 a month, which was a stretch, but it was better than sharing a room with my sister and an apartment with the swingingest father a girl ever had. He had somehow transformed into one of the Rat Pack in the period we lived in the two apartments and the “Pack” drove me crazy.
I had the new apartment to myself for about 2 glorious months until Jill called me to ask me if she could move in. Dad wanted her out. I think he had threatened to throw her stuff off of the balcony. He had thrown other things like chairs off the balcony. Jill didn’t doubt that he would. I said, sure she could move in, why not.
6.19.2010
Emily's Cathedral Creatures
My friend Emily Farmer recently visited Britiain, France and The Netherlands. These are some of her photos. They are wonderful.
Emily's Arch
My friend Emily Farmer recently visited Britiain, France and The Netherlands. These are some of her photos. They are wonderful.
6.08.2010
Rejection for my piece - Argument An Argument for Kindness, Fallaciously Speaking
I got a rejection letter today from "The New Yorker". I'm still glad, I tried. I always try.
Dear Ms. Tucker,
We regret that we are unable to use the enclosed material. Thank you for giving us the opportunity to consider it.
Sincerely,
The Editors
Dear Ms. Tucker,
We regret that we are unable to use the enclosed material. Thank you for giving us the opportunity to consider it.
Sincerely,
The Editors
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