Posted by: Laurel | July 5, 2009

Anno Quatro

Well, the nation survived it, the most explosive day of the calendar year! At least most of the country did.
Steve McNair died, a quarterback, as did people clamoring to buy fireworks somewhere in this unfortunate country.
However may I point out that much of this continent is fortunate to be American. Given the fact that I don’t know how large a chunk of the North American Continent is dedicated to all things USA.
Today, circling now back to my intended point, is the time for a quick dive into writing. I will not have time to blather as I tend to. Nope, my small family unit plans to rent a pontoon for 1/2 of today, Sunday, to chug round our own Lake Sabrina.
I fully expect to come home with severe sunburn and intensely sorer hips! The boat is larger and less limiting than the alternative however I am pretty damned sure that I will not be happy for very long. But I am determined to try. And I will, even though I will be away from this sacred machine for over 4 hours!
So I must make my words count here and now.
This piece, “Anno Quatro” is dedicated to a man I barely know. Jason Vinson is my “Writing Coach”, a PhD from the Write Company, an outfit found online, in an ad, within Facebook. He is, incidentally, a black male. I am a white 52 year old woman who was educated to a large degree in the deep south. I received my BA in Sociology at Birmingham Southern College in Alabama in 1982. I am extremely proud of this particular part of my education for I earned that degree at an institution formerly known as a place of comfort for otherwise distasteful groups such as the KKK. In my years there, BSC was anything but racist in any sense of the word.
Of course there are hold outs from any social revolution/movement anywhere on this planet, but I did not personally know anyone affiliated with that group. Not a one. Though I knew where to find the hooded beggars, I had no choice but to stop at one particular intersection on my way to class. They stood unnervingly close th my little Toyota, orange buckets held at arm’s length toward my window, asking for a bit of funding for their cause. I did not stay to hear their pitch, instead I drove off into the smog which was Bessemer, Alabama as soon as I had the green.
I received an amazingly liberal education in Alabama. Liberal it was.
So it is with an acute sense of irony that I think of my current coach when writing this morning. Jason has the voice of an archangel. Michael comes to mind. I had absolutely no idea that he was black.
Now that I know that, I could not care less. Not at all. Instead I want to please the man. I will try right here. After all, I have an assignment to complete. I have homework.
I will then address my Asimovian premise now. I have been dancing around it for days while happily tapitytap taping away. Hunger is the topic and I erase it now.
There is no such thing as hunger known to man whatsoever.
No hunger, no concept of going without food, there is nothing food related in human society, no luring of the senses with images intended to make us mad with desire…for a cheeseburger.
No, in my place, the Asimovian shifted world, there is no such thing.
Without hunger America has nothing to do but rest and visit during work breaks. There is actually little point to talking to fellow workers except for the purpose of gossip. And that does get old and tiring. Gossip is a boring way to spend time, for it is usually composed from lies, or misread social cues.
For Jason, then, what would be the point of a Florida picnic? Perhaps he could get to know his co-worker Tracy Mallett a bit better. That is all. Do these two really want to know each other that well?
Perhaps, they are the only employees listed at the Write Company. They are a small enity, a small entity indeed.
No fried chicken would be found at this picnic, and while we are at it, no wine is found either. No alcoholic substances at all here on this sunny, muggy day. Florida glows like skin in the humid heat, glistening as soon as showers are done. So no one is ever in trouble with the law for drinking and driving. Only for drugged driving. Drugged Driving, a new offense.
Now for a break, Mr. Vinson. I am not a disciplined writer, not yet!
Laurel Helen



  1. That’s not too terribly bad, Jason, but it’s wordy.
    But rather than apologize, I will get to work.


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