Okay I posted this checklist in the beginning of the summer of my personal goals for the coming months and now with just a few days before classes begin I feel as though it is the best time to go back and see how I fared...
1. Write in this blog more frequently.
Did that. Not as frequently as I may have liked, but I got a few good posts in.
2. Return to E-Fedding (don't know what that is, ask me)
Nope. Too busy.
3. Hike more and outside of Roosevelt
Nope. Stuck to Roosevelt.
4. Spend more time with my extended family
Yup. Circumstances weren't the greatest, but I got a lot of face time.
5. Visit Chicago to see my brother and cousin.
Nope. $$$.
6. Go to Yawgoog.
Nope. Work got in the way.
7. Camp somewhere that's not a 10 foot by 10 foot dirt patch.
Nope. $$$/Work got in the way.
8. Go mountain biking.
Nope. No working bike.
9. Find a legitimately good record store in CT that's not Cutlers.
Sort of, but didn't end up going to it.
10. Shoot a short or two.
Nope. No interest from friends.
11. Go to good concerts (already have 1 lined up).
Yup. Got to two great concerts. Faith No More and Zappa Plays Zappa. Also got to see Between the Buried and Me.
12. Play a gig.
Yup. Played 5 gigs bro!
13. Jam with people I've never jammed with before.
Yup. Did that.
Not too bad. Not great, but I think the ones I got were good ones to get. Onto life I guess!
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
BATTLE OF THE JAMS: Super-Rap Tracks
I have a new idea that has been sitting in my head for a long time. It is called BATTLE OF THE JAMS and it is rather simple. Take a series of songs that have some common factor and place them against each other. For what you ask? Nothing. Just sheer pride and the fun of the contest. I'm going to put this week up to a reader "vote" to see whether or not people actually read this blog/care enough to comment. So let's begin.
BATTLE OF THE JAMS #1: Super-Rap Tracks
In rap it seems as though guest verses are common. Many rap albums of today contain more songs with featured guests than without. That is a subject that can be talked about for hours and hours, but the bottom line is that the over use of guest spots takes away from the artist that made the song. However, there are a few tracks over the past few years that tout all star lineups. They feature grand gatherings of some of the greatest rappers alive. And even within this super sub-genre there are differences, and this my friends is where the battle begins.
TRACK ONE:
"Crack a Bottle" Eminem featuring Dr. Dre and 50 Cent
Hook/V1: Eminem
V2: Dr. Dre
V3: 50 Cent
The Pros: This was our first taste of Relapse era Eminem, and this song doesn't have that obnoxious brogue that he takes on for the rest of the album. Dre is a refreshing guest, while he's old, he's still somewhat relevant. 50 brings fun delivery with little depth to what he says, but then again the song doesn't ask for great depth.
The Cons: This is a party track, but the beat isn't that great of a party beat. I love the song, it just seems to work on the wrong level. It's a good song, it just doesn't bounce like the better party tracks.
TRACK TWO:
"Swagga Like Us" Kanye West, Lil' Wayne, Jay-Z, T.I.
Hook: M.I.A. (sampled)
V1: Kanye West
V2: Jay-Z
V3: Lil' Wayne
V4: T.I.
The Pros: This song is epic and blew up the idea of this super-track, spawning so many remixes and tweaks like Diddy's "Swagga Like Puff", but what this track does perfectly is allow all 4 rappers to just tell the world they are the best. When they performed this at the Grammy's they were referred to as The Rap Pack, and this foursome is definitely among the best 4 rappers to get radio play.
The Cons: The hook is so repetitive it's not funny. It's one line over and over with 4 great rappers seemingly sitting in the wings waiting for it to end. Kanye and Wayne having autotune on also takes away from their words, which is a tad disappointing.
TRACK THREE:
"Classic" Kanye West, Rakim, KRS One, NaS
V1: Rakim
V2: Kanye West
V3: NaS
V4: KRS One
The Pros: This is the thinking mans super track. At the time this song came out Kanye's ego was still in check to a certain degree, NaS was still relevant and KRS One and Rakim were where they are now, respected veterans. This is not a party track, but it has a catchier beat than the prior 2 songs. Lyrically it's solid, good verses all around.
The Cons: KRS One's verse urks me. While it's sound lyrically, its subject matter is just kind of boring. The other 3 rap well, but KRS comes in to close the track and has that like "The radio should play more local emcees!" like we haven't heard that a million times before. Also the fact that this track was done for Nike kind of makes it a tad more of a sellout track.
TRACK FOUR:
"Get Buck In Here" DJ Felli Fell, Akon, Diddy, Ludacris, Lil' Jon
Hook: Akon
V1/V3: Diddy
V2: Ludacris
End(?): Lil' Jon
The Pros: This song is a party song. The rappers on this aren't among the greats (aside from Ludacris in some peoples minds) and the subject matter is rather simple. It's incredibly catchy thanks to Akon on the hook, and Luda's verse is nicely put together. The breakdown thing at the end is awesome too, Lil' Jon just comes in and tears it down. Which is awesome.
The Cons: Diddy having two verses. Akon could've taken a verse or someone else more deserving could've followed Ludacris. No need for that much Diddy on the microphone anymore.
TRACK FIVE:
"Forever" Drake, Kanye West, Lil' Wayne, Eminem
Hook/V1: Drake
V2: Kanye West
V3: Lil' Wayne
V4: Eminem
The Pros: This song is intense. It takes what "Swagga Like Us" did and twisted it, making it more of a game of eager emcees rather than a sheer track of basting. Even though three of the four rappers on this track were hugely successful before it came out, they all bring fourth fresh verses that are supremely entertaining. The highlight comes at the final verse when Eminem comes in and just destroys everyone else following the weak Relapse. It showed us he still has what it takes behind the mic.
The Cons: Wayne seems to be coasting to a degree. Aside from that not too much to complain about.
VOTE: Let me know via twitter (@DH_Winchell) or comment on this blog what you think is the best of the five. I'll do the breakdown right now!
Crack A Bottle:
Swagga Like Us: 1
Classic:
Get Buck In Here:
Forever:
BATTLE OF THE JAMS #1: Super-Rap Tracks
In rap it seems as though guest verses are common. Many rap albums of today contain more songs with featured guests than without. That is a subject that can be talked about for hours and hours, but the bottom line is that the over use of guest spots takes away from the artist that made the song. However, there are a few tracks over the past few years that tout all star lineups. They feature grand gatherings of some of the greatest rappers alive. And even within this super sub-genre there are differences, and this my friends is where the battle begins.
TRACK ONE:
"Crack a Bottle" Eminem featuring Dr. Dre and 50 Cent
Hook/V1: Eminem
V2: Dr. Dre
V3: 50 Cent
The Pros: This was our first taste of Relapse era Eminem, and this song doesn't have that obnoxious brogue that he takes on for the rest of the album. Dre is a refreshing guest, while he's old, he's still somewhat relevant. 50 brings fun delivery with little depth to what he says, but then again the song doesn't ask for great depth.
The Cons: This is a party track, but the beat isn't that great of a party beat. I love the song, it just seems to work on the wrong level. It's a good song, it just doesn't bounce like the better party tracks.
TRACK TWO:
"Swagga Like Us" Kanye West, Lil' Wayne, Jay-Z, T.I.
Hook: M.I.A. (sampled)
V1: Kanye West
V2: Jay-Z
V3: Lil' Wayne
V4: T.I.
The Pros: This song is epic and blew up the idea of this super-track, spawning so many remixes and tweaks like Diddy's "Swagga Like Puff", but what this track does perfectly is allow all 4 rappers to just tell the world they are the best. When they performed this at the Grammy's they were referred to as The Rap Pack, and this foursome is definitely among the best 4 rappers to get radio play.
The Cons: The hook is so repetitive it's not funny. It's one line over and over with 4 great rappers seemingly sitting in the wings waiting for it to end. Kanye and Wayne having autotune on also takes away from their words, which is a tad disappointing.
TRACK THREE:
"Classic" Kanye West, Rakim, KRS One, NaS
V1: Rakim
V2: Kanye West
V3: NaS
V4: KRS One
The Pros: This is the thinking mans super track. At the time this song came out Kanye's ego was still in check to a certain degree, NaS was still relevant and KRS One and Rakim were where they are now, respected veterans. This is not a party track, but it has a catchier beat than the prior 2 songs. Lyrically it's solid, good verses all around.
The Cons: KRS One's verse urks me. While it's sound lyrically, its subject matter is just kind of boring. The other 3 rap well, but KRS comes in to close the track and has that like "The radio should play more local emcees!" like we haven't heard that a million times before. Also the fact that this track was done for Nike kind of makes it a tad more of a sellout track.
TRACK FOUR:
"Get Buck In Here" DJ Felli Fell, Akon, Diddy, Ludacris, Lil' Jon
Hook: Akon
V1/V3: Diddy
V2: Ludacris
End(?): Lil' Jon
The Pros: This song is a party song. The rappers on this aren't among the greats (aside from Ludacris in some peoples minds) and the subject matter is rather simple. It's incredibly catchy thanks to Akon on the hook, and Luda's verse is nicely put together. The breakdown thing at the end is awesome too, Lil' Jon just comes in and tears it down. Which is awesome.
The Cons: Diddy having two verses. Akon could've taken a verse or someone else more deserving could've followed Ludacris. No need for that much Diddy on the microphone anymore.
TRACK FIVE:
"Forever" Drake, Kanye West, Lil' Wayne, Eminem
Hook/V1: Drake
V2: Kanye West
V3: Lil' Wayne
V4: Eminem
The Pros: This song is intense. It takes what "Swagga Like Us" did and twisted it, making it more of a game of eager emcees rather than a sheer track of basting. Even though three of the four rappers on this track were hugely successful before it came out, they all bring fourth fresh verses that are supremely entertaining. The highlight comes at the final verse when Eminem comes in and just destroys everyone else following the weak Relapse. It showed us he still has what it takes behind the mic.
The Cons: Wayne seems to be coasting to a degree. Aside from that not too much to complain about.
VOTE: Let me know via twitter (@DH_Winchell) or comment on this blog what you think is the best of the five. I'll do the breakdown right now!
Crack A Bottle:
Swagga Like Us: 1
Classic:
Get Buck In Here:
Forever:
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
"Short Stories: Pheasant Fest Eleven
People have been whining about too much pro wrestling talk, not enough music, and the fact that my movie reviews are bad. So I've decided after much personal debate and a decision to throw my own self criticism away, that I'll post some of the prose and plays I've written and continue to write. Most of what you'll see over the next few weeks/months is stuff that was written for classes since that has been edited by legitimate writers.
FOREWARD: I wrote the following short story for my Art of Revision class second semester Junior Year. This draft is the 3rd of 4, so there are some minor grammatical issues as well as some brief things I'd like to change.
Pheasant Fest Eleven
I stared out the window onto the setting sun. It cast a nice arch of color onto the town skyline, Fort Royal, North Carolina. My birthplace, my home. Every single time I look out onto the setting sun I think for a second, not about the beauty of the sun setting, not about the science of what makes the sun glow and what makes night and day happen, but about life. It was going by and that sunset meant one more day was ending. One day closer to our deathbeds.
“It’s really that time of year already?” Buck said under his breath, calling my attention span back to the murky ammunition store.
“Damn right it is,” I tell him, “Pheasant-fest is the best night of the year.”
“Well how in the hell do you do Pheasant-fest when your brother moved up to god damn Yankee village three months ago?” Buck asked, unlocking a glass cabinet and removing two boxes of rifle ammunition.
I rub my hand on my chin slowly, stroking the ends of my moustache. “I don’t know. I go out with a gun and shoot me some pheasants.”
“Aw fuck you Harvey, you know what I mean. You think you’re creative enough to come up with Pheasant-fest by your own damn self?”
No, I wasn’t.
“Yeah, I came up with it.”
“No you didn’t you moron, it was in this store Marshall came up with idea when I told him that round this time of year the pheasants always feeding late at night.”
He got me, god damn Marshall coming up with these cool ideas in public places, taking all the credit.
“Well let me tell you something Buck,” I told him, “Tomorrow night when I have eaten a delicious pheasant for dinner and am wrapping up the leftovers, I’ll mail some to my Yankee traitor brother and you can write a love note to him and slip it in the package.”
Buck chuckled under his breath, “Yeah at least I have someone to send love notes too Harv, how long has it been since you had a little,“ he winked at me,.
Jesus man, if there is one time of the week that I always want to seem like my wit is sharper than it is, it’s when this fucker takes a stab at my love life.
“I don’t know, why don’t you ask your sister,” I said.
Wow, I’m funnier than I thought. I walked out of the store before he could come up with something that was worse. Not the first time I’d done it.
And so it always was at Buck’s Ammunition Station, I bought ammo there for huntin’, protectin’ the property and shootin’ cans in the yard. He’d always give me lip about one thing or another, but I think he was just jealous of me. But Pheasant-fest was indeed a special time of year. You see, when my brother was 20 and I was 18, we came up with the idea of it. The pheasants round this part of North Carolina have a three month period of the year when they feed at night, and not like one or two of them went out and grabbed some worms or something like that, but the whole herd, or flock, or whatever it is you call a bunch of birds. Marshall, decided that once a year, me and him would go out into the woods, and hunt as many pheasants as we could in one night and pack ‘em up tight and make ‘em last as long as we could. It went from a basic idea to a ritual, went from being whatever night we felt it should be, to the first full moon of May, you see the full moon makes it so we don’t even need flash lights aside from walking to and from my truck. It went from grabbing a six pack of beer at the truck stop to stashing some Sam Adams Winter Ale in my fridge from December all the way until May. It was pretty much the most bad ass thing that any human could do, aside from maybe stranglin’ a grizzly, which my Uncle Frank claims he did once. Bull shit I say.
Times have changed since the now legendary Pheasant-fest one. As Buck so clearly stated, my brother Marhall got a job in New York. He fixes planes. He used to do that out here, but the pay wasn’t very good and according to him there was no room for “growth.” When your job is tightening screws on the wing of a plane, how much growth can you expect to really have? I dunno, he up and left about three months ago to take a job where he’s being “properly utilized” as he said when he told me he accepted the job. He moved out of the small house we inherited from our grandpa and up to Albany. Now it’s just me. I do plumbing work mainly, a little carpentry when my neighbor needs some help and has a few bucks to toss me. I got a decent life overall, steady income, nice things, so on and so fourth. People keep asking me why I don’t have a wife, especially cause I live in a house that is very facilitating towards family. I say, “When the time comes my door is open.” Porn will keep me occupied until somebody knocks. I mean, who gets married and settles down at 29?
I picked up my cell phone and flipped it open. As I entered my contact list I scrolled down to the M section, right below my boss Mark, was Marshall. I felt like I was standing on Kate Hill’s porch before prom with my little pin-on flower. This is not a feeling I get often. Should I call him? Why hasn’t he called me? He’s the one missing out, so why am I the one holding the phone attempting to call his dumb ass? He couldn’t ask for time off at work or nothing? I closed the phone and put it back in my pocket and the butterflies that were dancing around inside me turned off the music and settled down. His loss.
I walked by the convenience store that I lost my virginity in, and the diner where my Dad got arrested for public drunkenness. The whole town was ageless to me. None of these places were ever gonna go out of business and it seemed like none of the people were going anywhere. Well, except for Marshall that is. I got down the street to where I parked my car, in front of the hardware store. That was my first job.
And out of the blue I saw a familiar face crawl out from the evening shadows dressed in torn jeans and a Fubu t-shirt. Do black people even wear Fubu anymore?
“Harv! Let me come with you, I know you want the company!”
It was the Colonel.
“No Colonel, you can not come to Pheasant-fest. This is a Moss family tradition.”
Colonel’s name wasn’t really Colonel. His name was Joe Sanders, and when we were like 15 someone called him Colonel Sanders and then slowly his god given last name was shaved from the nickname.
“Where’s the rest of your damn family then Moss?” he asked, sounding like a little girl.
“Shut up Colonel, go back to your little closet at the Y, you ain’t got no right askin’ to hang out with me when you can’t even afford to buy a hot meal.”
“Hey man, I’m a veteran! I fought in Afgahnistan! Not my fault people ain’t wanna hire me!”
“You got kicked out cause you kissed a dude.”
“So what?” he started flailing his arms like a queer, “I’m still one of your oldest friends!”
“Yeah okay, I have two rules for friends, rule one is you need to have a job, and rule two is you don’t canoodle with no other men. And if you break one you ain’t my friend, so you broke two so that means you’re doubly ain’t my friend.”
Colonel shook his head at me.
“Can I at least hitch a ride to the parting, it’s only a few miles from the Y, I lost my bus pass.”
I rolled my eyes. The Y was basically on the border of ours and the next town over. The forest was sort of a natural barrier separating our town from theirs and there were a few buildings scattered between the two. We sort of isolated ourselves off from the rest of the state. I never knew why, but there was probably good reason for it.
“Yeah but you ride in the bed, I don’t want no homo trying to interfere with my driving putting on his Pop 109.3 and dancing like you did last time I drove you somewhere.”
I dropped the bed hatch and Colonel hopped in, dangling his legs from the back like a fruit. Figures.
I got in the front door and revved the engine, I started driving and watched the little bitch scamper to the back of the bed and pull up the hatch like a pig runnin’ from the sound of a shotgun, or a pheasant runnin’ from the sound of a rifle. That one makes sense and kind of fits the situation. I’ve been trying to get better with my vocabulary and literary shit.
Seeing Colonel in the back of the bed reminded me of the days when me, him, my brother, and my brother’s friend Jack Evans would all ride in the back of my dad’s truck during the Memorial Day parade with our Native Scout headbands on. I shook my head a bit, shaking out those old times. For some odd reason for the weeks leading up to Marshall’s departure, the Colonel had starting popping up at bars, diners and church when we were there and he’d sit with us. Marshall always tried to stimulate conversation with him and include him. But me, I had no desire to. I mean he broke my rules! Well I only really made those rules because I wanted to keep him out of my face when he would go around asking for a cigarette or a couple of dollars for a milk shake. He wasn’t broke exactly, he just was living off of money his parents left him when they passed. It was enough to survive, but not in any great way. He could probably get out of the Y if he tried, but that homo-shellshock is probably keeping him there. Marshall asked him if he wanted to move into our house once he left, but I remember yelling so loud as soon as those words left his mouth that I was asked to politely leave. Apparently church picnics aren’t supposed to exceed a certain volume.
“Cherokee Hills Forest:” the famous sign said, with the flip-open one below it reading, “Hunting Season: Open.” I smiled and slowed the truck down, rollin’ down the window and stickin’ my head out of it.
“Hey Colonel, the bus stops here.” I hollered.
“Okay Harvey, I appreciate this a lot man. I hope that one day you and me can be friends like we was,” he started saying, “I know you and me don’t agree on certain things, and that I’ve broke your two rules-“
I pulled away before he could finish. He didn’t know I made up the rules for him. I’d never tell him either. My Dad always says that homos can do no good for the world. I don’t know if I really agree with that, but for right now it works.
And so I drove into the parking lot and stopped up at the gate. I turned off the radio and hit the shattered interior light to find that little envelope. “Cherokee Hills Gate Key” there it was. Buck had some connections that could get us in to do this whole pheasant thing, and five years in the guy bypassed Buck’s ammo store and ended up dropping the key off personally to the house. This shit was pretty serious, if you hadn’t gotten that impression by now.
For the first time ever I had to open the gate. This was Pheasant-fest eleven, and for the past ten I drove the truck and Marshall opened the gate. I kept the headlights on as I walked to the gate, stickin’ the key into the small lock and gently pushing open the gate. It swung open slowly, and it made a real eerie creeking sound as it swayed slowly. That was strange. I mean, it was Marshall’s job to open the gate and handle the key. It just started to hit me how different this was without my brother around. I started to tense up a little in my shoulders but figured that I couldn’t stop now because what would Buck and the Colonel and Marshall say if I told ‘em it felt wrong going into the forest. Buck would try and set me up on a date with the Colonel or something as a joke. It wouldn’t be the first time he tried it.
So I got back into the truck and parked in the lot nearby, taking my flashlight, the six pack, and my rifle out of my backseat. My old backpacking framed pack was in the bed, as was the ammo I had just bought. I eagerly yanked the pack out of the bed and loaded everything into the bottom compartment, you see the top was for carrying all the pheasant carcasses. Generally you fill a framed pack with enough shit for you to live off the land for a few days, but me, I preferred to throw in dead birds. I felt up the bottom zip up portion of the pack where I kept my butterfly knife to finish off the pheasants that didn’t quite die with the rifle. It was still there in one piece. Good to know that some things don’t up and leave.
And so I ventured off into the forest, walking slowly, since I knew the pheasants were about a half mile deep in. I popped open a Sam and sipped slowly as I hiked through. The moonlight was shining through the trees onto the path, giving it all a really serene look. The beer was good and the scenery was nice, but I had to admit, going without Marshall was a little bit different. I was starting to doubt whether or not there would be a Pheasant-fest 12.
About ten minutes later I sat down to finish off the beer that I had been idly holding and recycled the bottle back into my pack. I looked around the forest, I’d never really given it the once over, as the only other time of year I came around to Cherokee Hills was for the Fourth of July barbecue. The place really was a beautiful piece of nature, I should jog out here, god knows I was starting to get a beer gut.
Then I heard some slow pit pattering about 250 feet behind me, it seemed like it was on its way towards me. Was it a fox or a bear? Jeez, I didn’t pack any bandages. That was in Marshall’s pack. The steps got closer and closer, and I could hear whatever it was breathing, I retreated a bit into the brush, and I’m not gonna lie, I was a bit scared. The steps got louder as they got really close, I wanted to close my eyes, but I had to see what beast was marching down towards where the pheasants were, had to scope out my competition.
The sound got closer and I started to hear a repetitive clicking, what kinda animal clicks? A bird? Must be one big ass bird. It was well into the night now, probably around 9, and it was pretty dark out in the woods. This thing must be a predator looking for some sleeping squirrels or raccoons. Maybe I was about to see a Bigfoot or something. I held out my rifle as the steps got louder and louder, sweat started dripping into my eyes and I was saying some prayers in my head in case this sasquatch did indeed survive my bullet and come after me. I looked out of the brush and saw the silhouette of a beast. It started making some incoherent noise.
“This lighter sucks.”
I let out a breath loudly and the beast, a.k.a. Colonel jerked his head and nearly jumped out of his second hand boots, seemingly as surprised to see me as I was to see him.
“Harv! I’ve been looking for you!”
“Colonel what in the fuck are you doing out here?” I asked in an angry whisper.
“Harv I know what you’re going through!” he started to say to me.
“First off no you don’t, second don’t be so loud.”
He had a cigarette dangling from his mouth and was flicking his lighter to try and get it lit, it made a click sound as he tried and tried.
“Okay!” he said whispering, “But your brother abandoned you out here in the woods! All of my brothers in the army abandoned me when they heard…about my lifestyle! I can relate, I mean, why not?”
I rolled my eyes at him, but in the dark I doubt he saw my exaggerated gesture.
“Look Sanders, I appreciate the sentiment, but this ain’t workin’. You are a homeless, jobless, homo slob that disgraced our nations army and our graduating class, I mean how can I stand to be around you?”
“Harv, what I did was...bad. Well I mean, I suppose I went about it in the wrong way,” he started getting all sappy on me, “But come on man, we used to be real close. I knew I was gay in like sixth grade but that never stopped us from hanging out then!”
He had a point. While he hadn’t outright said it, in retrospect all of us did hang out with a queer our entire lives. I suppose maybe I had been a bit harsh on him. I mean he hiked all the way out from the parting.
“Okay Colonel, you can walk with me,” I told him. “But you’re only gettin’ one pheasant and I’m not dropping you off at the Y after.”
He grinned, his dirty teeth were in uniform with his unshaven face and long, dirty hair. I didn’t even bother to wait for a reaction, I just set down the trail.
“In the mountains we used to have to stay in groups of four,” he started talking, “One guy would have the 100 pound communication setup, another would have the 75 pound first aid equiptment, and the other two would have rations and ammunition.”
“Really?” I questioned him, to my surprise, “I always figured that everyone carried their own ammo and food.”
He shrugged his shoulders, “Well everyone has like a granola bar and two clips, but the two carriers would have like real meals and a backup weapon or two. But these were only for recon missions when we went looking for the big man himself.”
“What I would do to find that god damn mountain where that fucker is hiding from us, I would skin him faster than I do a chicken when I go to my Uncle’s house.”
“That’s why I enlisted,” he said, getting real serious, “It’s not like I’m some fag who hates America and wants to not have a job.”
I didn’t respond. Some say I am too quick to judge, even when facts are given. Colonel was not my kind of friend these days, but he was starting to appeal to the heart of me. I reached back and tried to pull another Sam from my pack, but I moved them when I put the bottle back before Colonel so pleasantly surprised me. He started unzipping the pack and he handed me a cold one and started to zip it back up.
“Take one.”
He did, and he popped it open and tipped the stem of the glass at me.
“For old times ‘eh?”
“Might as well.”
We sipped on the beers as we walked, he even carried my rifle for about 100 yards. And in front of me I saw it. The very first one, it looked like a small turkey without the long neck. I smiled, like a little girl, and the Colonel held out my rifle.
“No,” I sternly told him, “We let the first one we see keep on keepin’ on. He’s our omen.”
“Kinda grim, ain’t it?”
“No.”
As we approached the bird it fluttered it’s wings as it went pecking around in front of us, the game keeper had spread out some meat on the ground and this fella here had managed to take a hunk and get away from the flock. The smell of raw meat started to come at our nostrils, and I accepted my rifle from my old friend. My old friend? He can’t be my friend, so I guess emphasis on the old.
And then we saw it. Slabs of meat on the ground, there were dozens of pheasants scurrying around, some fluttering a few feet in the air trying to scare others away from their rightful piece of their dinner. I aimed slowly and carefully and then did what I did best.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Four shots. The pheasants flew away into the darkness and disappeared. On the ground five lay motionless, and a sixth scampered in a five foot circle trying to get away.
“Morbid,” Colonel started saying to me, “But beautiful.”
“Don’t get all analytical on me now Colonel, the job ain’t done yet.”
I laid down the pack and went to unzip the pouch with my knife, as I did so a small piece of paper fell out. Must’ve been a receipt from last year, for the beer or the ammo or something. I stuffed it into my pocket and went up to the struggling pheasant, swinging open the knife and closing in on my prey.
“Come on,” Colonel said, covering his eyes as I quickly slashed the birds throat, ending its life.
“Man up..” I told him, not even making the connection that he wasn’t a real “man.”
We stuffed the birds into separate garbage bags and tossed them in the backpack, cracking open two more beers as we parted back. Colonel even offered to carry the pack, and since my back was aching a bit, I let him.
“Man, we used to have to spend like seven hours a day crawling around in the sand trying to find a hole or cave where some terrorists were hiding,” Colonel said, “And we’d get nothing. We’d have to crawl back to base and then we would get scolded. All that work and no payoff. You come out here and literally shoot a gun four times and call it a successful outing.”
I chuckled, “Oh so now all of a sudden you’re Mr. Badass.”
This felt strange, I hadn’t actually given him the time of day since he came back from Afghanistan.
“Well clearly not, Mr. Badass wouldn’t get kicked out for putting the moves on his direct superior.”
I gagged and Colonel knew that meant he had to change the subject.
“So how’s Marshall doing these days?” he asked, realizing his own mistake.
“Eh, last I spoke with him he said it’s okay,” I said staring off into the dark, “He says the women in New York are more attractive and there are more of them.”
I was making sure this possibly awkward conversation didn’t go back to homo-ville.
“Yeah, well there are more of them I bet,” he said, “And it’s not like he knows all of them like we do out here. I mean it’s kind of awkward when the only singles club has all of the same people you used to throw sand at on the playground.”
I laughed at that one too, I’d forgotten Colonel’s sense of humor.
“That’s true, of all the girls I’ve been with over the past few years, only one of them didn’t go to school with us.”
“That’s why I chose to explore something else.”
I laughed at that too. Uncontrollably. Colonel smirked and we kept on walking. It was actually a fun walk back, except for the fact that some pheasant blood got on my new jeans.
“So that’s it?” he asked me as we closed in on the truck, “You shoot four times, drink four beers, and hope that you kill as many as you can?”
“Yeah, but with two rifles you end up taking out more than six. Our average was about 14.”
“That’s impressive,” the Colonel started, “So you’re a little under this year?”
“Yeah, but five should feed me,” I told him as we got close to the truck.
“Five?”
“Yeah, ones yours.”
The colonel gave me a look, not like he was in need of money to buy a meal. Not like he knew he was weirding me out. But like we just threw a Tootsie Roll off the side of my Dad’s truck and it hit some bully in the head and he was crying. A look like when I turned from the pitchers mound and saw him catch the fly ball that should’ve been thrown a strike.
And that’s how it ended, Colonel taking his pheasant and giving me his number at the Y, insisting that I take his number and call him if I wanted to go to the bar or needed a “wing-man.” He insisted that he could assist in getting me a date. And then he walked away, awkwardly carrying a dead animal over his shoulder.
I went home and threw the birds in the freezer in my garage. I walked inside and took off my jacket, taking out the game keepers key to give to him the next day and that receipt fell out with it. I opened it up to see how much the rate of ammo, or beer, whatever I had bought, had raised in the past year. But it wasn’t a receipt.
“Harv, If you are getting this note that means you needed to take out your knife because your shot sucks and you couldn’t kill the pheasants with your shooting skills alone. I know it’s gonna be awkward without me, but I guarantee while you are reading this I’m waiting up in my apartment thinking about Pheasant-fest 8, the one where we got 25 of them. I miss it, and I miss home a lot. I hope you don’t mind Colonel coming along with you, I told him to do whatever it took to fix things with you because I know if there’s one guy that can appreciate Pheasant-fest it’s our old buddy. Who cares if he’s gay? Call me tomorrow morning.
-Marsh
Dated February 15”
And slowly I realized that Marshall was the first pheasant of the night. The one that gets away alive. In our little town, no one leaves. We all come back, go to work, or to war in Colonel’s case, and follow our old Fort Royal routine. We were the ones eating the meat the game keeper kept out for us, and Marshall took it and ran. It was simple and it made sense. He knew what he was getting out of, and he tried to make sure life was good for all of us who were stuck in the meat pit. He even did his best to leave me with something to keep me going, a friend.
I took the crumpled “Inter-Faith Volleyball League” flier Colonel had given me out of my wallet and looked at the messy handwriting on the back. I flipped open my cell phone and hit the “New Contact” button.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story and I have a love-hate relationship. I hate it because I had to spend an entire semester whittling away at it. I love it because it's the one story I've written that has been whittled away at to the point where it says something. People in class told me that I had to have grown up down south and gone hunting to have written this way and they were all surprised I was a suburban Connecticutter. I've noticed the inconsistencies in the narrators dumb/smartness and that urks me. But all in all this is one of the better short stories I've written.
FOREWARD: I wrote the following short story for my Art of Revision class second semester Junior Year. This draft is the 3rd of 4, so there are some minor grammatical issues as well as some brief things I'd like to change.
Pheasant Fest Eleven
I stared out the window onto the setting sun. It cast a nice arch of color onto the town skyline, Fort Royal, North Carolina. My birthplace, my home. Every single time I look out onto the setting sun I think for a second, not about the beauty of the sun setting, not about the science of what makes the sun glow and what makes night and day happen, but about life. It was going by and that sunset meant one more day was ending. One day closer to our deathbeds.
“It’s really that time of year already?” Buck said under his breath, calling my attention span back to the murky ammunition store.
“Damn right it is,” I tell him, “Pheasant-fest is the best night of the year.”
“Well how in the hell do you do Pheasant-fest when your brother moved up to god damn Yankee village three months ago?” Buck asked, unlocking a glass cabinet and removing two boxes of rifle ammunition.
I rub my hand on my chin slowly, stroking the ends of my moustache. “I don’t know. I go out with a gun and shoot me some pheasants.”
“Aw fuck you Harvey, you know what I mean. You think you’re creative enough to come up with Pheasant-fest by your own damn self?”
No, I wasn’t.
“Yeah, I came up with it.”
“No you didn’t you moron, it was in this store Marshall came up with idea when I told him that round this time of year the pheasants always feeding late at night.”
He got me, god damn Marshall coming up with these cool ideas in public places, taking all the credit.
“Well let me tell you something Buck,” I told him, “Tomorrow night when I have eaten a delicious pheasant for dinner and am wrapping up the leftovers, I’ll mail some to my Yankee traitor brother and you can write a love note to him and slip it in the package.”
Buck chuckled under his breath, “Yeah at least I have someone to send love notes too Harv, how long has it been since you had a little,“ he winked at me,.
Jesus man, if there is one time of the week that I always want to seem like my wit is sharper than it is, it’s when this fucker takes a stab at my love life.
“I don’t know, why don’t you ask your sister,” I said.
Wow, I’m funnier than I thought. I walked out of the store before he could come up with something that was worse. Not the first time I’d done it.
And so it always was at Buck’s Ammunition Station, I bought ammo there for huntin’, protectin’ the property and shootin’ cans in the yard. He’d always give me lip about one thing or another, but I think he was just jealous of me. But Pheasant-fest was indeed a special time of year. You see, when my brother was 20 and I was 18, we came up with the idea of it. The pheasants round this part of North Carolina have a three month period of the year when they feed at night, and not like one or two of them went out and grabbed some worms or something like that, but the whole herd, or flock, or whatever it is you call a bunch of birds. Marshall, decided that once a year, me and him would go out into the woods, and hunt as many pheasants as we could in one night and pack ‘em up tight and make ‘em last as long as we could. It went from a basic idea to a ritual, went from being whatever night we felt it should be, to the first full moon of May, you see the full moon makes it so we don’t even need flash lights aside from walking to and from my truck. It went from grabbing a six pack of beer at the truck stop to stashing some Sam Adams Winter Ale in my fridge from December all the way until May. It was pretty much the most bad ass thing that any human could do, aside from maybe stranglin’ a grizzly, which my Uncle Frank claims he did once. Bull shit I say.
Times have changed since the now legendary Pheasant-fest one. As Buck so clearly stated, my brother Marhall got a job in New York. He fixes planes. He used to do that out here, but the pay wasn’t very good and according to him there was no room for “growth.” When your job is tightening screws on the wing of a plane, how much growth can you expect to really have? I dunno, he up and left about three months ago to take a job where he’s being “properly utilized” as he said when he told me he accepted the job. He moved out of the small house we inherited from our grandpa and up to Albany. Now it’s just me. I do plumbing work mainly, a little carpentry when my neighbor needs some help and has a few bucks to toss me. I got a decent life overall, steady income, nice things, so on and so fourth. People keep asking me why I don’t have a wife, especially cause I live in a house that is very facilitating towards family. I say, “When the time comes my door is open.” Porn will keep me occupied until somebody knocks. I mean, who gets married and settles down at 29?
I picked up my cell phone and flipped it open. As I entered my contact list I scrolled down to the M section, right below my boss Mark, was Marshall. I felt like I was standing on Kate Hill’s porch before prom with my little pin-on flower. This is not a feeling I get often. Should I call him? Why hasn’t he called me? He’s the one missing out, so why am I the one holding the phone attempting to call his dumb ass? He couldn’t ask for time off at work or nothing? I closed the phone and put it back in my pocket and the butterflies that were dancing around inside me turned off the music and settled down. His loss.
I walked by the convenience store that I lost my virginity in, and the diner where my Dad got arrested for public drunkenness. The whole town was ageless to me. None of these places were ever gonna go out of business and it seemed like none of the people were going anywhere. Well, except for Marshall that is. I got down the street to where I parked my car, in front of the hardware store. That was my first job.
And out of the blue I saw a familiar face crawl out from the evening shadows dressed in torn jeans and a Fubu t-shirt. Do black people even wear Fubu anymore?
“Harv! Let me come with you, I know you want the company!”
It was the Colonel.
“No Colonel, you can not come to Pheasant-fest. This is a Moss family tradition.”
Colonel’s name wasn’t really Colonel. His name was Joe Sanders, and when we were like 15 someone called him Colonel Sanders and then slowly his god given last name was shaved from the nickname.
“Where’s the rest of your damn family then Moss?” he asked, sounding like a little girl.
“Shut up Colonel, go back to your little closet at the Y, you ain’t got no right askin’ to hang out with me when you can’t even afford to buy a hot meal.”
“Hey man, I’m a veteran! I fought in Afgahnistan! Not my fault people ain’t wanna hire me!”
“You got kicked out cause you kissed a dude.”
“So what?” he started flailing his arms like a queer, “I’m still one of your oldest friends!”
“Yeah okay, I have two rules for friends, rule one is you need to have a job, and rule two is you don’t canoodle with no other men. And if you break one you ain’t my friend, so you broke two so that means you’re doubly ain’t my friend.”
Colonel shook his head at me.
“Can I at least hitch a ride to the parting, it’s only a few miles from the Y, I lost my bus pass.”
I rolled my eyes. The Y was basically on the border of ours and the next town over. The forest was sort of a natural barrier separating our town from theirs and there were a few buildings scattered between the two. We sort of isolated ourselves off from the rest of the state. I never knew why, but there was probably good reason for it.
“Yeah but you ride in the bed, I don’t want no homo trying to interfere with my driving putting on his Pop 109.3 and dancing like you did last time I drove you somewhere.”
I dropped the bed hatch and Colonel hopped in, dangling his legs from the back like a fruit. Figures.
I got in the front door and revved the engine, I started driving and watched the little bitch scamper to the back of the bed and pull up the hatch like a pig runnin’ from the sound of a shotgun, or a pheasant runnin’ from the sound of a rifle. That one makes sense and kind of fits the situation. I’ve been trying to get better with my vocabulary and literary shit.
Seeing Colonel in the back of the bed reminded me of the days when me, him, my brother, and my brother’s friend Jack Evans would all ride in the back of my dad’s truck during the Memorial Day parade with our Native Scout headbands on. I shook my head a bit, shaking out those old times. For some odd reason for the weeks leading up to Marshall’s departure, the Colonel had starting popping up at bars, diners and church when we were there and he’d sit with us. Marshall always tried to stimulate conversation with him and include him. But me, I had no desire to. I mean he broke my rules! Well I only really made those rules because I wanted to keep him out of my face when he would go around asking for a cigarette or a couple of dollars for a milk shake. He wasn’t broke exactly, he just was living off of money his parents left him when they passed. It was enough to survive, but not in any great way. He could probably get out of the Y if he tried, but that homo-shellshock is probably keeping him there. Marshall asked him if he wanted to move into our house once he left, but I remember yelling so loud as soon as those words left his mouth that I was asked to politely leave. Apparently church picnics aren’t supposed to exceed a certain volume.
“Cherokee Hills Forest:” the famous sign said, with the flip-open one below it reading, “Hunting Season: Open.” I smiled and slowed the truck down, rollin’ down the window and stickin’ my head out of it.
“Hey Colonel, the bus stops here.” I hollered.
“Okay Harvey, I appreciate this a lot man. I hope that one day you and me can be friends like we was,” he started saying, “I know you and me don’t agree on certain things, and that I’ve broke your two rules-“
I pulled away before he could finish. He didn’t know I made up the rules for him. I’d never tell him either. My Dad always says that homos can do no good for the world. I don’t know if I really agree with that, but for right now it works.
And so I drove into the parking lot and stopped up at the gate. I turned off the radio and hit the shattered interior light to find that little envelope. “Cherokee Hills Gate Key” there it was. Buck had some connections that could get us in to do this whole pheasant thing, and five years in the guy bypassed Buck’s ammo store and ended up dropping the key off personally to the house. This shit was pretty serious, if you hadn’t gotten that impression by now.
For the first time ever I had to open the gate. This was Pheasant-fest eleven, and for the past ten I drove the truck and Marshall opened the gate. I kept the headlights on as I walked to the gate, stickin’ the key into the small lock and gently pushing open the gate. It swung open slowly, and it made a real eerie creeking sound as it swayed slowly. That was strange. I mean, it was Marshall’s job to open the gate and handle the key. It just started to hit me how different this was without my brother around. I started to tense up a little in my shoulders but figured that I couldn’t stop now because what would Buck and the Colonel and Marshall say if I told ‘em it felt wrong going into the forest. Buck would try and set me up on a date with the Colonel or something as a joke. It wouldn’t be the first time he tried it.
So I got back into the truck and parked in the lot nearby, taking my flashlight, the six pack, and my rifle out of my backseat. My old backpacking framed pack was in the bed, as was the ammo I had just bought. I eagerly yanked the pack out of the bed and loaded everything into the bottom compartment, you see the top was for carrying all the pheasant carcasses. Generally you fill a framed pack with enough shit for you to live off the land for a few days, but me, I preferred to throw in dead birds. I felt up the bottom zip up portion of the pack where I kept my butterfly knife to finish off the pheasants that didn’t quite die with the rifle. It was still there in one piece. Good to know that some things don’t up and leave.
And so I ventured off into the forest, walking slowly, since I knew the pheasants were about a half mile deep in. I popped open a Sam and sipped slowly as I hiked through. The moonlight was shining through the trees onto the path, giving it all a really serene look. The beer was good and the scenery was nice, but I had to admit, going without Marshall was a little bit different. I was starting to doubt whether or not there would be a Pheasant-fest 12.
About ten minutes later I sat down to finish off the beer that I had been idly holding and recycled the bottle back into my pack. I looked around the forest, I’d never really given it the once over, as the only other time of year I came around to Cherokee Hills was for the Fourth of July barbecue. The place really was a beautiful piece of nature, I should jog out here, god knows I was starting to get a beer gut.
Then I heard some slow pit pattering about 250 feet behind me, it seemed like it was on its way towards me. Was it a fox or a bear? Jeez, I didn’t pack any bandages. That was in Marshall’s pack. The steps got closer and closer, and I could hear whatever it was breathing, I retreated a bit into the brush, and I’m not gonna lie, I was a bit scared. The steps got louder as they got really close, I wanted to close my eyes, but I had to see what beast was marching down towards where the pheasants were, had to scope out my competition.
The sound got closer and I started to hear a repetitive clicking, what kinda animal clicks? A bird? Must be one big ass bird. It was well into the night now, probably around 9, and it was pretty dark out in the woods. This thing must be a predator looking for some sleeping squirrels or raccoons. Maybe I was about to see a Bigfoot or something. I held out my rifle as the steps got louder and louder, sweat started dripping into my eyes and I was saying some prayers in my head in case this sasquatch did indeed survive my bullet and come after me. I looked out of the brush and saw the silhouette of a beast. It started making some incoherent noise.
“This lighter sucks.”
I let out a breath loudly and the beast, a.k.a. Colonel jerked his head and nearly jumped out of his second hand boots, seemingly as surprised to see me as I was to see him.
“Harv! I’ve been looking for you!”
“Colonel what in the fuck are you doing out here?” I asked in an angry whisper.
“Harv I know what you’re going through!” he started to say to me.
“First off no you don’t, second don’t be so loud.”
He had a cigarette dangling from his mouth and was flicking his lighter to try and get it lit, it made a click sound as he tried and tried.
“Okay!” he said whispering, “But your brother abandoned you out here in the woods! All of my brothers in the army abandoned me when they heard…about my lifestyle! I can relate, I mean, why not?”
I rolled my eyes at him, but in the dark I doubt he saw my exaggerated gesture.
“Look Sanders, I appreciate the sentiment, but this ain’t workin’. You are a homeless, jobless, homo slob that disgraced our nations army and our graduating class, I mean how can I stand to be around you?”
“Harv, what I did was...bad. Well I mean, I suppose I went about it in the wrong way,” he started getting all sappy on me, “But come on man, we used to be real close. I knew I was gay in like sixth grade but that never stopped us from hanging out then!”
He had a point. While he hadn’t outright said it, in retrospect all of us did hang out with a queer our entire lives. I suppose maybe I had been a bit harsh on him. I mean he hiked all the way out from the parting.
“Okay Colonel, you can walk with me,” I told him. “But you’re only gettin’ one pheasant and I’m not dropping you off at the Y after.”
He grinned, his dirty teeth were in uniform with his unshaven face and long, dirty hair. I didn’t even bother to wait for a reaction, I just set down the trail.
“In the mountains we used to have to stay in groups of four,” he started talking, “One guy would have the 100 pound communication setup, another would have the 75 pound first aid equiptment, and the other two would have rations and ammunition.”
“Really?” I questioned him, to my surprise, “I always figured that everyone carried their own ammo and food.”
He shrugged his shoulders, “Well everyone has like a granola bar and two clips, but the two carriers would have like real meals and a backup weapon or two. But these were only for recon missions when we went looking for the big man himself.”
“What I would do to find that god damn mountain where that fucker is hiding from us, I would skin him faster than I do a chicken when I go to my Uncle’s house.”
“That’s why I enlisted,” he said, getting real serious, “It’s not like I’m some fag who hates America and wants to not have a job.”
I didn’t respond. Some say I am too quick to judge, even when facts are given. Colonel was not my kind of friend these days, but he was starting to appeal to the heart of me. I reached back and tried to pull another Sam from my pack, but I moved them when I put the bottle back before Colonel so pleasantly surprised me. He started unzipping the pack and he handed me a cold one and started to zip it back up.
“Take one.”
He did, and he popped it open and tipped the stem of the glass at me.
“For old times ‘eh?”
“Might as well.”
We sipped on the beers as we walked, he even carried my rifle for about 100 yards. And in front of me I saw it. The very first one, it looked like a small turkey without the long neck. I smiled, like a little girl, and the Colonel held out my rifle.
“No,” I sternly told him, “We let the first one we see keep on keepin’ on. He’s our omen.”
“Kinda grim, ain’t it?”
“No.”
As we approached the bird it fluttered it’s wings as it went pecking around in front of us, the game keeper had spread out some meat on the ground and this fella here had managed to take a hunk and get away from the flock. The smell of raw meat started to come at our nostrils, and I accepted my rifle from my old friend. My old friend? He can’t be my friend, so I guess emphasis on the old.
And then we saw it. Slabs of meat on the ground, there were dozens of pheasants scurrying around, some fluttering a few feet in the air trying to scare others away from their rightful piece of their dinner. I aimed slowly and carefully and then did what I did best.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Four shots. The pheasants flew away into the darkness and disappeared. On the ground five lay motionless, and a sixth scampered in a five foot circle trying to get away.
“Morbid,” Colonel started saying to me, “But beautiful.”
“Don’t get all analytical on me now Colonel, the job ain’t done yet.”
I laid down the pack and went to unzip the pouch with my knife, as I did so a small piece of paper fell out. Must’ve been a receipt from last year, for the beer or the ammo or something. I stuffed it into my pocket and went up to the struggling pheasant, swinging open the knife and closing in on my prey.
“Come on,” Colonel said, covering his eyes as I quickly slashed the birds throat, ending its life.
“Man up..” I told him, not even making the connection that he wasn’t a real “man.”
We stuffed the birds into separate garbage bags and tossed them in the backpack, cracking open two more beers as we parted back. Colonel even offered to carry the pack, and since my back was aching a bit, I let him.
“Man, we used to have to spend like seven hours a day crawling around in the sand trying to find a hole or cave where some terrorists were hiding,” Colonel said, “And we’d get nothing. We’d have to crawl back to base and then we would get scolded. All that work and no payoff. You come out here and literally shoot a gun four times and call it a successful outing.”
I chuckled, “Oh so now all of a sudden you’re Mr. Badass.”
This felt strange, I hadn’t actually given him the time of day since he came back from Afghanistan.
“Well clearly not, Mr. Badass wouldn’t get kicked out for putting the moves on his direct superior.”
I gagged and Colonel knew that meant he had to change the subject.
“So how’s Marshall doing these days?” he asked, realizing his own mistake.
“Eh, last I spoke with him he said it’s okay,” I said staring off into the dark, “He says the women in New York are more attractive and there are more of them.”
I was making sure this possibly awkward conversation didn’t go back to homo-ville.
“Yeah, well there are more of them I bet,” he said, “And it’s not like he knows all of them like we do out here. I mean it’s kind of awkward when the only singles club has all of the same people you used to throw sand at on the playground.”
I laughed at that one too, I’d forgotten Colonel’s sense of humor.
“That’s true, of all the girls I’ve been with over the past few years, only one of them didn’t go to school with us.”
“That’s why I chose to explore something else.”
I laughed at that too. Uncontrollably. Colonel smirked and we kept on walking. It was actually a fun walk back, except for the fact that some pheasant blood got on my new jeans.
“So that’s it?” he asked me as we closed in on the truck, “You shoot four times, drink four beers, and hope that you kill as many as you can?”
“Yeah, but with two rifles you end up taking out more than six. Our average was about 14.”
“That’s impressive,” the Colonel started, “So you’re a little under this year?”
“Yeah, but five should feed me,” I told him as we got close to the truck.
“Five?”
“Yeah, ones yours.”
The colonel gave me a look, not like he was in need of money to buy a meal. Not like he knew he was weirding me out. But like we just threw a Tootsie Roll off the side of my Dad’s truck and it hit some bully in the head and he was crying. A look like when I turned from the pitchers mound and saw him catch the fly ball that should’ve been thrown a strike.
And that’s how it ended, Colonel taking his pheasant and giving me his number at the Y, insisting that I take his number and call him if I wanted to go to the bar or needed a “wing-man.” He insisted that he could assist in getting me a date. And then he walked away, awkwardly carrying a dead animal over his shoulder.
I went home and threw the birds in the freezer in my garage. I walked inside and took off my jacket, taking out the game keepers key to give to him the next day and that receipt fell out with it. I opened it up to see how much the rate of ammo, or beer, whatever I had bought, had raised in the past year. But it wasn’t a receipt.
“Harv, If you are getting this note that means you needed to take out your knife because your shot sucks and you couldn’t kill the pheasants with your shooting skills alone. I know it’s gonna be awkward without me, but I guarantee while you are reading this I’m waiting up in my apartment thinking about Pheasant-fest 8, the one where we got 25 of them. I miss it, and I miss home a lot. I hope you don’t mind Colonel coming along with you, I told him to do whatever it took to fix things with you because I know if there’s one guy that can appreciate Pheasant-fest it’s our old buddy. Who cares if he’s gay? Call me tomorrow morning.
-Marsh
Dated February 15”
And slowly I realized that Marshall was the first pheasant of the night. The one that gets away alive. In our little town, no one leaves. We all come back, go to work, or to war in Colonel’s case, and follow our old Fort Royal routine. We were the ones eating the meat the game keeper kept out for us, and Marshall took it and ran. It was simple and it made sense. He knew what he was getting out of, and he tried to make sure life was good for all of us who were stuck in the meat pit. He even did his best to leave me with something to keep me going, a friend.
I took the crumpled “Inter-Faith Volleyball League” flier Colonel had given me out of my wallet and looked at the messy handwriting on the back. I flipped open my cell phone and hit the “New Contact” button.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story and I have a love-hate relationship. I hate it because I had to spend an entire semester whittling away at it. I love it because it's the one story I've written that has been whittled away at to the point where it says something. People in class told me that I had to have grown up down south and gone hunting to have written this way and they were all surprised I was a suburban Connecticutter. I've noticed the inconsistencies in the narrators dumb/smartness and that urks me. But all in all this is one of the better short stories I've written.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Fantasy PW Draft
So the other day, upon my zaniness of the past 2 weeks, I noticed a video on my Youtube subscription queue (does anyone else actually use that?) from the Wrestling Roundtable, a bunch of guys that sit around and talk wrestling for upwards of 20 minutes a sitting. While doing something monotonous I watched their most recent video about fantasy booking, in which they choose three superstars from each of the major three federations (World Wrestling Entertainment, Total Nonstop Action and Ring of Honor) to make a federation off of. Then a few days later on their radio show (which I also stream off Youtube), I noticed they were taking fan calls with their picks. Now a lot of the picks I thought were respectable, but my main problem came with the way these picks were made.
As I’ve mentioned before, TNA has a 65+ member roster, WWE has more than that, and Ring of Honor has less than 30 wrestlers. So in my mind if you want to do this fairly, you need to level things out, it’s a lot harder to pick three from WWE when there are 100 wrestlers under contract. So I have amended their list to something I feel is a bit more fair, besides, a 9 man wrestling federation is just too small. So here is my breakdown of how I will be picking my fantasy federation…
WWE: 6 Picks
TNA: 4 Picks
ROH: 3 Picks
So that gives us a 13 man roster. But just for the heck of it, let me “draft” three indie wrestlers that aren’t under contract with any of the big 3.
1. Sonjay Dutt-While he is working on and off for Ring of Honor, he is not actually a contracted roster member. And his charisma, in ring ability, and overall look make him a great addition to any roster.
2. Muhammed Hassan-It’s hard to believe that 5 years ago this man caused the ruckus he caused. Portraying a Muslim-American who felt discriminated against in the Post 9/11 America, he just oozed evil. He has disappeared from the scene ever since UPN (pre-CW) said they disagreed with a segment involving masked men choking the Undertaker following his command, and hasn’t been seen wrestling since.
3. Rene Dupree- He made splashed in the WWE both with La Resistance, alongside the highly overrated Kenzo Suzuki, and as a singles performer before being fired for what was thought to be steroid abuse. He’s only 26 years old, and was sure to make it to the top had controversy not knocked him down.
Okay. Now onto the main event. Let’s start small with ROH and work our way to the big guns of the WWE.
ROH: Three Roster Picks
1. Chris Hero
Hero has exceeded all of my expectations. When I first got into ROH, I watched some of his older matches and just couldn’t get into him. Maybe it was the baggy wrestling pants, or the mesh shirt, I don’t know. But over the past year he has been consistent in every aspect of pro-wrestling. His in ring work is phenomenal, especially alongside Claudio Castagnoli, and his promos are believable and very well cut. I pray he’s not too old (30) to truly make his mark, but considering that many of the heavyweight champions of the past 5 years have been over 40, I don’t think so.
2. Kenny King
When people think of Kenny King they automatically dub him as sort of a Shelton Benjamin Jr, but upon even a slightly deeper look, it’s easy to tell King has a lot more lasting power than Benjamin. We all know Shelton is great in the ring, and Kenny is too, however where Shelton may lack that character end of things, Kenny has an overload. He can play to the crowd, and he can just as easily, if not moreso, play the guy whose just too good for his own good. His recent work with Jerry Lynn has proven that King can hang with the greats, and at 28 years old, I think there is a lot of promise in him.
3. El Generico
If there’s one market that loves buying merchandise, it’s kids. If there’s one market wrestling promoters hate to admit effect their product, it’s internet marks who whine about bad wrestlers going over. El Generico can appeal to both of these markets, similar to the way Rey Mysterio Jr. does in WWE. While offending Hispanic people may be an early problem for Generico (the “Generic” Luchador from Canada), his in ring ability and his devotion to such an odd character will surely win over the hearts of all viewers.
TNA: Four Roster Picks
1. Rob Van Dam
An obvious pick. Van Dam may be 40 years old, but he has proven time and time again that he is unstoppable in the ring. And with a few years off from the ring for his body to heal up, he has that much more time to tack onto the end of his career. Not to mention his overuse of marijuana keeps him on a nice relaxed vibe that will keep the stress off him, god knows people like Chris Benoit could’ve benefited from a stress reducing drug.
2. Homicide
If you know me, Homicide is another obvious choice. But beyond my fandom of him, he is great. While his promos are a tad one note (him yelling in Spanish and hitting himself in the chest), his look and his in ring abilities more than make up for that. He can fly, he can grapple (not so well, but he can) and he can go hardcore like no other. Homicide can feud with anyone, high flier, grappler, hardcore wrestler, or giant and put on a good show.
3. “The Pope” D’Angelo Dinero
I was always a fan of Elijah Burke in his stint in ECW a few years back, and you could tell he was just waiting for his moment to really blossom. Unfortunately for him, WWE gave him the ax before he could truly get over. I was weary when TNA signed him because I feared he would fall into the background as much of the TNA roster does, but he has completely changed his previous character and made it a whole lot more awesome. Another guy that can fly, but at the same time is more than comfortable being a grounded wrestler.
4. Ken “Mr.” Anderson
I loved Kennedy and you could tell when he made his one night return to the WWE that they were ready to bring him up to the level he should’ve been at earlier. However, due to a freak injury of both himself and Randy Orton, he was fired immediately, saying he was a liability to both himself and those in the ring with him. He re-emerged in TNA, under his real name and hasn’t injured anyone in the ring yet. And he’s growing as a character better than he ever did in the WWE. If he were given a main event slot, he could prove everyone wrong.
WWE (not including current NXT performers)6 Roster Picks
1. Matt Hardy
This first pick is an odd sort of pick. Matt used to be among my top 5 wrestlers, and to this day I still have a soft spot for him, regardless of the number of times he’s flopped from face to heel to face again. The problem is WWE can never really get their hands around how great he is. He came over on top against his brother at Wrestlemania a few years ago, but since losing the feud overall he has fallen into obscurity and mid card feuds. He has the tools, so a heel main event push could be easy and tangible.
2. Jack Swagger
Some say his quick rise to the main event is dumb, but I love him. He’s a great character with a legitimate wrestling background that not enough pro’s have these days. His big smile makes him that jerk you just need to hate, but I can see him being a great face if he is written for properly.
3. Randy Orton
In the big 3 of the 2000’s (Orton, Cena and Batista) I would have to say that Randy would be my pick (even if Batista was still around) to draft. He’s younger, he’s extremely talented, and it appears as though WWE seems to be holding him back. If he were to be put in an ROH or dare I say TNA ring I think he could step his wrestling game up and take the number of headlocks down drastically. He was so good at being a heel the fans started cheering for him, which says something about his charisma.
4. Mike “The Miz” Mizanin
Chris Jericho is getting old. The Miz is a young Chris Jericho no matter what the marks say. And while Jericho has always operated on his pure talent and abilities, Miz came into a world that scorned him. A group of people, fans and talent, that branded him as a hack have all been silenced over the past few years. Yes, his character is a tad one note and in the same vein as heel Jericho or Christian, but he shows that he can hang with the big guys and he’s got a boatload of potential to boot.
5. CM Punk
A veteran of all 3 major feds of right now, Punk has broken the indy guy in WWE curse and became the top dog. While right now he’s cruising the upper-mid card, he can snap back into main event material without as much of a transition. He is probably my second favorite wrestler ever, my favorite right now, and it’s because he is the complete package. He works as a great face, and clearly right now he is the most interesting thing on Smackdown.
6. Justin Gabriel
I don’t know much about Justin Gabriel and perhaps that’s why I’d want him. He’s cut like a Greek statue, he can do a 450 splash perfectly, and he’s got an accent. When I see the Nexus, I see a handful of mediocre wrestlers and a few good ones. Gabriel is the standout of the group (behind Bryan Danielson of course) and his ability seems to be taking second fiddle to the Nexus angle. If there is someone in Nexus that will turn face it’s easily going to be him. The WWE right now is riding on Evan Bourne’s high flying antics, and perhaps they should shift gears to Gabriel...or at least pair the two together.
That’s it. This sat in my documents folder for a while, but I finally got around to finishing it. I didn’t draft women or managers, you can just pepper them in as needed. There are only a few good managers around, and women’s wrestling is an art of it’s own that needs a draft of its own. So that’s that. Sorry for the lack of posts this summer, keep up with me on http://rateyourmusic.com/dwinch as I post a lot there more frequently than I do on here. Hope your having a great summer and hit me up with some suggestions whether they be related to movies, music, comics, books, wrestling, I’m trying to get into UFC so give me some matches and stuff to watch.
Keep on reading brothers and sisters!
Oh and for those curious here is the link to the Wrestling Roundtable video.
As I’ve mentioned before, TNA has a 65+ member roster, WWE has more than that, and Ring of Honor has less than 30 wrestlers. So in my mind if you want to do this fairly, you need to level things out, it’s a lot harder to pick three from WWE when there are 100 wrestlers under contract. So I have amended their list to something I feel is a bit more fair, besides, a 9 man wrestling federation is just too small. So here is my breakdown of how I will be picking my fantasy federation…
WWE: 6 Picks
TNA: 4 Picks
ROH: 3 Picks
So that gives us a 13 man roster. But just for the heck of it, let me “draft” three indie wrestlers that aren’t under contract with any of the big 3.
1. Sonjay Dutt-While he is working on and off for Ring of Honor, he is not actually a contracted roster member. And his charisma, in ring ability, and overall look make him a great addition to any roster.
2. Muhammed Hassan-It’s hard to believe that 5 years ago this man caused the ruckus he caused. Portraying a Muslim-American who felt discriminated against in the Post 9/11 America, he just oozed evil. He has disappeared from the scene ever since UPN (pre-CW) said they disagreed with a segment involving masked men choking the Undertaker following his command, and hasn’t been seen wrestling since.
3. Rene Dupree- He made splashed in the WWE both with La Resistance, alongside the highly overrated Kenzo Suzuki, and as a singles performer before being fired for what was thought to be steroid abuse. He’s only 26 years old, and was sure to make it to the top had controversy not knocked him down.
Okay. Now onto the main event. Let’s start small with ROH and work our way to the big guns of the WWE.
ROH: Three Roster Picks
1. Chris Hero
Hero has exceeded all of my expectations. When I first got into ROH, I watched some of his older matches and just couldn’t get into him. Maybe it was the baggy wrestling pants, or the mesh shirt, I don’t know. But over the past year he has been consistent in every aspect of pro-wrestling. His in ring work is phenomenal, especially alongside Claudio Castagnoli, and his promos are believable and very well cut. I pray he’s not too old (30) to truly make his mark, but considering that many of the heavyweight champions of the past 5 years have been over 40, I don’t think so.
2. Kenny King
When people think of Kenny King they automatically dub him as sort of a Shelton Benjamin Jr, but upon even a slightly deeper look, it’s easy to tell King has a lot more lasting power than Benjamin. We all know Shelton is great in the ring, and Kenny is too, however where Shelton may lack that character end of things, Kenny has an overload. He can play to the crowd, and he can just as easily, if not moreso, play the guy whose just too good for his own good. His recent work with Jerry Lynn has proven that King can hang with the greats, and at 28 years old, I think there is a lot of promise in him.
3. El Generico
If there’s one market that loves buying merchandise, it’s kids. If there’s one market wrestling promoters hate to admit effect their product, it’s internet marks who whine about bad wrestlers going over. El Generico can appeal to both of these markets, similar to the way Rey Mysterio Jr. does in WWE. While offending Hispanic people may be an early problem for Generico (the “Generic” Luchador from Canada), his in ring ability and his devotion to such an odd character will surely win over the hearts of all viewers.
TNA: Four Roster Picks
1. Rob Van Dam
An obvious pick. Van Dam may be 40 years old, but he has proven time and time again that he is unstoppable in the ring. And with a few years off from the ring for his body to heal up, he has that much more time to tack onto the end of his career. Not to mention his overuse of marijuana keeps him on a nice relaxed vibe that will keep the stress off him, god knows people like Chris Benoit could’ve benefited from a stress reducing drug.
2. Homicide
If you know me, Homicide is another obvious choice. But beyond my fandom of him, he is great. While his promos are a tad one note (him yelling in Spanish and hitting himself in the chest), his look and his in ring abilities more than make up for that. He can fly, he can grapple (not so well, but he can) and he can go hardcore like no other. Homicide can feud with anyone, high flier, grappler, hardcore wrestler, or giant and put on a good show.
3. “The Pope” D’Angelo Dinero
I was always a fan of Elijah Burke in his stint in ECW a few years back, and you could tell he was just waiting for his moment to really blossom. Unfortunately for him, WWE gave him the ax before he could truly get over. I was weary when TNA signed him because I feared he would fall into the background as much of the TNA roster does, but he has completely changed his previous character and made it a whole lot more awesome. Another guy that can fly, but at the same time is more than comfortable being a grounded wrestler.
4. Ken “Mr.” Anderson
I loved Kennedy and you could tell when he made his one night return to the WWE that they were ready to bring him up to the level he should’ve been at earlier. However, due to a freak injury of both himself and Randy Orton, he was fired immediately, saying he was a liability to both himself and those in the ring with him. He re-emerged in TNA, under his real name and hasn’t injured anyone in the ring yet. And he’s growing as a character better than he ever did in the WWE. If he were given a main event slot, he could prove everyone wrong.
WWE (not including current NXT performers)6 Roster Picks
1. Matt Hardy
This first pick is an odd sort of pick. Matt used to be among my top 5 wrestlers, and to this day I still have a soft spot for him, regardless of the number of times he’s flopped from face to heel to face again. The problem is WWE can never really get their hands around how great he is. He came over on top against his brother at Wrestlemania a few years ago, but since losing the feud overall he has fallen into obscurity and mid card feuds. He has the tools, so a heel main event push could be easy and tangible.
2. Jack Swagger
Some say his quick rise to the main event is dumb, but I love him. He’s a great character with a legitimate wrestling background that not enough pro’s have these days. His big smile makes him that jerk you just need to hate, but I can see him being a great face if he is written for properly.
3. Randy Orton
In the big 3 of the 2000’s (Orton, Cena and Batista) I would have to say that Randy would be my pick (even if Batista was still around) to draft. He’s younger, he’s extremely talented, and it appears as though WWE seems to be holding him back. If he were to be put in an ROH or dare I say TNA ring I think he could step his wrestling game up and take the number of headlocks down drastically. He was so good at being a heel the fans started cheering for him, which says something about his charisma.
4. Mike “The Miz” Mizanin
Chris Jericho is getting old. The Miz is a young Chris Jericho no matter what the marks say. And while Jericho has always operated on his pure talent and abilities, Miz came into a world that scorned him. A group of people, fans and talent, that branded him as a hack have all been silenced over the past few years. Yes, his character is a tad one note and in the same vein as heel Jericho or Christian, but he shows that he can hang with the big guys and he’s got a boatload of potential to boot.
5. CM Punk
A veteran of all 3 major feds of right now, Punk has broken the indy guy in WWE curse and became the top dog. While right now he’s cruising the upper-mid card, he can snap back into main event material without as much of a transition. He is probably my second favorite wrestler ever, my favorite right now, and it’s because he is the complete package. He works as a great face, and clearly right now he is the most interesting thing on Smackdown.
6. Justin Gabriel
I don’t know much about Justin Gabriel and perhaps that’s why I’d want him. He’s cut like a Greek statue, he can do a 450 splash perfectly, and he’s got an accent. When I see the Nexus, I see a handful of mediocre wrestlers and a few good ones. Gabriel is the standout of the group (behind Bryan Danielson of course) and his ability seems to be taking second fiddle to the Nexus angle. If there is someone in Nexus that will turn face it’s easily going to be him. The WWE right now is riding on Evan Bourne’s high flying antics, and perhaps they should shift gears to Gabriel...or at least pair the two together.
That’s it. This sat in my documents folder for a while, but I finally got around to finishing it. I didn’t draft women or managers, you can just pepper them in as needed. There are only a few good managers around, and women’s wrestling is an art of it’s own that needs a draft of its own. So that’s that. Sorry for the lack of posts this summer, keep up with me on http://rateyourmusic.com/dwinch as I post a lot there more frequently than I do on here. Hope your having a great summer and hit me up with some suggestions whether they be related to movies, music, comics, books, wrestling, I’m trying to get into UFC so give me some matches and stuff to watch.
Keep on reading brothers and sisters!
Oh and for those curious here is the link to the Wrestling Roundtable video.
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