Mirrors
It is my theory that for every person on Earth, even your mother, there exists at least one bizarro: a person that looks, acts and sounds uncomfortably similar to someone you know. On occasion, one of these awkward doppelgangers will appear, loping or shuffling in and out of our lives with no rhyme or reason. And when they do, an uncomfortable question arises: where is my bizarro, and what is he doing? Is he doing my my visage justice? Or is he a pervert or a shyster, polluting my reputation all across America, or, as I often fear, Eastern Europe (Eastern Europe seems like it would be a breeding ground for bizarros). Knowing that there is a twisted, mirror of yourself meandering across the Earth is disturbing.
I should know. It is a fact that I’ve already faced.
I present, for the pleasure of the Blommit court, a picture of me, and a picture of my (only known) bizarro me.
Me:
Bizarro Me, aka, Caleb Followill of the popular American rock and roll band, Kings of Leon:
Such a likeness brings up a difficult question, one that I am afraid to intellectually confront:
If your bizarro is cooler than you,
does that make you
the bizarro him?
//
Sampy
By
Charles Hodges .
03.13.09 //
Mirrors
// Sampy
By
Charles Hodges .
03.13.09 //
Mirrors
Mrs. Allibaster’s parakeet, Sampson (named such because she was a devout Southern Baptist, but a terrible speller), wasn’t any different from any other person in the nursing home. He was boring. He was in a cage. He dreamed of Hollywood.
In the morning, he at oatmeal, dry and out of Mrs. Allibaster’s hands.
“You better get some now if you want any,” she said.
“I will murder you with my bare hands,” he said back.
“Aww, you’re sweet.”
“Bitch, I’m serious.”
Mrs. Allibaster didn’t have any grandchildren. When other people’s grandchildren would visit, they loved to come see Sampson. He was the talk of the hall.
“Hey, Mr. Sampson,” Julie said.
“Please, eat shit and die.”
“Hehehehe. You’re silly.”
“Remember this, Julie. Remember this well: No one, and I mean no one, marries a fat chick, unless they have to.”
“What’d you say? You want some more oatmeal?”
“No, I said.”
Sampson’s mouth was stuffed with Quaker Oats faster than he could say, “you will hate high school.”
—
It happened on a Thursday. Mrs. Allibaster had had her hair ‘did’ and had come back with a lot of shopping bags.
“Taint-braider,” Sampson said as she walked in with all of the goods.
She proceed to do her usual grocery unload. She placed the black beans in their spot. She put the bags of popcorn next to the microwave. She placed the stick of rarely purchased deodorant next to the vanity. This was a special day. Then, she looked at Sampson.
“I got something very special for you, Mr. Sampy.”
“Amphetamines?”
“No, it’s not a toy, you silly goose.”
Mrs. Allibaster walked over to the cage and slowly pulled out the mirror. She pulled off the adhesive and placed it on the thin wire of the cage.
“What the fuck is this?” Sampson said waddling over to stand in front of it.
“You like you’re mirror, don’t you Sampy?”
“What the fuck is a mirror?” he said arriving in front of his reflection.
At first, he moved his head back and forth, in and out of the mirror frame, just to make sure it was moving at the same time. When he was sure he staring at himself, he stood as still as possible.
“What’s wrong Sampy?”
“Umm, yes, a snack, that’d be nice,” Sampson said without breaking his glance, his eyes dead on his own, in the mirror.
Sampson stared for hours. Mrs. Allibaster watched Jeopardy and Wheel and finally turned in for the night. She wished Sampson goodnight. He still hadn’t moved from his position.
It was four in the morning when Mrs. Allibaster awoke to a light tapping. “Must be someone’s breathing machine having a problem,” she thought. She went back to bed.
An hour later, she awoke again to the same tapping, only now it was faster, more ravenous. She got out of bed and followed the sound. She flipped on the light by the vanity, looked over to Sampson’s cage and saw him standing in front of the mirror, his beak completely broken, tapping the last bits of his face into the mirror, guiding his way by the glimmers of moonlight that fell in through the cracks in the Venetian blinds.
//
On Twins and Sitcoms
By
Joey Camire .
03.12.09 //
Mirrors
// On Twins and Sitcoms
By
Joey Camire .
03.12.09 //
Mirrors
Growing up I desperately wanted a twin. I wanted an identical, but I would have settled for a fraternal. I wanted a twin partly because I was a complete and utter loser and partly because I just thought it would have been awesome to get into sitcom-esque scenarios. My twin and I could totally trade places, get caught, but ultimately learn a very important life lesson. I was stuck learning my life lessons on my own, and they were far from worthy enough for “Must See T.V.”
I pleaded with my parents to get me one. I asked for one on my birthday, I asked for one on my half birthday, I asked for on on my sister’s birthday, but nothing. They probably didn’t get me one because they were afraid he was going to be as big of a loser as I was. Turns out they couldn’t have been more right.
In my desperation for a clone, and after watching an all day marathon of Family Matters, I found my twin. He was in the bathroom, he was an Identical, and he didn’t think I was a loser. It was my reflection.
Aside from totally freaking my parents out little-skinny-white-kid-in-a-horror-movie-from-the-80′s style, a twin was exactly what I needed. Every time I went to the bathroom I got to hang out with my twin who thought that I was totally awesome. It was a boost of self confidence in a can… in the can.
Like any twins, we wore the same clothes, finished each others sentences, and had the same awful bowl-cut. We developed our own language. In hindsight it probably sounded like a pentecostal church in the middle of deep prayer every time I went to the bathroom. We liked all the same movies and read all the same books. We even auditioned for roles in different movies as extras, though we never got any roles, strangely enough.
Over time I got over my self-confidence issues and bloomed into a fair-to-mediocre teenage specimen. I had friends, I had a girlfriend, I parted my bowl-cut… and I still had an imaginary twin every time I went to the bathroom. Most people grow out of imaginary friends, it’s a phase, but my imaginary friend had been burned into my brain after years of talking to my mirror. I mean, it’s not all bad, to this day every time I go to the bathroom I get a confidence boost… I mean everytime I go to the bathroom I get two confidence boosts.
//
Reflections of Reflections
By
Alex Aloise .
03.12.09 //
Mirrors
// Reflections of Reflections
By
Alex Aloise .
03.12.09 //
Mirrors
With the dawn of social networking came a now-common photographic phenomenon: The in-mirror self portrait. I believe that you can tell almost anything about a person via their mirror shot. Let me demonstrate…
Each morning you’d wake, happily get out of bed, and walk into the bathroom to do nothing but relieve yourself. This would be followed by a shower, and as you stood in your bedroom afterward, dripping in front of four solid walls, you’d concentrate only on the things around you. You’d dress comfortably and brush your teeth in front of blank tiles or sheetrock. Then you’d go downstairs and make toast, staring into the dull toaster as it baked.
Afterwards you’d walk out to your car and, without pausing, would climb in and drive away. There would be nothing to adjust besides the seat. At work or school, bathroom breaks would be for going to the bathroom and not for vain punctuations. After work you’d stroll along a lake and, peering into the water, would see only fish and plants despite the brightness of the sky behind you. At night, you’d take turns with your significant other, describing again and again the one thing each cannot see.
In a world like this, cameras wouldn’t exist. Neither would video recorders or television or movies. The mall would become a dual mission. So would sunglass stores and haircut appointments. Sidewalk portrait artists would be a monthly indulgence at $75 a pop. Holding a cell phone in front of you, nothing would stare back save for a blank screen. Looking into the back of an iPod would reveal only a silvery surface. Self-absorption would be impossible. Vanity unimaginable. Happiness would be based on personal satisfaction. We would be more natural and less anxious. We would be healthier. We would love looking at our children more. We’d grow old without ever truly knowing what it was people saw all those years even though we were there the whole time. What we did in life would matter more than what we looked like while doing it. There would be more food stuck in our teeth without us knowing.
And it would be magnificent.
//
Me. Roar!
By
Ben Cheney .
03.10.09 //
Mirrors
// Me. Roar!
By
Ben Cheney .
03.10.09 //
Mirrors
“Thud Udd! Thud Udd!” The Marton kids were taunting and laughing and smashing Udd over the head with their stalactite clubs.
It was a beautiful Saturday morning in the spring of 13,168 B.C. The raptors were screeching and the woolly mammoths were stampeding. It was the perfect day for pot making and loincloth sewing.
Udd, an awkward 13 year old Cro-Magnon boy, was walking from his parent’s cave to his uncle’s. It was just down the path, but he had to walk past TonnTonn and Chut Marton’s house to get there. He hated TonnTonn and Chut. They were nothing but hairy Pterodactyl butts. They were mean and spoiled and thought they were the coolest kids in town. TonnTonn loved rhyming and Chut loved hitting. Consequently, “Thud Udd” was one of their favorite kids to pick on.
“Stop it! Ow! ROAR!” Udd cried. Seeing no other way out, Udd hung a sharp right and ran into the woods to the place where all the dinosaurs pooped. He knew TonnTonn and Chut wouldn’t follow him in there. He was safe. For now.
He slowed his run to a walk, paying careful attention to avoiding the poo land mines. He had only ever been back here once before. When he was seven he had run away from home because his mom wouldn’t let him eat anymore saber-tooth pudding. He spent the night here only to find himself being spooned by a baby T-rex the next morning.
He shuddered at the thought and kept walking. When he approached the clearing that led towards his uncle’s house, he heard a beautiful sound coming from the other direction. It sounded like a babbling brook! Curious, Udd followed his ear and walked through another thicket of trees.
What lay before him was surely a hidden treasure, possibly an alternate universe. Udd was looking at the most beautiful place in Pangaea. There was beautifully manicured grass, deep blue pools of fresh water fed by peaceful waterfalls, rainbows over every hill, trees bearing brightly colored fruit, and two handsome naked people walking around in the distance. A stone sign read “Welcome to the Garden of Eden.”
Shocked, Udd stumbled forward to the edge of a babbling brook, the very babbling brook that drew him here in the first place. He knelt down and plunged his hand deep into the water. He brought his hands to his mouth, taking a drink of the purest water ever to touch his lips. “Ahhhhh! It’s so pure!”
He stood up and strolled over to a tree bearing bright orange fruit. Udd plucked a juicy orange and ate it with fervor. It was so juicy!
Cautious not to disturb the two handsome naked people, Udd thought it best to leave. Maybe he would bring his mom here on her birthday or his uncle next time he was drunk. Either way, he would make it a point to come back.
But before he could leave, Udd noticed a second pool of water, placid and shiny like a buffed triceratops tusk. Unable to take his eyes off the water, Udd walked to its banks.
With his jaw wide open, Udd looked down. His eyes met his own eyes. The stillness of the water showed him something he had never seen before — himself.
“Me. Me. ME!” Udd said, so excited to see himself staring at himself. Then, he saw them, creeping up over his shoulders. It was TonnTonn and Chut.
Udd, being a quick thinker, decided to sneak attack their sneak attack, therefore trumping their sneak attack. He watched their reflection in the water and waited. He continued to say, “Me. Me. Me!” in a tone that delivered disbelief so as to make TonnTonn and Chut think their sneak attack was working.
It was then that he saw TonnTonn and Chut raise their stalactite clubs. They were ready to smash. Udd turned around, teeth gritted, and said, “Me. Me. ROAR!”
//
Compact 2.0
By
Jordan Childs .
03.09.09 //
Mirrors
// Compact 2.0
By
Jordan Childs .
03.09.09 //
Mirrors
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