Sunday, August 29, 2010

The Wannabe Journal for August 2010

In her spare time Joy is working with a friend on a project to create humorous greeting cards.
He newest poem/literary creation is entitled: Zumba Gold or Hip Hop for Seniors
Hot Cross Buns
By Joy Brubaker

Today I went for my first class session of “Zumba Gold”, a kind of hip hop for the elderly. Julie, a retired teacher friend of mine, pressured me into going. The class was an AARP version of a Rave, but without the Ecstasy or sex. I had hoped to slip in and out of the class rather anonymously, but then I forgot and wore my big, bold red, all caps, JOY BRUBAKER FOR STATE REPRESENTATIVE tee shirt, so everything I did…well…represented.
The instructor, a nice enough septuagenarian, had lost her ‘apple” shape and now more resembled an olive on a toothpick with skinny withered arms and legs and a nice round middle, which happily she chose to show off with a cut-off top and low rider pants. Until that moment I hadn’t realized that anyone other than men and pregnant women had “happy trials.”
We started off rather well with Julie and the others putting enough energy into their cha cha cha’s and bell dancing moves to supply a small town with electricity. One of the moves which was especially nice resembled vigorously toweling off our buns, with shaking of said buns required. Three moves later and my cellulite was still trembling. Unfortunately, so was everyone else’s. I had the sled dog’s view from the rear of the class.
Regrettably, somewhere in the middle of the routine our instructor lost her way. Call it a senior moment, but what she told us were going to be doing changed two minutes into the first song when she clearly forgot the steps and fumbled to get back into the rhythm. The rest of us were left free styling with arms, legs, derrieres and feet all going in different directions. At best we rather looked like a kindergarten class learning the hokey-pokey.
By the end of the third song two of the other women quit and hobbled out stiffly holding their lower back. I couldn’t. I had the stupid tee shirt on; she knew my name. I had to struggle through the rest of the hour swearing I wouldn’t subject myself to unhealthy golden age peer pressure ever again.
There is something to be said for enrolling in a class of younger women. It’s the fantasy factor. Sure, I can’t keep up, but I can envision myself as maladroit. On the other hand, when everyone around me is estrogen depleted and sagging, and worse, the instructor is the model of what I’m aiming for, it’s just depressing.
I don’t know what I was thinking anyway. My first clue should have been when one of these women passed out in the middle of “total body conditioning gold” the week before, got a nasty bump on her head from the hardwood floor when she went down, and lots and lots of sympathy from the rest of us.
So… how was your day?

The Wannabe Journal for August 2010

Joy B: In June we published the short story that Joy shared with us at our monthly meeting and since that time it has been published in the local newspaper in Yellow Springs. Here is another copy of the poem
Orange Lamborghini arrives in Yellow Springs
The orange Lamborghini screamed into town
Sailing past the grey and blue Subaru’s
Ten minutes late
but already ahead of everyone else
“Road hog,” the silver Civic jeered.
“Gas guzzler,” the white Prius scoffed.
“Tourist,” the beige Volvo sniffed.
But the orange Lamborghini knew…
It owned this town.

The Wannabe Journal for August 2010

Don P: has completed entering his father’s letters which total over 240. The sheer volume of text has created a book that is over 175 pages of reading material. What a wonderful start on a memoir.
His latest short story was read to the group. The piece is entitled Deborah 2. We have included a short portion of the story in this journal:

Deborah 2

She loved her job. It was easy, had a low level of supervision, and left her time to work on other things she enjoyed. These included writing fiction, playing bridge on the computer, or talking on the phone. She had been working on this job for four years now without any problems that required her to take action.
Her full name was Mary Deborah Alsinki, although she much preferred her middle name and ask everyone to call her Deborah or Debbie. She came from a long line of Government employees, all proud of the job they did, did it well, and happily retired to spend their time on their many hobbies.
She was currently working on her family genealogy in which she had found and documented several ancestors who had been royalty in the middle ages, including two Kings. She planned to publish this as a book and sell it to her relatives. Her job, meanwhile, was monitoring and managing the launch computers for two hundred ICBM missiles, each with a nuclear warhead that could destroy an entire town, including any of the largest cities in the world.
It had been a time of peace for the last ten years so the ICBMs and their warheads had only required the mandatory full operational checkup every three months. Part of the checkup procedure was to fully realign the launch coordinates on each and every one. This was a simple procedure which involved running the individual launch system on each missile through a series of coordinates and returning it back to its original setup. Each of the check coordinates was a large city in the USA. On the list were New York City, San Francisco, Los Angeles, Miami, Dallas/Fort Worth, Minneapolis, New Orleans, and on down to many medium size cities.
Deborah had assisted her superiors in running through this procedure sixteen times over her four years working there. She knew the process down to the last comma and period. She didn't even need a review, she understood it that well.
As the senior officials entered the room, Deborah greeted each one by name and asked about their well-being and their families. Each one responded briefly and moved to their positions preparing to start the check run. At a signal from the Colonel in charge, they looked towards Deborah and nodded for her to start the procedure.
Deborah reached down and pushed the blue button, watching to make sure everything started correctly. Once rolling all she had to do was sit back and keep an eye on things. After all the times she had been involved in this she stayed very relaxed throughout the test, letting her mind wander over other things that she had to get done after work.
All of a sudden there was a loud crashing noise and Deborah jumped, reached out and pushed herself up with her hands. As she looked around she saw that the sound had come from one of the Lieutenants accidentally knocking his chair over.
“That really scared me. I had no idea what had happened” Deborah remarked. She then looked back at her monitor. Her eyes grew large, her face flushed. The screen was flashing “Launch, launch, launch”. This had never happened before. The Colonel came running over, looked at the monitor, then at the console. “Oh my God. You hit the red button when you jumped up. That initiates full launch of all 200 missiles. We have to stop it.”
“We can’t” said a Captain standing beside him. “It is now fully automatic.”
“My God” said the Colonel, “what coordinates were in place when you hit the button?”
“I think it was Los Angeles. No, it was past that. Let me check and see. Ah ha, it was two steps past Los Angeles, so that would be Dallas.
Within hours all of the news media had screaming large headlines saying “Debbie Dooms Dallas”.