Micro Memoirs, Week 2

I'm taking a class this semester, "Micro memoirs." (How ME does that sound?)

Anyway, we have weekly exercises to do out of a book. We have to set a timer for 5 minutes and we only have those 5 minutes to write.

Here are this week's three. Note: The first is completely true, the second is made up yet comes from truth and is totally plausible for me, and the third is true except for the last line. (She still watches...)

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MOMENTS (Think of small moments in your life that had energy -- that made you feel alive. Pick one and set your timer for 5 minutes.)

It was hot, I was feeling sick, and I'd just put a deposit down on a 5th floor walkup in Yorkville. I had just given up my RA job, and thus was newly homeless with the plan to spend my summer on Cape Cod with my family, but for now, I was living on a sofa in the East Village. I was excited by this small refrigerator box I was soon to call my apartment – with my roommate – but more than anything, I was glad to be underground inside a crowded downtown 6 train; it was the first place I'd been in a week with air conditioning.

I make a habit of looking around on the subway; making up people's stories, having inner-dialogues with them, and even the occasional eye contact. But there had never been a connection like this.

She was short – about 5'1”, with shoulder-length brown hair, a pink polka-dotted headband, a brown dress coming right above her knees, and tan flip-flops with a pink strap weaved between her toes. She was grasping a silver Tiffany's heart necklace. She looked at me, and I looked back at her – but even more than that, I looked into her – deep into her eyes – and she began to cry.

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SOUND PIECE (Choose the sound from the list (long list to the right) with the most energy or choose one that leaves you cold. Keep in mind that a murmur may have more energy for you than a shriek.)

That damn drip shower won't stop. drip, drip. I can't drip handle it. I try to drown it out with headphones, but I've been drip wearing headphones all day – it's the hazard of working in radio. I just want my ears naked, exposed to the drip fresh-air, or what passes for it in my apartment.

It wouldn't bother me if it were more regular. Then I drip would be able to tune it out.

Or would that make it drip worse? Would that force me to use it as a metro-drip-nome for the songs in my head that cannot drip stop and let me just drip be drip alone.

But with this irregular driping that is going on, I have to wait for the next one. I have to wait for when it will drip fall. I want to write it out and catch the drip music on my score paper; turn it into the next great drip American symphony. Or at least the next great New York City Aria. I mean is there any-drip-thing more Manhattan than a leaky drip shower?

It drives me mad. I can't take drip it anymore. My roommate, in the room next to the drip bathroom, does not hear it. He thinks I've drip lost my mind. He may not be right quite drip yet, but if I don't find a wrench, he drip will drip be.

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BOX (The box may be big enough to hold the Sahara Desert or small enough to hold a molecule of dust. Set your timer for five minutes and go.)

It's a new car! I loved watching “The Price is Right” when I was little. It was what I looked forward to most when I stayed home sick as an 8-year-old with the flu. That and cinnamon toast.

My favorite part of “The Price is Right” wasn't the prizes, or guessing along with the contestants, or even the pride I got when my bid would have been the winning bid when everyone else had an overbid. But I looked forward to my grandmother – the worrier of the family – calling me after it was over to see how I was feeling, and more importantly, to discuss the Showcase Showdown.

Did you see that? I've never seen someone win them both before!

Neither had I, of course. I was 8, and she'd been watching the show since before I was born – a time concept not understood by 8-year-olds.

I stopped watching “The Price is Right” when my mother implemented a rule that if you're healthy enough to watch TV, you're healthy enough to go to school.

My grandmother did, too.