Monday, February 20, 2006
BELLE LETTRe
A Belle the Cat Production * Winter‘05-‘06 * Volume Two * Issue Four
:: Belles-let-tres/ bel lettre/ n. writings that are valued for their elegance and aesthetic qualities rather than for any human interest or moral or instructive content, French, literally "fine letters" belletrism, belletrist.
Belle Lettre – Volume II, Issue 4. January 2006. All material contained within remains the property of the creators, copyrighted at creation. The opinions expressed in this publication are not necessarily those of the publisher. Readers assume responsibility for actions or decisions they make as a result of reading this publication.
Belle Lettre is published four times a year at the turn of each season and endeavors to inspire courage, creativity, discovery through action in all people. New, nontraditional and searching artists encouraged to submit. Prose, poetry, artwork, comics and photography are always being accepted. Send to Belle the Cat productions :
1508 Lincoln Ave. Lakewood, OH 44107, webmaster@bellethecat.com , bellethecat.com
Submission does not guarantee publication. Belle Lettre reserves the right to edit all material for clarity, length and content.
Originals will not be returned without a self addressed, stamped envelope.
The Forest
By S. Morgan
So many beautiful things in the air.
Those passages in the clouds, holes into hea-
ven. I watch the birds fly though.
Once cleared, a forest is not gone. Given
the chance, it will struggle to reclaim the
land. Give it a few years on an abandon-
ed plot and it will fight back and try to
swallow the manmade to create nature
again.
When Patrick and I first met the house, we were on a Sunday drive down through the countryside, looking for a place to picnic. It was a hot, breathy summer’s day, and we turned down the driveway, thinking it was just another dirt road.
“Wow, will you look at that?” he said as the house rose up before us. It was romantically desolate - wide veranda, loose shutters, white paint flaking from towering pillars. We pulled up under a tall pecan tree and sat for a moment in the idling pickup truck.
“Do you want to check it out?” he asked.
The house was hidden by trees on three sides. Passed the pecan, a long-abandoned field stretched out into the distance. “Let’s go look,” I said.
We both got out. Patrick walked up to the door. “Look at this muck,” he said, motioning towards the filthy windows, the muddy, puddly front porch. The front door was padlocked. We continued to poke around, walked the perimeter of the place.
“I don’t see any tire tracks,” I said, “except for ours.”
We found a locked cellar door, and a few windows around the back were broken out.
“Come here and give me a boost,” I said, “I want to look in.” He crouched and let me use his knee as a step to reach the window and peep in. The interior was empty, but huge, wide open and enthralling. I pulled myself up and inside.
“Hey!” he cried. I looked back out to see him gazing up at me, his expression that of a child who’d just been tricked.
“I’ll look around and find a way to let you in,” I grinned.
“Try to find the cellar door. It probably just has a deadbolt.”
It was not silent in the house. There was a flitter and a clatter, a scratching noise that at first I couldn’t place. I looked up. Roosting in the chandelier far above me was a flock of sparrows and pigeons.
I was nervous, thrilled. What if the owner of this place suddenly pulled into the driveway? What if he could see the strangers in his house from across the open field? My instinct was to climb up, to look from the topmost window out across the wide expanse of land, to see above the lowest trees, to survey the kingdom below. But I had to let Patrick in, so instead I found the stairs down into the basement.
The basement was coated with muddy slime. I set a tentatively toe to the floor, making sure there was a floor to be had. There was a not unpleasant smell of dirt and roots. It was dark, but a few high windows let in tendrils of light. It was like I had descended into the earth, to walk among the foundation of soil that holds up the forest floor.
It frightens me sometimes how much
I know about him. I keep it written in a little
book in the back of my mind, jotting down
things I learn. I draw detailed pictures of his
features, his eyes, his lips. I wonder at him
constantly.
What if Patrick ever got a hold of that book?
Patrick came to me later that week to say that he had been able to secure a loan to buy the place for a song. We bought the place together, and cosigning the loan, it felt as if we were making a pact almost more important than when we had stood at the alter of a church in front of God. We were promising to the house, our magical place, that we would wake it from its slumber, cause it to live again in beauty.
Of course, like most young couples who think they’ll be able to pull off a miracle and restore an old home on strict do-it-yourself trial and error, we soon found ourselves older and poorer than we’d ever expected. The house echoed with emptiness and unfinished projects. As the years went by, Patrick began to do battle with the house. He talked about not letting it “win;” that he would somehow triumph over its crookedness and mold and rotting wood. In the end, it was he who proposed getting a housemate.
Did you know that lizards and birds
are closely related? Look at a lizard’s
eye and look at a bird’s eye. One
would think that you would have to be
a lizard first, cold blooded, crawling,
clawing. And then progress to a bird -
those that use their intuition to rise a-
bove the petty emotions of humans are
eagles. When we look at the taxometry
of birds, we find theropods; dinosaurs,
two legged, upright walking. Tyranno-
saurus rex was a theropod, as was velociraptor. Tyrant lizard and the quick plunderer; carnivores. So we are asked to decide - is a bird an evolved lizard, or are birds the more primitive of the two?
In a way, the thought of a new being in the house brought a candle of hope to the situation, a chance to feel the excitement of something fresh and new again. And I know that this was what eventually led me to accept and let him place the ad.
We ended up with a student, a boy by the name of Sye. I was worried when we first started the interviews, the words of friends who shared my initial trepidation at the idea of having a stranger in the house, echoing through the back of my head. Did he look like he was on drugs? Perhaps, but didn’t all young people look like that now a days? I felt no threat from him bodily; with all the physical labor of carting wood and old carpet around, pulling shingles and the like, I had grown quite strong. This boy was thin and pale and he looked as if he rarely ventured out into the sun. He was not quite as tall as Patrick’s six foot height. His eyes, behind wire rimmed glasses, we brilliant and dark, and he had very soft-looking brown hair. He worked part time as a student’s aide and was going to school for his master’s degree in teaching.
“Honestly, I am sick of school,” he said. “I’m looking for a place to get away, a quiet place to study.” It seemed the perfect fit.
Sye was with us for about two weeks and we had grown quite fond of him. Mostly it was the fact that he was not around very much at all. When he was, we barely heard a peep from him. But two weekends in, he started a conversation with Patrick about the house and ended up spending much of the day helping us paint the hallways. As the sun set, we sat on the porch sipping tea and lemonade and chatting about this and that.
To see him smile made me smile.
Though the student was still mostly absent throughout the week, Sye and Patrick began to work on other projects on the weekends together. It was nice to see Patrick with a knight-errant to help him combat the many house-issues he had been struggling with.
Although at first, I worried we were using the boy for free labor. After a dreadful day of sanding, when a paste of plaster clung to our sweaty bodies, we all lay on the lawn to learn how to breathe again.
“Sye, you really don’t need to help us with the house,” I said to him, “you must be exhausted.”
“I need this,” he said. “It’s good to combat all the cerebral stuff I deal with all day. It’s nice to see actual progress. And we’re almost done with the inside painting.”
Another time, while the two of them had moved out to the veranda to work on replacing old rotted deck rails, I was inside to realize that he was right. We had done so much to this amazing building it filled my eyes with tears. The chandelier that had been filled with bird droppings and feathers had long been taken down, carefully washed and re-hung. The ceiling had been refurbished, the walls freshly painted, the window I had long ago crawled through was mended, cleaned and cleaned again and hung with airy curtains. The floor was sanded and stained. Rugs I had found at estate sales now cushioned our steps. It all worked; the furniture, the décor, and foremost the shell of the house, which I had always known was gorgeous.
I flopped down on the davenport, watching Sye through the window working on the rails. He was sanding, his long bare arms moving up and down the wooden dowel, a furrow in his brow. I watched his hair flutter around his eyes, tickling its way behind his glasses, which had begun to slip down the slope of his nose. He paused, removed his glasses, and looked up, catching site of me looking at him. Embarrassed, I turned my head, but snuck a glance back after a moment. He was still looking at the window.
And then Patrick and I began to fight.
I had hoped that what I’d been witnessing was a positive coming to terms with what the house was, and what could be done to it, and how to deal with the frustration of projects that, despite a little extra help, still seemed to grow unwieldy and cost too much money. But my good feelings began to disintegrate into the reality that maybe Patrick really did hate the place. I began spending more and more time at the gym or working late, or volunteering at the library and less time helping with the house. When I was at home, I’ll admit, I daydreamed. And it wasn’t about the house that was supposed to be our dream come true. I daydreamed about our young tenant living only a thin ceiling and a short flight of stairs away.
Not that I would ever act on anything as random and adolescent as a harmless obsession with a striking young man. It just helped to pass the time, and to distract me.
“Why do I keep up with this?” Patrick asked one night. Catherine was out and he’d been drinking. “I have a beautiful wife, good job. What do I want?”
Sye set down his empty beer. “Well, what do you want?”
“Do I think I’d loose her if I didn’t fix up this place?”
“Do you think you’d lose her if you ever finished it?”
Patrick tried to focus on him. The boy’s face seemed unnaturally close, and Patrick pulled back. “Do you have a girlfriend, Sye?”
“I have many.”
Patrick blinked. “What?”
“You know: college girls, hot professor. I’m pretty sexy if I do say so myself.”
Patrick laughed at him. “I thought you were a real nerd!”
“Girls like that,” he smirked, and opened another beer. “They like guys that look too smart. They want to teach you the way.”
“Wow, I had no clue.”
“Why did you ask me if I had a girlfriend?”
“Well if you have a bunch, you don’t worry about them leaving you or anything, hu? I just don’t get it. Where the hell is she? Where does she go?”
“Does she give you everything you need?”
“Hu?”
“She doesn’t, does she? There’s something missing.”
His brain foggy with booze, all Patrick could answer was, “I, what?”
“Some women are like that. They are disturbed or grossed out or whatever. I tell you though, those college girls will do anything you want them to.” He paused. “And it’s fun to do everything they want you to as well.”
“Aw what are you talking about, kinky stuff? What would girls want to see?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“What doesn’t?”
“What kind of stuff do you like? What makes you hot?”
“You’re sounding a little gay,” Patrick says sobering up just a little.
“I know that. It doesn’t matter. I just asked what makes you hot?”
Patrick waited, then said, “it’s really crazy. It’ll creep you out.”
“Tell me. I like that kind of stuff.”
The sight of you shocks me, like spying
a friend in a strange city.
Dark paper dreams; of ink, of curling
burnt edges, flakes of ash blacken my fingertips.
I am too obsessed with you to realize that there
is a real you. Silent monologue boy. You and
your feathers and your iridescent eyes. Nothing
else in life has given me this underscore. I feel
you in my throat, around my neck like a python.
Hiss.
THE SHELF - reviews
“Megatokyo”
By Fred Gallagher
Books, web comic
Underground comics used to be regulated to small runs of self published issues. With the advent of the internet, it became possible for anyone with a scanner and a website to post their pics for all to see. Well, for anyone who happened to stumble upon them or knew where to find them. The stage was set for a comic based on two video game nuts to find a niche among the computer savvy audience already cruising the net. And, after an already-established web comic linked their users to it, Megatokyo.com’s rise to fame began.
Beginning in 2000, artist Fred Gallagher, with the urging of his friend Rodney Caston, started to work on a series of four-panel, stand alone comics that would also have a consistent story. The plot revolves around their alter egos, Piro and Largo. The two jet off to Japan, promptly spend all their money and are stuck there. Piro gets a job at a store called MegaGamers and Largo, who doesn’t speak any Japanese, becomes “Great Teacher Largo” at a local school. The comic, which moved to a manga (full page Japanese style) format, became a perpetual witty soap opera of sorts with the addition of a cast of mostly female characters to cause the boys conflict. Erika - Piro’s boss and a former voice actor (seiyuu) for Japanese cartoons (anime,) her roommate Kimiko, a struggling seiyuu who works as a waitress and has a apologetic interest in Piro, Ping, an Emotional Doll System Accessory (android) for the PlayStation 2, and Miho, the darkly-cute evil girl that has a strange connection with both of the guys.
There are aspects of an online comic that one would never see in a “traditional” printed comic. These are explained in detail in the three Megatokyo books and include things like “Dead Piro Day” drawings, which are usually one panel illustrations that Gallagher does when he doesn’t have time to finish a full page comic.
The only complaint on the artwork is that the girls tend to look a lot the same. Except for Ping and Miho, it is difficult to tell them apart (and Piro actually looks like a girl when he has his glasses off.) The plot continues to progress and wander in ways that keep the reader interested. New comics are uploaded to the website every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. And the best thing is that the comic is currently free to anyone at megatokyo.com.
“Sleepaway Camp”
Movie
This movie sucks nuggets, but is worth sitting through for a number of reasons. The most obvious is to see what costume designers were making kids (and I use the term loosely as the actors all appear to be in their 20s) wear back in 1982. If shorts could be any shorter, or pulled up any higher, or if guys with rugs of chest hair ever start wearing cut-off tee shirts again, you won’t need to see a horror film to be horrified. The second is simply to make fun of this movie in a “Mystery Science Theater 3000,” funny-jerks-in-the-front-row way. The acting is awful, the writing worse, and the plot has to be experienced to be unbelieved. That being said, be sure you have a barf-bag close buy for the nauseating final scene.
The dry leaves applaud me with
A castanet ovation.
I have arrived.
“Mindfulness
by Sarah Bartash
DW III - by TEA
The story thus far: Our hero, uh, Hiro, girlfriend Miharu (sorry - she’s a girl who’s his friend) , Taro the heavy-drinking soldier and spooky Kumiko have been sent on a mission by the king. They are to seek out the evil Baramos, a task that Hiro’s long lost father Ortega failed to achieve. Their next step is a journey north.
Chapter 2:
“On The Road Again… For The First Time”
I was happy to finally get on the road. The way to Reeve, our neighbor to the North, was a familiar one and I was glad of it. Start small, I told myself. One thing at a time.
“So we’re heading to Reeve?” Miharu
asked after it was obvious we were.
“Yes,” I replied absently. I was aware that she was trying to break the uncomfortable silence within the group, but I really wasn’t in the mood to talk. Apparently neither was anyone else.
I had been to Reeve several times before with Miharu and my mother to visit friends of our families’. Miharu and I usually just played by the pond where a young white horse grazed day in and day out. She was a nice little filly and belonged to the village Elder whom we were going to see today. I figured he would give us the best advice on what to do next.
As we entered the little town, I decided to hurry things along a bit and split our tasks up.
“Miharu? Would you and Taro go buy our supplies? Here,” I gave Miharu the pouch of gold the King’s attendant had given me. “Take this. You know what we’ll need, right?” I added to Taro.
“Oh yeah! I know just what every adventurer needs to begin their journey!” Taro said happy to feel important.
“I’m going to see the Elder. Let’s meet at the Inn when we’re done, alright?”
“Ok. So what are you going to do?” Miharu asked Kumiko bluntly.
“I will accompany Hiro,” she replied in her cool but not cold tone. I was beginning to accept the way she handled things. No nonsense was a good attitude to have in this situation. However, I still didn’t quite trust her intentions so I wanted to be able to keep an eye on her.
I nodded at Miharu who just shrugged. She figured enough not to argue with me and I was grateful. She and Taro made for the shops and Kumiko and I headed for the Elder’s house, which was still guarded by the now older mare. I smiled and patted her on the way to the door remembering how much Miharu and I used to love feeding her apples back when she was just as big as a pony.
Shaking myself out of my reminiscence, I knock on the Elder’s door. There was a soft scraping sound as if someone was getting up from a chair in a hurry, then the click of a lock being opened.
“Ah, Hiro! I’ve been expecting you. Please, you and your friend, come in,” the Elder chirped excitedly.
Kumiko and I entered the dimly lit house to find a sparsely furnished room consisting of a table, four chairs, a fireplace, and a flight of stairs leading to the second floor. We took a seat at the table with the Elder.
“How have you been my dear lad? It’s been so long since I’ve seen you. You’ve grown so much! Oh but listen to me. You aren’t here for a visit. This is business. Yes, serious business,” the Elder rambled. Out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw a smile flicker across Kumiko’s face out, but it might have just been the flames dancing in the fireplace. I however did smile. The Elder was a kindly old man, and his bubbly persona put me at ease.
“It’s good to see you, Elder. So you know of the quest the King has given me?”
“Oh yes! The King had to wait until you were old enough to take on such a task, so I’ve been preparing for this very day for quite some time now.”
“Really?” I was actually kind of surprised. I hadn’t told anyone that I was coming to the Elder.
“Yes, of course!” he said a little impatiently. “There was a lot to prepare! I have so much to tell you about this quest you have before you. You are about to travel to many foreign lands and encounter many dangerous things! I don’t think you even realize how dangerous!”
This did not put me at ease.
“But don’t fear,” he said quickly. “You’ll have much help. And you are in good company,” he added pointedly. I’m sure he was referring to Kumiko who had not spoken or been spoken to. This did well to strengthen my trust of her. I trust the Elder’s judgment.
“The first thing you must do though, is go to the Tower of Najima,” he told me.
“The Tower? Why?” I asked puzzled. The Tower of Najima was an old tower on an island in the Lake of Aliahan. At one time it had been a fortress of defense for the castle, protecting it from seafaring attacks. But after the great World Wars were over it was simply turned into a museum of sorts. In more recent years, the threat of Baramos had brought monsters to the tower and the cave connecting it to land. No one dared enter either anymore.
“There is an old man in the Tower who stole a key from the famous thief Bakor. Bakor made this key to open any door with a simple lock. You will need this key for your journey.”
“Why?” I asked skeptically.
“To begin your quest, you must unlock the Travel Door in the Cave of Enticement,” the Elder told me.
“But… I remember The Cave being sealed years ago! There were all sorts of monsters coming out of the Door so they built a great stone wall to block any more…” I faltered as the Elder waved me silent.
“Don’t worry about the wall. I know a way to break through it. A special magic if you will,” he smirked. “You just concentrate on getting that key for now, then return here and we’ll get you to The Door.”
I nodded.
“Good!” the Elder was suddenly cheerful again. “Be on your way then. And tell Miharu I say hello!”
I bade the Elder a polite farewell and thanked him for his guidance. But my head was actually swimming. This quest was becoming more complicated and confusing by the minute.
I felt a little bad about ignoring Kumiko but she didn’t seem to mind, so I didn’t worry about it. We made our way in silence to the Inn where Miharu and Taro were waiting.
* * *
The Mad Cow Cookbook
(Red meat infected with brain-eating bacteria?
No problem!)
Spinach and Cheese Spa Omelet
I call this a spa omlet because it is low cal, made of good things, and makes you feel fancy even if you are just at home on the weekend.
Ingredients:
1 Lg. free-range egg
¼ C. frozen spinach, thawed in microwave
¼ C. cottage cheese
1. T. butter (or margarine)
2 T. milk
Parsley
Black pepper
Salt
1 slice whole wheat toast with butter or margarine
Directions:
Whip egg, milk, parsley, pepper and salt in a bowl. In a small to medium sized fry pan, heat butter over low heat. Pour egg mix into pan. Cook slowly, stirring with a rubber scraper until egg is almost set. Tap pan on burner to flatten egg mixture. Top half with spinach and cottage cheese. Fold egg and briefly cook to begin to melt the cottage cheese. Serve with one slice of toast. Chew slowly and savor!
Breakfast Pasta
I always though this would be the perfect meal before a sporting event - bike race, ten mile hike, etc.
Ingredients:
2 C. cooked spaghetti
2 T. butter or margarine
2 garlic cloves, minced
4 eggs, beaten
¼ c. Parmesan cheese
Parsley
Black pepper
Directions:
Sauté garlic in butter, toss in cooked pasta. Pour in eggs and sprinkle with half of the Parmesan cheese. Cook until eggs cling to pasta. Serve sprinkled with the rest of the cheese, parsley and pepper.
“It’s a Wonderful Life” Wild Rice Soup
I always use to think this was a Crock-pot dish, but it’s not. I have made it without the bacon, and it’s just as good. Be sure to eat it at least once during the winter, preferably while watching Jimmy Steward in his immortal classic.
Ingredients:
1 C. uncooked wild rice
3 C. boiling water
2 strips bacon (turkey, pork, veggie it doesn’t matter - or 2 T bacon bits)
¼ C. chopped onions
¾ C. sliced celery
½ C. sliced carrots
1 can (14.5 oz) broth (chicken or veggie)
2 cans (10.75 oz) condensed cream of mushroom soup
2 soup cans of milk
1 can (4 oz) sliced mushrooms and liquid
1 t. seasoned salt
pepper to taste
Directions: Combine rice and boiling water in a large pot; simmer, covered for 50-60 minutes. Drain excess liquid. Set aside. Fry bacon ‘til crisp. Set aside to drain. Fry onion, celery and carrots. If necessary, add some butter or margarine to fry in. Combine soups milk, mushrooms, salt, pepper, crumbled bacon, sautéed vegetables and rice. Simmer, covered, 1 hour. Serve in the dead of winter with warm cider.
Wacky Chocolate Coco Cake
My boyfriend would make this as an after-school snack.
Ingredients:
3 C. flour
2 C. sugar
1/2 C. unsweetened cocoa powder
2 t. baking soda
1 t. salt
2 C. water
¾ C. butter or margarine, melted or ¾ C. oil
2 T. vinegar
2 t. vanilla
Directions: Preheat oven to 350. Grease and flour 2 - 8 or 9” round cake pans. Mix all ingredients well and pour into pans. Bake 35-40 minutes.
ADVENTURES My Cleveland weekend
I visited the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame this weekend. Imagine that! I will admit that my friend was visiting from out of town, one of the best excuses to traipse around the city in a way that residents probably don’t during most average weekends. Still, without even really planning it, we ended up experiencing an interesting line of creative local adventures.
To begin with, on Thursday we cooked dinner that consist of foods bought from local grocery chain Heinens (Rocky River Branch) and Nature’s Bin in Lakewood, a cooperative company that provides jobs for people in need at a store devoted to organic and healthy goods.
Driving back from the store, we listened to local NPR station WCPN, who, along with PBS affiliate WVIZ run IdeaStream, a collaborative media effort to report on making change in Northeast Ohio. When that grew too boring, we had our choice of 4 college radio stations - Cleveland State, Case Western, BW or John Carol (all located at 91 or below on your FM dial).
I happened to be working at the Winking Lizard in Lakewood, a huge bar / restaurant located in an old Elk’s Lodge, complete with a bar dropped into the middle of the old ballroom, pool tables on the stage where big bands use to play, a six lane bowling ally in the basement and a live lizard in the non-smoking room. The Lizard is a locally owned chain of taverns with over a dozen individual restaurants across the area. My friend came to visit me and drank a Christmas Ale from Great Lakes Brewery, a conservation minded company that recycles to the point that they have almost achieved 0% waste.
We took a walk the next day through Cleveland Metroparks Zoo, one of the largest urban zoos in the country, and home to the largest collection of primate species in North America. What does that all mean? Monkeys, monkeys and more monkeys! (and apes and lemurs...)
Saturday was the day we went to the Rock Hall. So many people who live in Cleveland, Ohio have not. Granted, the 20$ price tag is off-putting. But honestly, if you have any favorite musicians, I would recommend giving it a try. They have deals throughout the year, and sometimes offer seasonal pricing. If you can’t make it during the day or on a weekend, the museum is open until 9 p.m. on Wednesdays.
We had lunch and a beer at Cooperstown, Alice Cooper’s tribute to music and baseball, located across from Jacob’s Field. Wanting to partake of even more delicious drinky-treats, we began a winter pub crawl at the Happy Dog on Detroit Avenue, a family restaurant transmogrified into a bar serving Polish beer and playing polka music on the jukebox. We hit a number of other bars on our way down to listen to live Blues music at Around the Corner, located at the far west end of Lakewood. Then, on our way back, we stopped at Merry Arts before getting a call from another friend that an Irish band was playing just up the street at Sullivan’s on Madison.
Finally, on Sunday, we went shopping out in University Heights (yes, we do occasionally cross the great East Side / West Side divide). On Coventry we bought a few gifts at the newly expanded Big Fun toy and nostalgia store. That night, we enjoyed an evening of Chinese food from Szechwan Garden and watched old movies ‘till the wee hours.
