UNC Press Does March Madness!

Celebrate March Madness the UNC Press way.

Follow the steps for a chance to win a book published by the UNC Press. It's fun! It's easy! Click here!

Cheers,
Charlene Joy

Let's go to Penney's! - Part Two

Last night I headed over to Penney's to acquire a pair of slacks. Totally not at all to check their new pricing strategy. Nah.

Other than a few bold orange squares hanging from the ceiling (I suppose to drive home their new motto of "fair and square" pricing) nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Tons of beige decor and happy salespeople.

The price tags were different though. The prices were... round. $25, $18, $20, etc. The items were divided in two categories: everyday price and best price. For those of us obsessed with sales, there is still the best price rack.

jcp did a good job of creating a buzz in my head. I had to check out the store my family has been shopping at for centuries. After watching the colorful non-Ellen ads that have aired, I'm sad to say that the changes they made aren't radical. Still beige, still my jcp. The price tags freak me out a bit, but I'm sure I'll get used to it. At least they still give you a 20% discount when you use their card.


Conclusion: Mixed feelings. Even though I know I'll be getting "the best deal" when buying a product, there is no longer a sense of satisfaction when you see the price go down from a $32 to an $18, because there is no $32 to begin with.

Let's go to Penney's!

After a month of allowing JC Penney's new IMC to sink in, I have realized it has not sunk in--at all. I keep forgetting I must stop referring to one of my favorite places by its archaic name. Get with it. It's jcp now... jcp... cool modern chic as demonstrated by lack of punctuation and capitalization... jcp.

Who wouldn't like to have Ellen DeGeneres as their spokesperson, while still maintaining their affiliation with Martha Stewart? I mean, who wouldn't want to have medium length hair and a pixie cut at the same time? What are you trying to do jcp? I am sure it's not me--it's you. I don't even know who you are anymore.

Also, what's with the lack of clearance racks and outrageous discounts? I must now learn how to cope with the concept that awesome prices are everyday prices. The absence of .99 at the end of prices makes me nervous. After decades (all two of them) of accepting the .99 as a NORMAL part of consumerist culture, now I have to adjust to this obscenity. No longer are the days where I could experience a sense of accomplishment for tracking the same sundress for 500 months, where I could savor my victory as I snatch said item with my quivering fingers, as my eyes scan stickers upon stickers of scratched-off prices on the tag, and finally obtain a 90% off discount.

Fellow Americans--the Mayans are right. I am convinced there is nothing left to live for.

What do you think? Yay or nay to JC Penney's (oops, jcp's) new look? Are you thrilled, confused, or (like me) utterly perturbed?

Poem #11 - Intermediate Poetry Writing

(November 30, 2010)

“Oombrella”

“What? What did you just say?”

Grandma's face froze, like I’d pranked her with a water-squirting flower.

“Someday, you’ll live in Amurca,

and they don’t take your sheet there.

That’s why you hafta learn pronounciation.”

Frustration had set in on her deep red cheeks, like hoops set on fire.

“Umbrella begins with the letter u,

but that don’t mean a thing.

I’m going to teach you a trick.”

Two hours of juggling new sounds, time to add another pin.

“I want you to take your hand,

make a little fist, and punch yourself

in the stomatch. Go on.”

I don’t question her wisdom anymore; I carried on with the performance.

“Say uh! That’s how you say umbrella.

Uh, uh, uhmbrella. Like a man,

hombre, hombre, hombrella.”

Why is English such a beech? Painfully deceptive--a fun house mirror.

Construction

(August 31, 2010)

After lunch, Mami brought my favorite sippy cup

out to the war-zoned backyard construction site.

She sidestepped threaded rods and stumbled along

to the cinder blocks where Papi and I would drink.

He’d say there was no better way to quench thirst

than sipping some 80 proof Superior Bacardi—

the ritualistic elixir that fuels our island life,

ever-present since my preschool days. I won’t lie,

sometimes I long for that stagnant stench of beer

and spiced rum that would cool us down, our team.

I remember how I thought of myself as Papi’s son,

and how bitter Mami wanted a daughter with smooth hands.

Getting banished from my “unladylike” playground,

my helpless cries fell deaf on Papi’s unseeing eyes:

I learned that treason came in different shades

of pink pointe shoes and sequined leotards.

Photographs show my sticky hair slicked back in a bun,

and my feet bound in satin ribbons, but I know

blotches of blush can’t hide the handyman’s helper.

Who knows who I’d see if Papi weren’t blind.

Cheap

(September 30, 2010)

I’ve been thinking about those razors,

the blue generic ones I bought in Asheville.

They were labeled “For Men,”

but my legs craved the attention,

and they were on sale—the razors.

I wanted to wear that white skirt,

long enough to please your parents,

short enough for your hands to wander

while waiting for the breadsticks.

That’s the first time I’d shaved my legs

with the sole purpose of satisfying you,

not knowing all razors were for men.

I’ve been thinking about those razors—

the two dollars and ninety nine cents

that helped me become a woman—

as I lather up today and wonder if

the silkiness will ever be mine again.

Retrato de sómel

Lajas.

Ayer corrí en el carrito "nuevo" por el Valle de Lajas... ¡Qué emoción al ver de nuevo a mi "pasto rubio"! Aunque ya no era rubio, pues la región había sido bendecida con la presencia de la lluvia, la cual pasó de ser una extraña a una inquilina de primera clase, front and center, al cabo de varios meses. ¡Qué cómica se veía la grama, verde y llena de vida! Tuve que contener mis ganas de acariciar la clorofila aterciopelada con mi mejilla. La carretera seguía, seguía; el "fideo" seguía igual.

Ahí estaba, el valle abierto y la tierra baldía, cuando el cielo me dio un golpe en los ojos... no me quedó más remedio que bajar la mirada--me intimidaba. Me decía nena, me decía amante, me decía que lo mirara a la cara. Luego a poco, poco a luego, me atreví a mirar la manta azul que me hablaba. Cubriendo la espina dorsal de las lejanas montañas, me decía *Mírame. Soy hermoso. Aún te amo, a pesar que me abandonaste hace dos años.* Y así fue que el azul pálido se despidió de mí aquel día--con una sonrisa de nubes blancas y una cálida brisa.

Después de horas de revisita, llegué a mi destino. En la mano, un machete y en los labios... agua de coco frío.

¡Qué se joda Chapel Hill! Yo me quedo en Puerto Rico.

Cheers,

Charrrlín.

Life is Tetris and I'm Winning

My twenty years of experience have taught me to keep things simple and treat life like a game of Tetris. Sometimes things fall easily into place; other times, not so much.

My sister keeps asking me, “Where do you see yourself five years from now?” I always blurt out some automatic, white-picket fence answer involving a Prince Charming and the job of my dreams, but today was different. For the first time in years, I answered (quite sincerely), “I honestly don’t know.”

Five years ago, I would’ve never imagined that I would be living in the United States all by myself, paying my own bills, minding my own business, and plucking white hairs from my head--all with a big grin on my face. Five years ago, I didn't know that life was going to be so hard; most importantly, I didn't know I was going to be able to deal with it all. I'm a grownup. I won the prize. Now what?

Well, Loren… I really don’t know where I’ll be five years from now, but I can tell you one thing: I’ll be wherever I’m supposed to be and I’ll be happy.

Cheers,

Charlene Joy

Mr. Wil's 131

Learning how to write poetry... baby steps.
Most of my English 131 - Intro to Poetry Writing assignments:

Nonsense Words

(Walmart exercise in iambic pentameter)

Pajamas, nightgown, collar, button, sleeve

Compressor, hammer, level, pulley, screw

***

Object Description
(Couplet in iambic pentameter with variations)

/ x ´ / x ´ , / ´ x / x ´ / x ´ / x a

/ ´ x / x ´ / x ´ / x ´ / x ´ / x a

Hammer

The modern head: steel for efficient bounces.

Standard can weigh from ten to twenty ounces.

***

Nonsense Words + New Couplet

(Iambic pentameter, abab)

CSI: The Final Clue

Pajamas, nightgown, collar, button, sleeve.

Compressor, hammer, level, pulley--screw!

Detective Grissom knew what to believe.

He went to fetch the rest of the sleuth crew.

***

Ten Line Poem

(Iambic pentameter, revised + additional verses)

The Smoking Ban

On January 1^st, it came to town—

the smoking ban that chased away the butts

of cigarettes from public buildings’ grounds.

The flagpole in Polk Place is now the home

of Tar Heel smokers—students, teachers, and

some other folks who like to watch the smoke.

New blades of grass of half-chewed Camels reign

around the Newport-buds. Saliva-dew.

Is it the best location to light up,

a hundred feet from school facilities?

Before and after: still free to pollute.

The stench of rolled up nicotine now floats

beneath the colors of red, white, and blue.

***

Ekphrastic Poem
(Quatrain in iambic pentameter)

/ - ´ / x ´ / x ´ / x ´ / x ´ a

/ x ´ / x ´ / xx ´/ x ´ / x ´ b

/ x ´ / x ´ / x. / x ´ / x ´ / x ´ a

/ x ´ / x ´ / ,´ / x ´ / x ´ b

"Self-portrait as Thing in the Forest" by Julie Heffernan (b. 1956)

Julie's hair is red drupes in one tress.

She stands, a Thing in the Forest in her dream

of many colors. And hanging from her dress,

a single sleeve, ruffles colored cream.

***

Combo-Sonnet
(Iambic pentameter with variations, abab cdcd efef gg)

Murder in the Hippocampus

Pajamas, nightgown, collar, button, sleeve...

Compressor, hammer, level, pulley—screw!

Gil Grissom didn’t know what to believe.

He went to fetch the rest of the sleuth crew.

A bloody hammer glistened in the nook;

head was made of steel (for efficient bounces).

A deadly weapon… Here, come take a look:

Standard can weigh from ten to twenty ounces.

Julie’s hair was braided in one tress.

She stood, a Thing in the Forest in her dream

of many colors. Now hanging from her dress,

a single sleeve, ruffles colored cream,

was stained in red: nothing’s what it seems.

Unsolved mystery in the world of dreams…

formspring.me

Ask me anything! http://formspring.me/Charitaland

Vino y migajas

Zero Deities-

An Atheist Goes to Church:

Y de veras, no fue coincidencia aquella,

cuando a su lado el Señor me puso.

Sabiendo que detesto ese sonido

de gargantas invasoras de paz.

Las lenguas mojando el pan, es lo único

que escucho. Y mucho vino torrencial,

ahogando esófagos apolina’os.

Y si me ves con tremendo meneíllo,

Es por la angustia que siento. El cosquilleo

de la gente “astuta”. Juro que me pongo más

bruta con cada glub glub, sabes.

Y muero por dentro.

Cheers,

Char

Ballsy

For the gorgeous Samantha Terry.

Balls.

The sexist, metaphorical

things that are in my—ooh,

Possession;

You seem to have them too.

Don’t cry, Sweetheart,

not a tear.

You know we can play too.

We don’t play often,

oh, but when we do…

Balls.

We do fall, but when we

bounce back,

All Hell—breaks—

Loose.

Lucky for us,

they’re only metaphorical.

Lucky for us,

they don’t hide

when

things

get

Tough.

balls

So when you hear him say,

Naughty, are you going there?

You know you'll reply, ever so calmly,

Baby, I’ve been there—

and back.

Ha! Balls...

Cheers,
The Charmonsta'

Chaucer, Chowder--Who Gives a Damn?

Engl 320 is driving me insane.

You're the sentence, Chaucer,

the subject of my story.

If a sweven is a dream and

If tonight was last night,

then idk what the frick Imma do with

mah life. Honestly. Chaucer.

Ynough!

What where you thinking?!

Every time I read the Tales,

I deye inside. My soul turns blake.

And I'm a wight, a person.

You've got some sense of humor.

I see that nyce is synonymous to foolish

and to have a wood is madness, woodnesse.

Oh, I will make werre to you.

Make werre long time, I seye.

My patience is lite in kynde, little in nature,

inversely proportionate to my wood.

Nathelees, I'll read you

with my tweye eyes.

Chaucer.

Chowder.

Who gives a damn?

Thine Illustrious Charmander

Faces

This poem is dedicated to my dear friend Ryan Levin. These verses describe the mutual silliness of our tendency of making funny faces at each other.

Faces

His face will smile, wide-eyed saucers

Like mine. With raised silly eyebrows--

Gesundheit! More hiccups come as

We mimic each other's faces.

The Ryan--Char's mirror image!

I tried my best to stick to the following pattern: / x' / x' / 'x / 'x /, two "unstressed stressed" feet followed by two "stressed unstressed" feet, an actual mirror image! Spicin' up the tetrameter. How cool is that?

Cheers,

Char

Feminine Rhyming Couplet with Variations

Another Engl 131 Assignment! We basically had to write a descriptive couplet in iambic form, but with a caesura after the second foot of the first verse, a trochaic substitution in the third foot of the first verse and another one in the first foot of the second verse. The rhyme scheme is A A. Each verse contains 11 syllables, the last one is unaccented, thus the name of the exercise: feminine rhyming couplet with variations. Nice deviation from the standard line in iambic pentameter. Pattern is as follows:

/ x ´ / x ´ , / ´ x / x ´ / x ´ / x

/ ´ x / x ´ / x ´ / x ´ / x ´ / x

We had to choose one subject from our list of "Walmart nonsense words," so I -- naturally -- picked "hammer." Once again, we weren't allowed to use metaphors. Simple plain rhetoric. One word: mindf*ck. I hope you enjoy.

Hammer

The modern head: steel for efficient bounces.

Standard can weigh from ten to twenty ounces.

Cheers,

Charmander Char

Drifter

DON'T open that window!
Hours searching for the right words
for my mental show & tell--and it's here!
A THOUGHT hit my mind--now it's mine.

DON'T open that window!
The in utero snapshots of my seed
will burst OUT of my soul,
leave the room,
crawl out the window,
seep back into the world.

Windows closed, my pen drifts, to find
peace in the dreams I crochet with paper.

There's me--drifting
drifting under a cumulus sky,
Interstate flooded with my stepping-stone trucks.

I play hopscotch on the freight trucks
with catlike surreptitiousness;
I claim my nighttime alley roof
in broad daylight.

I drift as I dunk the spectators' thoughts
into the ice water of my imagination.
I feel. The scorching heat
heat of the day adheres to my skin,
kissed away by the healing wind.
My cured feet, naked, they wander
above the star-studded asphalt.

Fin

You may open the window now.

~
Cheers,
Char

Engl 348 (Iambic Pentameter)

I like the way our Teacher looked like drapes.
Her shoulders--wrapped by floral prints and leaves--
they seemed to me, were rods that held up yards
of flowers that cascaded to her feet.

Last Ballet Class (Iambic Pentameter)

And I remember when Poseidon died--
a day before my grandpa killed himself--
as I was twirling on the tip of my
new Sanshas. Fall from a passé, I cried.

Walmart Poesy

Recently, our Engl 131-Intro to Poetry Writing class had to go to Walmart for an odd assignment. We had to name and write down as many products as we could... Bread, artichoke, frying pan, trash can, brassieres--everything. Needless to say, we ended up with hundreds of words. Then, the professor asked us to write a couple of verses in iambic pentameter using words from one section of the store at a time. Our professor often gives us odd assignments like this one, but they all have a valuable purpose. He said we had to learn to weave words together without having to worry about meaning or depth, at least not yet. Baby steps. I expect to be writing some mad free verse by the end of this semester.

Examples:

Clothes
pajamas, nightgown, collar, button, sleeve

Tools
compressor, hammer, level, pulley, screw

Kitchen
fork, skillet, ladle, saucer, baster, spoon


Cheers,
Charmonsta'

La negrita blanca (The little white Black girl)

La negrita blanca, or The little white Black girl

This poem tries to explain how the n-word is widely used in Puerto Rican society, often free from negative connotations, and the shock I received when I learned things were different here. You have been warned.

~

La negrita blanca

I don’t really like your enthusiasm for colored walls.

I now live in a land where I can’t even say nigger,

even though that’s who I’ve always been.

Torn like flesh from bone from a country

where black still reigns in even the lightest-skinned ones like me.

I see black in my people, in the food I eat,

in the air I breathe, in the soil I used to play with as a

child. The music that moves my bare feet to the beat of that drum,

played by hands of many shades of mother land.

Nigger, not demeaning, but endearing.

Nigger, not disrespectful, but full of love.

Take it as you will, I’m a nigger among niggers—centuries all

mixed up, our blood, our sweat, our tears, millions of fears,

Niggers—we are all.

I stepped into this foreign land where niggers there are none,

because it’s wrong, head-turning, battered, tarnished meaning,

meaning all gone.

And here I lay, broken-hearted in culture shock.

My pet name lies unmentionable, unintentionally oppressive on my lips.

My heart lays shattered in splintered pieces of

honey, sweetie, angel, nigger.

Don’t worry, grandpa. I’ll always be your little nigger.

(Just not when my feet are stomping on this country’s blessed earth.)

~

Cheers,

Char