By Anne
She has a
bizarre
point of view.
An unusual
way of being.
They say she is
weird,
strange,
freakish.
She feels
unearthly.
She wishes she were
dreamlike.
One day
all of her
will be an illusion.
Editor: Makena Behnke
The Value of Guilty Pleasures
By Leo Milmet
Have you ever seen a film or television show, or read a book, or listened to a song, that you really, really like (or maybe even…LOVE) that you know is just awful? Or maybe you hate something for many reasons, but love to analyze just why you hate it, or you genuinely like a film, book, show, or song that everyone else hates? These various types of films are often called guilty pleasures, and I must say that I have many of them. I used to think of guilty pleasures as embarrassing, but not anymore. I actually really embrace my enjoyment of many truly bad (or badly reviewed) film and shows, like Maris Curran’s drama Five Nights in Maine, the new Burt Reynolds film The Last Movie Star (the rare film that I truly, honestly love that still has terrible reviews), almost any M. Night Shyamalan film (with the exception of Lady in the Water and the god-awful The Last Airbender) or, especially, the CW-produced coming-of-age show Gossip Girl. I really, honestly like that show. It’s awful, yes, and I despise nine out of ten shows of its type, but for some reason, I enjoy Gossip Girl. All art is subjective, so subjective that, in fact, you could easily argue that there should be no such thing as a “guilty pleasure,” but no matter. There is value to these artistic works.
Now, you may ask, “Where on earth is the value in Gossip Girl, or The Village, or even in Five Nights in Maine?” For myself, I find the value in “bad” films or shows by analyzing them, just to understand why they are bad. I can safely say that Gossip Girl is bad. The dialogue is sometimes ridiculously unrealistic, and the plotting can be very lazy. But, it’s incredibly fun for me to watch, and I love to analyze just why it is, in fact, a bad show. It’s simply a bad show that I watch all the time. And, doing exactly that, with whatever guilty pleasure you may have, is what I recommend to you today. If you’ve always had a couple of guilty pleasures that you’ve been embarrassed about for a while, maybe go through them again one day and try to figure out just why they are bad, good, or some mixture of the two. Trust me, it can be a lot of fun.
Editor: Makena Behnke
Juxtaposition
By Peter Kadel
He stood before me, looking as he looked every day–rugged, a man of the forest, bearded and burly. He and his possessions were not gilded or lavish but utilitarian and plain. He and everything he owned had a purpose that they fulfilled adequately. None of his features or possessions were extraordinary in any way, with one exception–the pen. He always carried an ornately decorated fountain pen. I never found out where he got it or how he was ever able to afford such a gilded masterpiece. But, he had it with him always, a special pocket on his rucksack held the treasure so it was safe yet easy to reach. The body of the pen was made from a piece of obsidian as black as a moonless night with gold inlay and a golden nib. I was always surprised when I saw him holding the black treasure. It was a diamond in the rough of his demeanor. His worn and weathered hands worried the smooth glasslike surface. I never saw him use it, but the pen was always there.
He would never part with it: when the drought hit and we were starving and thirsty, he kept it. When the common folks were prohibited from reading and writing, he kept it. When a group of bandits took my sister and demanded our valuables, he kept it. When rumors spread of a wealthy collector offering a large sum for old writing implements, he kept it. When he was given a choice between the pen and his life….
It was just a pen, not a long lost relic, not a family treasure passed down for generations, not a holy artifact coveted by all. I’ll never understand why he cared about that thing so much. When I asked him why it was worth more than a human life, he said, “I carry these tools all over these here mountains, and I use them to create things so I can survive. But this pen won’t help me survive. If I were to use this pen to create something, that something lasts beyond me.”
So there it was, greed and vanity. Or maybe not. When he lay dying in a pool of his own failings, he handed the pen to me.
Editor: Claire Jenkins
Contritum
By Swan Weasley
A bird
who clipped its own wings
was lonely
because it couldn’t fly.
Whenever its ability to fly
began to return
it would clip its wings.
Again,
and again,
and again.
Whether or not it realized it.
Editor: Makena Behnke
Common Mistakes I’ve Made While Driving
By Claire Jenkins
Now mind you, I have a PERMIT, not a license. I am but a child in the driving world, and it is a SCARY world, people. For those of you who have been driving for years, it may seem like second-hand nature, but for us newbies it is practically WWIII. Whether you are trying to switch lanes or make it through a four-way stop in one piece, it feels like death flashes by every five seconds.
Below is a list of driving no-no’s that I accidentally “yes-yes’d”:
- Stop signs are suggestions, right? Maybe not. But, okay, sometimes they are hidden behind things, such as bushes or people, and sometimes I’m just stupid, alright. I sort of made a rolling stop at one, but like, right in the middle of the intersection. It’s fine; I’m fine.
- Blinkers. Blinkers are complicated, and sometimes I mix up which way to push them. So, if you ever see an idiot turning right with their left blinker on, it’s probably me.
- Four-way stops. Okay, but if you and THREE other people all arrive at a four-way stop at the same time and everyone on your right goes first, excuse me, what? Then everyone is waving their hands at each other, and everyone is slowly inching forward, and next thing you know it’s been two hours and everyone has moved AN INCH. Driving is not for the impatient.
- Not hitting bikers is hard. Not honking at bikers is harder. Bikers shouldn’t be allowed on the road. That’s it.
- You know how you can turn right on a red light? Yeah, except I went left on a red light. Live fast die young; honestly, I’m amazed I’m still alive.
- What’s the difference between reverse and drive? I found out the hard way, and so did the curb in front of me. Olé, friend.
- I’ve cut people off before, but I haven’t killed anyone yet. I swear it’s not malicious; I really just don’t know what I’m doing.
I really do try my best, guys. Thanks for enjoying my stupidity, and don’t report me for breaking as many laws as I have while driving.
Editor: Makena Behnke
Espejo
By Renée
Our names
Are us.
They’re poetic in meaning.
Some common,
Some unique.
Sometimes we choose them;
Sometimes they’re chosen for us:
A family heirloom,
A memorial,
An aspiration,
An inspiration.
Our nicknames we give to those we know.
A name becomes beautiful when it belongs to someone we love.
We present ourselves through our names.
We are behind our signatures.
Us: complex and ever changing beings
Represented by our names.
Editor: Claire Jenkins
Introduction to Shelby’s Shenanigans: Ms. Clark as Special Guest
By Shelby Armor
Hello, and welcome to “Shelby’s Shenanigans”! This is a podcast that explores the people of Palm Valley School by talking to staff and students, taking a look at who we are as people, and how we shape a PVS community. Today, for our first episode, we’re talking to Middle and Upper School teacher, Ms. Clark. We examine her connection with yoga and the outdoors, as well as psychology and how that has influenced her life. I hope you enjoy the premiere episode of “Shelby’s Shenanigans”!
Editor: Claire Jenkins
some coffees i’m ready to try… now:
By Makena Behnke
many people enjoy drinking their normal morning coffee. it may be a latte, cappuccino, or a normal drip coffee. well, lattes, flat whites, and mochas are just the tip of the iceberg–
- turkish coffee~ coffee with fine grounds and a cardamom pod included. also referred to as arabic and greek coffee. (turkey/greece/middle eastern area)
- cuban espresso~ espresso sweetened with sugar while brewing the shot. (cuba)
- marocchino~ espresso, cocoa powder and milk froth. sometimes thick hot cocoa and/or nutella is splashed in. (italy)
- galão~ 1 part espresso and 3 parts foamed milk. (portugal)
- kopi tubruk~ coffee with coarse grounds are left in the mix and are boiled with solid sugar. (indonesian)
- swedish egg coffee~ the egg cuts the bitterness and heightens the smoothness. supposedly it doesn’t taste like egg. (sweden)
- qishr~ spiced coffee husks, ginger, and every once in a while, cinnamon. (yemen)
- fat americano~ substitute hot water with a can of Coca-Cola and pour it over ice. (america)
- cafe breve~ 0.5 part milk foam, 1 part steamed half and half, and 1 part espresso. (america)
- red eye~ drip coffee with a shot of espresso. (america)
- mazagran~ lemon juice, ice cubes, water, and espresso. (portugal)
- espresso romano~ shot of espresso with lemon. (italy)
- cafe tobio~ 1 part drip coffee and 1 part espresso. (america)
Editor: AJ Patencio
Exsterno
By Ivana Crie
I am afraid of relationships.
Of love.
Of being dependant.
Of leaning on someone
who isn’t leaning back
because the moment they step away,
I am unsupported.
And when I crash,
the ground will shake;
tidal waves will form,
and my world will turn itself
inside out.
I am afraid of people like you,
who make it so easy to fall in love
and so hard to forget.
Editor: Claire Jenkins
Baby
By Leo Milmet, with anonymous collaboration
Breakfast.
Jim and I, with our son John and daughter Lynn.
Daddy Jim started acting strange.
Then he started talking strange.
“I’m going to watch a sp-sport t-todd-ay, where they hit a b-ball in the hole.”
“Golf?”
“G-g-gah-lffff? No, Victoria, n-no, not g-goh-lf.”
John said he was having a stroke.
The paramedics came running.
Doctors at the hospital asked many questions.
“You got a wife?”
Daddy Jim gave no answer.
The doctor said, “Any children? A baby?”
Jim said, “D-doll.”
I asked Daddy Jim, “Doll? What doll? Do you have a doll?”
He answered, “Baby. Baby…Babydoll.”
So, I said, “Babydoll? Who is your baby doll?”
Jim said, “Victoria.”
Me.
Then he closed his eyes and died.
I cried.
Editor: Claire Jenkins
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