Thursday, June 17, 2010

TVD First Date | Jonneine Zapata

Pronunciation: \tran(t)s-ˈfiks\

Function: transitive verb

Etymology: Latin transfixus, past participle of transfigere, from trans- + figere to fasten, pierce Date: 1590

1 : to pierce through with or as if with a pointed weapon : impale

2 : to hold motionless by or as if by piercing

— trans·fix·ion \-ˈfik-shən\ noun

D is for Demon.

Buena Park, CA - so there I was in parochial grade school and here’s mainly what I recollect of it (besides “Hail Mary, full of…”) - the girls bathroom. I knew this was a big deal, but I didn’t know it had a name. Acoustics! Hollering back ceramic tiles, bolting high ceilings and a slick slippery floor… The great creator had endorsed me with all the essential and natural reverb for my early (and mostly non attended) a cappella wailings.

The first dead body I ever saw was in Salinas, KS. One of the school priests had died. There he was, basking in an open casket in the school church. No one was “made” to go – I was genuinely curious. Nothing cataclysmic came from it though, which did crush my ever so wild expectations. Anyway, in my continued efforts to replace my grade school “concerto hall” (um yeah, the church would have been awesome, but, er, uh, no dice, as you probably guessed), it was in Kansas that I (during a drill) discovered the tornado shelter.

San Fernando Valley, CA. Now, who am I kidding - the best wailings to be had are in the school gymnasium. Here, I was temporarily acquainted with my now, long lost friends, who were bussed in from a good 30 (or more) miles away. Not only did I learn to clap on 2 and 4, I was introduced to the world of gospel. They would tape record their families precious vinyl and I would go home and memorize the songs that we were all to sing together during gym. I couldn’t harmonize all that well at first, but could sing a perfect 5th without any guidance whatsoever. They say money knows no color, well neither does vinyl (to tape)…

Highland Park, CA - my home is my gymnasium and my neighborhood is it’s own orchestra. I wake to the ice cream truck “theme song” or the onslaught of “tamale, tamale” from clear on down the road (…if I can hear him, I gotta be cutting through to out there too – or, you’d think.)

Homegirl’s knocking at my door letting me know her “company”, “buys”, “gold”, there’s a bright yellow finch braving some heat from my very own feline hunter, I pop on over to my neighbor’s (he’s got this VHS of The Cramps performing at a mental hospital back in ’78) and finally, on my way home, I hit the taco truck for fresh grilled corn on the cob (touch of lime and paprika) and wonder – is the neighboring building going to turn their parking area into a discoteca tonight?

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1 comment:

DAK said...

my first date begs for a second...