Sally Jacobson

Sally Jacobson is 18 years old. She is the daughter of a huge corporate, business man, and she gets everything she wants. No question about it. She is a full-out, California-valley girl. Born and raised in the outskirts of Hollywood, she grew up around the “fab” life. Always wearing miniskirts, shawls, and sunglasses, she prances around like she owns the whole city. But then again, her father pretty much does. While people sit out on the streets, homeless, poor, and begging for money, she spends at least $200 a day on her Chihuahua; wardrobe only. She is on a strict “chicken salad only” diet, and cares more about her figure than anything else in the world. One time, I saw a waitress put broccoli in her salad, (which happens to be madam’s least favorite food.) Let’s just say that poor waitress is no long employed. How do I know all of this you ask? Well, unfortunately, I am Miss Sally’s assistant. An 18 year old having an assistant?! I know, I know, it sounds crazy. But to be honest, it’s not as bad as it seems. I only have three duties to fulfill. One, I have to make her look good; no matter what! If someone complains about something she is wearing, I defend her. If something she does is wrong, I make it look as if it was right. Two, I set up all her dates, events, and schedule completely. Lastly, it’s my responsibility to get her a double-mint-pinched triple chocolate mocha latté every morning at 9 o’clock on the dot. See, pretty simple.
I am only 17 myself, so I can pretty much relate to everything Sally is going through. Plus, the job has its perks. I get into all the popular parties, I’m always in the right spot at the right time for the craziest of all drama to go down, and I get to meet some very interesting people. Everything has always gone pretty well for me and this job. I have never messed up bad enough to be yelled at, and even though I don’t get much attention from her, Sally still depends on me for a lot of things, whether she’ll admit it or not. Up until today, I thought I was doing pretty well. Before I get into detail, I must add, today was the day that the biggest sale in Hollywood was released. Chanel bags, originally anywhere from $600-$1200 were now only $200 a bag. To Sally, this was better than a cure for cancer. She had been talking about this day for months, and she made it clear that she was depending on me to arrange how she would get to 367 Laceyville Avenue, and she expected to be first in line. This morning, I thought I had everything set up. The limo driver was informed to be there three hours early. And every important person who worked at the Chanel store had talked to Sally’s father, and was aware that Miss Sally Jacobson was expected to be first in line; if only things had gone as planned.
The limo driver was 20 minutes late, which was practically just as bad as being 4 hours late to Sally. She was infuriated. She even told me that if she wasn’t already so late, she would have called for a different driver. I took the blame, only because I thought Sally would be impressed at the fact that I took responsibility. But she wasn’t. She was only pleased because she now knew who was at fault, and she needed someone to blame. The whole drive downtown was a disaster. Traffic was a nightmare. There was an accident and roadblocks. Nothing was going the way it was planned. At the rate we were going, I didn’t expect to be first in line, and I knew that all Satan was going to be let loose if that didn’t happen. But I held my breath, and hoped for the best. When we arrived, we were still first in line. I thanked my lucky stars. We waited and waited and waited, and when it got a little chilly, I offered Sally my jacket; but I was rejected. I could tell she was still upset at the limo incident. The line behind us grew and grew; stretching around four blocks. Right when we THOUTGHT the manager came to open the door, she looked at Sally and said “Excuse me, I understand that you have had your father make arrangements to be first into the store, but someone of more importance has just unexpectedly arrived, and she will be the first into this sale.” The look on Sally’s face was UNFORGETABLE. I thought World War III was about to begin. I tried to mutter words to keep her calm. “Uh, uh, I, I, but…” but nothing would come out. I had nothing to say, nothing to do to help. Sally’s father was not going to be happy about this. But unexpectedly, Sally slowly composed herself, clinched her fists, and took a step back. We were all waiting to see who this oh-so-important person would be. Who on earth would have the nerve to take Sally Jacobson’s spot in line, and take the risk of having to deal with her father. We were all standing there in embarrassment. A few moments later, Paris Hilton, THE Paris Hilton, trotted right in front of us. All of our jaws dropped. A few seconds later, Sally managed to spit out the words “That’s, that’s, that’s, p-p-p-p-Paris Hilton?!” I was in awe. I tried to stay composed and act like nothing epic was happening, but who was I kidding? Hollywood’s biggest drama queen, and the only person Sally Jacobson had ever thought was better than her, was standing two feet away from me.

Don't Get Me Started

Who'd a thunk it? Everyone has their "hot" button, something that really gets them going, but what is the possibility of such a diverse group having the same pet peeve? Maybe one in a million, but the same ____ (number) people in the same location at the same time?George had traveled the world due to his occupation as a mining engineer, from the backwoods Appalachian community of Richlands, VA, to the vast, isolated outback of Western Australia, to the copper mines of __________. He considered himself to be a pretty mellow fellow, someone who took things in stride, especially the personality quirks of his fellow engineers. After all, people who burrow under the earth's surface to meet the needs of the world's citizens for everything from energy to beauty products, often have a slightly different perspective on life. How many people do you know who get excited about a six-foot seam of coal or recycling asphalt?Granted that George presented rather an imposing figure when one first made his acquaintance, he considered himself rather an ordinary guy. His occupation allowed him to lounge comfortably on the job in faded blue jeans and somewhat tattered t-shirts most of the time. Rarely did he dress up, except when required to, for the occasional summons to meet with the "suits" of management. Although he would have loved to indulge his one idiosyncrasy in attire, sporting a dapper Tyrolean hat with a jaunty feather, he restrained himself with supervisors.He was lounging around in his normal, casual work clothing when the phone rang. It was almost 5:30 p.m., his usual time for wrapping up the day and leaving the office. Most days he headed to the gym for some sort of physical activity to offset the kinks and stresses of the work day. Was that insistent, blaring phone his boss checking up on him or just some idiot who had dialed the wrong extension? He picked up the phone to the sound of soft, female Southern drawl. "Hi, y'all, is this the Capraro's? I have a gentleman here who'd like to speak to y'all." A million questions raced through his startled brain. Who were these people and how did they get his private extension? They were probably the same kinds of people who sent innumerable joke e-mails based on the oh-so-false assumption that the receiver would enjoy them as much as the misguided sender. Was this idiotic blond (with a voice like that she had to be blond!) never going to get to the point and disclose the reason for the untimely call? Even if he decided against going to the gym for a much needed workout, there was always some sporting event beckoning on the big screen TV in the corner of his sparsely furnished living room. He paused to reflect on his “minimalist” decorating style. How essential was it to have a bunch of pictures and “trinkets” cluttering up the clean, bare wall space? But back to the demanding telephone clutched in his hand.When the male voice that came suddenly on the line blared like a foghorn, "Capraro?" it came to him like a punch to the solar plexus just who it was. Just like the way he dressed in his memory and the image he had in his mind, the voice was one of a kind; if you heard it once it would not allow you to disregard it. The soft Southern accent blended with the raspy, drawn-out rumble automatically reminded you of a cantankerous old grizzly bear grumbling as he ranged the sparse berry patch late in fall, but it was also a pleasant reminder of past ___________. To hear a familiar sound and know who it is and catch up with an old friend is very nice ____________. George hadn't called or spoken to him in a long time and was delighted to restore old connections.

The Best Practice

Stretching, ply’s, jumping, throwing, and running are the things I do before the fun part starts. Hitting circuits start and I was in the bigger group, everybody was a good twenty five pounds more than me but I was ready. In all three stations I was against Taylor so I had my work cut out for me. He would plant and cut so fast if you were running full speed you still never had time to get in front of him. But I managed to pull it off and in doing so I got a "Good job" from coach Hannagin. In our practices if he tells you good job you earned it because he almost never speaks and when he does it is completely serious. So already my practice had started off good and it just got better as the day went on. Kickoff was the next thing we were working on and I actually get to play on that so I was pretty excited! I am the outside guy and I have a pretty large expectation, my job is to Never let anybody outside of me and to push the ball carrier into the middle of the field where everyone else is. In some cases when the runner goes inside I am the last resort in making the tackle. I sprint down the field and slow up as the runner approaches just so I won’t let him get past me. Now to the easiest part of practice, individual defensive skills. I am a corner/safety and it is always pretty easy when this part of practice comes. We go off to one side of the field and do zone or man coverage drills. In other words we do back peddling and planting to sprint drills. Even though it is pretty easy I think it is one of the best drills we do. Since all of the older kids are already good at it if I try really hard I kind of stick out. And to stick out for the coaches is a really good thing, especially if one other player is sick or out I have a chance to take their spot or prove to the coach that I am ready to step in whenever he needs me too.
Finally the best and most fun part of the day was here. I ran over to the hydrant and grabbed a quick swig of water, my mouth was as dry as a desert and to feel that cool water rush down my throat was a great feeling. I jogged back over to the coaches and took a knee. Coach Clark was explaining what we were going to be working on when we all stood up and broke the huddle. I was on defense With Kopen my best bud on defense and we were both ready to smash some varsity heads. The defense was called, 34 straight up cover three, and I was the backer with Kopen. I looked at Coach Graham and he showed the loop blitz. But when I turned around the offence was already at the line so the only thing I could was call it out. I looked up and yelled Loopde- loop to everyone so they would know what the play was. Kopen said he would go first which meant I would go second. As soon as the ball was hike me and kopen crossed and exploded through the line like there was no tomorrow.

$25 haiku

The $‍25 ‍Haiku Dr. Jonathan Harte with Rocky Mountain Infectious Diesease Specialists in Parker is the winner of The Denver Post’s $‍25 ‍Haiku contest. He had this professional take on the topic of “flu”:
Fever headache cough
Spread quickly. Easy to stop
Wash hands, vaccinate!

Read more ‍haiku at ‍denverpost.com/haiku   ‍. You also can go to denverpost.com/lifestyles   to have The ‍Haiku Guy, our avatar of verse, read aloud. If you’ve got something to say in a 5-7-5 poetry form, enter a one-stanza ‍haiku at lifestyle@denverpost.com   or file it at ‍denverpost.com/haiku   ‍. Don’t forget to include your name and hometown. Our favorite wins a $‍25 gift certificate to the Tattered Cover Book Store. For a limited time, winners also get a copy of “‍Haiku on 42nd St.: A Celebration of Urban Poetry and Art” from Clerisy Press.

This week’s topic, with the Colorado Rockies in the National League playoffs, is: home. The deadline is midnight Sunday.

Round-robin 1-Dont' Get Me Started

Who'd a thunk it? Everyone has their "hot" button, something that really gets them going, but what is the possibility of such a diverse group having the same pet peeve? Maybe one in a million, but the same ____ (number) people in the same location at the same time?

George had traveled the world due to his occupation as a mining engineer, from the backwoods Appalachian community of Richlands, VA, to the vast, isolated outback of western Australia, to the copper mines of __________. He considered himself to be a pretty mellow fellow, someone who took things in stride, especially the personality quirks of his fellow engineers. After all, people who burrow under the earth's surface to meet the needs of the world's citizens for everything from energy to beauty products, often have a slightly different perspective on life. How many people do you know who get excited about a six-foot seam of coal or recycling asphalt?

Granted that George presented rather an imposing figure when one first made his acquaintance, he considered himself rather an ordinary guy. His occupation allowed him to lounge comfortably on the job in faded blue jeans and somewhat tattered t-shirts most of the time. Rarely did he dress up, except when required to, for the occasional summons to meet with the "suits" of management. Although he would have loved to indulge his one idiosyncrasy in attire, sporting a dapper Tyrolean hat with a jaunty feather, he restrained himself with supervisors.

He was lounging around in his normal, casual work clothing when the phone rang. It was almost 5:30 p.m., his usual time for wrapping up the day and leaving the office. Most days he headed to the gym for some sort of physical activity to offset the kinks and stresses of the work day. Was that insistent, blaring phone his boss checking up on him or just some idiot who had dialed the wrong extension? He picked up the phone to the sound of soft, female Southern drawl. "Hi, y'all, is this the Capraro's? I have a gentleman here who'd like to speak to y'all." A million questions raced through his startled brain. Who were these people and how did they get his private extension? They were probably the same kinds of people who sent innumerable joke e-mails based on the oh-so-false assumption that the receiver would enjoy them as much as the misguided sender. Was this idiotic blond (with a voice like that she had to be blond!) never going to get to the point and disclose the reason for theuntimely call? Even if he decided against going to the gym for a much needed workout, there was always some sporting event beckoning on the big screen TV in the corner of his sparsely furnished living room. He paused to reflect on his “minimalist” decorating style. How essential was it to have a bunch of pictures and “trinkets” cluttering up the clean, bare wall space?

When the male voice that came suddenly on the line blared like a foghorn, "Capraro's?" it came to him like a punch to the solar plexus just who it was. Just like the way he dressed and the picture of him he had in his mind, the voice was one of a kind; if you heard it once you would never forget it. The soft Southern accent blended with the raspy, drawn-out rumble automatically reminded you of a grumbly old ______ but it was a good reminder. To hear a familiar sound and know who it is and catch up with an old friend is very nice ____________. George hadn't called or spoken to him in a long time and was delighted to refresh old connections, but what about the female voice that first disturbed his ________. Last he knew, __________ was a lone wolf. He "played well with others" when he had to, but preferred to fly solo on most operations because he perceived what needed to be done ten minutes in advance while his colleagues were still trying to identify the problem. ________ was larger than life, not only in his profession, but also in his sartorial flair.

Round-robin writing

Round-robin writing
Greetings all you creative writers (even if you don't think you are)!We are taking on Mrs. V's challenge to write 100+ words per day during the month of "Rocktober," as well as submitting some of our best work for the local podcast for the National Day of Writing, Oct. 20.Our round-robin writing project will work something like this:Write as much as you can in 15-20 mins. at a time (100 words is approximately a little over a half page). Post your writing here for the next author to continue with it. If you are the next author, read what's already been written, then add to the story. You want each page to make some sort of sense, but it's an exercise in creativity. Let your writing take you and go with the flow. If you have a great idea for the direction the story should take, go with it! Some possibilities to consider are:
· things you like
· places to travel
· "thoughts of a sundrenched elsewhere"
· highs and lows
· young (or old) fools
· What ticks you off?
As you can see, the possibilities are endless. Please save your work in a Word document as well as posting here. I can't wait to see where our words take us. Happy writing! Just so you know, I just penned 227 words!

Welcome!

Welcome back to school! Do your homework!