AndyLand: I'm From Dinner Table Stories

I’m from dinner table stories
Of good ol’ Italian Brooklyn boys.
Neighborhood stickball games turned to quarries.
Yankees, Nathan’s Hot Dogs, carnivals; their summer joys.
The nuns with long rulers, yard sticks perhaps,
Reprimanded their tricks with a small, swift smack.
Mushrooms with dinner, but if they ever ate them last,
Grandpa knew better, they got mushrooms for breakfast.
Ferris wheel worker, cotton candy machine,
Got their tattoos at seventeen and eighteen.

I’m from dinner table stories
Of grungy boys turned gentlemen, young girls turned women.
Harley-driving guys and horse-back riding ladies.
Las Vegas, Bahamas, Illinois; each one, a road’s bend.
Drag races, walks down Fremont; and when Mom was four,
Moved to Bahamas, eighteen months they adored.
But Grandpa could never sit comfortably,
Off to Illinois, the only Easter grass factory.
And finally they returned to Vegas, the Southwest.
My parents first meeting place; that adventure, the best.

I’m from dinner table stories
Of laughs, cries, giggles, and sighs.
All become unforgettable memories
To tell the young kids that will be mine.
Sunday pasta, with tales of old pleasures.
They’ll know of many generations’ adventures.
And one day, when my time is up,
It’ll be their turn to finish them up.
I’m from dinner table stories.

AndyLand: The Twilight Zone

     "You unlock this door with the key of imagination. Beyond it is another dimension - a dimension of sound, a dimension of sight, a dimension of mind. You're moving into a land of both shadow and substance, of things and ideas. You've just crossed over into the Twilight Zone."
     Chills, shivers, the creeps. Each was guaranteed. You knew you'd experience something off, something different. Sitting on your couch, yet teetering between reality and what is known as the twilight zone. Long before vampires were the focus of the term Twilight, the black and white series captured the attentions of many, dragging them in closer to a world of haunting imagination.
How could this erect the hairs on the back of your neck, though? It was make-believe. It was never before done. It was to become infamous. It was a beloved terror How could situations so unrealistic really hit home, striking fear into the hearts of many?
     Maybe you felt insecure, unsure about your appearance. Maybe you felt average but not beautiful. Where you happy with the way you felt? What if that were to be taken out of your control. The way you look can affect the way you think.
     Maybe you just wanted to read. Books were your best friend and there was nothing eve wrong with that. Reading was your life. That could never change. Yet, in an unfortunate turn of events, when all that was left was books, your only gateway to them: your reading glasses, we're irreplaceably broken.
     Maybe money was the answer to everything. To go to any length, lie at any risk mask yourself at any expense. But what if one day, the mask of greed could no longer be lifted.

     Or maybe it was your thirst for fame and for legendary status that ruled your life. Striving to be the best, publicizing your confidence, gambling your life for a title. A harmless virtue: the strive for success. Until it changed you for the worse.
     Or maybe it was a childlike fear. The in capability of treating Talking Tina with care and respect the way a young girl could. A simple task that became terribly twisted. A mindset altered to meet it's own demise.
     Perhaps the fear of fear itself was what really crawled into the deep corners of your heart, mind, and consciousness. A life lived by caution. Never taking risks. Never facing that confrontation. Never standing up to your own bully. Nothing you did was right. Off to the cornfields you went, doom imminent.
     The nature of the Twilight Zone was the perfect sword for the stab of fear that made your heart skip a beat. Supernatural occurrences with shocking resemblance to your own every day life. The connections seemed to be spanned across stars, yet they were made. For maybe that's why it was called the Twilight Zone. An American pastime, and endlessly beloved series. "There's the signpost up ahead. Your next stop - the Twilight Zone."

AndyLand: Breakfast

     Traditions make a family. Breakfast in my house has never been one, though. However, we always find a way to make it a grand adventure.
     Everyone likes something the other doesn't. The dislikes are way too abundant to call us a functional family. We are picky about our food the way Peter Piper picks his pickles.
     Whether it be Mom's signature whole wheat pancakes on the grill. (an ancient family recipe) Or Laura's cinnamon rolls in the oven. (not so ancient) Or Sam's struggle with reaching perfectly crisp bacon in the skillet. Or dad's freshly squeezed orange juice. (made only two days out of the year) Or Louie's secret recipe eggs. (not so secret: add pepper) Or everybody's quick fix cereal bowls. (everyone likes a different kind), living in the Sposato house, one can always wake up to smell the bacon... Or to hear the bickering.
But that's just entropy at its best.