New_U.S.
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Recently in my English class, we've been reading Like Water For Chocolate. We got the assignment to write a short story, the only requirements being that it needed to incorporate a recipe, and magical realism (like LWFC). Here's what I wrote, tell me what you think.
Ingredients:
2 Slices of your favorite bread
2 Tablespoons of Peanut Butter
2 Tablespoons of Jelly
Preparation:
First select one piece of bread. Next, apply a consistent layer of peanut butter across the entire surface of one side of the bread. It does not matter how much peanut butter you use. Two tablespoons is just a tentative measurement – a suggestion. To think, there was probably some man somewhere that arbitrarily plugged in numbers to find the formula for the perfect peanut butter and jelly sandwich for his book. Hopefully it was worth it. Yet most of the best opportunities in life come from randomness. I found throughout my life that the greatest gifts are unexpected.
The ring of my alarm screams for me to get up and start my day, but all I can do is lie down and stare at the ceiling. My life was going to be at its pinnacle today. The events of today would be the most notable of my life. This knowledge sends ice up through my veins. All my hard work has come to this moment. This 19th of July, 1969 would set in motion the events that would change the world. The bed around me became drenched as my veins began to thaw. Sitting up from the bed was all I needed to do; I was ready.
I should stop for a moment, however. I’m a bit far ahead of myself. Stories are meant to start from the beginning. I was born a little while back in North Carolina with the name John Morozov. My family had originally been from Moscow, Russia, until the Soviets took over. Back then the Morozov name was one of a wealthy family, with decent connections to the czar. Communist regime comes into power; suddenly we are “bourgeoisie”, evil men who just wish to suck the blood of the people’s nation. My family fled to the United States, to live the American dream. We became poor. Needless to say, my family has an anti-Soviet history.
My youth was just a huge game to me. Go to school, come home, eat, sleep, and repeat. Go to school, come home, eat, sleep, and repeat. Go to school, come home, eat, sleep, and repeat. I never really was too much concerned with what was, but what could be. I would imagine a place in my head, and I would wish I was there. I found friends with the same interest as me. What you may see as a pile of junk, I saw as the possibility of a foreign Marine outpost. We’d sell tickets to our little “worlds”. Not a bad way to make money.
As I’ve gotten older, I’ve worked in numerous occupations. There has been too many to tell. However, I found at one point in my life that I had a gift. Movie Sets. I could make anything look real; past experiences helped a bit. As far as creating a realistic setting goes, I was your man. You ever seen Night of Zombies or Martian Brigade? Yeah, I doubted it. For all the anti-Sovietism built into my blood, my last name didn’t help me at all.
Morozov. Russian. Soviet. Communist.
That’s all people see. To your average American, I was close enough to Khrushchev. They probably thought I called Stalin for casual conversation every Sunday. I radiated the scent of Russia. I would walk into job interviews and they would be covering their noses. Get this communist spy out of my office! Typical. Hollywood wouldn’t have anyone on their credit lists with the name Morozov. They might lose sales. I did get jobs, but it’s not like I’m producing Planet of the Apes. As I said though, I was the best. I didn’t have some secret method on building my sets, nor did I use some secret material. My method was simple: I poured my heart and soul into every piece of the set. Actors would walk in, in the morning and be dropping their jaws at what I had made. It’s like an alien world had sprung up overnight (I did that once). Trouble is with pouring your heart into something like this is that it takes it out of you. Five times I’ve been rushed to the emergency with abnormally pale skin and a weak heartbeat. I’d say those were my five best works.
The trick to staying healthy is eating. A bit of sugar and protein at lunch and you can move mountains. The Peanut Butter and Jelly sandwich is God’s gift to Earth. Its recipe is probably as old as the Bible itself. Step 1: select a slice of bread. It can be any bread of your choosing. Now layer a smooth sediment of jelly onto one side of the bread. Be sure to make the jelly layer completely smooth. An inconsistent area could impact the entire sandwich. I’ve found that making Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwiches is much like making movie sets. You must be perfect. No inconsistencies. No flaws. Period. If a Brazilian rainforest looks like Central Park, anywhere, then you have major problems.
This passion for my work came naturally to me. I really never thought anything of it. A few years back, I worked on a film called, Russian Winter. It was a low budget film, and I doubt it came to your local theater. I worked hard on it, and despite limited funds (and having never stepped foot in the Soviet Union in my life) I constructed a believable Russian town, placed on the edge of a military base. It turns out the film somehow reached the eyes of some poor CIA worker, who believed that the film was shot actually in the USSR. They studied the film for three months, hoping to gain some intelligence on the Soviet military. The government figured out the truth eventually. Someone was fired, and I was hired.
I was in the supermarket, shopping for vegetables. I remember as I stood by one of the large bins by the wall, meticulously examining every head of cabbage, in search of which one to buy. Towards the center, I saw a disheveled cabbage which seemed to have white dots on it. This would be hardly the specimen to be worth my money, however something odd occurred.
“John.”
Its common human procedure to ignore vegetables that speak to you. The first step to a mental institution is admitting you’re crazy. Continuing on with whatever you were doing is usually the best option.
“How would you like to serve your country, and work for the United States government?” Yes.
The answer was involuntary; I said it before even thinking. Some opportunities, whether offered by man or cabbage, are necessary to take. A short conversation later, and I had an address and a name. I was to meet a man by the name of Ted at Warehouse 3 on the coast, just at the outskirts of the town. I decided to go ahead with it. I didn’t really have anything to lose. Anyway, if anybody could mask a man to look like a vegetable, it was the government. But there was still one major question burned into my head: What did the United States government want with me?
Later that same day, I drove up to Warehouse 3. A lone man stood in front of the building, wearing nonchalant clothing and sporting dark glasses. It’s people like this, you know, the ones that try to do everything to be as nondescript as possible, they’re the ones you can always remember the most. He flashed some badge verifying that he was, in fact, important in some way. I shook his hand. This was Ted.
In 1962, President Kennedy boldly announced that the U.S. would put a man on the moon in this decade. If Kennedy had a plan in his head for how to do this, he should have stored it in a safer place. Not only was America losing the space race, she was gassed. The Soviets held their superiority with an Iron grip. We simply did not have the technology to beat them. However, if there was any country that would be daring enough to put a man on the moon, without actually going there, it was ours.
Ted told me this. My life now had a direct connection to the secrecy and success of the mission. The moon needed to be on Earth, and it needed to be in Ted’s jurisdiction now. I had been offered a job that only I could fully appreciate. I had to create the greatest set of my career, which would be taped, and broadcasted worldwide as the U.S. landing on the moon. This would also allow me to indirectly beat the Soviets, who had so hurt my family in the past. Yeah, I’d say this job was made for me.
The government’s reasons for selecting me were a bit less glorifying. They needed someone good, who could create a flawless Moon. I had already fooled the U.S., how hard could it be to fool the Russians? My name gave me an advantage as well. I even admit, Morozov sounds generically Russian. If things went south, and the plot was discovered, they could us me as a scapegoat, and I’d be labeled some kind of Soviet insurgent, hell-bent on smudging the name of liberty. If that happened, I’d probably be arrested, and jailed in a prison in the far jungles of somewhere.
Whether you say an opportunity or a curse was thrust upon me, it doesn’t matter. Life’s all a matter of perspective.
Step 2: select your next slice of bread. It shouldn’t be hard to find. If Step 1 has been completed successfully, there should only be one piece remaining to be chosen. Smother a layer of peanut butter onto bread. Inconsistencies and rough spots are fine. In fact, they are almost a key part of the sandwich.
Peanut butter and Moon’s surface look abnormally similar in texture sometimes. At some angles, it seems so beat up and rough, while at others, it is very smooth. Perspective I guess. I spent hours, days, months, working on that set. Every possible material was brought in to make a worthy lunar surface. I used gravel, dirt, charcoal; anything I could as recourse. A few inquisitive minds must be wondering, what about peanut butter, and all of its textural wonders? You could just paint that, right? Well, that’s classified. Check the public records in sixty years or so.
Ted was usually not to be seen during the work. He made his rounds though. He always wanted status reports on the project, “commentaries” as he called them. He continued to be as nondescript as possible, refusing to use names or details when asking for his status reports. He’d want a, “Commentary on the something”, just the basics. Ted’s supposed secrecy would be more revealing to a stranger than anything else. During weeks that Ted was in town, I swear I could see the stars creating an arrow pointing down at Warehouse 3, “Secret Government Project” written across the stars in the sky. It would only take a few blinks for this to go away.
I think this puts us back at the beginning. Me lying on my bed, the alarm clock having stopped its annoying ring at this point, my flashback outlasting it. When preparing for something an event that is life changing, even the most basic tasks are noteworthy.
I can always remember that this was the shirt I wore that day. These are the shoes that are to be entrusted with enormous sentimental value because of this event.
We have done all the taping for the airing tomorrow. All preparations have been made. As far as the public knows, we are already on the way to the moon. We just need one final shot: the lunar module landing. The contraption slowly lowers onto the surface.
Three feet. Two feet. One Foot.
Step 3: Combine the two slices of bread. The jelly and peanut butter ends should meet in the middle. You can take your time. Slowly unite the pieces of bread.
Impact.
The lunar module hits the ground. The shot is perfect. Tomorrow, June 20th, 1969, this shot will air. I have done what I never thought was possible. I have created the greatest work of my life, something that will deceive viewers worldwide. I got back at the nation who hurt my family, while serving my own nation. I was also kindly paid a large sum of money for my efforts. I have the American dream. That’s the end of my story. I can’t think of any morals to be learned. Not really a teary, heart warming conclusion. Well, in spite of everything, I still believe that people are really good at heart.
That’s a good ending.
A Brief Commentary on Something
*PB&J Recipe Included Within*
*PB&J Recipe Included Within*
Ingredients:
2 Slices of your favorite bread
2 Tablespoons of Peanut Butter
2 Tablespoons of Jelly
Preparation:
First select one piece of bread. Next, apply a consistent layer of peanut butter across the entire surface of one side of the bread. It does not matter how much peanut butter you use. Two tablespoons is just a tentative measurement – a suggestion. To think, there was probably some man somewhere that arbitrarily plugged in numbers to find the formula for the perfect peanut butter and jelly sandwich for his book. Hopefully it was worth it. Yet most of the best opportunities in life come from randomness. I found throughout my life that the greatest gifts are unexpected.
The ring of my alarm screams for me to get up and start my day, but all I can do is lie down and stare at the ceiling. My life was going to be at its pinnacle today. The events of today would be the most notable of my life. This knowledge sends ice up through my veins. All my hard work has come to this moment. This 19th of July, 1969 would set in motion the events that would change the world. The bed around me became drenched as my veins began to thaw. Sitting up from the bed was all I needed to do; I was ready.
I should stop for a moment, however. I’m a bit far ahead of myself. Stories are meant to start from the beginning. I was born a little while back in North Carolina with the name John Morozov. My family had originally been from Moscow, Russia, until the Soviets took over. Back then the Morozov name was one of a wealthy family, with decent connections to the czar. Communist regime comes into power; suddenly we are “bourgeoisie”, evil men who just wish to suck the blood of the people’s nation. My family fled to the United States, to live the American dream. We became poor. Needless to say, my family has an anti-Soviet history.
My youth was just a huge game to me. Go to school, come home, eat, sleep, and repeat. Go to school, come home, eat, sleep, and repeat. Go to school, come home, eat, sleep, and repeat. I never really was too much concerned with what was, but what could be. I would imagine a place in my head, and I would wish I was there. I found friends with the same interest as me. What you may see as a pile of junk, I saw as the possibility of a foreign Marine outpost. We’d sell tickets to our little “worlds”. Not a bad way to make money.
As I’ve gotten older, I’ve worked in numerous occupations. There has been too many to tell. However, I found at one point in my life that I had a gift. Movie Sets. I could make anything look real; past experiences helped a bit. As far as creating a realistic setting goes, I was your man. You ever seen Night of Zombies or Martian Brigade? Yeah, I doubted it. For all the anti-Sovietism built into my blood, my last name didn’t help me at all.
Morozov. Russian. Soviet. Communist.
That’s all people see. To your average American, I was close enough to Khrushchev. They probably thought I called Stalin for casual conversation every Sunday. I radiated the scent of Russia. I would walk into job interviews and they would be covering their noses. Get this communist spy out of my office! Typical. Hollywood wouldn’t have anyone on their credit lists with the name Morozov. They might lose sales. I did get jobs, but it’s not like I’m producing Planet of the Apes. As I said though, I was the best. I didn’t have some secret method on building my sets, nor did I use some secret material. My method was simple: I poured my heart and soul into every piece of the set. Actors would walk in, in the morning and be dropping their jaws at what I had made. It’s like an alien world had sprung up overnight (I did that once). Trouble is with pouring your heart into something like this is that it takes it out of you. Five times I’ve been rushed to the emergency with abnormally pale skin and a weak heartbeat. I’d say those were my five best works.
The trick to staying healthy is eating. A bit of sugar and protein at lunch and you can move mountains. The Peanut Butter and Jelly sandwich is God’s gift to Earth. Its recipe is probably as old as the Bible itself. Step 1: select a slice of bread. It can be any bread of your choosing. Now layer a smooth sediment of jelly onto one side of the bread. Be sure to make the jelly layer completely smooth. An inconsistent area could impact the entire sandwich. I’ve found that making Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwiches is much like making movie sets. You must be perfect. No inconsistencies. No flaws. Period. If a Brazilian rainforest looks like Central Park, anywhere, then you have major problems.
This passion for my work came naturally to me. I really never thought anything of it. A few years back, I worked on a film called, Russian Winter. It was a low budget film, and I doubt it came to your local theater. I worked hard on it, and despite limited funds (and having never stepped foot in the Soviet Union in my life) I constructed a believable Russian town, placed on the edge of a military base. It turns out the film somehow reached the eyes of some poor CIA worker, who believed that the film was shot actually in the USSR. They studied the film for three months, hoping to gain some intelligence on the Soviet military. The government figured out the truth eventually. Someone was fired, and I was hired.
I was in the supermarket, shopping for vegetables. I remember as I stood by one of the large bins by the wall, meticulously examining every head of cabbage, in search of which one to buy. Towards the center, I saw a disheveled cabbage which seemed to have white dots on it. This would be hardly the specimen to be worth my money, however something odd occurred.
“John.”
Its common human procedure to ignore vegetables that speak to you. The first step to a mental institution is admitting you’re crazy. Continuing on with whatever you were doing is usually the best option.
“How would you like to serve your country, and work for the United States government?” Yes.
The answer was involuntary; I said it before even thinking. Some opportunities, whether offered by man or cabbage, are necessary to take. A short conversation later, and I had an address and a name. I was to meet a man by the name of Ted at Warehouse 3 on the coast, just at the outskirts of the town. I decided to go ahead with it. I didn’t really have anything to lose. Anyway, if anybody could mask a man to look like a vegetable, it was the government. But there was still one major question burned into my head: What did the United States government want with me?
Later that same day, I drove up to Warehouse 3. A lone man stood in front of the building, wearing nonchalant clothing and sporting dark glasses. It’s people like this, you know, the ones that try to do everything to be as nondescript as possible, they’re the ones you can always remember the most. He flashed some badge verifying that he was, in fact, important in some way. I shook his hand. This was Ted.
In 1962, President Kennedy boldly announced that the U.S. would put a man on the moon in this decade. If Kennedy had a plan in his head for how to do this, he should have stored it in a safer place. Not only was America losing the space race, she was gassed. The Soviets held their superiority with an Iron grip. We simply did not have the technology to beat them. However, if there was any country that would be daring enough to put a man on the moon, without actually going there, it was ours.
Ted told me this. My life now had a direct connection to the secrecy and success of the mission. The moon needed to be on Earth, and it needed to be in Ted’s jurisdiction now. I had been offered a job that only I could fully appreciate. I had to create the greatest set of my career, which would be taped, and broadcasted worldwide as the U.S. landing on the moon. This would also allow me to indirectly beat the Soviets, who had so hurt my family in the past. Yeah, I’d say this job was made for me.
The government’s reasons for selecting me were a bit less glorifying. They needed someone good, who could create a flawless Moon. I had already fooled the U.S., how hard could it be to fool the Russians? My name gave me an advantage as well. I even admit, Morozov sounds generically Russian. If things went south, and the plot was discovered, they could us me as a scapegoat, and I’d be labeled some kind of Soviet insurgent, hell-bent on smudging the name of liberty. If that happened, I’d probably be arrested, and jailed in a prison in the far jungles of somewhere.
Whether you say an opportunity or a curse was thrust upon me, it doesn’t matter. Life’s all a matter of perspective.
Step 2: select your next slice of bread. It shouldn’t be hard to find. If Step 1 has been completed successfully, there should only be one piece remaining to be chosen. Smother a layer of peanut butter onto bread. Inconsistencies and rough spots are fine. In fact, they are almost a key part of the sandwich.
Peanut butter and Moon’s surface look abnormally similar in texture sometimes. At some angles, it seems so beat up and rough, while at others, it is very smooth. Perspective I guess. I spent hours, days, months, working on that set. Every possible material was brought in to make a worthy lunar surface. I used gravel, dirt, charcoal; anything I could as recourse. A few inquisitive minds must be wondering, what about peanut butter, and all of its textural wonders? You could just paint that, right? Well, that’s classified. Check the public records in sixty years or so.
Ted was usually not to be seen during the work. He made his rounds though. He always wanted status reports on the project, “commentaries” as he called them. He continued to be as nondescript as possible, refusing to use names or details when asking for his status reports. He’d want a, “Commentary on the something”, just the basics. Ted’s supposed secrecy would be more revealing to a stranger than anything else. During weeks that Ted was in town, I swear I could see the stars creating an arrow pointing down at Warehouse 3, “Secret Government Project” written across the stars in the sky. It would only take a few blinks for this to go away.
I think this puts us back at the beginning. Me lying on my bed, the alarm clock having stopped its annoying ring at this point, my flashback outlasting it. When preparing for something an event that is life changing, even the most basic tasks are noteworthy.
I can always remember that this was the shirt I wore that day. These are the shoes that are to be entrusted with enormous sentimental value because of this event.
We have done all the taping for the airing tomorrow. All preparations have been made. As far as the public knows, we are already on the way to the moon. We just need one final shot: the lunar module landing. The contraption slowly lowers onto the surface.
Three feet. Two feet. One Foot.
Step 3: Combine the two slices of bread. The jelly and peanut butter ends should meet in the middle. You can take your time. Slowly unite the pieces of bread.
Impact.
The lunar module hits the ground. The shot is perfect. Tomorrow, June 20th, 1969, this shot will air. I have done what I never thought was possible. I have created the greatest work of my life, something that will deceive viewers worldwide. I got back at the nation who hurt my family, while serving my own nation. I was also kindly paid a large sum of money for my efforts. I have the American dream. That’s the end of my story. I can’t think of any morals to be learned. Not really a teary, heart warming conclusion. Well, in spite of everything, I still believe that people are really good at heart.
That’s a good ending.
