Silicon Investor (SI) -- The First Internet Community

STOCKTALK

We've detected that you're using an ad content blocking browser plug-in or feature. Ads provide a critical source of revenue to the continued operation of Silicon Investor. We ask that you disable ad blocking while on Silicon Investor in the best interests of our community. If you are not using an ad blocker but are still receiving this message, make sure your browser's tracking protection is set to the 'standard' level.

Pastimes : Don't Ask Rambi -- Ignore unavailable to you. Want to Upgrade?

To: Gauguin who wrote (12118)	8/25/1998 12:28:00 PM
From: Rambi	Read Replies (3) \| Respond to of 71178

I am so totally irritated by the TAVA thread and its asinine, stupid, egotistical, valueless, meaningless displays of arrogance and crap that that that--- I am going to write MY FIREARM STORY-a Tale of Passion and Destruction. When I was fourteen, I realized I was destined to be a great actress, as well as a brilliant pianist, a diva at the Met, and an author of inspirational novels. The role I wanted most to play my Freshman year in high school was Maria in Westside Story. Never mind that I was blonde, blue-eyed, and looked like something off the pages of "American Girl". What were wigs for? In my heart and soul I was Maria. I had the album, the score, the libretto, which I kept until the library called my mother to tell her it was weeks overdue, and I memorized it all. I drove my family crazy singing Tonight, Tonight over the banister, and practicing a Hispanic accent at the dinner table. My favorite scene was of course when Maria sings "Somewhere" in a breaking voice to the dying Tony and then stands and delivers her moving monologue to the gangs. I could weep real tears. However, I thought the scene would be even better if I had a gun to aim at the imaginary crowd around me so I got my brother's B-B gun. No one was home--I could emote loudly, passionately. As I swung the gun around the living room, at Chico the lamp, at Ice the sofa, at Anybodies the fireplace, overwhelmed by my own greatness, I shot a hole in the wall. No one ever noticed. And when we sold the house a few years ago after mother's death, I looked and the little hole was still there. Kind of like the marks of marauders on the walls of the Acropolis, the scars on the front of the Alamo, the crack in the Liberty Bell. 8 Westside Court has its own historical monument, a BB hole in the living room wall.