Would you take me seriously...
... if I were called Brett?
There was an article in the Times yesterday about how a name influenced what the person was going to be like in adulthood. It cited 'James' is a name associated with success, as well as Lisa; Georges' and Annes' were the least likely to be associated with attractiveness and various silly things that one would generally giggle about but not take too seriously.
Then, I was going through a collection of short stories and novellas that I wrote when I was at the young tender age of 14 and wisely saved from floppy disc to compact disc. Back then I was full of romantic notions, and the innocence that life was only worth living if we could embrace the darkness of it as well, along with a dire insistence of being overly descriptive in what a life of luxury consists of. At this stage I was obsessed with Interview with the Vampire, and along with my then best friend we used to obsess and write fantastical stories about being vampires.
So, below is an excerpt which I read, and almost choked.
----
When Godot Arrives, by XXXXXXX XXXXX
... while the shadows cast by the roaring fire danced in the corners. I was leaning against the mantlepiece, studying the small, smooth artifact that brought back memories of wandering the fields of Elyssium in the dead of night with Cassandra. As I was lost in thought, I reached out to pick up the glass of wine I had set down, and at that moment the girl's reflection in the mirror above the fireplace startled me very briefly.
I turned to look at her. She had put on the black cashmere sweater I had given her, and dried her hair and twisted it into a knot. A stray lock had fallen out, and was caressing the nape of her elegant neck. I could envisage my long, well manicured fingers stroking the pulsating vein beneath the creamy skin.
She walked up to me. Her grey eyes were staring at me, cautiously, intently. 'I'd like to thank you for rescuing me from those hooligans,' she started.
'Not at all,' I countered. 'Would you like a glass of wine to calm your nerves?' as I walked over to the antique mahogany console with inlaid mother of pearl detail. I picked up a glass and looked at her. She nodded back. I filled the lead crystal glass with a couple of fingers of Chateau Neuf de Pape that had been decantered earlier that evening, and handed it to her.
She reached for the glass and mouthed a silent 'thank you' and took a long sip of the wine. Strains of imperceptible music played over the hidden speakers, and as she closed her eyes to savour the developing bouquet, asked what was playing. I picked up the controller, and turned up the volume. Notes spilled forward from a melancholy jazz trumpet, and soon we had almost finished the wine. She was by this stage giggling and swayed into my arms. As I held her, the pulsating vein was now too much for me to bear. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, at the same time she spoke gently, 'I forgot to tell you my name. It's Sandra. Actually, it's Cassandra, but that sounds so, formal.' I felt a jolt in my heart as I heard the name. 'What's yours?' she whispered.
'Kevin,' I replied...
-----
Wait a minute, Kevin? KEVIN? Okay, as a vampire I have lived for thousands of years, and even though I could change my name to anything, why Kevin??? You just can't take that name seriously, and as I was debating with Miss T, how can you take a country seriously if its headed by a man called Kevin (cf. Down Under).
*sigh*
Now I'm just going to ponder the rest of my existence with the name that I have been given (not Marmoset, obviously), and what in-roads I can make the most of.
It'll probably show that I'll be a drag queen artiste forced to sing 'Ken Lee' in rowdy bars for the rest of my life.
There was an article in the Times yesterday about how a name influenced what the person was going to be like in adulthood. It cited 'James' is a name associated with success, as well as Lisa; Georges' and Annes' were the least likely to be associated with attractiveness and various silly things that one would generally giggle about but not take too seriously.
Then, I was going through a collection of short stories and novellas that I wrote when I was at the young tender age of 14 and wisely saved from floppy disc to compact disc. Back then I was full of romantic notions, and the innocence that life was only worth living if we could embrace the darkness of it as well, along with a dire insistence of being overly descriptive in what a life of luxury consists of. At this stage I was obsessed with Interview with the Vampire, and along with my then best friend we used to obsess and write fantastical stories about being vampires.
So, below is an excerpt which I read, and almost choked.
----
When Godot Arrives, by XXXXXXX XXXXX
... while the shadows cast by the roaring fire danced in the corners. I was leaning against the mantlepiece, studying the small, smooth artifact that brought back memories of wandering the fields of Elyssium in the dead of night with Cassandra. As I was lost in thought, I reached out to pick up the glass of wine I had set down, and at that moment the girl's reflection in the mirror above the fireplace startled me very briefly.
I turned to look at her. She had put on the black cashmere sweater I had given her, and dried her hair and twisted it into a knot. A stray lock had fallen out, and was caressing the nape of her elegant neck. I could envisage my long, well manicured fingers stroking the pulsating vein beneath the creamy skin.
She walked up to me. Her grey eyes were staring at me, cautiously, intently. 'I'd like to thank you for rescuing me from those hooligans,' she started.
'Not at all,' I countered. 'Would you like a glass of wine to calm your nerves?' as I walked over to the antique mahogany console with inlaid mother of pearl detail. I picked up a glass and looked at her. She nodded back. I filled the lead crystal glass with a couple of fingers of Chateau Neuf de Pape that had been decantered earlier that evening, and handed it to her.
She reached for the glass and mouthed a silent 'thank you' and took a long sip of the wine. Strains of imperceptible music played over the hidden speakers, and as she closed her eyes to savour the developing bouquet, asked what was playing. I picked up the controller, and turned up the volume. Notes spilled forward from a melancholy jazz trumpet, and soon we had almost finished the wine. She was by this stage giggling and swayed into my arms. As I held her, the pulsating vein was now too much for me to bear. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, at the same time she spoke gently, 'I forgot to tell you my name. It's Sandra. Actually, it's Cassandra, but that sounds so, formal.' I felt a jolt in my heart as I heard the name. 'What's yours?' she whispered.
'Kevin,' I replied...
-----
Wait a minute, Kevin? KEVIN? Okay, as a vampire I have lived for thousands of years, and even though I could change my name to anything, why Kevin??? You just can't take that name seriously, and as I was debating with Miss T, how can you take a country seriously if its headed by a man called Kevin (cf. Down Under).
*sigh*
Now I'm just going to ponder the rest of my existence with the name that I have been given (not Marmoset, obviously), and what in-roads I can make the most of.
It'll probably show that I'll be a drag queen artiste forced to sing 'Ken Lee' in rowdy bars for the rest of my life.
posted by Marmoset at
2:31 pm
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