Sunday, April 18, 2010
Social Media Samples
Samantha Silver Katzberg January 11 at 10:57am
500 Member Challenge!
Hi All,
Please invite as many NU 2000ers as you know on FB to join our group. Let's get to 500 members by Feb 1st!
Also, we need some brave souls to start uploading college photos! Please don't be shy. This is your page!
Go Cats!
-Samantha
PS- Fun facts about 1996 (when we came to NU)
Madeleine Albright is appointed first female Secretary of State.
Tupac is killed in a drive-by.
Britain alarmed by "Mad Cow" disease.
Samantha Silver Katzberg
DonorsChoose.org: Don't Fear Shakespeare!
www.donorschoose.org
I need 35 copies (one class set) of Shakespeare's No Fear Romeo and Juliet. It breaks down the story and makes it easier for students to understand. This is especially helpful for my English Language learners who will struggle with the Shakespearian language. ...
February 1 at 8:35am Custom: loading... • Comment •LikeUnlike • Share
Samantha Silver Katzberg Donate if you can!
DonorsChoose.org: The Magical Power of Books!!!!
www.donorschoose.org
How can a student fall in love with reading if they don't have their own book? In order to go in depth and really learn a book, I think it is important that each student have their own copy. My students need 100 copies of Of Mice and Men and the teacher guide. ...
September 9, 2009 at 10:52am • Comment •LikeUnlike • Share
500 Member Challenge!
Hi All,
Please invite as many NU 2000ers as you know on FB to join our group. Let's get to 500 members by Feb 1st!
Also, we need some brave souls to start uploading college photos! Please don't be shy. This is your page!
Go Cats!
-Samantha
PS- Fun facts about 1996 (when we came to NU)
Madeleine Albright is appointed first female Secretary of State.
Tupac is killed in a drive-by.
Britain alarmed by "Mad Cow" disease.
Samantha Silver Katzberg
DonorsChoose.org: Don't Fear Shakespeare!
www.donorschoose.org
I need 35 copies (one class set) of Shakespeare's No Fear Romeo and Juliet. It breaks down the story and makes it easier for students to understand. This is especially helpful for my English Language learners who will struggle with the Shakespearian language. ...
February 1 at 8:35am Custom: loading... • Comment •LikeUnlike • Share
Samantha Silver Katzberg Donate if you can!
DonorsChoose.org: The Magical Power of Books!!!!
www.donorschoose.org
How can a student fall in love with reading if they don't have their own book? In order to go in depth and really learn a book, I think it is important that each student have their own copy. My students need 100 copies of Of Mice and Men and the teacher guide. ...
September 9, 2009 at 10:52am • Comment •LikeUnlike • Share
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Excerpt from "Wesley" original half hour comedy
INT. RESTAURANT - DAY
The three sit around the table holding hands. Wesley and his father have their heads bowed.
MR. HOBART
... from Thy bounty through Christ
our Lord, Amen.
WESLEY
Amen.
MRS. HOBART
You think they serve one big matzoh
ball or lots of little balls?
MR. HOBART
Always with the balls, your mother.
WESLEY
So Mom...
MRS. HOBART
Oh, look what I have here for
Wesley. One plane ticket, roundtrip,
to Florida. To see your
grandparents. Who I don’t like.
WESLEY
We know Mom, it’s been five years.
I really think you should come
down, it’s their 60th wedding
anniversary for god sakes.
MR. HOBART
Wesley, please don’t take the
lord’s name in vane.
WESLEY
Sorry, Dad.
At the table behind them, two hot girls are making out.
MRS. HOBART
Look at those two girls necking.
MR. HOBART
That’s extremely exciting.
WESLEY
That’s extremely my girlfriend.
MRS. HOBART
(Yelling across restaurant)
Susie!
(to Wesley)
I knew she looked familiar.
WESLEY
Yeah Mom, we’ve been living
together for four years.
MRS. HOBART
I told you never to trust a girl
who wears a baseball cap.
WESLEY
She’s just experimenting.
MR. HOBART
Looks like it’s a success.
Wesley buries his head in his hands.
The three sit around the table holding hands. Wesley and his father have their heads bowed.
MR. HOBART
... from Thy bounty through Christ
our Lord, Amen.
WESLEY
Amen.
MRS. HOBART
You think they serve one big matzoh
ball or lots of little balls?
MR. HOBART
Always with the balls, your mother.
WESLEY
So Mom...
MRS. HOBART
Oh, look what I have here for
Wesley. One plane ticket, roundtrip,
to Florida. To see your
grandparents. Who I don’t like.
WESLEY
We know Mom, it’s been five years.
I really think you should come
down, it’s their 60th wedding
anniversary for god sakes.
MR. HOBART
Wesley, please don’t take the
lord’s name in vane.
WESLEY
Sorry, Dad.
At the table behind them, two hot girls are making out.
MRS. HOBART
Look at those two girls necking.
MR. HOBART
That’s extremely exciting.
WESLEY
That’s extremely my girlfriend.
MRS. HOBART
(Yelling across restaurant)
Susie!
(to Wesley)
I knew she looked familiar.
WESLEY
Yeah Mom, we’ve been living
together for four years.
MRS. HOBART
I told you never to trust a girl
who wears a baseball cap.
WESLEY
She’s just experimenting.
MR. HOBART
Looks like it’s a success.
Wesley buries his head in his hands.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Duck and Hide- Blog
Duck and Hide
A Way-too-Insider’s View of Dodgeball
I consider myself a fairly adventurous, open minded woman. So when my friend Ryan showed me a website for a weekly organized dodgeball game here in Hollywood, I thought, ‘hell yeah I’m in.’ You see, I love all games “big red ball.” I’ve organized a few kickball games over the past few years, to great success. There’s something about playing a game you learned in elementary school gym class, at the age of 25 that’s-- well, fun!
It’s 1:30pm on a cloudy Sunday in LA. Myself, Ryan and his roommate Eric arrive at the Hollywood Rec. Center. The gym is already full with a group of mid-twenties, fairly hip kids. Sweatbands, high socks, tattoos, piercings—a “true” Hollywood crowd. (This is the real Hollywood, not the shmancy red carpet one you all know.) The gymnasium is intimidating. Balls fly against the walls at a rapid pace. No longer the simple red ball from school. There are red, yellow, blue and even one that looked frighteningly like a basketball. Let’s just say, I did my darndest to dodge that one.
We locate, Michael, the organizer of the group. He collects five dollars in return for a white sticker with some random orange markings. (I thought this was team designation, but in actuality it had no purpose except to show that we paid.) He tells us to stretch out our arms; they’re going to hurt. He’ll tell us the rules in a few minutes. Not taking the warning too seriously, the three of us toss the ball around, throw it against the wall and work on some techniques of old. I look around and notice how hard the boys are throwing the ball during their “practice.” The fear sets in.
Michael calls all the dodgeball-virgins over. There are about eight of us. He runs down the rules. If someone catches your ball, you are out. You can block a hit with a ball you are holding. No throwing at the face. If you catch a ball someone deflected before it hits the ground, you are both safe. Nut shots are legal. Before I can celebrate he notes that the “girl zone” is open too. (That sounds really wrong.) And if you catch a ball, an exited member of your team can return to the game. Ok, seems simple enough.
When Michael is done, he learns all our names and then sends us into the middle of the room where we form one giant line. The referee-slash-DJ divides us into two sides. Being true first timers (and well, babies) Ryan, Eric and I stagger so we’ll be on the same team. “Left, right, left, right.” DJ Ref points. Stage side we go…
There are about 25 people on each team. Six girls on my side. I immediately congregate with them. “Stay in the back and keep your hands up. We just try to catch. That’s the strategy,” a sweet pony tailed-girl in a red T shirt, yoga pants and funky red bowling-shoe-sneakers says. She introduces herself, as does another girl. They’ve been playing two weeks. And the hide-and-catch strategy seems to work for them.
DJ Ref blows the whistle. (He’s playing a good mix—MJ, GNR, Neil Diamond, not bad for someone with a shaved head, save a mini ponytail at the back center.) A few boys dash for the balls lined up in the middle. Balls start racing by at extremely non-elementary school speeds. The nice lobs of the past are just that, a thing of the past. I hide in the back and decide on my strategy, dodging and hiding. Occasionally a ball comes my way and I get brave. I run up and toss my hardest, keeping low. Damn, I throw like a girl.
The intensity swells. And the characters come out. My favorite is the Gazelle. His name is actually Dave I think, but his high knee run, spin around and toss action is more Gazelle-like than Dave like. He has some X Man in him too. He actually runs up onto the wall before returning center court for a throw. Man, that’s impressive… and odd.
Girl in Green T shirt quickly becomes my nemesis. I aim all my shots at her, with no success. The team is dwindling, I’m still in. (Admittedly not because of talent, but good hiding skills.) I try to catch a ball that deflects off the stage curtain. Another team member gets it first. I look toward him and BAM. A gaggle of “Ow’s,” I look down. Inner-upper-thighs…Ouch. I walk to the back of the line along the wall, smiling through the burning pain. “She just got hit in the crotch,” a teammate mocks.
The game ends, our team loses. I look down at the giant red welts on my thighs. (Note to self: Next time, wear pants. In fact, wear really thick pants.)
Round two: whistle blows, new game. I decide to get more involved. I run to get a ball and toss it with all my might. It’s caught. I’m out. Wow, I really, really throw like a girl.
Watching from the side is fun and frightening. People have really bad aim when they throw their hardest. I am hit numerous times. I giggle. This hurts. A catch is made. I’m back in. I’m happy to be off the death zone sideline, yet secretly fearing being left in the game too late. I get a girl out. Yay! Ouch! I’m struck on the outer thigh.
My team loses five games to two. We’ll take a break then come back and pick new teams. My arm hurts. My heart is racing. A break is good.
I go outside. Everyone seems to be holding their shoulders. “I thought I was strong.” I say to Eric. “I do the rowing machine!” He informs me that it’s the wrong muscle. I need my shoulder stronger. Okay, pushups and swimming. Dodgeball training. I refuse to continue to suck at throwing.
The regulars chat it up. Some people leave. I continue to complain about my arm and lack of throwing skills. I also examine my thighs. Not looking good. (Second note to self: Wear padded pants next time. Although a large bruise on the thigh is sexy, right?)
Back inside. Line up again. Same staggering trick. Stage side again. Gazelle is still on the other side. Mean Green T shirt girl is now on my team. The sideline gets very into it now, chanting “Dodgeball” when not enough people throw and “Get some catches” when they want back in.
The game narrows down to a one on one. This is fun. Who knew I’d enjoy being a Dodgeball spectator so much? (Note to self: Arena dodgeball. There could be a market for this.) It’s Red Pants boy versus Beefy Boy. They slam balls at each other. Dodge, Block. Dodge, Block. Finally Red Pants throws his hardest and smack, just like that. Beefy pulls off a dramatic ground catch. Red Pants loses.
Back out for the final round. It’s tied four games all.
My team wins. Yay! A final break, then one more round. Eric can no longer use his arm. He wants to bail. Ryan and I do not argue. First, however, Michael, our illustrious leader, announces that two players are celebrating their birthdays. Up against the wall they go. No way, they are not doing a dodgeball birthday wailing! Oh yes, they are. (Final note to self: Do not come on my birthday).
As the group lines up center court for new teams, we leave; heads down. It feels like a walk of shame. But after sixteen games of dodgeball, burning thighs and an arm I cannot lift more than half way up, I have no choice.
“They play Wednesday night’s too,” Ryan says. I say nothing. I’ve got a good three to six weeks of training before my dodgeball re-debut. And let’s be honest, while I feel really cool playing dodgeball, I feel even more cool staying home on Wednesday nights watching The OC and discussing with my girlfriends during commercial breaks.
A Way-too-Insider’s View of Dodgeball
I consider myself a fairly adventurous, open minded woman. So when my friend Ryan showed me a website for a weekly organized dodgeball game here in Hollywood, I thought, ‘hell yeah I’m in.’ You see, I love all games “big red ball.” I’ve organized a few kickball games over the past few years, to great success. There’s something about playing a game you learned in elementary school gym class, at the age of 25 that’s-- well, fun!
It’s 1:30pm on a cloudy Sunday in LA. Myself, Ryan and his roommate Eric arrive at the Hollywood Rec. Center. The gym is already full with a group of mid-twenties, fairly hip kids. Sweatbands, high socks, tattoos, piercings—a “true” Hollywood crowd. (This is the real Hollywood, not the shmancy red carpet one you all know.) The gymnasium is intimidating. Balls fly against the walls at a rapid pace. No longer the simple red ball from school. There are red, yellow, blue and even one that looked frighteningly like a basketball. Let’s just say, I did my darndest to dodge that one.
We locate, Michael, the organizer of the group. He collects five dollars in return for a white sticker with some random orange markings. (I thought this was team designation, but in actuality it had no purpose except to show that we paid.) He tells us to stretch out our arms; they’re going to hurt. He’ll tell us the rules in a few minutes. Not taking the warning too seriously, the three of us toss the ball around, throw it against the wall and work on some techniques of old. I look around and notice how hard the boys are throwing the ball during their “practice.” The fear sets in.
Michael calls all the dodgeball-virgins over. There are about eight of us. He runs down the rules. If someone catches your ball, you are out. You can block a hit with a ball you are holding. No throwing at the face. If you catch a ball someone deflected before it hits the ground, you are both safe. Nut shots are legal. Before I can celebrate he notes that the “girl zone” is open too. (That sounds really wrong.) And if you catch a ball, an exited member of your team can return to the game. Ok, seems simple enough.
When Michael is done, he learns all our names and then sends us into the middle of the room where we form one giant line. The referee-slash-DJ divides us into two sides. Being true first timers (and well, babies) Ryan, Eric and I stagger so we’ll be on the same team. “Left, right, left, right.” DJ Ref points. Stage side we go…
There are about 25 people on each team. Six girls on my side. I immediately congregate with them. “Stay in the back and keep your hands up. We just try to catch. That’s the strategy,” a sweet pony tailed-girl in a red T shirt, yoga pants and funky red bowling-shoe-sneakers says. She introduces herself, as does another girl. They’ve been playing two weeks. And the hide-and-catch strategy seems to work for them.
DJ Ref blows the whistle. (He’s playing a good mix—MJ, GNR, Neil Diamond, not bad for someone with a shaved head, save a mini ponytail at the back center.) A few boys dash for the balls lined up in the middle. Balls start racing by at extremely non-elementary school speeds. The nice lobs of the past are just that, a thing of the past. I hide in the back and decide on my strategy, dodging and hiding. Occasionally a ball comes my way and I get brave. I run up and toss my hardest, keeping low. Damn, I throw like a girl.
The intensity swells. And the characters come out. My favorite is the Gazelle. His name is actually Dave I think, but his high knee run, spin around and toss action is more Gazelle-like than Dave like. He has some X Man in him too. He actually runs up onto the wall before returning center court for a throw. Man, that’s impressive… and odd.
Girl in Green T shirt quickly becomes my nemesis. I aim all my shots at her, with no success. The team is dwindling, I’m still in. (Admittedly not because of talent, but good hiding skills.) I try to catch a ball that deflects off the stage curtain. Another team member gets it first. I look toward him and BAM. A gaggle of “Ow’s,” I look down. Inner-upper-thighs…Ouch. I walk to the back of the line along the wall, smiling through the burning pain. “She just got hit in the crotch,” a teammate mocks.
The game ends, our team loses. I look down at the giant red welts on my thighs. (Note to self: Next time, wear pants. In fact, wear really thick pants.)
Round two: whistle blows, new game. I decide to get more involved. I run to get a ball and toss it with all my might. It’s caught. I’m out. Wow, I really, really throw like a girl.
Watching from the side is fun and frightening. People have really bad aim when they throw their hardest. I am hit numerous times. I giggle. This hurts. A catch is made. I’m back in. I’m happy to be off the death zone sideline, yet secretly fearing being left in the game too late. I get a girl out. Yay! Ouch! I’m struck on the outer thigh.
My team loses five games to two. We’ll take a break then come back and pick new teams. My arm hurts. My heart is racing. A break is good.
I go outside. Everyone seems to be holding their shoulders. “I thought I was strong.” I say to Eric. “I do the rowing machine!” He informs me that it’s the wrong muscle. I need my shoulder stronger. Okay, pushups and swimming. Dodgeball training. I refuse to continue to suck at throwing.
The regulars chat it up. Some people leave. I continue to complain about my arm and lack of throwing skills. I also examine my thighs. Not looking good. (Second note to self: Wear padded pants next time. Although a large bruise on the thigh is sexy, right?)
Back inside. Line up again. Same staggering trick. Stage side again. Gazelle is still on the other side. Mean Green T shirt girl is now on my team. The sideline gets very into it now, chanting “Dodgeball” when not enough people throw and “Get some catches” when they want back in.
The game narrows down to a one on one. This is fun. Who knew I’d enjoy being a Dodgeball spectator so much? (Note to self: Arena dodgeball. There could be a market for this.) It’s Red Pants boy versus Beefy Boy. They slam balls at each other. Dodge, Block. Dodge, Block. Finally Red Pants throws his hardest and smack, just like that. Beefy pulls off a dramatic ground catch. Red Pants loses.
Back out for the final round. It’s tied four games all.
My team wins. Yay! A final break, then one more round. Eric can no longer use his arm. He wants to bail. Ryan and I do not argue. First, however, Michael, our illustrious leader, announces that two players are celebrating their birthdays. Up against the wall they go. No way, they are not doing a dodgeball birthday wailing! Oh yes, they are. (Final note to self: Do not come on my birthday).
As the group lines up center court for new teams, we leave; heads down. It feels like a walk of shame. But after sixteen games of dodgeball, burning thighs and an arm I cannot lift more than half way up, I have no choice.
“They play Wednesday night’s too,” Ryan says. I say nothing. I’ve got a good three to six weeks of training before my dodgeball re-debut. And let’s be honest, while I feel really cool playing dodgeball, I feel even more cool staying home on Wednesday nights watching The OC and discussing with my girlfriends during commercial breaks.
Locked Out- Short Story
Locked Out
By Samantha Silver
It was a typical weekday morning. Alexandra’s mother had left for work before the sun came up. Alexandra and her older sister, Sarah, finished their cereal together, and then the elder was off walking to the neighborhood elementary school. Alexandra did not attend that school. Having been too young to enter its kindergarten class at four, her mother decided to send her to a private school so that she could be pushed ahead. She was now in the second grade.
Alexandra’s father left for work at 7:30 am, the same time she was usually picked up by the van that took her to and from school. This morning it was now 7:40 am, and the bus had yet to arrive. Although she was too young to be home alone, her father could not risk being late for work. “I hate to leave you, sweetheart, but Daddy has to go.” He said.
“I’ll be okay,” she replied.
He locked the door from the inside, told Alex to wait behind the screen door, and then to slam the main door when she went out for the van. He kissed her on the forehead and exited the house through the garage.
A few minutes passed. Alex waited, breathing heavily and leaving fog on the now-glass enclosed screen door. Her father took the screens out and inserted the glass windows by himself every fall. An arduous task for most, he did this with all the windows in the house. Finally, Alexandra saw a van pulling onto her street. Following her father’s instructions, she put on her backpack and stepped outside, slamming the door behind her.
Alexandra walked down the driveway as the van approached. Before she knew it, the van continued straight past her house. Alex had a moment of confusion, “Why didn’t it stop?” Her confusion quickly turned to panic. “Should I have run? Did the driver not see me? Was that even my van?”
With a halting gait, she went back to the porch in a daze. She stared very closely at the end of the block where the van usually pulled onto her street. The chill, February morning was starting to affect the second-grader. She zipped up her coat and continued to wait.
Even as a little girl with no watch, Alexandra began to realize that a significant amount of time had passed since her father left. She now knew the van was not coming. An amalgam of emotions filled her head. First came fear. Was this her fault? She did not want her parents to be mad. Before she knew it, her eyes were swelling with tears. Alex was overcome with worry. Would she be alone all day?
She walked out onto the driveway and looked around. She wondered if there was anywhere she could go to seek help. Perhaps she could go to a neighbor’s house? Maybe she should walk to her sister’s school down the street? With each thought, she became more scared. If Alex knew one thing, it was to not talk to strangers. She suddenly realized she wasn’t going anywhere. As mad as her mother might be at her for missing school, Alex knew her mom would be proud if she didn’t talk to strangers. Back to the porch she went, this time deciding to sit on the old, peeling bench. Her father put cushions on it during the summer months, but left it in its bare condition during the winter. It made for an uncomfortable waiting spot.
The wind picked up briskly. Alexandra did not have a key to the house, nor did she know where one might be hidden. She put her hands in her pockets and buried her head in her chest to keep warm. Each time a car passed, she ducked down so as not to be seen. She had her lunch to eat, as well as her favorite book to read. She knew if she could just make it through the day without being seen, everything would be okay.
After reading her book for about an hour, suddenly a large brown truck pulled up and parked in front of the little girl’s home. Alexandra panicked. Her first instinct was to jump off the bench and hide in the bushes, but it was too late. She had been spotted. Having no choice, she sat down and waited for the large man, who exited the truck wearing a brown uniform, carrying a package.
Alexandra was frightened. Her plan to avoid strangers was about to be challenged.
“Sign for this.” The large man said gruffly. He was wearing shorts in thirty degree weather. Alexandra noted to herself how odd that was, and that he must be cold. She also noticed that he smelled fowl.
“I can’t.” She said. Not really sure how else to respond.
The man paused for a moment, shrugged his shoulders, and then turned around to walk back down the driveway. Alex watched with trepidation. She thought for sure he would come back.
Phew. A huge sigh of relief as Alexandra watched the man toss the package back into the truck and drive away.
Alexandra smiled to herself. Maybe she could take care of herself? For lack of a better activity, she decided to go into her backpack and take out her brown paper lunch bag. Her mother had drawn a flower on it today. Alexandra knew this could only mean one thing, a special lunch. Sure enough, inside the bag, next to her sandwich, was a Blow Pop. “Wow,” she thought. “This is the best lunch!” Alexandra’s mother was not one to give sweets in her lunch bag. In fact, their house had been a sugar-free establishment. Save for the occasional soda on Friday nights, Alexandra only had sugary foods when she went to a friend’s house.
Alex went straight for the delicious cherry lollipop, despite knowing that it was intended to be eaten after her sandwich. The piece of gum inside it was icing on the cake. Although, Alex learned quickly how fast the gum lost its flavor; so she spit the gum into a piece of the brown bag.
Satisfied, she wondered how to pass the remaining hours. Just then, she saw the mailman walking up to her driveway. Feeling a bit braver than before, and perhaps still glowing from her treat, Alexandra decided not to hide. He walked up to the porch and handed her the mail. “No school today?” asked the mailman.
“My mom picked me up early. She’s just inside.” Alex quickly retorted, hoping she sounded believable.
“Oo-kay.” He responded. “You take care now.”
“He must know I’m lying. What if he calls someone?” She thought. But as she watched the mailman continue on his route, she knew she’d had another success.
The wind was increasing, and the little girl started to get chilly. Thinking some movement might help, she crept through the bushes that lined the side of the porch and ran to the backyard. The expansive, flat backyard only proved to be windier and a lot colder. Mission aborted. Alexandra backtracked and returned to the safety of her bench.
This time she laid down in the fetal position, trying to keep herself as warm as possible. Before she knew it, she was fast asleep.
Alexandra woke to the sound of cars passing by and children in the street. She sat up and noticed several children walking with backpacks on. Her sister’s school must have let out for the day, she thought. She got up and began running down the street, looking at all the children, searching for her sister.
Finally, she spotted the white puffy coat. “Sarah! Sarah!” She screamed. Alexandra ran as fast as she could to catch up to her sister.
“Alexandra? What are you doing here?”
“My van never came. I’ve been outside all day.” She mustered the words out in between heavy breaths and newly formed tears.
“Oh my god, really? Are you okay?” Sarah questioned.
Just then, the mother of one of the girls Sarah was walking with approached. Sarah quickly explained the situation to her. “Do you have a key, Sarah?” asked the concerned mother.
“Yes,” said Sarah, holding up the red string around her neck that had the house key attached to the end of it.
“Well, let’s get your sister inside then. I’ll stay until your mom gets home.”
The events of the next hour were a whirlwind for Alexandra. Hot water was boiled. She was served hot chocolate, sugar free of course. There was a slough of questions, including the most obvious. “Why didn’t you knock on anyone’s door?”
“I was home all day.” The neighbor mom said. “You should have come by!”
Alexandra felt a bit foolish; however, she still thought she had done the right thing. She wasn’t supposed to talk to strangers and certainly was not to go into someone’s house without her mother knowing.
As soon as Alexandra’s mother arrived, Alex felt much better. “You’re bright red! Oh my god. If you are sick, that school will pay!” Her mother was infuriated. No sooner than she had hugged Alex, was she on the phone with the school’s principal. There was a lot of yelling and a lot of name calling. “She’s seven!... The van absolutely did not come… You’d better hope she does not get sick… I’m so glad you made a pile of missing work.” Alexandra did not understand the sarcasm in her mother’s final comment.
Once her mother calmed down, she took Alex upstairs and gave her a hot bath. She then gave her some flannel pajamas to put on and lent Alexandra her terry cloth bathrobe. Alex loved wearing her mom’s robe. It went past her feet and was so warm and soothing.
When Alexandra’s father came home, the first thing he did was head out to the locksmith to make Alex her very own copy of the house key. The family then ordered a pizza with extra cheese, Alexandra’s favorite. Alex’s mom even put out a bottle of regular soda… and a lollipop for dessert.
By Samantha Silver
It was a typical weekday morning. Alexandra’s mother had left for work before the sun came up. Alexandra and her older sister, Sarah, finished their cereal together, and then the elder was off walking to the neighborhood elementary school. Alexandra did not attend that school. Having been too young to enter its kindergarten class at four, her mother decided to send her to a private school so that she could be pushed ahead. She was now in the second grade.
Alexandra’s father left for work at 7:30 am, the same time she was usually picked up by the van that took her to and from school. This morning it was now 7:40 am, and the bus had yet to arrive. Although she was too young to be home alone, her father could not risk being late for work. “I hate to leave you, sweetheart, but Daddy has to go.” He said.
“I’ll be okay,” she replied.
He locked the door from the inside, told Alex to wait behind the screen door, and then to slam the main door when she went out for the van. He kissed her on the forehead and exited the house through the garage.
A few minutes passed. Alex waited, breathing heavily and leaving fog on the now-glass enclosed screen door. Her father took the screens out and inserted the glass windows by himself every fall. An arduous task for most, he did this with all the windows in the house. Finally, Alexandra saw a van pulling onto her street. Following her father’s instructions, she put on her backpack and stepped outside, slamming the door behind her.
Alexandra walked down the driveway as the van approached. Before she knew it, the van continued straight past her house. Alex had a moment of confusion, “Why didn’t it stop?” Her confusion quickly turned to panic. “Should I have run? Did the driver not see me? Was that even my van?”
With a halting gait, she went back to the porch in a daze. She stared very closely at the end of the block where the van usually pulled onto her street. The chill, February morning was starting to affect the second-grader. She zipped up her coat and continued to wait.
Even as a little girl with no watch, Alexandra began to realize that a significant amount of time had passed since her father left. She now knew the van was not coming. An amalgam of emotions filled her head. First came fear. Was this her fault? She did not want her parents to be mad. Before she knew it, her eyes were swelling with tears. Alex was overcome with worry. Would she be alone all day?
She walked out onto the driveway and looked around. She wondered if there was anywhere she could go to seek help. Perhaps she could go to a neighbor’s house? Maybe she should walk to her sister’s school down the street? With each thought, she became more scared. If Alex knew one thing, it was to not talk to strangers. She suddenly realized she wasn’t going anywhere. As mad as her mother might be at her for missing school, Alex knew her mom would be proud if she didn’t talk to strangers. Back to the porch she went, this time deciding to sit on the old, peeling bench. Her father put cushions on it during the summer months, but left it in its bare condition during the winter. It made for an uncomfortable waiting spot.
The wind picked up briskly. Alexandra did not have a key to the house, nor did she know where one might be hidden. She put her hands in her pockets and buried her head in her chest to keep warm. Each time a car passed, she ducked down so as not to be seen. She had her lunch to eat, as well as her favorite book to read. She knew if she could just make it through the day without being seen, everything would be okay.
After reading her book for about an hour, suddenly a large brown truck pulled up and parked in front of the little girl’s home. Alexandra panicked. Her first instinct was to jump off the bench and hide in the bushes, but it was too late. She had been spotted. Having no choice, she sat down and waited for the large man, who exited the truck wearing a brown uniform, carrying a package.
Alexandra was frightened. Her plan to avoid strangers was about to be challenged.
“Sign for this.” The large man said gruffly. He was wearing shorts in thirty degree weather. Alexandra noted to herself how odd that was, and that he must be cold. She also noticed that he smelled fowl.
“I can’t.” She said. Not really sure how else to respond.
The man paused for a moment, shrugged his shoulders, and then turned around to walk back down the driveway. Alex watched with trepidation. She thought for sure he would come back.
Phew. A huge sigh of relief as Alexandra watched the man toss the package back into the truck and drive away.
Alexandra smiled to herself. Maybe she could take care of herself? For lack of a better activity, she decided to go into her backpack and take out her brown paper lunch bag. Her mother had drawn a flower on it today. Alexandra knew this could only mean one thing, a special lunch. Sure enough, inside the bag, next to her sandwich, was a Blow Pop. “Wow,” she thought. “This is the best lunch!” Alexandra’s mother was not one to give sweets in her lunch bag. In fact, their house had been a sugar-free establishment. Save for the occasional soda on Friday nights, Alexandra only had sugary foods when she went to a friend’s house.
Alex went straight for the delicious cherry lollipop, despite knowing that it was intended to be eaten after her sandwich. The piece of gum inside it was icing on the cake. Although, Alex learned quickly how fast the gum lost its flavor; so she spit the gum into a piece of the brown bag.
Satisfied, she wondered how to pass the remaining hours. Just then, she saw the mailman walking up to her driveway. Feeling a bit braver than before, and perhaps still glowing from her treat, Alexandra decided not to hide. He walked up to the porch and handed her the mail. “No school today?” asked the mailman.
“My mom picked me up early. She’s just inside.” Alex quickly retorted, hoping she sounded believable.
“Oo-kay.” He responded. “You take care now.”
“He must know I’m lying. What if he calls someone?” She thought. But as she watched the mailman continue on his route, she knew she’d had another success.
The wind was increasing, and the little girl started to get chilly. Thinking some movement might help, she crept through the bushes that lined the side of the porch and ran to the backyard. The expansive, flat backyard only proved to be windier and a lot colder. Mission aborted. Alexandra backtracked and returned to the safety of her bench.
This time she laid down in the fetal position, trying to keep herself as warm as possible. Before she knew it, she was fast asleep.
Alexandra woke to the sound of cars passing by and children in the street. She sat up and noticed several children walking with backpacks on. Her sister’s school must have let out for the day, she thought. She got up and began running down the street, looking at all the children, searching for her sister.
Finally, she spotted the white puffy coat. “Sarah! Sarah!” She screamed. Alexandra ran as fast as she could to catch up to her sister.
“Alexandra? What are you doing here?”
“My van never came. I’ve been outside all day.” She mustered the words out in between heavy breaths and newly formed tears.
“Oh my god, really? Are you okay?” Sarah questioned.
Just then, the mother of one of the girls Sarah was walking with approached. Sarah quickly explained the situation to her. “Do you have a key, Sarah?” asked the concerned mother.
“Yes,” said Sarah, holding up the red string around her neck that had the house key attached to the end of it.
“Well, let’s get your sister inside then. I’ll stay until your mom gets home.”
The events of the next hour were a whirlwind for Alexandra. Hot water was boiled. She was served hot chocolate, sugar free of course. There was a slough of questions, including the most obvious. “Why didn’t you knock on anyone’s door?”
“I was home all day.” The neighbor mom said. “You should have come by!”
Alexandra felt a bit foolish; however, she still thought she had done the right thing. She wasn’t supposed to talk to strangers and certainly was not to go into someone’s house without her mother knowing.
As soon as Alexandra’s mother arrived, Alex felt much better. “You’re bright red! Oh my god. If you are sick, that school will pay!” Her mother was infuriated. No sooner than she had hugged Alex, was she on the phone with the school’s principal. There was a lot of yelling and a lot of name calling. “She’s seven!... The van absolutely did not come… You’d better hope she does not get sick… I’m so glad you made a pile of missing work.” Alexandra did not understand the sarcasm in her mother’s final comment.
Once her mother calmed down, she took Alex upstairs and gave her a hot bath. She then gave her some flannel pajamas to put on and lent Alexandra her terry cloth bathrobe. Alex loved wearing her mom’s robe. It went past her feet and was so warm and soothing.
When Alexandra’s father came home, the first thing he did was head out to the locksmith to make Alex her very own copy of the house key. The family then ordered a pizza with extra cheese, Alexandra’s favorite. Alex’s mom even put out a bottle of regular soda… and a lollipop for dessert.
Resume
SAMANTHA SILVER KATZBERG
310.739.3975
Samantha_silver@hotmail.com
www.facebook.com/samkatzberg
PROFESSIONAL EXPERIENCE
October 2004-present Los Angeles, CA
Writer
Wrote produced feature film Legacy, distributed by the Weinstein Company. Wrote half hour episode of ABC Television’s Rodney and hour long episode of ABC’s Life As We Know It.
August 2009- present Alliance, Heritage College Ready Academy Los Angeles, CA
English Teacher
Ninth grade English teacher at a low income, high-needs charter school in Los Angeles’s South Central neighborhood.
July 2008- June 2009 Green Dot, Animo Ralph Bunche Charter H.S. Los Angeles, CA
English Teacher
Ninth and Tenth grade English and Reading teacher at a low income, high-needs charter school in Los Angeles’s South Central neighborhood.
May 2004-October 2007 Los Angeles, CA
Writers’ Assistant/Script Coordinator
Duties include editing and proofing scripts for all episodes. In charge of daily distribution of scripts to all cast and crew members. Taking notes and performing all script changes in the writers’ room. Integral part of brainstorming and in-room writing sessions.
Cedric - ABC Pilot; The News – ABC Pilot; ‘Til Death – FOX Series; Rodney - ABC Series; Life As We Know It – ABC series
February 2002-May 2004 Sachs Judah Productions Los Angeles, CA
Writers’/Producers’ Assistant
Assisted two television writers with development deals at Universal and Touchstone Television. Performed full writers’ assistant duties on four pilots. Assisted with all brainstorming and punch-ups. Read and proofed all development scripts.
February 2001-February 2002 The Style Network Los Angeles, CA
Production Assistant
Performed full production assistant duties on half hour show “Runway.” Wrote half hour scripts. Produced editing and voice-over sessions.
August 2000-October 2000 Around the Rings Sydney, Australia
Reporter
Covered news, business and politics of the Sydney 2000 Olympic Games for online newsletter and special edition daily print newsletter distributed throughout the Main Press Center.
September 1999-March 2000 Dance Marathon Evanston, IL
Public Relations Committee Co-Chair - Northwestern University
Head of PR for nation’s largest student-run philanthropy. Secured media coverage for 30-hour event. Published professional press kit and 30-page magazine.
EDUCATION
1996-2000 Northwestern University Evanston, IL
Bachelor of Science in Journalism, Double Major African History
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