A Little English

Hi, this is Cooper.

I'm moving across the country, so I'll be releasing a story every TWO weeks for the next month or so, until my studio is set back up in my new place outside Tokyo!

The next story will be released on WEDNESDAY, March 29th

Sorry for the inconvenience and thank you for your understanding.

👉Visit our website to download the Podcast User's Manual and find out more! https://alittleenglish.com/

A Little English is written, produced, recorded, edited, mixed, mastered and scored by Edward Cooper Howland.

All stories are either in the public domain, or written by me.

Copyright 2023 Edward Cooper Howland

⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

TRANSCRIPT:

Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

I'm doing a little survey to find out more about ALE listeners. There are just four tiny questions. It will only take a minute or two, and will help me a LOT! Please check it out. Thanks, Cooper

👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇

CLICK HERE FOR THE SURVEY

Cooper is back from the attack of the hideous POLLEN ALLERGY! Thank you to Tabatha for filling in!

Thank you for downloading this episode.

👉The story begins at 02:01 and the tiny lessons begin at 14:30

👉You can find the transcript after the Credits!

👉Visit our website to download the Podcast User's Manual and find out more! https://alittleenglish.com/

A Little English is written, produced, recorded, edited, mixed, mastered and scored by Edward Cooper Howland.

All stories are either in the public domain, or written by me.

Copyright 2023 Edward Cooper Howland

⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

TRANSCRIPT:

Hi. My name is Cooper, and this is…A Little English. Every episode, I read a short story. After the story, there are three tiny lessons. 

First of all, I’m very sorry about last week. This year is the worst pollen allergy in ten years in Japan, and I had it really, really badly. Believe me, you did NOT want to hear my voice in your headphones last week. But today I’m doing a lot better and I have a new story for you. It’s about…well, do you know who Marie Kondo is? She’s a Japanese cleaning and organizing expert who’s super famous in the US, but not at all famous in Japan. Kinda funny how that works. Anyway, I love her method, but I also recognize that there are some issues with it. So, I decided to write a story about it. I hope you enjoy. 

Sentimental Items

1.

“No,” said Jean. “We throw everything away. Everything that doesn’t make us happy. That’s what the book says, and that’s what we’re gonna do. And when we get done with it, we’ll just be surrounded by things that make us happy, and then we can be happy all the time.” 

Her children looked at each other, sighed, and walked to their rooms. Jean called after them. “Think about it, do we really need your third grade report cards, Kevin?”

She put her hands on her hips and looked around. It was time to clean out the attic. 

She pulled box after box after box out into the hall, opened the lids, and started dumping their contents onto the ground. 

“Don’t forget to throw away by category,” she yelled down the steps. “Start with clothes, then books, then papers.” Following her own advice, she collected every single piece of clothing into a pile. Then she stood over it. 

Most of it was easy. 

Winter coats from elementary school? Send them to Good Will. 

Tiny mittens, their fuzzy lining stolen long ago by mice? Garbage.

Her maternity dresses? Horrible garbage.  

A photo album. 

“Mandy,” she called, “Come look at this.” 

Amanda appeared in the doorway. “Mom, I’m right in the middle of doing my clothes. What do you need?” 

“Look at this album. It’s from Pawtucket back in the eighties. Here’s me and your Aunt Dottie on the pier. We must be….eight years old. Here’s your grandpa Frank cooking lobsters. Every year he would go down to Marten’s seafood and buy a dozen of the biggest lobsters you’ve ever seen. ”

“Mom, the book to save sentimental items for last. Don’t get distracted by that stuff. Just put it in a pile and deal with it later.”

“You’re right, we gotta follow the system. We can look at all these later.” Jean put the album aside, reached into the pile, and pulled out a pair of low-rise boot-cut jeans from her college days.  

“Oh my god,” she said. “Why in the world did we think that this was a good look?”

——

2. 

By the end of the month, only sentimental items were left. The three of them stood in front of a table in the dining room, looking down. Postcards, gifts, drawings from elementary school art class, all piled on top of each other, all incredibly important for one reason or another.

“I don’t even know where to start,” said Kevin. “I don’t want to throw away any of it. Can’t we just, like, keep it all?”

“The book says we don’t think about what we are throwing away, we think about what we want to keep,” said Jean. “So, what’s important to you to keep?”

“Frosty,” replied Kevin. “I wanna keep Frosty’s ashes in my room.”

“….where is Frosty?” said Mandy. 

They searched the pile, slowly at first, then faster and faster. 

“It’s a little stone box,” said Kevin. “It looks like something precious.”

“We know what it looks like,” said Jean. “It’s gotta be here somewhere.” 

Old birthday cards and finger paintings fell to the ground as Kevin searched the table.

“Why would you throw him away? You threw away my cat’s ashes!”

“No, honey I’m sure he’s around here somewhere. We’re just gonna keep searching and we’ll find him.”

“No, we searched already! And everything else in the house is cleaned, just like in your stupid book! Are you happy? Everything is organized, the cat’s ashes are gone, and we’re supposed to be happy. But I’m not feeling real happy right now, Mom!” He stormed out of the house,  slamming the door on his way out. 

Jean felt her knees go weak. She leaned on the table as Mandy grabbed a chair for 

her to sit in. She sat down heavily. She wasn’t breathing correctly. Too short and fast. Close to another attack.

Slowly. In through the nose for four seconds. Hold for four seconds. Out through the nose for four seconds. Hold for four seconds. 

Box breathing. 

Just like the quarterback for the Patriots. 

When she opened her eyes, Mandy was in front of her, the photo album in her hands. 

“We’ll find Frosty.” She was smiling a little. “Tell me about these photos.”

---

3.

Jean was waiting for Kevin when he came home after eleven pm. She heard him open the kitchen door quietly and slowly, just a few inches at a time. He was sneaking past the dining room door when she said, “Kevin?” She heard him swear quietly. 

“Did you find him?”

“No, we didn’t. I’m sorry, Kevin. Your sister and I searched every box and bag of trash and bookcase in the house, and we didn’t find Frosty’s ashes.”

Kevin swore again, and Jean didn’t say anything. Instead, she handed him a slender book with a photo of a cat glued to its front. 

“Your sister and I worked all evening on this. She went through all the photo albums in the house and looked for pictures of him. ” 

She watched him sit in a chair and open the book. He smiled. He turned the book around to show her a picture of himself, six years old, holding up his new kitten like the beginning of the Lion King. He went through all the pages, occasionally stopping at a picture of Frosty wearing a little hat for Halloween, or elderly Frosty napping in the sun. 

“He was a good cat,” said Kevin. 

“Yes, he was,” answered Jean. “And I’m sorry that I lost his ashes. I shouldn’t have pushed so hard to throw everything away. I just want to live in a nice house, and the book says that if we get rid of everything that doesn’t make us happy, then we’ll be happy all the time. Don’t you want to be happy all the time?”

Whooooo that was kind of emotional for me. How are you doing?

Like I said, I love Marie Kondo, and I really want to live in a clean house. And I really want to be happy. Who doesn’t? But like, I think that it’s really important to be careful when you are throwing stuff away. And we already know that Jean, she’s not exactly a stable person. So, like a lot of things, cleaning and organizing is good, but if you go too far, or do it for the wrong reasons, you can get into trouble. 

I’m doing a lot of throwing away garbage now, because, well, I’m moving. 

Yup. I’m moving to Chiba, which is basically a suburb of Tokyo. I got a new job, and I gotta go. So, it’s possible that I may miss an episode or two in the next couple weeks. I’m gonna try my best not to, but….my whole studio has to get broken down and moved across the country. So, we shall see. 

Let’s do some tiny lessons 

Our big picture is kinda sad.

What happened to Frosty? Well, he got old and died, like pets do. And he was cremated, which means, to burn a dead body. But then, some time, somebody lost the box with his ashes. It’s not clear who, and I think that’s most realistic. You never know HOW something gets lost. You just know that it’s lost.

How about the dictionary disco?

The first one is - garbage. Garbage is trash. Stuff that you throw away. Stuff that you don’t want any more. Like your maternity dresses, when your kids are already in their teens and twenties!

The second one is - sentimental. Sentimental means related to your emotions or your memories. So sentimental items might be old love letters, or photos of your dead cat. 

And a good old melody moment. 

In this story, at different points I say “gonna,” “gotta,” “kinda,” and “wanna.” We talked about these kinds of words a while ago, but I am very happy to repeat myself, since these are super common. These are contractions, kind of smashing words together. So “going to” becomes “gonna.” “Got to” is “gotta,” “Kind of” is “kinda” and “want to” is “wanna.” Right, so all these words, the smaller word gets smashed into the bigger one, and then reduced. TO? No, “tuh.” OF? Nope. “uh” These are schwas, and we do it because it’s easier! Go back to season one if you want to hear ALL about schwas!

Let’s do the credits. 

Thank you for listening to Season 3 Episode 7 of A Little English. 

Every episode is produced entirely by me, Edward Cooper Howland, here in Hiroshima, Japan. For now, anyway. 

If you like the show, tell someone about it! A recommendation from a friend is the best way to get someone to listen, and I would really appreciate it. 

This season, all the stories are written by…me! I use chatGPT by Openai.com as an editor because I can’t afford to hire a human. It’s an amazing, free piece of software, and you should check it out. 

Again, thank you  so much for listening.

For now, be kind to yourselves, and to each other. 

Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Thank you for downloading this episode.

👉The story begins at 00:40 and there are no tiny lessons this week! Sorry, Cooper is in bed!

👉You can find the transcript after the Credits!

👉Visit our website to download the Podcast User's Manual and find out more! https://alittleenglish.com/

A Little English is written, produced, recorded, edited, mixed, mastered and scored by Edward Cooper Howland.

All stories are either in the public domain, or written by me.

Copyright 2023 Edward Cooper Howland

⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

TRANSCRIPT:

Hi, my name is Tabatha, and this is A Little English. 

Since my dad Cooper isn’t feeling well, I’m going to read you a story.

The name of this story is The Tale of Peter Rabbit, by Beatrix Potter

The illustrations for this story are beautiful and we have included a link in the show notes if you want to see them. 

Once upon a time there were four little Rabbits, and their names

were--

          Flopsy,

       Mopsy,

   Cotton-tail,

and Peter.

They lived with their Mother in a sand-bank, underneath the root of a very big fir-tree.

'Now my dears,' said old Mrs. Rabbit one morning, 'you may go into the fields or down the lane, but don't go into Mr. McGregor's garden: your Father had an accident there; he was put in a pie by Mrs. McGregor.'

'Now run along, and don't get into mischief. I am going out.'

Then old Mrs. Rabbit took a basket and her umbrella, and went through the wood to the baker's. She bought a loaf of brown bread and five currant buns.

Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cottontail, who were good little bunnies, went

down the lane to gather blackberries:

But Peter, who was very naughty, ran straight away to Mr. McGregor's garden, and squeezed under the gate!

First he ate some lettuces and some French beans; and then he ate some radishes;

And then, feeling rather sick, he went to look for some parsley.

But round the end of a cucumber frame, whom should he meet but Mr. McGregor!

Mr. McGregor was on his hands and knees planting out young cabbages, but he jumped up and ran after Peter, waving a rake and calling out, 'Stop thief!'

Peter was most dreadfully frightened; he rushed all over the garden, for he had forgotten the way back to the gate.

He lost one of his shoes among the cabbages, and the other shoe

amongst the potatoes.

After losing them, he ran on four legs and went faster, so that I

think he might have got away altogether if he had not unfortunately run into a gooseberry net, and got caught by the large buttons on his jacket. It was a blue jacket with brass buttons, quite new.

Peter gave himself up for lost, and shed big tears; but his sobs were overheard by some friendly sparrows, who flew to him in great excitement, and implored him to exert himself.

Mr. McGregor came up with a sieve, which he intended to pop upon the top of Peter; but Peter wriggled out just in time, leaving his jacket behind him.

And rushed into the tool-shed, and jumped into a can. It would have been a beautiful thing to hide in, if it had not had so much water in it.

Mr. McGregor was quite sure that Peter was somewhere in the

tool-shed, perhaps hidden underneath a flower-pot. He began to turn them over carefully, looking under each.

Presently Peter sneezed--'Kertyschoo!' Mr. McGregor was after him in no time.

And tried to put his foot upon Peter, who jumped out of a window,

upsetting three plants. The window was too small for Mr. McGregor, and he was tired of running after Peter. He went back to his work.

Peter sat down to rest; he was out of breath and trembling with

fright, and he had not the least idea which way to go. Also he was

very damp with sitting in that can.

After a time he began to wander about, going lippity--lippity--not

very fast, and looking all round.

He found a door in a wall; but it was locked, and there was no room for a fat little rabbit to squeeze underneath.

An old mouse was running in and out over the stone doorstep, carrying peas and beans to her family in the wood. Peter asked her the way to the gate, but she had such a large pea in her mouth that she could not answer. She only shook her head at him. Peter began to cry.

Then he tried to find his way straight across the garden, but he

became more and more puzzled. Presently, he came to a pond where Mr. McGregor filled his water-cans. A white cat was staring at some gold-fish, she sat very, very still, but now and then the tip of her tail twitched as if it were alive. Peter thought it best to go away without speaking to her; he had heard about cats from his cousin, little Benjamin Bunny.

He went back towards the tool-shed, but suddenly, quite close to him, he heard the noise of a hoe--scr-r-ritch, scratch, scratch, scritch.

Peter scuttered underneath the bushes. But presently, as nothing

happened, he came out, and climbed upon a wheelbarrow and peeped over.

The first thing he saw was Mr. McGregor hoeing onions. His back was turned towards Peter, and beyond him was the gate!

Peter got down very quietly off the wheelbarrow; and started running as fast as he could go, along a straight walk behind some

black-currant bushes.

Mr. McGregor caught sight of him at the corner, but Peter did not

care. He slipped underneath the gate, and was safe at last in the wood outside the garden.

Mr. McGregor hung up the little jacket and the shoes for a scare-crow to frighten the blackbirds.

Peter never stopped running or looked behind him till he got home to the big fir-tree.

He was so tired that he flopped down upon the nice soft sand on the floor of the rabbit-hole and shut his eyes. His mother was busy cooking; she wondered what he had done with his clothes. It was the second little jacket and pair of shoes that Peter had lost in a fortnight!

I am sorry to say that Peter was not very well during the evening.

His mother put him to bed, and made some camomile tea; and she gave a dose of it to Peter!

'One table-spoonful to be taken at bed-time.'

But Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cotton-tail had bread and milk and

blackberries for supper.

THE END

Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

I'm doing a little survey to find out more about ALE listeners. There are just four tiny questions. It will only take a minute or two, and will help me a LOT! Please check it out. Thanks, Cooper

👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇

CLICK HERE FOR THE SURVEY

Thank you for downloading this episode.

👉The story begins at 01:58 and the tiny lessons begin at 15:32

👉You can find the transcript after the Credits!

👉Visit our website to download the Podcast User's Manual and find out more! https://alittleenglish.com/

A Little English is written, produced, recorded, edited, mixed, mastered and scored by Edward Cooper Howland.

All stories are either in the public domain, or written by me.

Copyright 2023 Edward Cooper Howland

⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

TRANSCRIPT:

Hi. My name is Cooper, and this is…A Little English. Every episode, I read a short story. After the story, there are three tiny lessons. 

Today’s story is about ping pong. I’m not very good at ping pong, but Tabatha is. We played together a couple weeks ago, and of course, I thought, “This would be a good story.” So, here we are. 

The name of the story comes from psychology. Have you ever been doing something you really like and suddenly you realize that, like, an hour or two has passed? And you didn’t even realize it? That’s called a flow state. It’s also called, being “in the zone.” Usually when I’m working on a story or even editing this podcast, I’ll enter a flow state. And I love it. It’s an amazing feeling. What gets you into a flow state? And what does that have to do with ping pong? I guess we’ll find out. 

Flow

The ball came in fast and low, just over the net. It bounced on the back right corner of table number four and flew off into a corner of the gym. Alexander watched it go. 

“Hey, I thought you said you would go easy on me,”  he whined. 

“I am going easy on you,” replied Matt. “Your serve.” 

Alexander walked slowly over to where the ball had stopped rolling. He picked it up and stared at it. He sighed and walked back to the table where Matt stood ready, holding the paddle in both hands straight out. 

Alexander bounced the ball once and hit it straight into the net. 

“Zero-two,” shouted Matt. 

“I don’t get a double fault thing? Like in tennis?”

“No, bro. This is TABLE tennis. Different game. Your serve.”

Alexander served again. This time, the ball floated weakly over the net. Matt returned it to Alexander's left side. Alexander reached for a backhand, but missed. The ball skipped away through the open doors and into the hall. 

“Zero-three, your serve.” Matt was smiling. 

Alexander retrieved the ball from the hallway. He tried to focus on Matt’s left side. He thought about the best angle for the paddle. He planned the whole point in his mind. Curve the paddle down a little bit at the end. Keep the ball low, just above the net. Go to Matt’s backhand. He had a plan. 

He breathed deeply, bounced, and served. 

The ball went into the net. “Zero-four!”

He made another plan. A soft hit, just hard enough to go over the net. He could make Matt reach for it. Make him mess up. Make him serve for once. He bounced and served, slowly, carefully. 

Matt leaned in and returned it easily, with a smash. The ball went back into the hallway.

“Zero-five. You want me to serve?” Matt was laughing at him. Alexander walked off to retrieve the ball, his head hanging low.  

—

The girl must have been in high school. She was blonde, and she was taller than him. And she was holding his ping-pong ball in her hand, smiling. 

“Did you lose this?”

“Uh. Yeah. Sorry. Uh.” Alexander reached out and grabbed the ball. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” She was probably seventeen years old, and she was smiling at him.  He nodded at her, never making eye contact, and walked back to his table. 

Alexander prepared to serve again, at the same time looking around the gymnasium for the girl. Was she playing volleyball? No. Was she watching from the stands? No. Where was she?

“Hey, nice point!” said Matt. “Five-one. My serve.”

He didn’t realize that he had been playing, but there it was. Matt was kneeling down under the table to get the ball. He’d gotten a point!

Matt’s next serve came in just as Alexander found the girl. She was with another high school girl. She was playing ping-pong. She was at table number six.  Just two tables away. How long had she been there? Had she seen him losing point after point? Alexander felt himself blushing as he returned the serve. 

“Five-three! OK! Now we’re talking!”

Five…three? Alexander realized that he had won the last TWO points without paying attention. He was back in the game. He had a chance to win! What if the girl was watching now? He had to focus. He had to win. Don’t look at the girl, don’t look at anything, just make a plan and win.

He lost the next three points in a row. 

“Eight-three! Oh, yeah. You’re going down, bro.” 

The ball came in fast and low over the net, and bounced. It was too far away. Alexander stretched out to hit it and the paddle flew out of his hand. It landed right on table five with a loud BANG. The guys at table five stopped playing.

So did the high school girls. 

Alexander froze. There was no way to play this off like a cool, normal dude. He had just thrown his stupid paddle and disrupted everyone’s game, and everyone knew it was him. Now he had to go get it, and he wanted to die. 

He walked over to table five, staring at the floor. “Uh, I’m sorry, man,” he mumbled, as the guy handed him back his paddle.  “I guess it just, like, slipped out of my hand.” 

The guy didn’t say anything, and Alexander turned back to his table. Matt was laughing and pointing at him.

The tears came up behind his eyes. He felt them fall onto his cheeks, hot and wet and he ran. He ran into the hallway searching for a bathroom, but he couldn’t find one, so he just kept running until he came to some kind of bench. He sat and cried, his shoulders shaking, his face in his hands until he felt someone touch his arm.

It was the high school girl. She looked worried. 

“Are you OK, kid?”

Alexander tried to puff out his chest a little. Like he wasn’t just crying in the gray, concrete hallway of a YCMA. 

“Me? Oh, yeah. I’m, like, pretty OK. Thanks.” He wiped snot and tears from his face with the back of his arm. 

“Your friend is kind of a jerk.”

“He’s not my friend, he’s my cousin. I don’t want to hang out with him, but my mom makes me.”

“Well, I think you need to go and win this game. Teach him a lesson.”

“How? The only time I even get a point is when I’m not paying attention.”

“That,” said the high school girl, “is because you’re thinking too much. The ball is too fast. By the time you think about what you’re gonna do, and then get your body to do it, the ball is gone. You have to clear your mind and just….flow. No plans, just movement. Reaction. I don’t really know how else to explain it. Just….flow. It’s the only way to win at ping pong.”

Alexander stood up, rubbing his eyes with his shirt sleeve. 

“What’s your name?” 

“Amanda. People call me Mandy.” 

“I’m Alexander. Uh, thank you.”

“Go kick his butt.”

So there you go. That’s my ping-pong story. Now I want to be very clear. This story is not what happened when I played with my kid. First of all, Tabatha is the real ping-pong monster. She absolutely destroyed me when we played. But there were a few moments when I got into a flow state. When I didn’t think about what I was doing, and I was able to just…flow. Just play. And at least I scored some points. 

But there were these two boys next to us. They were maybe thirteen or fourteen years old. And they were so, so nerdy. They reminded me of myself when I was in middle school. And I wanted to write a story about them. About what it’s like to be a nerdy teenage boy. Especially when girls are around. So…how did I do? 

Anyway, wanna do some tiny lessons?

The Big Picture is looking lovely.

What was Alexander’s big mistake when he was playing? Why couldn’t he win? Take a moment and think about it. Like Mandy said, he was over-thinking. When you play sports, you can’t think. You can’t plan. You just have to do it. That’s the flow state. When your brain shuts off, and you just act. 

How about the Dictionary Disco?

The first vocabulary word is “Blushing.” Everybody blushes. It’s when you get embarrassed or emotional, and your face turns red. But really really white people like me? We REALLY blush. 

The second vocabulary word is “paddle.” That’s the thing you hold in your hand when you play ping pong. But also, it’s any kind of thing that’s shaped like that. A thin handle on one end, and a wide flat surface on the other. Like when you go in a canoe. You use a paddle. 

So, can we have a Melody Moment?

We’re gonna do another pair of sounds today. K and G are pretty close to T and D. So for T, you tap your tongue on the roof of your mouth. The alveolar ridge, right? For K, you keep your tongue up at the top, but….you don’t tap it. And it’s further back. Lips open, jaw relaxed. And tongue just kinda….up. Try it! K….K….K. Now, add some vibration in your throat and you get….G. They’re a pair. 

Let’s do the credits. 

Thank you for listening to Season 3 Episode 8 of A Little English. 

Every episode is produced entirely by me, Edward Cooper Howland, here in Hiroshima, Japan. 

If you like the show, tell someone about it! A recommendation from a friend is the best way to get someone to listen, and I would really appreciate it. 

This season, all the stories are written by…me! I use chatGPT by Openai.com as an editor because I can’t afford to hire a human. It’s an amazing, free piece of software, and you should check it out. 

Again, thank you  so much for listening.

For now, be kind to yourselves, and to each other. 

Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

I'm doing a little survey to find out more about ALE listeners. There are just four tiny questions. It will only take a minute or two, and will help me a LOT! Please check it out. Thanks, Cooper

👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇

CLICK HERE FOR THE SURVEY

Thank you for downloading this episode.

👉This is a special one! Tabby wanted to interview Cooper. So that's what happens. It's pretty silly, but if you want a look behind the scenes, you can find out a lot about the two of us!

👉There's no transcript this time! Come back next week for another story! Thank you!

👉Visit our website to download the Podcast User's Manual and find out more! https://alittleenglish.com/

A Little English is written, produced, recorded, edited, mixed, mastered and scored by Edward Cooper Howland.

All stories are either in the public domain, or written by me.

Copyright 2023 Edward Cooper Howland

⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

TRANSCRIPT:

Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

I'm doing a little survey to find out more about ALE listeners. There are just four tiny questions. It will only take a minute or two, and will help me a LOT! Please check it out. Thanks, Cooper

👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇

CLICK HERE FOR THE SURVEY

Thank you for downloading this episode.

👉The story begins at 1:40 and the tiny lessons begin at 12:56

👉You can find the transcript after the Credits!

👉Visit our website to download the Podcast User's Manual and find out more! https://alittleenglish.com/

A Little English is written, produced, recorded, edited, mixed, mastered and scored by Edward Cooper Howland.

All stories are either in the public domain, or written by me.

Copyright 2023 Edward Cooper Howland

⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

TRANSCRIPT:

Hi. My name is Cooper, and this is…A Little English. Every episode, I read a short story. After the story, there are three tiny lessons. 

And we are back into Forty Stories! So, this story was written by me. I have to apologize, I have tried to do two different accents. Now to be fair, I’m from Massachusetts, and I spent six years living in South Carolina, so I think I’m probably OK at doing accents from those places. But I guess I’ll let you decide. If it’s hard to understand people talking, go check out the show notes! Read along with the text as I’m speaking. It’s good practice for weird American pronunciation. Let’s check it out!

Frog Pond

It was not a good day to be outside. Kim shivered in her overcoat. Her cheeks hurt, even inside the mask. Boston Common in February was not beautiful. It was gray, and the parking in the garage was twelve dollars an hour!

Cassie was excited, though. She pulled Kim’s hand as they approached the  Frog Pond. “Look, Mom! They’re skating!”

There were maybe fifteen people on the ice. They were trying to go in circles, but the wind pushed them back, crashing them into the railing and each other.  Kim and Cassie fought their way to the ticket counter.

“That’ll be thirty-two dollars, ma’am.” The woman in the booth shrunk down into her enormous parka as Kim stared at her. 

“Thirty-two?” Kim couldn’t believe it. 

“Yes, ma’am. It’s eight dollars for you, free for your daughter. Plus skate rental is fifteen for adults and ten for kids.”

Kim sighed, and pulled another twenty-dollar bill out of her wallet.

“You shouldn’t be out here in this weather,” said Kim. 

“I haven’t got much else to do,” said the lady. “and I’m used to it. Some days are awfully pretty, especially after a good snow.”

Kim looked around. “Pretty like today?”

“Oh, no,” said the woman. “But tomorrow should be nice. Is this your first time in Boston?”

“No,” said Kim. “Well, sort of. It’s our first time in the Common. We’re renting a place in Cambridge. But Cassie just HAD to go skating before the season ended.”

“Is it her first time skating?” asked the woman.

“It’s both of our first times. We’re from South Carolina, originally. My husband got a job, and we just…moved up here. Just like that.”

“Well, you might want to try a lesson.” The woman pointed to a poster on the wall.

“We can’t afford that much,” Kim turned to take Cassie’s hand, but she wasn’t there. 

“Cassie? Cassie? Cassandra?” She was trying to sound calm. She clapped her hands, but the gloves muffled the sound, and the wind carried it away. 

“Cassandra Norton, you come out right now!” 

Kim half-walked and half-ran over to the railing. She leaned on it and stared at the ice. 

Most of the skaters weren’t very good. Couples on dates held hands and laughed. Children fell over and cried. Their parents rushed to them, wiping snow from their coats and tears from their eyes. 

And Cassandra was gone. 

“Is something wrong, ma’am?” It was the woman from the ticket counter. Kim realized now that was standing up, that she was tiny. 

“Oh, well, I’m very sorry. My daughter wandered off.” She sounded so natural. Like it was no big deal. Her daughter was lost in a snow storm in a public park in this strange city, and she was acting like it was no big deal. 

“Oh dear,” said the lady. “Did you check the ice?”

“That’s what I was just doing, but I don’t see her.”

“Well, don’t worry,” said the lady. “Let’s go check the bathrooms.”

“Thank you so much. What’s your name?” asked Kim. 

“I’m Mary.”

“And do you work here?” 

“Oh, no not really. I’m a volunteer.” She showed Kim a  badge with her face on it, pinned to her parka. Her hand shook slightly.  “I retired a few years ago and I don’t have much going on. So this keeps me busy. Now, let’s look in the stalls. What’s the girl’s name?”

“Cassandra. Cassie.”

Mary opened each of the toilet stalls, one by one. Cassie was not there. Mary looked back to Kim. “Well. We’ll have to-“

Kim interrupted her. “We’ll have to what? My daughter is missing! It’s below freezing outside. She’s only six years old!” She pushed past Mary, through the gate and onto the ice. She was screaming now, “Cassie? Cassie! Have you seen a little girl? I’m looking for my daughter.”

She was flat on the ice before she knew what had happened. She tried to stand and immediately fell again. And again. 

Slowly, she got to her hands and knees. The pain where her hip had hit the ice was incredible. Skaters did their best to avoid her as they passed. 

“Hey, you gotta wear skates on the ice, lady.”

“Watch out! Whatcha doin?”

Kim started to cry. She felt a small hand on her shoulder. Mary was standing next to her, reaching down to take her hand. This tiny old woman was perfectly balanced on the ice in her big hiking boots. Kim was afraid to lean on her, afraid she’d pull them both down to the ice. But she took Mary’s hand and got to her knees, then her feet. 

“Mommy?”

Cassie was standing in the gate that Kim had just come through, getting ready to walk onto the ice. She had skates on. She looked worried. 

“You know you have to wear skates on the ice, right Mommy?”

Kim slipped and slid her way over to the railing, holding on to Mary for balance.  She got the feeling Mary had done this before. 

“Where have you been?” she grabbed Cassie’s shoulders, maybe a little too hard. 

“Oh, I went to get my skates.” Cassie pointed ot her feet. “The guys at the rental desk were really nice.”

All three of them sat down on a bench in front of the cafeteria. Kim did her best to pretend she wasn’t crying.

“It’s just so hard, you know? Robbie’s at work all day, and then at night he’s practicing for this stupid play that he’s in, and I’m home alone, and well, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have behaved that way. “

“Tell you what,” said Mary, smiling at her. “Let me grab my skates and I’ll take you around the rink a few times. Just show you the basics.”

“Okay,” Kim smiled down at Cassie, who was jumping up and down in her skates. “We’d love that." 

I have to tell you a secret. Everything is connected. All of the Forty Stories tie together into one big thing. All the characters you meet are connected, somehow to all the other ones. I don’t want to make it too obvious, and I won’t mention it every time, but yeah, if you listen or read closely, it’s all there. 

Which leads me to tonight’s Big Picture:

How is this story connected to Episode Four, “Cold Feet?” Go back and listen to both of them if you’re not sure, but I think I didn’t hide it too well…this time. (pause) Yeah, this is Robbie’s wife and kid. That’s how it is with all these stories. Maybe they take place in the same…bar? Or maybe one character in one story is the roommate, or the mother of a character in another story. Who knows? You’ll have to listen closely to find out.

And the dictionary disco is…ice disco? Is that possible?

The first vocabulary word for tonight is MUFFLE. To muffle something is to wrap it up. In fact, a lot of people use the word “muffler” where I, an American, would say “scarf.” But ”muffle” can also mean to make something quiet. Like the muffler on a car does. Kind of like if you….wrapped it in a scarf. Right?

The second vocabulary word is INCREDIBLE. This one is interesting because it literally means you cannot believe it. Like a liar. But somehow, now, incredible just means…really strong or amazing, or…awesome. 

And tonight’s Melody Moment? 

Let’s keep going with voiced and unvoiced pairs. So…..”T” how do you make a “T” sound? You tap your tongue on the top of your mouth. Can you feel the bumpy part on the top of your mouth? That’s called the alveolar ridge. Easy to say, right? Alveolar ridge. So anyway, just put your tongue on those bumps, and…tap. “T” Easy right? Now, do it with a little vibration in your throat. What do you get? “D” Yup. They’re a pair.

Let’s do the credits. 

Thank you for listening to Season 3 Episode 7 of A Little English. 

Every episode is produced entirely by me, Edward Cooper Howland, here in Hiroshima, Japan. 

If you like the show, tell someone about it! A recommendation from a friend is the best way to get someone to listen, and I would really appreciate it. 

This season, all the stories are written by…me! I use chatGPT by Openai.com as an editor because I can’t afford to hire a human. It’s an amazing, free piece of software, and you should check it out. 

Again, thank you  so much for listening.

For now, be kind to yourselves, and to each other. 

Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

I'm doing a little survey to find out more about ALE listeners. There are just four tiny questions. It will only take a minute or two, and will help me a LOT! Please check it out. Thanks, Cooper

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Thank you for downloading this episode.

👉The story begins at 02:00 and the tiny lessons begin at 15:44

👉You can find the transcript after the Credits!

👉Visit our website to download the Podcast User's Manual and find out more! https://alittleenglish.com/

A Little English is written, produced, recorded, edited, mixed, mastered and scored by Edward Cooper Howland.

All stories are either in the public domain, or written by me.

Copyright 2023 Edward Cooper Howland

⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

TRANSCRIPT:

Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

I'm doing a little survey to find out more about ALE listeners. There are just four tiny questions. It will only take a minute or two, and will help me a LOT! Please check it out. Thanks, Cooper

👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇

CLICK HERE FOR THE SURVEY

Thank you for downloading this episode.

👉The story begins at 1:56 and the tiny lessons begin at 12:50

👉You can find the transcript after the Credits!

👉Visit our website to download the Podcast User's Manual and find out more! https://alittleenglish.com/

A Little English is written, produced, recorded, edited, mixed, mastered and scored by Edward Cooper Howland.

All stories are either in the public domain, or written by me.

Copyright 2023 Edward Cooper Howland

⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

TRANSCRIPT:

Hi. My name is Cooper, and this is…A Little English. Every episode, I read a short story. After the story, there are three tiny lessons. 

OK so, this week and next week, we’re gonna take a little break from Forty Stories. Why? Because it’s really, really hard for me to write a good story every single week, and make the tiny lessons, AND record and edit everything. Also, I want these Forty Stories to finish around Christmas this year, so actually, I need to take some breaks. So. I found a fun science fiction story from 1955 that’s out of copyright, and I’m gonna read it to you. This one is…well…I don’t want to spoil it for you. But I can tell you that this story is very sweet. Nothing horrible, I promise. 

SELLING POINT

By Norman Arkawy

A new industry blossomed when U.S. Robot

Company put their perfected models on the market.

Perfected? Nobody had considered the one defect!

"Good morning, madam," Ira said. "I represent...."

"We don't want any," said the women, easing the door shut.

With the time tested finesse of door-to-door salesmen, Ira slipped his size twelve shoe between the swinging door and the jamb. "But madam, if you'll give me a few minutes of your time...."

The woman shook her head. "It won't do you any good," she said, trying to squeeze the door shut over his foot. "Whatever it is, we don't want any."

"I represent U.S. Robot Company," Ira persisted. He smiled pleasantly. His unyielding foot maintained a six inch wide avenue of communication between himself and the woman in the house. "Long the leader in commercial and industrial mechanicals, U.S. Robot is now introducing a new line of home servants, designed to assist the housewife in every possible task about the house."

"You're wasting your time," the woman said wearily.

Ira used his professional smile to indicate that he enjoyed wasting his time. "When you've seen the demonstration," he said, "I'm sure you'll agree that no home should be without a Model I household robot."

The woman looked out at him silently, patiently, resigned. She was pretty and petite and very young; and, from her appearance, had never done a day's work in her life. A typical newlywed, Ira thought. A perfect prospect, he decided.

"As you undoubtedly know, the outstanding characteristics of U.S. Robot mechanicals have always been ability, durability and reliability. Their performance in industry has earned for the United States Robot Company the enviable reputation it is proud to possess: 'Leader in the art, artist of the trade—if it's U.S. Robot, it's perfect!'"

The woman smiled and allowed the door to swing open slightly. "What about Amalgamated Androids?" she asked. "I understand they've got some pretty good models, too."

"Well," Ira admitted, "some of their models are pretty good; adequate, perhaps. But why take anything but the best? And, of course, our robots...."

"I've seen some AA models that are perfect," the woman said. A suggestion of a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "How can yours be any better than perfect?"

Ira's voice took on a confidential complexion. "Some of their models are beautiful," he conceded. "And they may seem to work well when they're new. But they're not built to last, like ours. Why...."

"I think," the woman tried to interrupt, "that some of...."

"How can you compare them to U.S. Robot?" Ira ran on. "We have had forty-seven years of experience in producing mechanicals for the most difficult jobs imaginable. Amalgamated Androids while producing an adequate household model, does not have the valuable know-how to build into their mechanicals the strength and quality that is taken for granted in every machine bearing the U.S. Robot label."

The woman was skeptical. "Maybe your company does make the best factory hands," she argued, "but household robots must be esthetic as well as rugged. And Amalgamated Androids are specialists in building humanoid robots, while your company...."

"But, madam," Ira said, grinning. "Our household models are perfectly human in appearance—I should say, imperfectly human because we even give them tiny blemishes to make them seem more natural."

The woman was obviously unconvinced. Ira applied the clincher. "What greater proof could you want than this?" He held up his left hand, baring his wrist so that she could read his identification stamp.

Model I (Masc.)

Serial No. 27146 12V

U.S. ROBOT CO., INC.

The woman's eyes widened. Her face took on an expression of delighted surprise.

"What better proof could you want?" Ira repeated. "Do I look like a robot? Am I not a perfect humanoid? Here," he said, extending his hand, "feel my skin and see if it isn't just like a man's."

The woman gingerly touched his hand. Her eyes mirrored her satisfaction.

Ira pressed his advantage. "Model I robots come in both masculine and feminine designs, built to your individual specifications as to size, coloring, strength, personality traits, apparent age, and so forth. For example, lonely people can have companionship built in, if they like. You can have an Ira or Inez possessing an almost human intelligence and free choice, or you can get one that is blindly servile and which will never volunteer advice or information. You can get an elderly, refined butler or a handsome young man-around-the-house. You can get a pretty, petite parlor maid or a buxom cook."

Ira paused to observe his customer. She was looking at him in a peculiar way. Knowing that he was a robot, she seemed to be appraising him as she would a man. Ira noted her odd reaction and puzzled over it. It usually went the other way—women lost interest in him when they learned that he was not a man.

"Why don't you come inside," the woman suggested suddenly, opening the door for him.

Ira smiled at her graciously and went into the house. Her reaction was not so puzzling, after all, he decided. A young and virtuous wife would feel the conventional fears that were "built into her" by society. She had to be careful. It was conceivably dangerous to be alone in the house with a handsome man. But, if he's a robot, she has nothing to fear—from him or herself.

Well…..That’s part one. What do you think? I think it’s very cute. I’ve always loved old science fiction stories like this. So, like always when we do a two-part story like this, I’d like you to take a moment and make a prediction about how this story will end. Maybe even write it down on a piece of paper, so you can check it next week. What’s gonna happen with Ira and this lady? I’m not gonna tell….

Let’s do some tiny lessons.

How’s the big picture looking? Cute. It’s looking cute. 

My question is, why does Ira reveal that he’s a robot? Take a minute and think about it. It’s because he’s trying to show how lifelike the US Robots are. They could fool anyone. 

And what’s the hot new dance at the Dicitonary Disco? It’s the ROBOT. Of course. I’m sorry. 

Anyway I have two vocabulary words for you. The first one is: “adequate.” It’s in there twice, it must be important. Adequate means…good enough. Not really very good. But, you know. OK.

And the second vocab word is….gingerly. It has nothing to do with the yummy spice, ginger. Instead, it means very carefully, or cautiously. So when she touched his hand gingerly, maybe she’s a little bit afraid of him?

And how about a nice Melody Moment?

It’s…P. It’s the sound you get from the letter PEE. This one is hard for me, because it’s rough on the microphone. So I’ll do my best. To make this sound correctly, you have to bring your lips into your mouth. And then POP them back out again. “P” And this is an unvoiced sound. You don’t use your throat. But if you did, what sound would it make? Try, by yourself, right now. “P” but vibrate your throat. Yeah. “B” Like BEE. Crazy, right? P and B are like 95% the same sound. 

Let’s do the credits!

Thank you for listening to this special bonus episode of A Little English. 

Every episode is produced entirely by me, Edward Cooper Howland, here in Hiroshima, Japan. 

If you like the show, tell someone about it! A recommendation from a friend is the best way to get someone to listen, and I would really appreciate it. 

I got this story from Project Gutenberg, which is a super cool resource for copyright-free books, and you should check it out. 

Again, thank you  so much for listening.

For now, be kind to yourselves, and to each other. 

Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

I'm doing a little survey to find out more about ALE listeners. There are just four tiny questions. It will only take a minute or two, and will help me a LOT! Please check it out. Thanks, Cooper

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CLICK HERE FOR THE SURVEY

Thank you for downloading this episode.

Here is the video about "dude" that I was talking about. CLICK HERE FOR VIDEO

👉The story begins at 02:15 and the tiny lessons begin at 16:30

👉You can find the transcript after the Credits!

👉Visit our website to download the Podcast User's Manual and find out more! https://alittleenglish.com/

A Little English is written, produced, recorded, edited, mixed, mastered and scored by Edward Cooper Howland.

All stories are either in the public domain, or written by me.

Copyright 2023 Edward Cooper Howland

⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

TRANSCRIPT:

Hi. My name is Cooper, and this is…A Little English. Every episode, I read a short story. After the story, there are three tiny lessons. 

Today’s story is about the theater. I did some acting in college, so I know a little about what it’s like to be on a stage. The play in the story is a real play. It’s called “Take Me Out,” by Richard Greenberg, and it’s about baseball. Specifically, it’s about what would happen if the best player in all of professional baseball came out as a gay man. It’s an amazing play, and if you ever get a chance, you should definitely see it. It also has a lot of naked men in it. So yeah, content warning, you will hear the word naked at least nine more times in this podcast. There’s nothing sexual, but…the story is about taking off your clothes on stage. I’ll talk more about this play after the story, because I don’t want to spoil anything. For now, let’s enjoy.

The name of this story is….Cold Feet. 

Act One - Tech Rehearsal

“Look,” said Tom, “I get it. It’s a locker room. We’re in the shower. People shower naked. It makes perfect sense. But I’m just saying, why do I have to be naked?”

Tom stood on stage, in his bathing suit. All the actors were wearing bathing suits. He could hear the air conditioning rattle. He could hear the lights humming. Everyone was staring at him. Raymond got up out of his seat and ran his fingers through his hair.

“You have to be naked, Tom, because everyone has to be naked. You knew that when you signed up for the play. You already agreed to it.”

“I know I did. But maybe, like, can’t I just wear a towel? I’m just one of the guys on the team. Dante and Robbie, those guys, the show is about them. They’re the really important ones. But I’m just in the background anyway, so why does it matter if I’ve got a towel on or not?”

“Because you agreed to it, Tom! Because everyone agreed to it. Because you’ve known for six weeks of rehearsal that everyone gets naked!”

“ I thought I could do it,” said Tom, shifting his weight from side to side. “I really did. It didn’t seem like such a big deal when I signed up. It’s just like, my mom’s gonna see it. And my sister.”

“Oh my god.” It was hard to see anything from the stage, with all the lights, but Tom could tell that Raymond was furious. He was walking up and down the aisle, shouting. “Six weeks rehearsing with these Americans and now Tom wants to change the whole script.”

Robbie stepped to the edge of the stage. “Raymond? Ray? Maybe we should stop for tonight? I’ll talk with Tom. Okay?”

Raymond disappeared into the foyer, swearing. 

“Come on,” said Robbie. “I’ll buy you a beer.”

Act Two - The Shack

“Just think about the rest of us, OK? We all gotta go through this together, man. It’s just like in the show. We’re a team. Everyone gets naked. Together. We’re a team.”

The two of them sat at a cheap table, drinking cheap beer. On the karaoke stage, some college kids were singing old hair metal, their friends cheering them on.  

“Is it really about your mom?”

“No, I told her as soon as I got the part. She thinks it’s pretty funny, actually. My sister, too. And the thing is, I know they will make fun of me for it. And that’s fine. They always do.”

“So…..? What’s up, man? You’ve been working out. We all have. You’re gonna look great out there. Unless….do you have something…you know……..weird down there?” Robbie was pointing. 

“Me? No, no.” Tom leaned back in his chair. “That’s all really, incredibly normal and boring. I think…it’s just…So many people, you know? Like, hundreds of people. Every night. Strangers. They’re gonna see me. All of me. I just hate it.”

“Yeah but that’s the thing, right?” Robbie leaned in. “That’s what the show is all about. It’s about vulnerability. It’s about being honest with strangers about who you are. And, like in the show, some people love it when you’re honest and vulnerable, and some people just hate it. Because you being honest makes them uncomfortable.”

“Maybe…being…vulnerable….makes…….me uncomfortable.”

“Well, Tom, I think you may want to change careers. How can you be an actor if you can’t be vulnerable? That’s what we do. We get on stage, and we open ourselves up. We show the audience something true. Something honest. And maybe they like it and maybe they don’t. But that’s not really our problem. We just have to do our job.”

They stared at each other for a moment. 

“Now, look. Let’s just rip the band-aid off, ok? Let’s go get naked. Right now. ”

“What, like here? In the bar?” 

“No, dude, I don’t wanna get arrested. Come on, we’ll go to your place, and we’ll take off all our clothes, and stand in the living room and practice our lines.”

“That's the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard in my entire life. What if my roommates come home?”

“They can read Dante’s part. Come on, man, let’s go be vulnerable.”

Act Three - Opening Night

It was easy. 

It was just as easy as wearing the bathing suit was. He took off his robe backstage, and he walked out into the warm lights, and he was naked. 

Tom was naked on the stage, pretending to take a shower with his buddies. He pretended to shampoo his hair while his friends argued about what it means to be a man, and a hundred and fifty people, - including his mom and sister - watched them silently.

Until -

“Oi! You horrible little creature! Give it here! No, no, give it!”

The lights were so bright, Tom couldn’t see anything offstage.

Raymond was in the audience. He was screaming, swearing, and…was he…fighting with someone?

“You give me that phone right this instant, young lady!”

Someone was making a video. Some girl was making a video of Tom and Robbie and everyone else on stage. 

“I swear to god, I’m going smash that phone into a thousand pieces. You’ll go to prison for this!”

Raymond and the girl were rolling in the aisle now, fighting over the phone. The whole audience was talking, standing up, trying to see what was happening. They all had their phones in their hands, taking video of the fight.

Tom looked at Robbie, then the other guys. They all, very slowly, reached for their towels. 

OK, so you should know, I wasn’t in this play back in college. But a bunch of my friends were. And they all had to take off their clothes and pretend to shower together, and…more. No spoilers. And the thing with the camera? That’s real. In May 2022, Jesse Williams, who you might know from Grey’s Anatomy, was starring in “Take Me Out” on Broadway. And somebody took a video from the audience, and put it on the internet. It was a big scandal. I’ve been reading about it all week. And kind of obsessing over it because back in 2005 or whatever, when my friends were doing this play, we didn’t have smartphones. There wasn’t such a big risk. But now…it’s much scarier to do stuff like that on stage. Oh, and the thing with the director attacking the audience member? It didn’t happen with Jesse Williams, but it has happened. You can google it.

Do not use your phone in a theater. It’s a really bad idea. 

Let’s do some tiny lessons?

The Big Picture tonight was definitely NOT taken on a phone in a theater.

My question is, what is it that Tom is so nervous about? Why is he uncomfortable taking his clothes off on stage? Take a minute and think about it…..I think it’s just like he said. He doesn’t actually want to be honest. He’s afraid of getting hurt. 

And do you think we can keep our clothes on in the Dictionary Disco?

We are gonna talk about one of my favorite words. DUDE. It just means, “man.” But you can use it absolutely any way you like. “Dude, that’s so cool.” “Hey dude, are you hungry?” “Wow, look at this dude over here.” I’ll put a link in the show notes to a scene in a film where the only dialogue is…”dude.”

The other vocabulary word is “vulnerable.” It just means you can be hurt. So like, Superman is invulnerable. Bullets just bounce off him. But going on stage, and trying to share something honest and true. That makes you vulnerable. You can be hurt. That’s what the story is about. 

And how about a Melody Moment?

We’ve talked about MMMM. And we talked about NNNN. But. There’s another one. It’s like their cousin. NNNNGGG. It’s the sound at the end of the words SING, and THING. So. You start with NNNN, so your mouth is a little open, and your tongue is touching the roof of your mouth. Then move your tongue back about a centimeter. The whole tongue. And then, I don’t know how else to say this, you push the sound….out your nose. NNNNG. Watching. Waiting. Thinking. Oooh, that one has it twice!

Let’s do the credits!

Thank you for listening to Season 3 Episode 4 of A Little English. 

Every episode is produced entirely by me, Edward Cooper Howland, here in Hiroshima, Japan. 

If you like the show, tell someone about it! A recommendation from a friend is the best way to get someone to listen, and I would really appreciate it. 

This season, all the stories are written by…me! I use chatGPT by Openai.com as an editor because I can’t afford to hire a human. It’s an amazing, free piece of software, and you should check it out. 

Again, thank you  so much for listening.

For now, be kind to yourselves, and to each other. 

Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

I'm doing a little survey to find out more about ALE listeners. There are just four tiny questions. It will only take a minute or two, and will help me a LOT! Please check it out. Thanks, Cooper

👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇

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👉The story begins at 1:42 and the tiny lessons begin at 16:50

👉You can find the transcript after the Credits!

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A Little English is written, produced, recorded, edited, mixed, mastered and scored by Edward Cooper Howland.

All stories are either in the public domain, or written by me.

Copyright 2023 Edward Cooper Howland

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TRANSCRIPT:

Hi. My name is Cooper, and this is…A Little English. Every episode, I read a short story. After the story, there are three tiny lessons. 

Today’s story comes with a Content Warning: it’s about a panic attack, and there’s a conversation about mental illness. Nothing too serious, but if you’re not in the mood to hear something like that, maybe stop and come back later. Don’t worry, though. There’s other stuff in the story. In fact, if you don’t know what a 1967 Ford Mustang looks and sounds like, go ahead and pause right now. Look in the show notes, I’ve added a link to a youtube video . Check it out. It’s pretty awesome…

So, of course, the name of this story is… Mustang. 

Carl was dying. He was standing in his kitchen and he couldn’t breathe, and he was dying.  The edges of his vision were blurry. He couldn’t breathe.  He heard a noise. Short and sharp and fast, it repeated again and again and again, identical.

Dottie was in the next room, finishing her coffee. If he called her, she would come and take him to the hospital. But they couldn’t afford an ambulance. They couldn’t even afford to keep what they had.  

The noise was coming faster now and his vision was narrowing to a tunnel. He was in a white tunnel. He was sure that he was dying. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t find the breath to call his wife’s name. 

Suddenly, he was sitting on the floor. His back hurt. Had he fallen?  

He could feel his heart pounding against his ribs, like it wanted to escape. Like it wanted to burst out of his chest and run screaming down the hall. He was having a heart attack, and he was going to die here on his own stupid kitchen floor.

He could hear her voice. It sounded like she was underwater. Or maybe like he was underwater and she was on the beach, calling to him. Like she was miles away. She was saying his name.  

The noise was starting to slow down. It sounded like a dog panting on a summer day. 

It was him. The noise was him. 

It was his own breath, and it was starting to slow down. The tunnel widened, and he could see the kitchen door, and the Mustang in the driveway. Her hands were under his arms now, lowering him onto his back.  He was laying on the floor and she was there with him.

“Dottie?” he gasped. “I’m having a heart attack. I’m dying.”

“You’re not dying, Carl. It’s just a panic attack.”

“How do you know?” he said. “I can’t breathe and my heart’s going to explode and I’m going to die.” 

“You’ve never had a panic attack before?” 

“I’ve never felt anything like this in my entire life. I couldn’t see.” 

“Well, you’re pretty lucky, then. Jean used to have them all the time. Just focus on your breath for a little while. Breathe in through your nose, slowly, and now breathe out through your mouth.”

In eight years, Carl had never cried in front of Dottie. He hadn’t cried when he put that nail through his foot. He hadn’t cried when the dog died.  He had cried when his mother died, but he did it in the coat closet when Dottie was out of the house.

He knew he was crying now because he could see the surprise on her face. He could feel the tears on his cheeks and suddenly his whole body was shaking as he turned and hid his face in his hands. He sobbed like a child. 

“I’m sorry,” he bawled into his hands. “This is so stupid.”

“Shhhhh,” whispered Dottie. “It’s fine.” 

She was on the floor with him, stroking his hair with one hand. With the other she picked up a crumpled piece of paper from where it had fallen when Carl sat down.

“What’s this?” 

“It’s the bill of sale for Dad’s Mustang.” He had pushed himself up onto one arm. “The buyers sent it over. We just need to fill out our info, and then we all go  to the DMV together. ”

“And then it’s theirs?”

“Yeah.” 

“But for now it’s still ours, right?” She was standing now, pulling at his hand. “Get the hell up, Carl. Let’s go for a drive.”

They walked out into the sun, Carl wiping snot and tears from his face with his sleeve. 

The Mustang sat in the driveway, cherry-red and polished chrome.

“Come on,” she was walking around to the passenger’s side. 

Carl got in the driver’s seat and breathed deeply. It smelled like leather and oil and Dad’s cigar smoke. He turned the key. The engine thundered for a moment before settling into its neutral purr. It was breathing, slowly and steadily. He reached down and put it in reverse. “You said Jean had those all the time, when you were kids?”

She looked at him. “Panic attacks? Yeah. She still does sometimes.”

“Do you know why?”

“I do. And it’s none of your business.”

He waited a moment at a stop sign. “And, like, how did she deal with it?” 

“She didn’t for a long time, and it just got worse and worse. Eventually she had to spend a couple weeks in a center.”

“Like…a…?”

“Like a residential psychiatric hospital. And they got her sober and into therapy and yoga and breathing and stuff, and when she got out, she taught me how to help her when she couldn’t help herself. I was eleven.”

“Well. Yoga. I dunno if I can do yoga.”

“It helped her.”

They drove on in silence for a few minutes. She rolled her window down and he breathed deeply, carefully, smelling the summer air and the exhaust and her perfume. He turned on the AM radio and found a ball game. When they hit the deep country and Carl was pretty sure there wasn’t another car for miles, he started to stand on the gas. The Mustang roared like a circus beast pulling on its chain. Carl could feel it, vibrating up through the seat and into his whole body. 

When they hit fourth gear, the vibration smoothed out and Dottie put her hand on his, both of them holding the gearshift together. 

“Just keep going,” she whispered. “Go to Vermont. Go to Canada. Let’s just go somewhere for the weekend. We haven’t signed the papers yet. It’s still ours.” 

Carl looked at his wife, and he thought about how far they could get with the money they had in the bank. He thought about last week when he had to put just sixteen dollars worth of gas into the tank, because sixteen dollars was all he had until payday. 

“Nah,” he said. “That’s what Dad would have done. And this isn’t his car anymore. It’s mine. Let’s go on home.”

Well, there you go. That’s my story about a 1967 Red Ford Mustang, and a man’s first panic attack. Have you ever had a panic attack? I have. More than a few, especially these last couple years with COVID and everything. That one actually came straight from my life. I really thought I was having a heart attack and that I was gonna die. But I survived. 

I think it’s really important to talk openly about mental health issues. I think that pretty much everyone is carrying a lot of pain, now more than ever. And I think if we talk about it, we might realize that it’s not strange or bad. It’s just part of life. So a lot of these forty stories are gonna be about people struggling with their pain. Because…everyone is. 

Let’s do a couple tiny lessons.

It’s a beautiful day for a drive. What a lovely Big Picture. 

Why did Carl have a panic attack? Take a moment and think. It’s because he had to sell the car. But more than that, it’s because he had to sell his dad’s car. And clearly, Carl has some…issues with his Dad. But hey, who doesn’t?

And the Dictionary Disco? Think we can dance all night?

Our first vocabulary word is: panting. Like I said in the story, it’s the sound that a dog makes after it’s been running. With its tongue hanging out. You know that sound. I’m not gonna do it here, because…it would be a little gross. 

Speaking of gross, the second vocabulary word is: snot. Snot is a great word. It’s mucus. From your nose. Like when you’re sick, or crying. Snot. Really sounds like what it is, right?  Snot

Finally, we need to slow down and breathe for our melody moment. 

Back at Christmas, we talked about the Hyperschwa. That’s when a schwa is so tiny that it actually deletes itself. The technical term is vowel deletion. But Hyperschwa sounds cooler. But what about the word “dunno?” It’s actually two words: “don’t know” but the O in don’t, it’s so reduced, so deleted, that it actually deletes the T, and drags the two words together. Two words become one! And why do we do this?  Because it’s faster and easier. Try it: Don’t know…dunno. Much easier. Maybe we can call this… an ultraschwa!

Let’s do the credits!

Thank you for listening to Season 3 Episode 3 of A Little English. 

Every episode is produced entirely by me, Edward Cooper Howland, here in Hiroshima, Japan. 

If you like the show, tell someone about it! A recommendation from a friend is the best way to get someone to listen, and I would really appreciate it. 

This season, all the stories are written by…me! I use chatGPT by Openai.com as an editor because I can’t afford to hire a human. It’s an amazing, free piece of software, and you should check it out. 

Again, thank you  so much for listening.

For now, be kind to yourselves, and to each other. 

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