Tonio and Shan took turns stealth-punching each other in the shoulder. They found themselves in a Palo Alto suburb, ready for their 11 o'clock appointment with Mark Zuckerberg, ready to present their world-changing idea for his consideration. At least, they were sort of ready.
"I think I'm gonna puke, Tonio." Shan lurched over, his hands on his knees, trying to breathe.
"Dude, what are you doing? Your sister set this up!"
"She's always telling me to put up or shut up. At first, I didn't believe her when she said she was his favorite barista."
"-and now you think she's lying?"
"No, I think she told him about us, so he could shut me down for good, and I can go back to med school like my mom wanted!"
"That's insane! Besides, that would be on both of us, and your sister loves me!"
"Yeah, she- huh?"
"We've been turned down by everybody," Tonio said, grabbing Shan's shoulder. "If we got one swing left, we gotta swing for the fences! Now, how do they look?"
Shan looked at Tonio's earlobes. His right ear had a 12-gauge piercing, a blinking red dot. His left lobe had a 2-inch piercing, glowing an unmistakable blue, almost touching the lapel of his suit jacket. "You look lopsided."
Tonio offered two thumbs up, and buzzed the gate.
After passing through security and his assistants, Zuckerberg met with them. The boys had been prepared for a business presentation that their host seemed unaware of. "My wife's hosting a party on the lawn. Can you guys help us move a couple couches to the backyard?"
They agreed, and found themselves relocating 17 couches from outside his house. "They're not all from the house," he said. "I'm actually renting most of them for the occasion, although we want to cut down on the grass stains, if possible. Her family's coming up, and we wanted to whip up something comfortable for the movie."
"Movie?" Tonio raised an eyebrow.
Zuckerberg pointed to the 14-foot screen mounted below the trees. "Yeah, we're going to watch out here. Dirty Dancing came out this weekend, or something - ask her." He pointed to Tonio's earlobes. "Don't those get hot?"
"No, sir!" Tonio went into salesman mode. "And the little red has over 200 gigs of music, ready to find with a voice command. The blue one holds almost a Tet!"
"Neat. Or you could make those bluetooth-ready."
Tonio reeled for a half-second. "This style's been popular so far- but I think they'd like your idea even more!"
Shan was hyperventilating under his corner of the couch. "Yeah, or phone calls, gps..."
"It's great," Tonio said, "to talk with somebody that sees the potential in them!"
Zuckerberg let out a laugh. "I can't put any money in this. We don't do hardware."
They set the couch in place. Zuckerberg led them to the next one, while out of view, Tonio let out a heavy sigh, then caught up with the others.
As they carried the last couch onto the lawn, Mrs Zuckerberg made her appearance. She was delighted with the furniture arrangement, and began placing reservation cards on the couches. As her husband introduced his help for the day, Mrs Zuckerberg complemented Tonio's ear decorations. "That's wild!"
"They're music players," he replied, and twisted off the red piercing so she could hear the music.
Her face lit up when she recognized the music. " 'Be My Baby!'"
"He said what movie you were watching tonight, so I've been listening to it since we started."
Mrs Zuckerberg wiped off the piercing, and put it on. Excited, she danced over to her husband, humming the tune. He gamely swayed with her, tossing his phone to Shan. Understanding, Shan took a few pictures of the couple dancing. When the song was over, she pecked Zuckerberg on the cheek, and returned to the house to check on aperetifs.
Shan handed the phone over to Mr Zuckerberg; Tonio tilted his other ear slightly toward Mr Zuckerberg's sightline. But he looked at his phone, shaked their hands, and said, "I'm still not buying in. But somebody's going to. Keep swinging."
It was a big house. With no one to give directions, it took far too long for Tonio and Shan to find their way back to the front gate. Tonio was morose, shellshocked. Shan, pulling him along, drank the view in with every step, as if it was the last.
Shen took his phone off silent when they got to the gate; in the time it had taken them to leave the house, his sister had called six times, and left five text messages, each more urgent than the last "Don't sign anything yet! You're trending! I got Bose and a half dozen others that want to talk to you!"
inspired by Discover Magazine article, "Elon Musk's Hyperloop: A Pragmatic Vision of the Future"
Showing posts with label comedy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label comedy. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 9, 2014
Monday, April 7, 2014
DAY 94: An Awkward Itching Problem
Dr Maloney picked up the folder for room 413. As she began to peruse through the file of Ms Melanie Rufrode, nurse Cyrus took the folder out of her hand. "This one's waiting for Dr Herzog."
Maloney took the folder back. "He's detained in surgery; he's taking my evening rounds for this."
Cyrus put his fingers on the folder, ready to remove. "I'm sorry, Doctor, but this patient should really wait for Dr Herzog."
Maloney gave a fire-starting glare at his fingers. "And he's not going to be here for twelve hours. I have no intention of alterting his recommendations."
"Sherrita, you can't help this patient."
"Why not, Cyrus?"
Cyrus's eyes dropped while he searched for the word. "She's got allergies. Hives, uncontrolled itching..."
"Yes, I see that. Do I smell like I'm wearing perfume?"
"...and you're black."
Maloney was stunned silent. After a moment, she blurted out, "This is not 1953!" and bolted into the room, Cyrus behind her with gloves in hand.
The doctor entered the room, wearing her most pleasant smile. "Hello, Ms Rufrode, I'm Dr Maloney."
Melanie yanked her blanket to her chin and shuddered. "Aaa! Where's Dr Herzog?"
"He's in the middle of performing a surgery, he'll be back overnight. But we want to see what we can do until then."
"I'm so sorry!" Melanie said, through tears and neck-scratching. "I don't have a problem with black people! I voted for Obama and Jordan Sparks! I'm visiting my daughter - I'm gonna be a new grandma any day now!"
"When did this start?"
"When she came to visit me in Pocatello, with her fiancee, Derek. He wanted to ask my permission to marry her. He was very nice. But before the visit was over, I started itching all over - and it didn't stop until he left! It didn't happen again until I made the trip here! I was standing in line at the Walgreens, and I couldn't even make it to the counter, I had to leave!"
"Why do you think it's african-americans that's causing the itching?"
"I'm from Idaho! We don't have any!" Melanie was rubbing her arms. "You've got to believe me! I want to be able to hold my grandson!"
From the other side of the room, Dr Maloney referred to the chart. "I believe you. Your NPPB levels shows there's a definite physiological change going on. It's your body that's reacting, not you."
"Am I a bad person? I didn't even know everything Ashley was going through until Monday, and I got on a plane-"
"Ms Rufrode... do you think your daughter's boyfriend is a decent person?"
"Seems so. He was real nice on the phone, and when we met. But then he saw me scratching uncontrollably-" Melanie sobbed
The doctor spoke low, drawing Melanie's attention. "Ms Rufrode, my husband is allergic to dogs, all kinds - even my dogs. But he married me anyway, and let me keep them. And we've practically bought stock in Claritin, but that's what he's willing to do to keep the family together. And we can figure out what you need to do, if you want to be around the family."
Melanie nodded. Dr Maloney wrote a prescription for some antihistamines, and asked her to check in a few days, to see how she acclimated to the climate.
The next time Dr Maloney and Cyrus saw Melanie, she was carrying her newborn grandson in her arms. "That's a beautiful baby you got there, new grandma!"
"We're bringing him home today, but I just had to find you, and thank you!" Melanie passed the child to Cyrus and gave Dr Maloney a big hug. "Thank you!"
The baby started fussing and crying. "Nurse Takamoto," the doctor quipped, "I think the baby has a problem with you."
inspired by Discover Magazine article, "The Science Behind an Itch"
Maloney took the folder back. "He's detained in surgery; he's taking my evening rounds for this."
Cyrus put his fingers on the folder, ready to remove. "I'm sorry, Doctor, but this patient should really wait for Dr Herzog."
Maloney gave a fire-starting glare at his fingers. "And he's not going to be here for twelve hours. I have no intention of alterting his recommendations."
"Sherrita, you can't help this patient."
"Why not, Cyrus?"
Cyrus's eyes dropped while he searched for the word. "She's got allergies. Hives, uncontrolled itching..."
"Yes, I see that. Do I smell like I'm wearing perfume?"
"...and you're black."
Maloney was stunned silent. After a moment, she blurted out, "This is not 1953!" and bolted into the room, Cyrus behind her with gloves in hand.
The doctor entered the room, wearing her most pleasant smile. "Hello, Ms Rufrode, I'm Dr Maloney."
Melanie yanked her blanket to her chin and shuddered. "Aaa! Where's Dr Herzog?"
"He's in the middle of performing a surgery, he'll be back overnight. But we want to see what we can do until then."
"I'm so sorry!" Melanie said, through tears and neck-scratching. "I don't have a problem with black people! I voted for Obama and Jordan Sparks! I'm visiting my daughter - I'm gonna be a new grandma any day now!"
"When did this start?"
"When she came to visit me in Pocatello, with her fiancee, Derek. He wanted to ask my permission to marry her. He was very nice. But before the visit was over, I started itching all over - and it didn't stop until he left! It didn't happen again until I made the trip here! I was standing in line at the Walgreens, and I couldn't even make it to the counter, I had to leave!"
"Why do you think it's african-americans that's causing the itching?"
"I'm from Idaho! We don't have any!" Melanie was rubbing her arms. "You've got to believe me! I want to be able to hold my grandson!"
From the other side of the room, Dr Maloney referred to the chart. "I believe you. Your NPPB levels shows there's a definite physiological change going on. It's your body that's reacting, not you."
"Am I a bad person? I didn't even know everything Ashley was going through until Monday, and I got on a plane-"
"Ms Rufrode... do you think your daughter's boyfriend is a decent person?"
"Seems so. He was real nice on the phone, and when we met. But then he saw me scratching uncontrollably-" Melanie sobbed
The doctor spoke low, drawing Melanie's attention. "Ms Rufrode, my husband is allergic to dogs, all kinds - even my dogs. But he married me anyway, and let me keep them. And we've practically bought stock in Claritin, but that's what he's willing to do to keep the family together. And we can figure out what you need to do, if you want to be around the family."
Melanie nodded. Dr Maloney wrote a prescription for some antihistamines, and asked her to check in a few days, to see how she acclimated to the climate.
The next time Dr Maloney and Cyrus saw Melanie, she was carrying her newborn grandson in her arms. "That's a beautiful baby you got there, new grandma!"
"We're bringing him home today, but I just had to find you, and thank you!" Melanie passed the child to Cyrus and gave Dr Maloney a big hug. "Thank you!"
The baby started fussing and crying. "Nurse Takamoto," the doctor quipped, "I think the baby has a problem with you."
inspired by Discover Magazine article, "The Science Behind an Itch"
Thursday, March 20, 2014
DAY 76: Nobel Prizes for everyone!
STOCKHOLM, SWEDEN - The Nobel Committee of 2035 presented the world with their first recipient born in the 21st century - or, perhaps, its first thousand recipients. Randall Hapitha was awarded the Nobel Prize in Chemistry, for identifying, in theory and practice, the upper limitations of dihydrogen monoxide crystallyne formations. As a graduate student at Cal Polytech, he first presented his calculations that posited that the forms of isolated ice crystals were, in fact, finite. He was surprised by the controversy that his theory generated, and set upon constructing a means to prove it - by harnessing the power of citizen science. He co-created a game and website that began comparing the presumably infinite quantity of snowflake shapes in the upper northwest Minnesota region to snowflake samplings found in Siberia. It took three weeks for the first matches to be positively identified.
Critics argued that his research only served to make the world a 'smaller, less wonderful place,' but Hapithha insisted that recognizing the variety of crystalline structures - and the most common among them - could lead to the development of new alloys and materials of unanticipated properties. Enough people agreed to award him the Nobel Prize, which he accepted on behalf of the nearly 1.2 million game players that provided the proof to his theorum. After leaving the ceremony, he was bludgeoned to death by snowballs by protesters.
inspired by Discover Magazine article, "Science For the People, By the People"
Critics argued that his research only served to make the world a 'smaller, less wonderful place,' but Hapithha insisted that recognizing the variety of crystalline structures - and the most common among them - could lead to the development of new alloys and materials of unanticipated properties. Enough people agreed to award him the Nobel Prize, which he accepted on behalf of the nearly 1.2 million game players that provided the proof to his theorum. After leaving the ceremony, he was bludgeoned to death by snowballs by protesters.
inspired by Discover Magazine article, "Science For the People, By the People"
Saturday, March 15, 2014
DAY 73: The Poker Table
Harvey riffled the deck and looked around the table. "Okay, it looks like we're all here for tonight. Lose the chips and let's see what we're playing with."
Timmy was first; he brought out a fistful of medications in clear vials, dropping two in the center of the table. "Herceptin."
Lyle chuckled as he pulled out his meds, seperating them in two distinct piles. "We're not throwing in the pot yet. Is that all you got?"
Timmy shook his head. "I like the other stuff. This stuff ain't doing nothing for me."
"Works great for me." Bernie had his loot ready, and was sorting the hand he'd been dealt. "So far, it does," he said, with two knocks on the table.
Harvey set down the deck, and looked at his cards. Three royals and a pair of 7's; his game to lose. "I started on Herceptin six months ago, but it burned me up until they started adding Xeloda. You sure it's just Herceptin you got a problem with?"
Timmy slid two Herceptin deeper into the center. "It's a start."
The pot had grown. Now it included Rituximab, Xeloda, Gleevax, Flotaxin, even some insulin.
"I can't believe you put insulin in there," Timmy said.
Lyle shrugged his shoulders. "Larry threw that in last month."
"Where's Larry?"
"Full remission," Bernie said. "He's in New Mexico; called to tell me the food was better out there."
"Seriously?" Harvey asked.
"He's sending all his stuff next week; asked me to put it in the pot when it gets here. when you care enough to send the very best..."
"What was his regimen?" Timmy asked.
Lyle already knew: three months of Avastin, Gleevax, and a no-meat diet. He'd tried the same mix for a while, but metastesized, regardless. Maybe it was in his brain already, but he wasn't going to give up cheeseburgers anymore. It wasn't one drug or another, bean sprouts or dry heat that did it. Larry found his answer in the pot, and now Lyle wanted his turn.
Lyle wondered what his doctor was doing right now. Maybe Dr Brooks was playing golf; maybe he was doing the same thing Lyle was doing. It made just as much sense.
inspired by Discover Magazine article, "Genome-Based Cancer Treatment"
Timmy was first; he brought out a fistful of medications in clear vials, dropping two in the center of the table. "Herceptin."
Lyle chuckled as he pulled out his meds, seperating them in two distinct piles. "We're not throwing in the pot yet. Is that all you got?"
Timmy shook his head. "I like the other stuff. This stuff ain't doing nothing for me."
"Works great for me." Bernie had his loot ready, and was sorting the hand he'd been dealt. "So far, it does," he said, with two knocks on the table.
Harvey set down the deck, and looked at his cards. Three royals and a pair of 7's; his game to lose. "I started on Herceptin six months ago, but it burned me up until they started adding Xeloda. You sure it's just Herceptin you got a problem with?"
Timmy slid two Herceptin deeper into the center. "It's a start."
The pot had grown. Now it included Rituximab, Xeloda, Gleevax, Flotaxin, even some insulin.
"I can't believe you put insulin in there," Timmy said.
Lyle shrugged his shoulders. "Larry threw that in last month."
"Where's Larry?"
"Full remission," Bernie said. "He's in New Mexico; called to tell me the food was better out there."
"Seriously?" Harvey asked.
"He's sending all his stuff next week; asked me to put it in the pot when it gets here. when you care enough to send the very best..."
"What was his regimen?" Timmy asked.
Lyle already knew: three months of Avastin, Gleevax, and a no-meat diet. He'd tried the same mix for a while, but metastesized, regardless. Maybe it was in his brain already, but he wasn't going to give up cheeseburgers anymore. It wasn't one drug or another, bean sprouts or dry heat that did it. Larry found his answer in the pot, and now Lyle wanted his turn.
Lyle wondered what his doctor was doing right now. Maybe Dr Brooks was playing golf; maybe he was doing the same thing Lyle was doing. It made just as much sense.
inspired by Discover Magazine article, "Genome-Based Cancer Treatment"
Tuesday, March 11, 2014
DAY 69: Interfacing
Marlon adjusted his glasses and turned to his wife. "How do I look?"
"Like a supervillain?" Peggy replied.
The jokes were not going to stop with her. But that was the price he would have to pay to wear the glasses to the reunion. His cover was that he had to keep them on for work. But the truth was, they were his crutch; if they worked correctly, he would know any family member's name before they got the last syllable of 'hello' out of their mouths. It had taken all week to convince his wife; saying that her family members all looked alike had not helped matters. But she relented, on the condition that his subterfuge would remain undetected.
Their timing was perfect: the first of the grilled masterpieces were being served. Peggy's mother, Lorraine, 58, greeted them by herself. "You made it! And Marlon's trying to look like he's money!"
"If you knew how much I paid for these, you'd know I was, Lorraine..." He leaned in to get his cheeks kissed. "Your daughter'll make me a cabana boy any day now. If not, you need one?"
Lorraine giggled. "The boys are over by the grill and the beer, of course." She shooed him away, taking her daughter with her.
The grill was unmanned when he walked up to it. His glasses were already sizing up the nutritional values and remaining cooking time for all the meat selections, when a large hand gripped his shoulder.
"Marlon! You made it!" Marlon turned to face... who was this? "Peggy wouldn't let you talk your way out of it, huh?"
The glasses started to work as soon as they detected his voice. In the right-hand corner, Marlon saw
Ed Solowitz, 48, Lubbock, Texas
"Ed!" Marlon shook his hand, as he rapidly watched his glass. "Geez, Ed, how long you been here?"
Current Wife: Emma, 26 ; Dogs:2 - Rusty, Lady Marmalade
"First thing! Emma wanted to help Mom out-
First wife: Doreen, 45 ; children: Mark, 17 ; Ellen, 15; Neil, 8
"-as in I get to make all the trips to the grocery store. You lucked out!"
Traffic citations: 1998, 1999, 2001, 2005, 2006, 2009
"Yeah, thanks for taking that bullet, Ed. How are you and Emma doing?"
Emma Solowitz, 23, dance instructor, Lubbock, Texas ; owner, Stripocize Fitness, Inc.
"We're doing great!-"
Employed: Southland Resources, VP Finance, Dallas Division, 2008-present
"We had a good quarter-
HEADLINE: Southland Resources VP harrassment suit dismissed
"-might get a vacation redo sooner than I thought."
HEADLINE: Norovirus strikes again in Corpus Christi cruise ship
"Well, you deserve it, Ed."
Ed raised his beer can. "Don't I know it!" In the corner of Marlon's eye, a pair of luscious lips blew him a kiss.
Coors Lite: Tap the Rockies
Marlon looked at the beer can in his hand, then back at Ed; he was wearing a virtual handlebar mustache.
OLD MILWAUKEE: The Beer that Made Milwaukee Famous!
"Hey, Marlon - why's your eye twitching?" Marlon blinked hard and focused his gaze on Ed's square face.
ALOPECIA: male pattern baldness, afflicts up to...
"I got a thing."
"Is that why you're wearing the glasses?"
Marlon tried to focus his eye square at Ed's head. "Yeah, it's supposed to help."
ROGAINE: Use it or Lose it!
Marlon took the glasses. "...but I think I need a break."
inspired by Discover Magazine article, "Google Glass: A Futuristic Fantasy that Already Feels Retro"
"Like a supervillain?" Peggy replied.
The jokes were not going to stop with her. But that was the price he would have to pay to wear the glasses to the reunion. His cover was that he had to keep them on for work. But the truth was, they were his crutch; if they worked correctly, he would know any family member's name before they got the last syllable of 'hello' out of their mouths. It had taken all week to convince his wife; saying that her family members all looked alike had not helped matters. But she relented, on the condition that his subterfuge would remain undetected.
Their timing was perfect: the first of the grilled masterpieces were being served. Peggy's mother, Lorraine, 58, greeted them by herself. "You made it! And Marlon's trying to look like he's money!"
"If you knew how much I paid for these, you'd know I was, Lorraine..." He leaned in to get his cheeks kissed. "Your daughter'll make me a cabana boy any day now. If not, you need one?"
Lorraine giggled. "The boys are over by the grill and the beer, of course." She shooed him away, taking her daughter with her.
The grill was unmanned when he walked up to it. His glasses were already sizing up the nutritional values and remaining cooking time for all the meat selections, when a large hand gripped his shoulder.
"Marlon! You made it!" Marlon turned to face... who was this? "Peggy wouldn't let you talk your way out of it, huh?"
The glasses started to work as soon as they detected his voice. In the right-hand corner, Marlon saw
Ed Solowitz, 48, Lubbock, Texas
"Ed!" Marlon shook his hand, as he rapidly watched his glass. "Geez, Ed, how long you been here?"
Current Wife: Emma, 26 ; Dogs:2 - Rusty, Lady Marmalade
"First thing! Emma wanted to help Mom out-
First wife: Doreen, 45 ; children: Mark, 17 ; Ellen, 15; Neil, 8
"-as in I get to make all the trips to the grocery store. You lucked out!"
Traffic citations: 1998, 1999, 2001, 2005, 2006, 2009
"Yeah, thanks for taking that bullet, Ed. How are you and Emma doing?"
Emma Solowitz, 23, dance instructor, Lubbock, Texas ; owner, Stripocize Fitness, Inc.
"We're doing great!-"
Employed: Southland Resources, VP Finance, Dallas Division, 2008-present
"We had a good quarter-
HEADLINE: Southland Resources VP harrassment suit dismissed
"-might get a vacation redo sooner than I thought."
HEADLINE: Norovirus strikes again in Corpus Christi cruise ship
"Well, you deserve it, Ed."
Ed raised his beer can. "Don't I know it!" In the corner of Marlon's eye, a pair of luscious lips blew him a kiss.
Coors Lite: Tap the Rockies
Marlon looked at the beer can in his hand, then back at Ed; he was wearing a virtual handlebar mustache.
OLD MILWAUKEE: The Beer that Made Milwaukee Famous!
"Hey, Marlon - why's your eye twitching?" Marlon blinked hard and focused his gaze on Ed's square face.
ALOPECIA: male pattern baldness, afflicts up to...
"I got a thing."
"Is that why you're wearing the glasses?"
Marlon tried to focus his eye square at Ed's head. "Yeah, it's supposed to help."
ROGAINE: Use it or Lose it!
Marlon took the glasses. "...but I think I need a break."
inspired by Discover Magazine article, "Google Glass: A Futuristic Fantasy that Already Feels Retro"
Wednesday, March 5, 2014
DAY 64: The Patsy
They call it one of the great unsolved mysteries of Detroit; Stefano wanted an answer by his birthday. He recruited me, Rico, Rocco, Shiny Pete and Grace to do something about it. "These guys will make it happen if you point them in the right direction, Gene."
"What direction is that?"
"That's your job, Gene."
Plenty of cops, reporters, and talk radio callers have tried to find Hoffa over the years, but they had tried without our advantages: our bonafides, and our knowledge of the particpants involved. Police had known about Eddie Berganza, had locked him up for life, had dug up all his favorite hiding places. Nothing was found, however, for a reason.
Shiny Pete found Berlinghetti's place; he'd been senile for years. Pete drove him around for a day and a half, but ended up digging up some other schnook. Rocco got in touch with some other accountants; they figured when Berlinghetti took care of Jimmy, he got creative about it. Grace had a chat with Louis Hoffa, a second cousin and conspiracy author living in Miami; even he was stumped. Two days to go, and we had nothing. So I went with plan B: a patsy.
Rico and Pete got one of those old schnooks out of the ground; Rocco made sure it was somebody the same size and age, the same wear and tear (not so hard; they had a busy year. ) Grace, meanwhile, had a second lunch with Louis; she came back with a couple of Louis' teeth. We replanted the schnook with the dental work in one of Berlinghetti's old hiding places, and took the geezer out for one more drive.
The discovery was credited to some 'urban archaeologists' who were checking out the neighborhood for 'historical significance.' The remains were handed over to genetic researchers who tested the most intact piece of the body they could find - a tooth. Comparing the DNA with two known blood relatives, they saw enough to call it Hoffa DNA. Berlinghetti even ranted about dumping the body on the evening news, which was enough to close the case.
I brought a birthday card to stefano's party; we all signed it. He said he was impressed; "We cremated him! Where'd you get a body?" And so, I told him how we did it, with the senile Berlinghetti and the Hoffa kook. He thought it was hilarious. He asked, "How did you get him to shut up about it?"
"We made a trade."
I presume, at that point, Louis was making his way through the kitchen entrance, and up the stairs to have words with Stefano. As I said , that's what I presume. I didn't stick around.
inspired by Discover Magazine article, "Skeleton of King Richard III Found in England"
"What direction is that?"
"That's your job, Gene."
Plenty of cops, reporters, and talk radio callers have tried to find Hoffa over the years, but they had tried without our advantages: our bonafides, and our knowledge of the particpants involved. Police had known about Eddie Berganza, had locked him up for life, had dug up all his favorite hiding places. Nothing was found, however, for a reason.
Shiny Pete found Berlinghetti's place; he'd been senile for years. Pete drove him around for a day and a half, but ended up digging up some other schnook. Rocco got in touch with some other accountants; they figured when Berlinghetti took care of Jimmy, he got creative about it. Grace had a chat with Louis Hoffa, a second cousin and conspiracy author living in Miami; even he was stumped. Two days to go, and we had nothing. So I went with plan B: a patsy.
Rico and Pete got one of those old schnooks out of the ground; Rocco made sure it was somebody the same size and age, the same wear and tear (not so hard; they had a busy year. ) Grace, meanwhile, had a second lunch with Louis; she came back with a couple of Louis' teeth. We replanted the schnook with the dental work in one of Berlinghetti's old hiding places, and took the geezer out for one more drive.
The discovery was credited to some 'urban archaeologists' who were checking out the neighborhood for 'historical significance.' The remains were handed over to genetic researchers who tested the most intact piece of the body they could find - a tooth. Comparing the DNA with two known blood relatives, they saw enough to call it Hoffa DNA. Berlinghetti even ranted about dumping the body on the evening news, which was enough to close the case.
I brought a birthday card to stefano's party; we all signed it. He said he was impressed; "We cremated him! Where'd you get a body?" And so, I told him how we did it, with the senile Berlinghetti and the Hoffa kook. He thought it was hilarious. He asked, "How did you get him to shut up about it?"
"We made a trade."
I presume, at that point, Louis was making his way through the kitchen entrance, and up the stairs to have words with Stefano. As I said , that's what I presume. I didn't stick around.
inspired by Discover Magazine article, "Skeleton of King Richard III Found in England"
Thursday, February 27, 2014
DAY 53: On the Table
Eddie woke up on the table; his surgeon, Anton, was quizzing him, testing his alertness. "Eddie, count down from ten for me. Come on..."
By six, Eddie was awake. "Did you drop something in there?"
"Eddie, we're not done yet..."
"Well, why did you wake me up for?"
"Because you're a control freak who insisted that I run every major procedure by you before it's done!"
"Well, what is it?!?" Eddie's head waggled back and forth; given the amount of anesthetic, an impressive display of rage.
"My team just did a scan while we were prepping the stent; you're lousy for plaque. I count 12 so far, with 3 imminent risks. I gotta scrub you."
"Well, why don't you do it?"
"Okay! We will! Rumi, get the release form!" An assistant activated her tablet, and began scanning for the electronic document.
Eddie began to calculate. "...hold on. How much is this gonna cost?"
"Eddie, if we don't clean these up, this stent is just money down the drain!"
"Right, but it's my money!"
"Geez, Eddie! You got the inheritence, because I got a job! I don't want the money!"
"Yeah, but your hospital's gonna get it!"
"Eddie! Will you shut up and sign the thing, so we can save your life, you penny-pinching bastard?"
They stared at each other for a moment. Eddie muttered, "You are lucky I'm pinned down here."
"Yeah. Can we do this now, please?"
Anton motioned, and Rumi came forward with the e-form. Eddie winked into the camera. "If you kill me, Annie, I'm going straight to Mom."
"If you die, you're probably gonna see Dad instead." Anton motioned to the anesthesiologist. "Count to ten..."
inspired by Discover Magazine article, "Tracking Bad Plaque to Prevent Heart Attacks"
By six, Eddie was awake. "Did you drop something in there?"
"Eddie, we're not done yet..."
"Well, why did you wake me up for?"
"Because you're a control freak who insisted that I run every major procedure by you before it's done!"
"Well, what is it?!?" Eddie's head waggled back and forth; given the amount of anesthetic, an impressive display of rage.
"My team just did a scan while we were prepping the stent; you're lousy for plaque. I count 12 so far, with 3 imminent risks. I gotta scrub you."
"Well, why don't you do it?"
"Okay! We will! Rumi, get the release form!" An assistant activated her tablet, and began scanning for the electronic document.
Eddie began to calculate. "...hold on. How much is this gonna cost?"
"Eddie, if we don't clean these up, this stent is just money down the drain!"
"Right, but it's my money!"
"Geez, Eddie! You got the inheritence, because I got a job! I don't want the money!"
"Yeah, but your hospital's gonna get it!"
"Eddie! Will you shut up and sign the thing, so we can save your life, you penny-pinching bastard?"
They stared at each other for a moment. Eddie muttered, "You are lucky I'm pinned down here."
"Yeah. Can we do this now, please?"
Anton motioned, and Rumi came forward with the e-form. Eddie winked into the camera. "If you kill me, Annie, I'm going straight to Mom."
"If you die, you're probably gonna see Dad instead." Anton motioned to the anesthesiologist. "Count to ten..."
inspired by Discover Magazine article, "Tracking Bad Plaque to Prevent Heart Attacks"
Wednesday, February 26, 2014
DAY 52: What Makes the World Go Round?
Harriet did her best to keep her eyes focused into Lyle's. She explained, "The earth's core is made of iron, but it's two kinds, you see. There's the solid iron inner core, heated thousands of degrees, and the molten liquid outer core of iron magma, even hotter in temperature. The magma wraps around the iron core, but not holding it tight. It's tumbling and spinning, and the heat generated from the friction maintains their extreme temperatures"
"Friction?" Lyle asked, writing into his notebook.
She nodded. "Yes. And as the outer core is spinning around the inner core, the world spins with them. Some even say it augments the gravity that holds everything to the Earth."
"...augments... gravity..." He murmured as he wrote in his notebook.
Harriet leaned her shoulder into his, pointing at his notations. "Yes, 'augments' - not 'creates'; that's a misnomer. The earth has its gravity, but so does everything else Everything, all of us, possess some innate magnetic attraction..."
Lyle shot upright. "So if the outer core's liquid, and the inner core's solid, what keeps the outer core in?"
She huffed. "That's the mantle! It's a bunch of rocks!"
"I'm sorry. I'm trying to keep ups, but you're throwing a lot of stuff at me here! You gotta keep it simple."
Letting out a sigh, Harriet replied, "Evidently..."
inspired by Discover Magazine article, "Taking the Temperature of Earth's Core"
"Friction?" Lyle asked, writing into his notebook.
She nodded. "Yes. And as the outer core is spinning around the inner core, the world spins with them. Some even say it augments the gravity that holds everything to the Earth."
"...augments... gravity..." He murmured as he wrote in his notebook.
Harriet leaned her shoulder into his, pointing at his notations. "Yes, 'augments' - not 'creates'; that's a misnomer. The earth has its gravity, but so does everything else Everything, all of us, possess some innate magnetic attraction..."
Lyle shot upright. "So if the outer core's liquid, and the inner core's solid, what keeps the outer core in?"
She huffed. "That's the mantle! It's a bunch of rocks!"
"I'm sorry. I'm trying to keep ups, but you're throwing a lot of stuff at me here! You gotta keep it simple."
Letting out a sigh, Harriet replied, "Evidently..."
inspired by Discover Magazine article, "Taking the Temperature of Earth's Core"
Sunday, February 16, 2014
DAY 44: Ray's Story (more than a little Emo...)
I met Ray at the waiting room of an urgent care clinic. I asked him what he was there for, which started this tale:
"I was an only kid growing up, just me, my mom and dad. Saturdays, you got my mom in the kitchen, my dad in the garage, and me in a beach towel for a cape, trying to get somebody to play with me. I say, 'Daddy! Daddy! Play with me!' He says, 'I will, I will, here's some candy, go find your mother.' I run to the kitchen- 'Mommy! Mommy! Play with me!' She says 'I will, I will, have a cookie, go find your father.' Run back to the garage- 'Daddy! Daddy! Play with me!' He says, 'We are, we are, grab a licorice, bug your mother.' Back in the kitchen 'Mommy! Mommy!', another cookie, 'go to father.' To the garage, out the door, I trip on my cape- boop! on my nose... Dad comes out of the garage, helps me to my feet, checks me out, and yells to the house, '15-love! Coming at ya!'
"...and that is why I have diabetes."
inspired by Discover Magazine article, "The Secret Origins of Cosmic Rays". and Emo Phillips.
"I was an only kid growing up, just me, my mom and dad. Saturdays, you got my mom in the kitchen, my dad in the garage, and me in a beach towel for a cape, trying to get somebody to play with me. I say, 'Daddy! Daddy! Play with me!' He says, 'I will, I will, here's some candy, go find your mother.' I run to the kitchen- 'Mommy! Mommy! Play with me!' She says 'I will, I will, have a cookie, go find your father.' Run back to the garage- 'Daddy! Daddy! Play with me!' He says, 'We are, we are, grab a licorice, bug your mother.' Back in the kitchen 'Mommy! Mommy!', another cookie, 'go to father.' To the garage, out the door, I trip on my cape- boop! on my nose... Dad comes out of the garage, helps me to my feet, checks me out, and yells to the house, '15-love! Coming at ya!'
"...and that is why I have diabetes."
inspired by Discover Magazine article, "The Secret Origins of Cosmic Rays". and Emo Phillips.
Saturday, February 15, 2014
DAY 40: Raising the Concorde
I got the call to tow a '96 Chrysler Concorde near Okolona and Pierce. I don't usually do sunrise runs, but Pat said he'd throw in a case of MGD if I picked this one up. The car was easy enough to find; it was 25 feet overhead, halfway up the willow tree.
The car had been a pet project of his for about four months. He bought the original vehicle from some retired couple, then started hunting and trading for parts. His intentions were to replace the factory speakers and add some vanity lighting, as well as add some engine modifications of questionable legality.
He'd taken the V6 out of the frame by the time that Mr. Retiree re-entered the picture. I'm not sure which version of the tale is true: either Mrs Retiree (before she passed) sold the vehicle without Mr Retiree's knowledge, or the details of the vehicle transaction had been lost in Mr Retiree's dementia.
What's undisputed is that Mr Retiree came to visit the garage of the Aspiring Mechanic, to demand the return of his vehicle. He was distraught at the sight of the partially-assembled Concorde; he attempted to assault the Mechanic, but became detatched from his oxygen tank, and left, demanding that the car be ready to leave when he came back for it. The Mechanic tarped it.
The next morning, the Concorde was in the tree. It was resting on a particularly strong fork of branches, with one branch protruding across the backseat, through the rolled-down windows. It was actually first called in by a patrolman shortly after sunrise. The Mechanic was awoken an hour later, and escorted to his vehicle.
They were still looking for Mr Retiree when I got there. No one had a clue how the vehicle had been raised into the tree; any tools or machinery used had left with the old man. I climbed up the tree to examine the car. It was in pretty condition, under the circumstances, but still didn't offer any clues.
The tree's reach extended past the sidewalk. I took a rare glimpse of the town horizon, then down at the street below. Rubberneckers - both with and without badges - were converging on the scene. People were parking on both sides of the street, snapping pictures and waiting for a resolution. I started feeling vertigenous, so I turned my eyes to the top of the tree.
And that's where I saw the piece of rope.
The barter value of a case of decent beer cannot be overestimated. Mr Retiree had two underage nephews with an F150 and nothing better to do on a Saturday night. The cops caught up with them before nightfall; the kids gave up the truck, the winch, and the entire scheme. Their uncle had enticed them into it, with little provocation. Their three-man operation had bent the willow tree downward long enough to push the Concorde chassis out of the garage, and into the tree's embrace. Once the prank was complete, the boys dropped their uncle off and went home with a case of Coors each.
When the police entered Mr Retiree's home, they found him on the couch, passed away, key fob in his hand.
inspired by Discover Magazine article, "Salvaging the Costa Concordia"
The car had been a pet project of his for about four months. He bought the original vehicle from some retired couple, then started hunting and trading for parts. His intentions were to replace the factory speakers and add some vanity lighting, as well as add some engine modifications of questionable legality.
He'd taken the V6 out of the frame by the time that Mr. Retiree re-entered the picture. I'm not sure which version of the tale is true: either Mrs Retiree (before she passed) sold the vehicle without Mr Retiree's knowledge, or the details of the vehicle transaction had been lost in Mr Retiree's dementia.
What's undisputed is that Mr Retiree came to visit the garage of the Aspiring Mechanic, to demand the return of his vehicle. He was distraught at the sight of the partially-assembled Concorde; he attempted to assault the Mechanic, but became detatched from his oxygen tank, and left, demanding that the car be ready to leave when he came back for it. The Mechanic tarped it.
The next morning, the Concorde was in the tree. It was resting on a particularly strong fork of branches, with one branch protruding across the backseat, through the rolled-down windows. It was actually first called in by a patrolman shortly after sunrise. The Mechanic was awoken an hour later, and escorted to his vehicle.
They were still looking for Mr Retiree when I got there. No one had a clue how the vehicle had been raised into the tree; any tools or machinery used had left with the old man. I climbed up the tree to examine the car. It was in pretty condition, under the circumstances, but still didn't offer any clues.
The tree's reach extended past the sidewalk. I took a rare glimpse of the town horizon, then down at the street below. Rubberneckers - both with and without badges - were converging on the scene. People were parking on both sides of the street, snapping pictures and waiting for a resolution. I started feeling vertigenous, so I turned my eyes to the top of the tree.
And that's where I saw the piece of rope.
The barter value of a case of decent beer cannot be overestimated. Mr Retiree had two underage nephews with an F150 and nothing better to do on a Saturday night. The cops caught up with them before nightfall; the kids gave up the truck, the winch, and the entire scheme. Their uncle had enticed them into it, with little provocation. Their three-man operation had bent the willow tree downward long enough to push the Concorde chassis out of the garage, and into the tree's embrace. Once the prank was complete, the boys dropped their uncle off and went home with a case of Coors each.
When the police entered Mr Retiree's home, they found him on the couch, passed away, key fob in his hand.
inspired by Discover Magazine article, "Salvaging the Costa Concordia"
Saturday, February 8, 2014
DAY 36: My Problem with 3D Glasses
Roger Ebert was right; there's something about the light in a movie theater that wakes up your brain in a certain way. I can fall asleep in front of a TV because those rays - cathode, plasma, whatever science you got - hit the brain like a narcotic. Watching TV is sleepwalking through life. But movies.are the kind of drug that makes me feel alive.
So one Saturday I checked out a movie in 3D that had no business being in 3D. (If I mention its name, I'll just tangent, so let's move on...) On my way to the trash receptacles, I was disparaging the $15 I was never going to get back. As I approached the doors, I saw the bin with the sign "PLEASE RETURN YOUR VIEWING GLASSES HERE" in big letters. I decided it had picked the wrong day to ask for my cooperation, especially in such big letters. I stepped out the building with the glasses on, giving up on the ticket price, but determined to milk $5 of adventure out of those $2 glasses.
I looked up at the sky; a bit more purple, but nothing particularly new. I waved my hands in front of my face, hoping the motion of my fingers would look different somehow, hoping that some secret from naked eyes would be revealed. I scanned the pedestrians streaming in and out of the theater, looking for incognito aliens or monsters among us.
A granny honked at me; I was standing between her and a right turn into a parking space. Surprised and dazed, I backed from her bumper and wandered into the path of another oncoming vehicle. Their horn knocked me to the ground, and the glasses off my face. I opened my eyes to the sight of truck treads six inches from my face; the shards of my $5 glasses, under the tire.
I got my $5 worth.
inspired by Discover Magazine article, "Ultralight Headgear for Mouse Remote Control"
So one Saturday I checked out a movie in 3D that had no business being in 3D. (If I mention its name, I'll just tangent, so let's move on...) On my way to the trash receptacles, I was disparaging the $15 I was never going to get back. As I approached the doors, I saw the bin with the sign "PLEASE RETURN YOUR VIEWING GLASSES HERE" in big letters. I decided it had picked the wrong day to ask for my cooperation, especially in such big letters. I stepped out the building with the glasses on, giving up on the ticket price, but determined to milk $5 of adventure out of those $2 glasses.
I looked up at the sky; a bit more purple, but nothing particularly new. I waved my hands in front of my face, hoping the motion of my fingers would look different somehow, hoping that some secret from naked eyes would be revealed. I scanned the pedestrians streaming in and out of the theater, looking for incognito aliens or monsters among us.
A granny honked at me; I was standing between her and a right turn into a parking space. Surprised and dazed, I backed from her bumper and wandered into the path of another oncoming vehicle. Their horn knocked me to the ground, and the glasses off my face. I opened my eyes to the sight of truck treads six inches from my face; the shards of my $5 glasses, under the tire.
I got my $5 worth.
inspired by Discover Magazine article, "Ultralight Headgear for Mouse Remote Control"
DAY 35: The Chicken Pox Party
My mom snuck me into my first slumber party. Mrs Avis' daughters Celeste and Estelle were hosting a slumber party for all their scoutmates - including my sister Sandy. Getting one kid out of the house wasn't enough for Mom, so she had a talk with Mrs Avis, assuring her that a six-year-old boy would be a harmless addition to the festivities. In fact, I wouldn't be the only boy; Mrs Avis had an eight-year-old boy, Max. Not knowing any better, the moms thought we would get along.
We were among the last to arrive, but we got there just before the pizza, so I thought we were just in time. Sandy made me get two slices for her, while she tried to find her spot in the basement with the other 24 girls. My spot was already picked out; the floor of Max's room. Max was there with his pizza, a TV relocated from the basement for the night, and Yars Revenge on the Atari.
When I got upstairs, Max was playing the Atari, which only had one controller. On the floor, half the room was taken up by the coolest Autobot ever, Omega Prime - when he wasn't a robot, he was an army base, with a moving tank on its own track, plus a rocket ship. I couldn't play with it, I couldn't touch it, and I certainly couldn't move it to make room for my sleeping bag. When I asked my turn, he said he was going to be a while, so I should just go downstairs and get some chicken pox. I asked him what chicken pox was.
Max got shot, so he put down the joystick and told me. "It's a disease grown-ups want kids to have. You get itchy spots that make you scratch like a chicken." Max went on to explain that the girls were invited over so they could get the chicken pox together - and that's why Max was staying in his room.
The safest route was to stay in the room - and my contribution would be enough pizza to make it through the night. I went downstairs, where four half-empty boxes of various flavors remained. Celeste caught me mixing slices into my own box, and told her mom; when I told her why Max sent me, Mrs Avis said it was okay. But I noticed Celeste scratching her head while she was talking.
Max had locked the room by the time I returned with the pizza. He said I couldn't come in until I made sure I didn't have any germs from the girls. I put down the box and went to the bathroom to check myself. In the mirror, I examined myself thoroughly: I checked my head, in the same spot Celeste was scratching; I checked my face and chest, my feet and hands... When I went back to tell Max I was clean, the pizza was gone. I started crying; after a minute, Mr Avis saw me and sent me downstairs, so he could talk to Max.
When I got downstairs, there was no pizza left on the kitchen table. It seemed a logical place to hide, so I ducked beneath with a blanket over my head. Somehow, a few of the girls found me and tried to take the blanket off me; fear overtook me, and I screamed, "No germs! No germs!" I started kicking and flailing under the kitchen table, until Mrs Avis found me.
My mother was called, and I got a ride home. Mr Avis returned my sleeping bag and sent me home with the box of mixed pizza slices (on the condition that my parents would also have some) and the Omega Supreme tank (on the condition that I would return the rocket in a few days.) I didn't catch chicken pox that night; I would get my case five days later, after Sandy had brought it home. Mindful of the six-year-old's concept of karmic retribution, I gave the rocket to Sandy, who took it to school and gave it to Estelle, who took it home and gave it back to Max, still in bed, still spotted, and still blotched in calomine.
inspired by Discover Magazine article, "HPV Vaccine Shows Dramatic Success"
We were among the last to arrive, but we got there just before the pizza, so I thought we were just in time. Sandy made me get two slices for her, while she tried to find her spot in the basement with the other 24 girls. My spot was already picked out; the floor of Max's room. Max was there with his pizza, a TV relocated from the basement for the night, and Yars Revenge on the Atari.
When I got upstairs, Max was playing the Atari, which only had one controller. On the floor, half the room was taken up by the coolest Autobot ever, Omega Prime - when he wasn't a robot, he was an army base, with a moving tank on its own track, plus a rocket ship. I couldn't play with it, I couldn't touch it, and I certainly couldn't move it to make room for my sleeping bag. When I asked my turn, he said he was going to be a while, so I should just go downstairs and get some chicken pox. I asked him what chicken pox was.
Max got shot, so he put down the joystick and told me. "It's a disease grown-ups want kids to have. You get itchy spots that make you scratch like a chicken." Max went on to explain that the girls were invited over so they could get the chicken pox together - and that's why Max was staying in his room.
The safest route was to stay in the room - and my contribution would be enough pizza to make it through the night. I went downstairs, where four half-empty boxes of various flavors remained. Celeste caught me mixing slices into my own box, and told her mom; when I told her why Max sent me, Mrs Avis said it was okay. But I noticed Celeste scratching her head while she was talking.
Max had locked the room by the time I returned with the pizza. He said I couldn't come in until I made sure I didn't have any germs from the girls. I put down the box and went to the bathroom to check myself. In the mirror, I examined myself thoroughly: I checked my head, in the same spot Celeste was scratching; I checked my face and chest, my feet and hands... When I went back to tell Max I was clean, the pizza was gone. I started crying; after a minute, Mr Avis saw me and sent me downstairs, so he could talk to Max.
When I got downstairs, there was no pizza left on the kitchen table. It seemed a logical place to hide, so I ducked beneath with a blanket over my head. Somehow, a few of the girls found me and tried to take the blanket off me; fear overtook me, and I screamed, "No germs! No germs!" I started kicking and flailing under the kitchen table, until Mrs Avis found me.
My mother was called, and I got a ride home. Mr Avis returned my sleeping bag and sent me home with the box of mixed pizza slices (on the condition that my parents would also have some) and the Omega Supreme tank (on the condition that I would return the rocket in a few days.) I didn't catch chicken pox that night; I would get my case five days later, after Sandy had brought it home. Mindful of the six-year-old's concept of karmic retribution, I gave the rocket to Sandy, who took it to school and gave it to Estelle, who took it home and gave it back to Max, still in bed, still spotted, and still blotched in calomine.
inspired by Discover Magazine article, "HPV Vaccine Shows Dramatic Success"
Sunday, February 2, 2014
DAY 32: The Pussy Cat Lounge
Mike led Howie through the door of the Pussy Cat Cafe. They were greeted by red lights, dry ice, and Bob Seger's "Strut"... not much else. "Geez, Mike, I thought the parking lot was empty."
"It's 2 pm! Everybody's at work. The girls working this shift'll be desperate for tips; might get a 2-for-1 deal - but it's all about you!"
"Then can we get out of here?"
"Not so fast, man! Once we step out that door, we're back on the bridezilla bus. I know my sister, and she has every minute of your life planned out, from here, until death do you part! Not after the 'i do' - now! Don't do that to yourself! Head over to the bar, and I'll find the... 'maiter-dee'."
Howie brushed some hair off a bar stool, and perused the drink selections. A feline on the fluffy side sauntered over, planting herself to Howie's left, and stared him down. "Well, hello there, kitty. Are you gonna take my order?"
Imogene emerged from behind the bar. She adjusted her scarf and smiled a matronly smile. "What would you like, sugar?"
"Um... what's good?"
"Beer's a good start while you make up your mind. Destiny likes you."
"Destiny?" Howie looked again at the cat beside him. Destiny purred back.
"She's mixed Persian." Imogene opened a bottle for Howie. "You can pet her if you like. She wants you to."
Howie felt something rub against his leg; a dark-coated shorthair was befriending him. He attempted to ignore it. "When does the next show start?"
"Oh, Candy'll be on stage as soon as she hears her song."
"Is there anybody else here?"
Imogene stroked Destiny's coat. "Just me and the girls."
"My brother-in-law-to-be made a bigger deal about this place - I'm sorry, you're very nice, ma'am, I think he was talking about twenty years ago."
"Oh! Well, maybe he saw me dance. I was Laura Lynn then; those were fun days. And then I retired, with nothing to show for it. But- surprise, surprise! - I came upon some money, and I got to turn the lights on again."
Imogene's ears perked up as the opening riff to "Round and Round" began to blare through the speakers. "There's Candy! Right on time..." A striped tabby was onstage, slinking into the spotlight. She circled the perimeter, planted herself down, and raised a leg to lick herself clean, for the entire room to see.
Mike ran up to the bar. "I'm sorry, dude, I couldn't find anybody. I went up to the lounge area, and all I found was granola all over the floor... Laura Lynn?"
****
At the rehearsal, Emma and Howie took their position at the altar, while the minister directed traffic. "Howie, you're not mad that the bridesmaids want me to do some party thing tonight? I don't want you worrying or getting jealous tonight."
"Honey, I don't want a party. I want to be up here for real already. You have fun, okay?"
"Oh... I love you!" Emma hugged him -and then stopped, to pull a long silver strand off of his shoulder. "Howie, where did you get this hair?"
inspired by Discover Magazine article, "Conquering Cat Allergy"
"It's 2 pm! Everybody's at work. The girls working this shift'll be desperate for tips; might get a 2-for-1 deal - but it's all about you!"
"Then can we get out of here?"
"Not so fast, man! Once we step out that door, we're back on the bridezilla bus. I know my sister, and she has every minute of your life planned out, from here, until death do you part! Not after the 'i do' - now! Don't do that to yourself! Head over to the bar, and I'll find the... 'maiter-dee'."
Howie brushed some hair off a bar stool, and perused the drink selections. A feline on the fluffy side sauntered over, planting herself to Howie's left, and stared him down. "Well, hello there, kitty. Are you gonna take my order?"
Imogene emerged from behind the bar. She adjusted her scarf and smiled a matronly smile. "What would you like, sugar?"
"Um... what's good?"
"Beer's a good start while you make up your mind. Destiny likes you."
"Destiny?" Howie looked again at the cat beside him. Destiny purred back.
"She's mixed Persian." Imogene opened a bottle for Howie. "You can pet her if you like. She wants you to."
Howie felt something rub against his leg; a dark-coated shorthair was befriending him. He attempted to ignore it. "When does the next show start?"
"Oh, Candy'll be on stage as soon as she hears her song."
"Is there anybody else here?"
Imogene stroked Destiny's coat. "Just me and the girls."
"My brother-in-law-to-be made a bigger deal about this place - I'm sorry, you're very nice, ma'am, I think he was talking about twenty years ago."
"Oh! Well, maybe he saw me dance. I was Laura Lynn then; those were fun days. And then I retired, with nothing to show for it. But- surprise, surprise! - I came upon some money, and I got to turn the lights on again."
Imogene's ears perked up as the opening riff to "Round and Round" began to blare through the speakers. "There's Candy! Right on time..." A striped tabby was onstage, slinking into the spotlight. She circled the perimeter, planted herself down, and raised a leg to lick herself clean, for the entire room to see.
Mike ran up to the bar. "I'm sorry, dude, I couldn't find anybody. I went up to the lounge area, and all I found was granola all over the floor... Laura Lynn?"
****
At the rehearsal, Emma and Howie took their position at the altar, while the minister directed traffic. "Howie, you're not mad that the bridesmaids want me to do some party thing tonight? I don't want you worrying or getting jealous tonight."
"Honey, I don't want a party. I want to be up here for real already. You have fun, okay?"
"Oh... I love you!" Emma hugged him -and then stopped, to pull a long silver strand off of his shoulder. "Howie, where did you get this hair?"
inspired by Discover Magazine article, "Conquering Cat Allergy"
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
DAY 28: Kanye Needs His Tiger Koalas
Dr Hale's phone buzzed. His receptionist chirped, "Mr West on line 1. Not happy."
"Thank you, Lexi." Dr Hale sighed deeply and watched the phone light blink. Breakfast here in Sydney was lunchtime in LA; not an odd hour to get a call. Perhaps it would be a pleasant conversation.
He picked up the receiver. "Good afternoon, Mr West."
"Don't 'good afternoon' me, 'mate'! We got a situation here!"
"Of course. What seems to be the trouble?"
"These bears are going crazy! The training won't stick! I got the best trainer in town, and he just ran off screaming! Literally! I got video!"
Dr Hale looked at the photo on the wall, of the institute's ribbon-cutting ceremony, where he and Mr West held the scissors for the cameras. "Well, they are technically bred from koalas, sir. Koalas have comparatively underdeveloped brains. Training may not be a possibility"
"When the hell were you planning on telling us that? We can't have that! They're starting to hiss at the kids! And mama don't wanna touch them since they grew too big to fit in her bag! Besides, these ain't regular koalas, these are tiger koalas! We got some tiger stripes on them bears, we gotta have some tiger brains in there too, right? Help me, Doctor!"
"Well, let's start with telling me about their current health. How are they doing? How big are they?"
"Let's see..." Mr West clicked his tongue as he began to calculate. "Da Vinci's the biggest; she's about 25 pounds, big as the corgi. Pollack's almost as big, but Da Vinci's the eater. and Jocko's catching up to them - oh, and he's packing extra heat"
"That's a bifurcated penis; most marsupials are equipped with double genitalia. Are they active?" This issue was a greater concern beyond Mr West's pets. STDs were the threat that had first put koalas on the endangered species list - and provided Dr Hale with a cause celebre for his research to adopt.
The final piece of good fortune was Mrs West, who wanted to add to her alliterative menagerie. On a tour of Australia (attempting to circumvent the embargo on marsupial export), she and Mr West learned about the institute. Contributing to the public efforts to reverse extinction was admirable; the private opportunity to own a custom-designed, one-of-a-kind pet was irresistible. Within five years, his facility had resurrected twelve formerly-extinct species. Quietly, they had also created something new.
"Not that I've seen, Doc." (He was calling Dr Hale "Doc." That was a good sign.)
"We should watch out for that, Mr West. They're getting to the age, and it may affect their mood. But the surliness, the disagreeableness... that's very koala of them. They just need space, from each other and visitors. I wouldn't expect them to play catch - not on the first try. Your trainer - what kind of animal training was he qualified for? Big cat training?"
"I don't know; she took care of that."
"You need someone that's worked with big cats; if there's any tiger brains in there, the right trainer can help develop that. A trainer's a good idea; we just gotta a qualified one. I'll be on your side of the pond in three weeks; I can find someone to recommend before then."
Mr West audibly composed himself. "Look, the kids still love 'em. Kim still thinks they're adorable, and they're scaring her mom away, so I'm happy. They're awesome cute, but the first time they bite one of mine is the last. I'm gonna make me a coat - come to think of it, that might be nice... And then you'll need to make some more. Maybe pygmy this time"
"Wellllllll.. we have accomplished some truly amazing stuff so far."
"Damn right, we've done impossible stuff. Future is now! Okay, we got a plan. When you come to town, you got a place to stay, aight?"
"Sounds good, Mr West."
inspired by Discover Magazine article, "Resurrecting an Extinct Frog"
"Thank you, Lexi." Dr Hale sighed deeply and watched the phone light blink. Breakfast here in Sydney was lunchtime in LA; not an odd hour to get a call. Perhaps it would be a pleasant conversation.
He picked up the receiver. "Good afternoon, Mr West."
"Don't 'good afternoon' me, 'mate'! We got a situation here!"
"Of course. What seems to be the trouble?"
"These bears are going crazy! The training won't stick! I got the best trainer in town, and he just ran off screaming! Literally! I got video!"
Dr Hale looked at the photo on the wall, of the institute's ribbon-cutting ceremony, where he and Mr West held the scissors for the cameras. "Well, they are technically bred from koalas, sir. Koalas have comparatively underdeveloped brains. Training may not be a possibility"
"When the hell were you planning on telling us that? We can't have that! They're starting to hiss at the kids! And mama don't wanna touch them since they grew too big to fit in her bag! Besides, these ain't regular koalas, these are tiger koalas! We got some tiger stripes on them bears, we gotta have some tiger brains in there too, right? Help me, Doctor!"
"Well, let's start with telling me about their current health. How are they doing? How big are they?"
"Let's see..." Mr West clicked his tongue as he began to calculate. "Da Vinci's the biggest; she's about 25 pounds, big as the corgi. Pollack's almost as big, but Da Vinci's the eater. and Jocko's catching up to them - oh, and he's packing extra heat"
"That's a bifurcated penis; most marsupials are equipped with double genitalia. Are they active?" This issue was a greater concern beyond Mr West's pets. STDs were the threat that had first put koalas on the endangered species list - and provided Dr Hale with a cause celebre for his research to adopt.
The final piece of good fortune was Mrs West, who wanted to add to her alliterative menagerie. On a tour of Australia (attempting to circumvent the embargo on marsupial export), she and Mr West learned about the institute. Contributing to the public efforts to reverse extinction was admirable; the private opportunity to own a custom-designed, one-of-a-kind pet was irresistible. Within five years, his facility had resurrected twelve formerly-extinct species. Quietly, they had also created something new.
"Not that I've seen, Doc." (He was calling Dr Hale "Doc." That was a good sign.)
"We should watch out for that, Mr West. They're getting to the age, and it may affect their mood. But the surliness, the disagreeableness... that's very koala of them. They just need space, from each other and visitors. I wouldn't expect them to play catch - not on the first try. Your trainer - what kind of animal training was he qualified for? Big cat training?"
"I don't know; she took care of that."
"You need someone that's worked with big cats; if there's any tiger brains in there, the right trainer can help develop that. A trainer's a good idea; we just gotta a qualified one. I'll be on your side of the pond in three weeks; I can find someone to recommend before then."
Mr West audibly composed himself. "Look, the kids still love 'em. Kim still thinks they're adorable, and they're scaring her mom away, so I'm happy. They're awesome cute, but the first time they bite one of mine is the last. I'm gonna make me a coat - come to think of it, that might be nice... And then you'll need to make some more. Maybe pygmy this time"
"Wellllllll.. we have accomplished some truly amazing stuff so far."
"Damn right, we've done impossible stuff. Future is now! Okay, we got a plan. When you come to town, you got a place to stay, aight?"
"Sounds good, Mr West."
inspired by Discover Magazine article, "Resurrecting an Extinct Frog"
Sunday, January 26, 2014
DAY 26: A Shadeless Tree
(In the hallway of the Parkway Howard Johnson, a couple wanders away from the grand ballroom. She leads, tugging at her paramour, her eyes darting about, in search of a secluded spot. He is dragged along, dazed.
She pulls him around a corner, besides a painted pastoral scene. She wraps her arms around him, ready to make woo. She notices the lack of passion in his kiss..)
"What's wrong, baby?"
"I'm sorry. It's been weird today."
"Baby, I'm sorry. I know it's a lot of family to meet all at once. But don't worry about it. My family loves you! I'm so glad you came with for my grandparents' anniversary-"
"-yeah, but-"
"-it's a lot to ask a new boyfriend to do, and I want you to know how grateful I am.-"
"I know, I know! But your mom was looking at me kinda weird..."
"She just met you yet, she's just checking out the guy I've been talking about. Looking out for me, y'know? But if she'd had a problem, she's the kind of woman that'd say so, y'naw i'mean? She's gonna love you-"
"So she's never seen any pictures of me?"
"Ah... No, no; you're always taking pictures of me- oh, I just realized! We don't really have any pictures together! Don't worry, baby, we'll fix that-"
"-wait, what about your cousin?
"What? What cousin? I got 50 cousins in there! What?"
"C'mon, you gotta know. Your cousin, the one with my haircut!"
"What? Are we a model now? There's somebody wearing my outfit here, we gotta go home?"
"Aw, it ain't like that! But we're all wearing suits here, and he's got the hair like mine-"
"Aw, you wear it better, baby-"
"-and he does the teeth thing!"
"Whaaa? What teeth thing?"
"You know! I got sticky teeth, I gotta wipe them with my tongue or my lips kinda cling on them; you know! You called me on it, so you know! Well, he does that!"
"...What?"
"What, you don't see it? How often you see this guy?"
"Never, he's from Hudson! Are you trying to break up with me?"
"I'm just trying to figure this out! You know you got your mom's eyebrows?"
"Yeah, dammit!"
"So does half the room in there! And me!"
"Everybody's got eyebrows!"
"Not like these! Don't you think it's wrong to date somebody that looks so much like you?"
"Would you be saying this kind of stuff if I was Asian, or black?"
"Now, you're just being racist!"
"One of us is!"
"All I'm saying is, he and I are the same height, we wear the same size clothes, we have the same haircut on the same shape head, we have very, very similar facial expression responses..."
"So? He could be your cousin."
"He IS your cousin! You're dating me, and it's like you're dating your cousin!"
"You're not the same, okay! For one, for one- he's fatter. Okay? You can see it, if you guys stood next to each other in a mirror, you'd see it. He;s got a bigger double chin... and he's glisteny! He's got an oily face, which you'd see if you weren't so freaking self-absorbed! Geez, thanks for messing with the mood! I thought you liked me..."
(Around the corner, her date wanders in: he's got his hair, his suit, his posture, and he's carrying two drinks. He's oblivious.)
"Hey, baby; I've been looking all over you. Your mom told me to bring you some punch, it's the family recipe. What's going on?"
inspired by Discover Magazine article, "Skull Suggests One Hominid Lineage"
She pulls him around a corner, besides a painted pastoral scene. She wraps her arms around him, ready to make woo. She notices the lack of passion in his kiss..)
"What's wrong, baby?"
"I'm sorry. It's been weird today."
"Baby, I'm sorry. I know it's a lot of family to meet all at once. But don't worry about it. My family loves you! I'm so glad you came with for my grandparents' anniversary-"
"-yeah, but-"
"-it's a lot to ask a new boyfriend to do, and I want you to know how grateful I am.-"
"I know, I know! But your mom was looking at me kinda weird..."
"She just met you yet, she's just checking out the guy I've been talking about. Looking out for me, y'know? But if she'd had a problem, she's the kind of woman that'd say so, y'naw i'mean? She's gonna love you-"
"So she's never seen any pictures of me?"
"Ah... No, no; you're always taking pictures of me- oh, I just realized! We don't really have any pictures together! Don't worry, baby, we'll fix that-"
"-wait, what about your cousin?
"What? What cousin? I got 50 cousins in there! What?"
"C'mon, you gotta know. Your cousin, the one with my haircut!"
"What? Are we a model now? There's somebody wearing my outfit here, we gotta go home?"
"Aw, it ain't like that! But we're all wearing suits here, and he's got the hair like mine-"
"Aw, you wear it better, baby-"
"-and he does the teeth thing!"
"Whaaa? What teeth thing?"
"You know! I got sticky teeth, I gotta wipe them with my tongue or my lips kinda cling on them; you know! You called me on it, so you know! Well, he does that!"
"...What?"
"What, you don't see it? How often you see this guy?"
"Never, he's from Hudson! Are you trying to break up with me?"
"I'm just trying to figure this out! You know you got your mom's eyebrows?"
"Yeah, dammit!"
"So does half the room in there! And me!"
"Everybody's got eyebrows!"
"Not like these! Don't you think it's wrong to date somebody that looks so much like you?"
"Would you be saying this kind of stuff if I was Asian, or black?"
"Now, you're just being racist!"
"One of us is!"
"All I'm saying is, he and I are the same height, we wear the same size clothes, we have the same haircut on the same shape head, we have very, very similar facial expression responses..."
"So? He could be your cousin."
"He IS your cousin! You're dating me, and it's like you're dating your cousin!"
"You're not the same, okay! For one, for one- he's fatter. Okay? You can see it, if you guys stood next to each other in a mirror, you'd see it. He;s got a bigger double chin... and he's glisteny! He's got an oily face, which you'd see if you weren't so freaking self-absorbed! Geez, thanks for messing with the mood! I thought you liked me..."
(Around the corner, her date wanders in: he's got his hair, his suit, his posture, and he's carrying two drinks. He's oblivious.)
"Hey, baby; I've been looking all over you. Your mom told me to bring you some punch, it's the family recipe. What's going on?"
inspired by Discover Magazine article, "Skull Suggests One Hominid Lineage"
Saturday, January 25, 2014
DAY 25: Dis-entanglement
"Could I have everybody's attention?" Ferdinand stood up on his desk, so everyone in their cubicles could see him. "I know how everybody here likes to gossip - I'm looking at you, Gladys - and I just want to say my peace while I have the chance, before things get all crazy...
"We - and I should say, I in particular - have been watching you humans for quite some time. For all your talk of community, togetherness and brotherhood, you seem like a schizophrenic people; chaotic and self-destructive. The only things that unite you people are your fears. And when your common fears are gone, you fear each other. Top to bottom, that's every one of you people!"
"What do you mean, you people?"
Ferdinand directed his invective in the direction of his heckler. "I mean, Marlene, that before I go, I want to give you humans a little piece of mind. A little piece of MY mind, you could say. What you see standing here is just a vessel - we're sitting here on another star so far away, you haven't built a telescope big enough to see it! And in case you're worried about invasion, don't. Even if we had the technology to make the trip, you, me, and everybody else in reach would be long dissipated from existence. It's easier and safer to make contact this way, before we decide to waste our time.
"So, to recap: Are you alone in the universe? No. Are you getting invaded? Not interested. Go back to destroying yourselves."
He hopped off the desk just as his manager reached him. "Time to go; get your stuff."
Ferdinand walked the aisles, a step ahead of any hands that would grab him. "I don't want them - Open season, people! - I got nowhere to take them. But you might want to take a step back. Lynn, I got your stapler on my desk, be sure to grab-"
Ferdinand's form collapsed as his skeleton liquefied. Shock gave way to puzzlement, as the remnants of their former cubiclemate shrank in its clothes into the size and consistency of a discarded candy wrapper.
inspired by Discover Magazine article, "A Leap in Quantum Computing"
inspired by Discover Magazine article, "A Leap in Quantum Computing"
DAY 24: A Culinary War of Attrition
Nikita was wolfing down popcorn, and burning a stare into the webcam of her laptop. On the monitor for her to see, Ricky was wolfing down popcorn, burning a stare to match. Their eating was synchronized, yet frenetic. When one would take a swig of water, the other would follow suit. Each dish, box, and drink was a race to the bottom, and each victory was swallowed in a moment by the next race.
On the sidelines, Nikita's cousin Eddy watched and tried to hold his sense of dread at bay. Eager for her to be his ex-roommate, he had agreed to be their referee. He had three duties with the job: deliver judgement calls on disputed finishes, offer encouragement to Nikita, and fetch items from the kitchen for consumption. On Ricky's end, his buddy "Juice" was handling the assists.
Nikita finished her bag first, and tore it in victory, roaring. Ricky was behind by a handful, and smashed the empty bag against his head like a soda can; he roared back.
He shouted "Cereal!"
"Cereal!" Nikita shouted back, then at Eddy. "Cereal!" Eddy hustled to the kitchen, grabbing the first two boxes in his reach. He tossed one to Nikita; she caught it and brandished it at the webcam. "Cereal!" she shouted!
"Cereal!" Ricky shouted, holding up a box of puffy corn. The contestants tore into their next challenge.
It had started as a morning webchat, to plan out the moving day itinerary. Eddy had already rented the truck, and easily visualized all of Nikita's belongings fitting with room to spare. Ricky, however, needed to 're-arrange' the apartment (Eddy imagined it could be done with a bundle of garbage bags.) "I'm working on the kitchen right now," he joked, raising a glass and nibbling on a piece of 'un-toast', as he called it. Nikita found her own piece of bread, and joined in. They began echoing each other, chewing and swallowing, coughing and face-stretching.
"Eddy, look at us! Aren't we fabulous?" Nikita called out, as she pantomimed touching up her eye makeup.
"Yes, we are, girl!" Ricky replied, teasing at his own eyebrows. "Okay, back to breakfast!"
"Not toast," she said, scanning at the breakfast table. "You got bananas?"
A banana appeared in the monitor. "You know I do!" From the back of the room, Juice added a muffled "That's right!"
The roommates-to-be ate their bananas as extravagantly as the other. "The more we eat, the less of this food we gotta pack!" Ricky said. Eddy heard this, but decided not to interrupt the moment with logic; better to keep this energy for the move.
..and so they ate, until it got competitive and amped up. Anything that didn't need microwaving or time in an oven was fair game. From bread and fruit, they went on to cookies and crackers; chips and popcorn led to cereal, then leftovers and pickles, canned pasta and condiments. No vomiting had occurred yet, but a great percentage of the food missed the mark on the way to insertion, and the occasional gagging from one amused the other.
Ricky was downing the last of the applesauce, when Nikita let a final bite of cold tortilla drop out of her mouth to say, "okay, I think that's it." Ricky stared coldly at Nikita, then craned his neck to eye his kitchen. "Don't do it, Ricky, don't...."
Ricky left the screen; Nikki could only catch her breath and watch. After a moment, he returned to her scree, bearing a unopened pack of ramen noodles.
"Don't do it!" Nikita said, as he opened the bag and exposed the uncooked noodles. "Don't do it, don't..." The sound of his teeth biting down on the ramen block, was like the sound of breaking bone. Nikita squealed and turned away.
Roused from his disinterest, Eddy poked his head into Ricky's view. "Hey! WTF?"
Ricky dropped the ramen block; playtime was over. Eddy closed the laptop, then sat next to Nikita.
Through sniffling tears, Nikita said, "I'm so glad you're my roommate, Eddy."
inspired by Discover Magazine article, "US Takes Top Energy Spot"
On the sidelines, Nikita's cousin Eddy watched and tried to hold his sense of dread at bay. Eager for her to be his ex-roommate, he had agreed to be their referee. He had three duties with the job: deliver judgement calls on disputed finishes, offer encouragement to Nikita, and fetch items from the kitchen for consumption. On Ricky's end, his buddy "Juice" was handling the assists.
Nikita finished her bag first, and tore it in victory, roaring. Ricky was behind by a handful, and smashed the empty bag against his head like a soda can; he roared back.
He shouted "Cereal!"
"Cereal!" Nikita shouted back, then at Eddy. "Cereal!" Eddy hustled to the kitchen, grabbing the first two boxes in his reach. He tossed one to Nikita; she caught it and brandished it at the webcam. "Cereal!" she shouted!
"Cereal!" Ricky shouted, holding up a box of puffy corn. The contestants tore into their next challenge.
It had started as a morning webchat, to plan out the moving day itinerary. Eddy had already rented the truck, and easily visualized all of Nikita's belongings fitting with room to spare. Ricky, however, needed to 're-arrange' the apartment (Eddy imagined it could be done with a bundle of garbage bags.) "I'm working on the kitchen right now," he joked, raising a glass and nibbling on a piece of 'un-toast', as he called it. Nikita found her own piece of bread, and joined in. They began echoing each other, chewing and swallowing, coughing and face-stretching.
"Eddy, look at us! Aren't we fabulous?" Nikita called out, as she pantomimed touching up her eye makeup.
"Yes, we are, girl!" Ricky replied, teasing at his own eyebrows. "Okay, back to breakfast!"
"Not toast," she said, scanning at the breakfast table. "You got bananas?"
A banana appeared in the monitor. "You know I do!" From the back of the room, Juice added a muffled "That's right!"
The roommates-to-be ate their bananas as extravagantly as the other. "The more we eat, the less of this food we gotta pack!" Ricky said. Eddy heard this, but decided not to interrupt the moment with logic; better to keep this energy for the move.
..and so they ate, until it got competitive and amped up. Anything that didn't need microwaving or time in an oven was fair game. From bread and fruit, they went on to cookies and crackers; chips and popcorn led to cereal, then leftovers and pickles, canned pasta and condiments. No vomiting had occurred yet, but a great percentage of the food missed the mark on the way to insertion, and the occasional gagging from one amused the other.
Ricky was downing the last of the applesauce, when Nikita let a final bite of cold tortilla drop out of her mouth to say, "okay, I think that's it." Ricky stared coldly at Nikita, then craned his neck to eye his kitchen. "Don't do it, Ricky, don't...."
Ricky left the screen; Nikki could only catch her breath and watch. After a moment, he returned to her scree, bearing a unopened pack of ramen noodles.
"Don't do it!" Nikita said, as he opened the bag and exposed the uncooked noodles. "Don't do it, don't..." The sound of his teeth biting down on the ramen block, was like the sound of breaking bone. Nikita squealed and turned away.
Roused from his disinterest, Eddy poked his head into Ricky's view. "Hey! WTF?"
Ricky dropped the ramen block; playtime was over. Eddy closed the laptop, then sat next to Nikita.
Through sniffling tears, Nikita said, "I'm so glad you're my roommate, Eddy."
inspired by Discover Magazine article, "US Takes Top Energy Spot"
Monday, January 20, 2014
DAY 20: The Day the Hipsters Saved Milwaukee
The salvation of American beer was discovered in a corner bar of Bennington, Nebraska. With gluten allergies afflicting over 15% of the population and rising, many wheat-based products were facing extinction. The major beer-producing labels, having long been globally owned, largely gave up on the American market, and concentrated their resources on the rest of the world, while micro-brewers attempted to cater to the remaining Americans that could still legally and healthily imbibe (and not drive to Canada.)
Sam Baidong, son of a third-generation wheat farmer, knew the severity of the problem, and also happened to have a genetics degree. Sam's early genetics work had concentrated on improving transmission techniques for CRISPR microbes. CRISPRs were customized enzymes that could reprogram established DNA - but it only worked on underdeveloped bioforms (like embryos, or certain active neoplasms.) Human trials revealed that the technology was limited and temporary: a person have to remain submerged in the enzymes to maintain their reprogrammed genetics.
Setbacks like these were the reason Sam had moved back home. He spent his days doing farmwork, and his nights hanging at The Poop Deck with friends that could still enjoy a brew. In the midst of their lubricated ramblings, someone noted that if more people could stop being allergic just long enough to have a beer, they'd love it again; that was Sam's epiphany. So he invited a few friends to the family farm, to help him make the world once again safe for beer.
Sam's family had a family recipe dated before the era of Prohibition; to this, Sam added his contribution of reprogrammed microbes. Genetic markers for gluten allergies had been identified (although it was unclear what other attributes they might be tied to.) Sam's microbes travelled with the beer as it was drank, "curing" the drinker just long enough to get drunk. He brought his first batch to the Poop Deck, and served it to some volunteers; the result was a smashing success, and Baidong Beer was born.
He made no attempt to launch his brew beyond the town limits; the scientist in him was continuing his studies. The word got out anyway, and the town was invaded by a parade of well-wishers, skeptics, and protestors. Representatives from each of the major brewing concerns also arrived, eager to see what Sam Baidong had accomplished.
And Hilary Templeton gave them plenty to see. Ms Templeton, an aspiring model and former Ms Nebraska finalist, had become an early adopter of Baidong Beer. Having harmlessly enjoyed her first beer in six years, she made up for lost time. And after a two-day float trip/bacchanal, she woke up the next morning to get ready for work... and discovered a significant side effect, growing above her lip.
Baidong conferred with his other 'test subjects' and confirmed that the same reprogramming that allowed a bypass of the gluten allergy, contributed to increased follicular production on the face and chin.
This development, as it turned out, was not as much of a deterrent as expected. Instead a new generation of men and women developed an appreciation of well-aged hops and well-groomed mustaches. By the time Sam began licensing his patented formulas to established labels, his Baidong Beer was #3 in the country. He diverted his share of the fortune back into his studies, hoping to find a way to make wheat products - like cake and bread - palatable for more Americans again. He has every right to be confident in his chances; he made America safe to drink beer again...
inspired by Discover Magazine article, "Gene Editing - Now Faster, Cheaper, and More Precise"
inspired by Discover Magazine article, "Gene Editing - Now Faster, Cheaper, and More Precise"
Thursday, January 16, 2014
DAY 16: Pitch Meeting for "Asteroids: The Movie"
Hollywood office, Feb 16th 2013:
"I can't believe we're trying to make an Asteroids movie..."
"Bob, it's a no-brainer! Did you see YouTube yesterday, all them shots of that asteroid over Russia? It was like the sun's twin brother just showed up! That thing blew up with the power of 30 Hiroshimas, blowing out windows, knocking down buildings - from 15 miles up! You know what would've happened if that thing had landed?"
"Yeah, because I've seen Deep Impact! I've seen Armageddon! It's been done, and done, and done! Roland Emmerich walked away from this, and nobody else messes with this stuff..."
"There is one guy who will do this justice, and you know exactly who I'm talking about!"
"Whaaaa?"
"He's gonna do it, because it's the only one he hasn't done yet. He's done westerns, war, kung-fu, and street - but he hasn't done his disaster movie yet. He needs a Poseiden Adventure to complete his set. His Towering Inferno, his Airport 75. He loves saving genres everybody else has written off. And who's making disaster movies these days? Basic cable television! He will know how to do it right, and he will consider it his sacred duty to see it done."
"I just don't see it happening, Harv..."
"Aw, c'mon! He's perfect! We get our director, we got our writer! He's not gonna make Star Wars; it ain't gonna be a million CG shots and explosions drowning out his precious dialogue! He's gonna get his buddies together for a barbecue, and come Monday, we got a cast! And I got a couple of casting ideas of my own that he just can't pass up. You know who I saw this weekend at Sonoma, of all places? William Devane - why haven't they worked together yet? That's catnip right there!
"And then - hear me out - I sign Christian Slater-"
"Aw geez, Harv..."
"C'mon- Heathers? Name of the Rose? True Romance! If there is any gas in that tank, our boy will find it!"
"-and if there's not?"
"Oh, this is the genius part. I. will get. Jack. Nicholson. Out of retirement. I'm not kidding, I know it'll be expensive, I'm know I'm moving mountains, but it's gotta happen! Just to have a scene where Slater's up in Jack's face, going, "How can you do this to me? I'm your flesh and blood!" and Jack waving a fat finger in his face, screaming, 'You ain't my flesh and blood! You ain't nothing like me!' That's money well spent! I will pay to see that happen!!"
"What's Jack gonna do? He's not going to leave retirement to repeat himself, and he's already played the President and an astronaut."
"He can play whatever he wants, Bob! Maybe he can be the asteroid!"
"I thought that was you, Harv..."
inspired by Discover Magazine article "Chelyabinsk Meteor Equaled Nearly 30 Hiroshima Bombs"
"I can't believe we're trying to make an Asteroids movie..."
"Bob, it's a no-brainer! Did you see YouTube yesterday, all them shots of that asteroid over Russia? It was like the sun's twin brother just showed up! That thing blew up with the power of 30 Hiroshimas, blowing out windows, knocking down buildings - from 15 miles up! You know what would've happened if that thing had landed?"
"Yeah, because I've seen Deep Impact! I've seen Armageddon! It's been done, and done, and done! Roland Emmerich walked away from this, and nobody else messes with this stuff..."
"There is one guy who will do this justice, and you know exactly who I'm talking about!"
"Whaaaa?"
"He's gonna do it, because it's the only one he hasn't done yet. He's done westerns, war, kung-fu, and street - but he hasn't done his disaster movie yet. He needs a Poseiden Adventure to complete his set. His Towering Inferno, his Airport 75. He loves saving genres everybody else has written off. And who's making disaster movies these days? Basic cable television! He will know how to do it right, and he will consider it his sacred duty to see it done."
"I just don't see it happening, Harv..."
"Aw, c'mon! He's perfect! We get our director, we got our writer! He's not gonna make Star Wars; it ain't gonna be a million CG shots and explosions drowning out his precious dialogue! He's gonna get his buddies together for a barbecue, and come Monday, we got a cast! And I got a couple of casting ideas of my own that he just can't pass up. You know who I saw this weekend at Sonoma, of all places? William Devane - why haven't they worked together yet? That's catnip right there!
"And then - hear me out - I sign Christian Slater-"
"Aw geez, Harv..."
"C'mon- Heathers? Name of the Rose? True Romance! If there is any gas in that tank, our boy will find it!"
"-and if there's not?"
"Oh, this is the genius part. I. will get. Jack. Nicholson. Out of retirement. I'm not kidding, I know it'll be expensive, I'm know I'm moving mountains, but it's gotta happen! Just to have a scene where Slater's up in Jack's face, going, "How can you do this to me? I'm your flesh and blood!" and Jack waving a fat finger in his face, screaming, 'You ain't my flesh and blood! You ain't nothing like me!' That's money well spent! I will pay to see that happen!!"
"What's Jack gonna do? He's not going to leave retirement to repeat himself, and he's already played the President and an astronaut."
"He can play whatever he wants, Bob! Maybe he can be the asteroid!"
"I thought that was you, Harv..."
inspired by Discover Magazine article "Chelyabinsk Meteor Equaled Nearly 30 Hiroshima Bombs"
Monday, January 13, 2014
DAY 13: The Apartment Arms Race
Saturday afternoon was Battledfield day; no negotations, Josh said. Joe's coursework was going to wait until Josh's squadron totally pwoned Joe's crew; which was usually a 3 hour process. Joe was uncharacteristically coopeartive this weekend, and complied.
And so it was that Joe set aside his theoretical calculus and cybernetics, and grabbed a controller. He caught sight of Josh's Red Sox cap. "How about you let me wear Red today?" Josh responded with a quick swipe, planting it on his own head.
An hour later, Team Red had Team Blue down 19-15, when Joe decided to take a bathroom break. Josh didn't see Joe's controller leave with him. He was too busy riding shotgun in the Jeep, shoving grenades into people's faces. "Take us to the roof!" Josh shouted. Grid1ron423 drove up the stairs, while Josh kept a steady bead on Red Team's flagbearer. He pulled out the SRAW, took aim, and...
BWHAM! The jeep was a mushroom cloud. "What was that?!?" GridIron wailed.
"Focus! We're coming back!" Josh barked. They emerged, and Josh began scanning his arsenal, looking for the right weapon. He saw his Shorty 12G, one of his favorites. "J-Lo," he purred. As GridIron ran ahead, Josh made his selection. It promptly materialized in his hands, and fired a round straight into GridIron's back. "What the hell?" GridIron squawked.
Josh, meanwhile, was watching his weapons selection scroll faster than his eyes could keep up. "I've been hacked!" He started trying to push every button he could-
"Whatev! You're telling me you ain't pushing the buttons?"
"Seriously!, Joe, look-" Josh looked at Joe's empty chair. Josh looked down at his own fingers; they were pushing the buttons... but not the buttons he wanted. He watched his fingers select his bank account and check the balance. He tried to drop the controller, but his hands refused. The rest of Blue team, meanwhile, were building distance.
"Joe!" Josh awkwardly got off the couch, controller still between his hands.
"Joe!" Josh looked in all directions, rage building.
"JOE!" Josh roared at the bathroom door. "Stop it! Turn it off!"
On the other side of the door, Joe gleefully stared at the tablet that provided a view of Josh's predicament, while he mashed his controller buttons. "Dude, just take off your hat!"
inspired by Discover Magazine article, "Mind Melds Made Real"
And so it was that Joe set aside his theoretical calculus and cybernetics, and grabbed a controller. He caught sight of Josh's Red Sox cap. "How about you let me wear Red today?" Josh responded with a quick swipe, planting it on his own head.
An hour later, Team Red had Team Blue down 19-15, when Joe decided to take a bathroom break. Josh didn't see Joe's controller leave with him. He was too busy riding shotgun in the Jeep, shoving grenades into people's faces. "Take us to the roof!" Josh shouted. Grid1ron423 drove up the stairs, while Josh kept a steady bead on Red Team's flagbearer. He pulled out the SRAW, took aim, and...
BWHAM! The jeep was a mushroom cloud. "What was that?!?" GridIron wailed.
"Focus! We're coming back!" Josh barked. They emerged, and Josh began scanning his arsenal, looking for the right weapon. He saw his Shorty 12G, one of his favorites. "J-Lo," he purred. As GridIron ran ahead, Josh made his selection. It promptly materialized in his hands, and fired a round straight into GridIron's back. "What the hell?" GridIron squawked.
Josh, meanwhile, was watching his weapons selection scroll faster than his eyes could keep up. "I've been hacked!" He started trying to push every button he could-
"Whatev! You're telling me you ain't pushing the buttons?"
"Seriously!, Joe, look-" Josh looked at Joe's empty chair. Josh looked down at his own fingers; they were pushing the buttons... but not the buttons he wanted. He watched his fingers select his bank account and check the balance. He tried to drop the controller, but his hands refused. The rest of Blue team, meanwhile, were building distance.
"Joe!" Josh awkwardly got off the couch, controller still between his hands.
"Joe!" Josh looked in all directions, rage building.
"JOE!" Josh roared at the bathroom door. "Stop it! Turn it off!"
On the other side of the door, Joe gleefully stared at the tablet that provided a view of Josh's predicament, while he mashed his controller buttons. "Dude, just take off your hat!"
inspired by Discover Magazine article, "Mind Melds Made Real"
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)