When You Sell Out, People Give You Money

I've always had a problem with people using the phrase "selling out" when referring to a now-former artistic idol of theirs doing something they think is beneath, or otherwise unbefitting, their idol's value/values/morals/dignity/insert-your-preferred-sanctimony-here.
First, despite how big of a fan you are of an artist, you don't know them. This is true of every citizen-celebrity relationship out there. This isn't a bad thing, either. Most of my adult life, I've been aware of a saying "Familiarity breeds contempt". I don't necessarily endorse that 100%, but I've seen evidence of it. I think most of us these days could cite a marriage or two that demonstrates it pretty aptly. Anyway, people have secrets, and people have things they don't share with the wider public (but Facebook's ever-changing default privacy settings may whittle away at that more and more as time moves on). I know I do. Maybe you believe you don't hide anything about yourself, and more power to you for it, but I definitely prefer to keep an air of mystery about me.
Second, what you think an artist's values/ethics/whatever are are none of their business or mine, and neither is your opinion of the value/merit of the offending project. Just because you think their latest commercial venture doesn't match up with what you think they would do or doesn't reflect their style or quality or mantra or sofa butt print doesn't mean jack.
Third, and the meat of my point of view, most artists who make a living from their art are trying to do just that - make a living. They've got a nut to make just like any non-artist, grown-up, contributing member of society. If the market decides their material is worth giving them money for their work, that it has consumer value, a self-important fan does not get to tell the artist they can't capitalize on that value. You can have an opinion on the art's value, there's nothing wrong with that. It would be impossible to tell someone they couldn't have an opinion about something. Just understand that your opinion has no power to change the value, validity, or legitimacy of a piece of art or whether something an artist creates is or isn't art. Art critics (the ones that make a living as such) can all go away, as far as I'm concerned. If an artist chose to create art that is different from something they've done before, and the new stuff is somehow more appealing to a buying audience, that shouldn't be enough on its to make something less artistic. Commercial value is as subjective as art itself - they are independent of one another.
Now, to step down from the lofty top of my soapbox and un-don my hypocritcally pompous cloak of self-righteousness... This started out with the intention of sarcastically advising my non-existent audience that I went ahead and signed up for Google's AdSense service in case enough people look at my stupid ramblings that it's worth something to somebody, then maybe I can get a little piece of the action. Who knows? Maybe I'll get enough money to buy a gumball; then I can treat myself. After all, I'm worth it. I'd say that's my two cents, but I'm afraid that would spend all the still-as-yet non-existent ad money before it's even arrived.
Don't call me a sell-out - I've always been in it for the money. P-)

100 Word Story - The Music Collection (Repost from Facebook, 3 October 2009)

His Collection, though impressively sized, was effortlessly collected. Causing a plane crash in adverse weather brought his single-biggest haul. His next specimen was a case of patience over effort. The reckless gun-play could have figured more prominently, but waiting for fried banana sandwiches to do their damage took all the legwork out of it. He gathered most cases by simply waiting for those fatal partners “Depression” and “Drugs” or “Alcohol” to take their toll. He thought his latest specimen was going to be toughest of all. Alas, a lifetime of eccentricity and a skoche of greed played together nicely.

This was on the prompt of "A Full Set", from Weekly Challenge #175, for the week of 8/29/2009.

For any who aren't sure what I was going for, it is an abstract description of some other-worldly, superhuman being who "collects" famous, legendary musicians from Earth, who we just see as dying unexpectedly. The story climaxes at the end with a description of Michael Jackson joining his collection. It was my first attempt, and was probably overly heavy-handed and awkward.

100 Word Story - Peas in a Pod (Repost from Facebook, 3 October 2009)

Penelope and her sisters were roused from their sleep by the golden-green light filtering through their pod wall.
“M-morr-ning,” she yawned. She got the usual grumbles and murmurs in reply. The others didn’t like mornings as much as Penelope.
As the familiar sounds of machinery starting up for the day reached them, they heard the giants moving through the rows of pod plants around them, and shadows crisscrossed their view.
Something wasn’t right, though; suddenly, she remembered: “It’s Harvest Day!” she screamed. A hand’s shadow slid over the pod, blocking the light, and their pod was torn from its stem.

This was my second effort, written for Weekly Challenge #177 on the prompt of "Peas in a Pod", for the week of 9/12/2009. It was a pseudo-literal tale of anthropomorphic peas in their pods, about to be harvested by the farmers. I liked the way I was able to maintain some level of ambiguity and parallels with sci-fi/Matrix-style stories.

100 Word Story - A Magic Toaster...Relatively Speaking (Repost from Facebook, 3 October 2009)

“Whose turn is to load the toaster?”
“Mine,” chirped Emma.
Mom handed Emma the slices of bread, which she carefully loaded into the slots. “I hope it’s Eggs ‘Bunny-Duck’ today,” wished Emma, not quite wrapping her tongue around ‘Benedict’.
“No,” interjected Alex, “it’s gonna be chocolate cake!” He always hoped the toaster would return chocolate cake.
“We’ll see in 2 minutes,” Mom sang cheerfully.
The bell dinged, and the children squealed. Mom opened the toaster door, and pulled out … 4 slices of unevenly toasted bread.
“I think the toaster’s … like, magic, or something. It somehow cooked our bread.”

This was written on the twin prompts of "Who knows?" & "Magic Toaster", for Weekly Challenge #179, for the week of 9/26/2009.

100 Word Story - Worth the Price (Repost from Facebook) 3 October 2009)

The pain was indescribably excruciating. She passed out at least four times during the first seven-hour session, but lost count after that. By the end, she thought she was going to die, but she didn’t. This wasn’t Tabitha’s first tattoo by any stretch, but it was her first enchanted tattoo, and thus, her most complex, expensive and painful, one by far. After thirteen tortuous sessions, it was done. Full-sized angel wings sprawled across her back. And when the moonlight kissed the ink, all the pain was forgotten as she flexed her feathery new outgrowths and took flight.

This is my entry for this week (10/3/2009), Weekly Challenge #180, "Wings".

100 Word Story - Forty (Repost from Facebook, 9 October 2009)

“Today’s forecast calls for unseasonably wintry weather, with a chance of freezing rain before sunrise and after sunset, mostly cloudy all day, with a high of 40.”
“Thanks for the reminder.”
-
“Ma’am, Do you know how fast you were going?”
“No.”
“You were doing 40 in a 20. I can’t ignore that.”
“Yes, Officer…I’m sorry.”
“I’m still gonna write the ticket, ma’am.”
She sighed.
-
“That was some cut. How’d it happen?”
“I dropped a vase and missed; I cut my hand and foot on the glass.”
“Well, you’ll be fine, now. Forty stitches, though.”
“Thanks.”

Some birthday. Guess which one?


This was my entry for the 100 Word Story Podcast Weekly Challenge #181 - "Forty"

100 Word Story - Triple Crush (Repost from Facebook, 18 October 2009)

Bad just got worse. I was already working on a Friday night; then I had to serve my crush’s group date.
“Here’s your Pepsi, Sierra Mist and Crush. Your pizzas are almost done.” Gina was giggling with a friend; the jock, ‘Lance’ according to his letterman’s jacket, had his arm around her.
“Thanks… ’Spencer’,” he smirked, pointedly reading my name tag.
Gina caught my glance, and smiled. I blushed, started walking away, and tripped over Lance’s outstretched foot.
As I stood, their laughs and whoops stung my ears; I saw Gina, laughing as hard as anyone; my soul was crushed.

This was my entry for Weekly Challenge #182 - "Crush" (Week Ending 10/16/2009).

100 Word Story - An Uneasy Peace (Repost from Facebook, 22 October 2009)

The war began instantly. The fighting had been intense, the losses devastating. Across the battlefield, amongst the mangled weaponry and war machines, lay the bloody, dismembered corpses of the lucky, the maimed, moaning bodies of the unlucky, and the scattered pieces of the rest.
The aggressor was merciless. He ordered maneuvers without regard for his own casualties, only how much it would destroy his enemy. It was a carnal blood-lust.
Suddenly, the commander instantly ceased his rampage with as little warning as he had begun.
“Matthew, dinner!” the young warlord’s father called.
“Yes! Spaghetti!”
This peace would only be temporary.

This was my entry for the Weekly Challenge #183 - "Peace" (Week Ending 10/24/2009).

100 Word Stories - I Hate Halloween, Version 2* (Repost from Facebook, 30 October 2009)

Every high schooler has their after-school job to earn money. I’m a little different. Mine’s before school. I’m a paperboy. Every day, 365 days a year, I’m up at O-Dark-Thirty in the morning, treading the dark and lonely streets. I don’t mind the hours or the back-breaking weight of Sunday editions: I’m a Zombie. Things like that don’t bother loathsome undead like me. That’s right: I’m a Teenage Zombie Paperboy. Do you know what sucks most about being a Teenage Zombie Paperboy? Halloween. Do you know how often I’ve been stopped by police for Trick-or-Treating too late on November 1st?

This was written for Weekly Challenge #184 from the 100 Word Stories Podcast. I ended up having two similar, but slightly different stories come out, so I wrote and submitted both.

*Again, I actually love Halloween. This was just the title.

100 Word Stories - I Hate Halloween, Version 1* (Repost from Facebook, 30 October 2009)

It’s the same nonsense every year. And it goes for almost two weeks. It’s not the Trick-or-Treating or the costumes, or any of that. No - what I hate are the lame jokes. I hear the same ones every year. You see, I’m a Zombie. The townsfolk are well-past their pitchfork fetishes, and the rest of the year it’s fine. But every year, from about October 24th, until around November 7th, it’s “Aren’t you a little early?” “Weren’t you a Zombie last year?” “Trick-or-Treating’s over, son.” Next year, I’m going to eat anyone who asks me something stupid. There’s your “Trick-or-Treat.”

This was written for Weekly Challenge #184 from the 100 Word Stories Podcast. I ended up having two similar, but slightly different stories come out, so I wrote and submitted both.

*I actually love Halloween. This was just the title.

100 Word Stories - Family Legacy (Repost from Facebook, 6 November 2009)

You mightn’t not believe me now, but we once had the biggest pile o’ money you even done seen. We was the richest family fer six hollers. But now I’ve spent almost all of it tryin’ to figger out my Grand-Pappy’s secret. Y’see, Grand-Pappy brewed him up some special moonshine during the Dry Spell. Folks cottoned to it real powerful-like. Purty soon, he was sellin’ it as quick as he made it. Pa started helpin’ him after he got blinded off’n a bad batch from over the next county. Then he up n’ died without tellin’ us his mystery ingredient.

This was in response to the prompt of "Mystery Ingredient" from the 100 Word Podcast Weekly Challenge #185 (Week Ending 11/7/2009).

100 Word Stories - Oliver vs. The Interloper (Repost from Facebook, 14 November 2009)

Oliver tore into the interloper with abandon. “Rrrr … Unh …. Rrrrrr-rah! That’ll show you!” The interloper stopped resisting, and lay limp and lifeless under Oliver’s grip. Just then, the front door opened. Oliver froze as Trish and Jay walked in on an interesting scene: their Beagle sitting amongst a blizzard of cotton batting swirling around him, with Trish’s favorite Teddy Bear pinned under his paws, the stuffing knocked out of it.
“Oliver! No! Bad boy!”
Oliver slowly released the plush rag. He sat up, his tail curled around his butt and his head dipped submissively.
“I’m sorry,” he whimpered.


This was in response to the prompt of "Stuffing" for Weekly Challenge #186 (week ending 11/14/09) for the 100 Word Stories weekly podcast. It was the first of three I wrote on this topic. My mind had gone in several directions, and I knew that the possibilities were wide open. So, I asked Trish to give me a topic/genre/idea to go with, and she said "stuffed animals."

100 Word Stories - Bus Wash (Repost from Facebook, 14 November 2009)

While driving my bus through the scrubbers after my route, I kept seeing a fuzzy brown face press against the windows: brush – brush – brush – FACE. Another driver must have found a teddy bear fallen off a lorry’s grill, and tied him there. We see ‘em all the time. I was overcome by sentiment; to their amusement, I slogged through the brushes to free the little guy. I scrubbed him up and poked his stuffing back in. He watched us wash our busses. Then he watched me drive ‘til I retired. Now, Bus Wash sits and watches me watch telly.

This was in response to the prompt of "Stuffing" for Weekly Challenge #186 (week ending 11/14/2009) for the 100 Word Stories weekly podcast. This was the second story I wrote. It was based on and inspired by an e-mail received on a radio "programme" called "Geoff Lloyd's Hometime Show" on Absolute Radio out of London. They had asked for listeners' storied about irrational feelings toward inanimate objects. They had people saying they feel sorry for the last bean in a tin of baked beans or the last piece of bread, getting lonely and missing their friends, and so getting eaten so as not to feel left out. Another listener said that if she drops a single pea on the floor, she drops another one so the first won't get lonely. This story was based on an e-mail from a bus driver who rescued a bear from the bus wash and gave it to his sons. My version was a creative dramatization of the event, and then a fictional variation with the ending.

100 Word Stories - Coco Bunny (Repost from Facebook, 14 November 2009)

We received a mysterious invitation to the Magic Friend Factory. We entered, feeling not entirely unlike Charlie Bucket. We were led through corridors, confused, but curious. In the Friend Picker, our tears were sampled, and a few minutes later, a plush sock-body twin of our late Coco came down a chute. They put it in the Stuffer, and we watched the body fill. They stitched her closed and handed her to us. When we held her, she transformed: no longer a stuffed animal, but an immortal surrogate for our lost friend. There’s a lot of magic in a little stuffing.

This was written in response to the Weekly Challenge #186 - "Stuffing" (week ending 11/14/2009) for the 100 Word Stories weekly podcast. It was the third story I wrote for this prompt, but was the most personal. It was a Fairy Tale rendition of our journey to Build-a-Bear Workshop to make a stuffed animal in tribute to our pet bunny rabbit who died this past spring.

100 Word Stories - Hospitality (Repost from Facebook, 22 November 2009)

In some cultures, it is a terrible insult to your host if you eat all the food on your plate at dinner. It says, “You are a stingy and unwelcoming host.” In other cultures, it is great praise. It says, “You are a generous and gracious host.”
As the honored guest at a ceremony of the Korowai of Papua New Guinea, I do not know which custom they follow. Frankly, I could not care less how much of me they leave on their plates. It is hardly the debate to have with oneself in the broth, amongst the root vegetables.

This was my entry for the prompt of "Hospitality" from the 100 Word Stories Podcast, Weekly Challenge #187 (for Week of 11/29)

100 Word Stories - Free-Fall (Repost from Facebook, 29 November 2009)

Wind whips past his ears, thundering out everything but the snapping of his nylon suit. Pure exhilaration: that’s why he dives. Kyle never tires of the initial thrill of leaping into open air. But that thrill was immediately crushed by an icy horror tearing through him. He had pulled the ripcord, but nothing had happened.
The mental impact of his new reality would be nothing to the physical impact of the ground’s reality, now rushing unnecessary, unwanted detail at his eyes. He whispers a prayer, hoping his being closer to Heaven will help. He grips the emergency cord, and pulls.

This was in response to the prompt of "Impact" from the 100 Word Podcast Weekly Challenge #188 (Week Ending 11/28/2009).

100 Word Stories - Setting a Scene (Repost from Facebook, 6 December 2009)

With the sun’s rising, the chirps and calls of insects, frogs, and birds rise through the forest. Collectively, the dewdrops lend the grass a velvety glow, resolving into tiny diamonds close up. The sunlight mixes with smoke hanging across the meadow; they become solid liquid vapor, and give the shadows crisp 3-dimensional shapes. A doe and fawn wander out of the forest canopy’s cover into the meadow’s openness. The sharp crack of a breaking twig snaps the silence. The doe freezes, ears swiveling and nostrils flaring, alert for the source of the danger, and the fawn bolts instinctively for cover.

This was in response to the prompt of "Smoke" from the 100 Word Podcast Weekly Challenge #189 (Week Ending 12/5/2009).

100 Word Stories - Stream of Consciousness (Repost from Facebook, 16 December 2009)

Let’s see… What’s the Weekly Challenge this week…? Hmm… “Work”… Huh. One of those “broad-strokes” topics. I like those: they don’t shove you in a particular corner. There are so many directions I could go…
…“Hard work”…
…“Yard work”… 
…“Job I hated”…
…“Job I loved”…
…”Old job”…
…”New job”…
You know what? Just give me some direction!
…Wait a minute. This is an easy topic! I could write any story I can think of, and just work the topic in- wait: -“work”- the topic in. That gives me an idea: how many words am I up to? …98, 99, 100!


This was in response to the prompt of "Work" from the 100 Word Podcast Weekly Challenge #190 (Week Ending 12/12/2009). It was meant to reflect my torment of dealing with the topic, and the idea that was inspired by the epiphany illustrated in the story.
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Another one that was mostly about getting through Writer's Block. Again, I think it qualifies as "anything".

100 Word Stories - "Hold Your Tongue" -or- "Overreact Much?" (*advisory* *implied violence and dark theme*) (Repost from Facebook, 21 December 2009)

I re-awoke at the shock, ice-cold water mixing with warm blood and sweat. The pain that knocked me out re-awoke as well. I winced. I fought to open my eyes against the swelling. It was pointless: the light was in my face; everything was shades of black.
“Put your hands through the armholes.”
“Why?”
“So the fire ants can bite you.” – “No? OK. ‘Or else’.” He back-handed me, then squeezed my cheeks, forcing my broken jaw open. I winced again.
“Whaih?”
“Ah – Because…” He slid a forceps between my toothless gums, grabbing my tongue and pulling. “You insulted my hat.”

This was in response to the prompt of "Hat" from the 100 Word Podcast Weekly Challenge #191 (Week Ending 12/19/2009). It's a bit more grim than most of my stories, but I actually found the "plot" of the story a little bit funny, so I couldn't resist. It started out as strictly 3rd person, but then I thought about making myself either the victim or the bad guy, and it just worked.

100 Word Stories - The Perils of a Paper Bag Awaiting Recycling in the Moonlight (Repost from Facebook, 28 December 2009)

Ow! Watch it, buddy! Oh, good gravy. It’s another dumpster diver. Scavenger! It must be a full moon. They like the natural light to rummage by. I wish he’d be more careful; we don’t enjoy the groping, shoving, tearing, and the stick with the nail in the end, you know. My purpose in this life was to help a wino hide his bottle from cops and have him slosh and slobber on me. Now, to have this guy toss me aside for a 2-cent piece of glass or metal is humiliating. I hope I come back as a notebook.

This was in response to the combo-prompt of "a story told from the perspective of an inanimate object/paper sack/full moon/new beginnings" from the 100 Word Podcast Weekly Challenge #192 (Week Ending 12/26/2009).

100 Word Stories - Where’s a Weak Spot When You Need One? (Repost from Facebook, 5 January 2010)

He was led, still shackled, from a bright anteroom into the darkened arena. The chanting of the crowd echoed off the walls; the combined din throbbed in Plaq’s ears. His eyes began adjusting to the dimness. His captors dimmed the lights for this death match for the benefit of his owl-eyed opponent. For sadistic aliens, these creeps were annoyingly even-handed about their ritual sacrifices. They had even given him gauntlets so he could grip his foe’s mucus-covered body. “OK,” Plaq thought, “so I can grab it; if I don’t find some kind of weak-spot soon, I’m toast no matter what.”

This was in response to the combo-prompt of "mucus" and "eyes like an owl" from the 100 Word Podcast Weekly Challenge #193 (Week of 1/3/2010).

100 Word Stories - What a Jerk! (*advisory: mild language*) (Repost from Facebook, 9 January 2010)

Hell. Everyone’s got their own version of it. We’ve heard of the Greeks’ Underworld with Hades, a multi-headed dog, and the river of over-wrought music. Christians and Muslims have the fiery bowels of Hell itself. There’s enough ambiguity, Christians have added variations on the theme like Purgatory and Outer Darkness. Jews have a metaphorical pit of guilt and shame. Buddhists and Hindus have a sort of waiting room for punishments before coming back to Earth to take another crack at Nirvana.
Not even close. It’s an eternal game of Zobmondo, with literal consequences. Choose carefully: that Devil’s a bastard. Literally.

This was in response to the prompt of "Choose" from the 100 Word Podcast Weekly Challenge #194 (Week of 1/10/2010).

100 Word Stories - Unexpected Diversion (Repost from Facebook, 17 January 2010)

My name is [DETAILS REDACTED] –a, USA. Six years ago, halfway through a White House tour, I really needed to take a leak. So, I snuck off to find a toilet. On my way back, there was a man ahead of me, turning a corner. When I got there, it looked like a dead end – but I saw a panel closing, and a glimpse of a room behind it. There were Leprechauns on computers! Another man saw me, and the look on my face, and it all hit the fan. Before we knew, we were in [DETAILS REDACTED] –shire, England.

This was in response to the prompt of "I Saw It Move" from the 100 Word Podcast Weekly Challenge #195 (Week of 1/17/2010).

100 Word Stories - Gamers! (Repost from Facebook, 10 February 2010)

This story was not written for the 100 Word Stories podcast. It was part of an online forum contest. The challenge was to write a preciesly 100 word-long story about RPG's. This was inspired by my only attempt, so far, at being a GM.

Gamers!
GM: Sorry, you can’t use this character.
Player: Why not?
GM: Because this is a pirate adventure, and he’s a 13-year-old Chinese boy. In the Caribbean. In the 17th-Century. How did he get there?
Player: He’s on a journey of learning and spiritual self-discovery in preparation to becoming a Shaolin monk.
GM: Of course he is. But how did he get there?
Player: He decided he should go see this “New World” he’d heard of, and got captured.
GM: So now he’s a 13-year-old Chinese boy, captured by pirates! He’s gonna get passed around like rum.
Player: Oh…
GM: Yeah.
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My story was chosen as the winner of that little contest. It was a fun little feather to put in my cap, and I think I received a copy of a paperback novel about a Role-playing group's (mis-)adventures.

100 Word Stories - Show n' Tell (Repost from Facebook, 10 February 2010)

“Does anyone have anything for Sharing Time?” Miss Carson asked, hoping foul-mouthed Marcus didn’t. She sighed as his hand rose. “Marcus. Would you like to share something?”
“You betcher a-“
“It’s ‘Yes, Ma’am’, Marcus.”
“Yes, Ma’am. Yesterday, Pa was shovelin’ horse shi-”
“Manure, Marcus.”
“Sorry, Ma’am – manure. Anyway, the horse didn’t like him standing behind her a-”
“Her hindquarters, Marcus.”
“Yes, Ma’am – hindquarters. So, she kicked him in the bal-”
“Groin, Marcus!”
“Sorry, Ma’am – groin. He fell back and landed on an over-turned milk stool. The leg went right up his a-”
“Rectum, Marcus! Rectum!”
“Rectum? It darn-near kilt ‘im.”

I know it's not an original joke. This was in response to the prompt of "Kilt" from the 100 Word Podcast Weekly Challenge #196 (Week of 1/24/2010). I didn't feel like I could write a good story that involved actual kilts. Call it Writer's Block. And I've been told the best treatment for that is to just write anything. I guess this qualifies as "anything". I think you can probably guess the sort of story I would have come up with if the topic had been "barium".

100 Word Story - Epiphany of the Modern Day *Advisory - PG-13, Inferred Sexual Content and Alcohol Use* (Repost from Facebook, 10 February 2010)

He awoke with a groan. “What a night,” he thought. His mind brought him memories through the haze. “Mm, ‘Lacee’.” Through his hangover, he marveled that someone so hot had gone home with him, but he wasn’t about to complain.
He got up without disturbing his impromptu bedmate. As he stumbled toward the bathroom, he tripped on something fabric. It wasn’t silky, lacy or sexy. It was beige, stretchy and utilitarian: Spanx. He scanned the room: push-up bra, falsies, auburn wig. He quickly realized that last night’s “hotness” was not in his bed, but in pieces all over his room.

This was in response to the prompt of "Whatever you choose" from the 100 Word Podcast Weekly Challenge #197 (Week of 1/31/2010).

100 Word Story - Food Wars (Repost from Facebook, 10 February 2010)

Have you ever wondered where those disgusting cultural delicacies came from? Well, I’m gonna tell you anyway:
Every culture hates or fears foreigners, and each developed a way to intimidate them. Drinking games didn’t last long. It became a contest of edible one-up-man’s-ship, a culinary arms race, a game of gastronomic chicken. But you won’t recognize any chicken on that battlefield. The Britons have Blood Pudding. Hispanics have Menudo. Southerners have Chitlins. The Scots entered the war with Haggis. Koreans have Kimchi. The world didn’t know what to do when the Chinese brought animal penises. An immediate armistice was demanded.

This was in response to the prompt of "Haggis" from the 100 Word Podcast Weekly Challenge #198 (Week of 2/7/2010). I would have continued listing foods and countries or cultures, but that's why there's a 100-word limit.

100 Word Stories - Old Preacher's Oak (Repost from Facebook, 18 February 2010)

There’s a town in the valley with a peculiar tree growing amidst the ruins of a church. Its origin is so unique the town’s name changed from Johnson’s Elbow to Big Preacher’s Oak.
Long ago, in another village, a precocious girl named Esther was given a Wishing Stone by a hermit. He told her, “This will grant your heart’s true desire. But,” he warned, “You mustn’t cast your wish higgledy-piggledy.”
Finally, Esther knew what she wanted: this traveling preacher’s daughter was tired of traveling. Pinching the stone, she whispered, “I wish Papa would put down roots here in Johnson’s Elbow…”

This was in response to the combination prompt of "Whatever you choose..."/"Higgledy-piggledy"/"Tree" from the 100 Word Stories Podcast Weekly Challenge #199 (Week of 2/14/2010).
This was inspired by a sci-fi/fantasy-type story from a grade school Reading textbook. Feel free to let me know what you think.

100-Word Story - Fiddling Around (Repost from Facebook, 6 March, 2010)

“What have I got in my pockets?” The stranger casually fingered through his clothes, pretending to look for money he knew wasn’t there. Zara waited patiently, her fiddle dangling casually from her fingers.
Her offer seemed implausibly generous to him: a song for the largest bill in his pockets, sight-unseen. He wondered how she made a living; like most people, he didn’t carry cash anymore. During this distraction, Zara waggled her fingers surreptitiously. A now-familiar shock came over his face as he pulled a twenty from otherwise-empty pockets. She hid a smirk, pocketed her fee and played him his song.

This was in response to the of "What Have I Got In My Pockets?" from the 100 Word Stories Podcast Weekly Challenge #201 (Week of 2/28/2010).

100-Word Story - Geek-Child vs. Homophones (Repost from Facebook, 6 March 2010)

Every spring, I relive my greatest shame. When I was 9, I heard there would be try-outs at Yankee Stadium for “Batboys”. I couldn’t believe it: my lifelong dream of the past 6 years had come true. Amidst daydreams of patrolling our fair city by moonlight alongside our own caped-crusader (one I didn’t even know we had), I prepared my home-made costume for the auditions. It had to be perfect, naturally. I was so excited I could barely eat. I arrived an hour early; upon seeing the other kids, I refused to get out of the car. I hate baseball.

This was in response to the prompt of "Bats" from the 100 Word Stories Podcast Weekly Challenge #202 (Week of 3/07/2010).
I was really torn for most of the week about all the different ways you could interpret the word 'bats'. I considered the nouns: the club used to strike balls, the flying mammal; the verbs: what a baseball player does with the aforementioned club, what a cat does with objects it toys with, what a girl does with her eyelashes. I finally came up with a story the uses that confusion as the basis for the story.

Cameron, or the Cat? (Repost from Facebook, 21 March 2010)

We had a cherished guest leave our house this morning:
He was relaxed and easy-going. He made himself at home. He laid around a lot. He ate a lot. He slept a lot. He was potty-trained. He was mostly quiet. Sidny certainly didn't care for him, avoided him at all times, and hissed if he got too close, mostly out of fear and uncertainty.

He left this morning at around 10:30. We expect to see him again, probably not too far off. But his visits will probably be short and sporadic, but will be cherished for the time we have with him.

It doesn't matter who I'm actually talking about, because whoever you think I'm referring to, you're right.
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This was in response to a stray cat from our neighborhood following my stepson up to our apartment and coming right in and making himself at home. Within a day or two of this, we missed him so much, my wife sent me out to track him down and bring him home. We helped him clean up, got him fixed and vaccinated and he has been a happy member of our little, furry family for four years and one month now.

100-Word Story - Watch Your Back (Repost from Facebook, 28 March 2010)

“Thank the Gods,” sighed Marc, as he narrowly avoided a small hole.
“Give it a rest, will you?” pleaded Geoff.
“What?” asked Marc.
“All that ‘By the Gods’, ‘Thank the Gods’, ‘Gods be praised’ rubbish,” Geoff snapped. “It’s nonsense, and ridiculously pretentious. You only started it after that ‘Ancient Mythologies in Modern Times’ class. You sound like an utter knob.”
Marc scowled as Geoff finished ranting. They continued walking down the street, but silently now. Behind Geoff’s back, Marc mumbled a curse by the Gods under his breath, and Geoff fell down an open manhole.
“I hate you,” Geoff groaned.
********************************
This was in response to the prompt of "gods" from the 100 Word Stories Podcast Weekly Challenge #204 (Week of 3/21/2010).

Repost (from Facebook, 27 June 2011) Goodbye, Old Friend

I saw "Marley & Me" for the first time last night. "Saw" might be stretching it - it was on while I was grilling the corn and hot dogs for dinner. We sat down to eat just in time for the final trip to the vet's office. I HATE THAT MOVIE! I will never watch it again. All I could think about was Benson, and how I wasn't able to be there for him when we passed. For all I knew, he thought I had just disappeared. He hung on as long as he could for me to come back and see him again, but he couldn't hang on long enough. (I couldn't help but think of Coco and Charlie, Sandy and Tiger, too. That didn't help.) I miss you, Benson. I loved you as much as any other little boy could love his dog. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you.

Fund Anything! I'm raising funds

I have decided to be more proactive about using my time more positively. My current job runs on a 4x10 schedule, so I have three days off every week, and they're all in the middle of the traditional work week. Left to my base and inherent instincts and proclivities, I would spend them doing very little in the way of positive activity. Mostly, so far, and shamefully, I have spent the majority of my time fiddling around on Facebook and the wider interwebz and watching TV, mixing in some household chores, etc. to keep our domicile running smoothly. That's not acceptable. Not only is it completely selfish, it's wasteful. This was recently brought to glaring truth when I was taken off work temporarily to rehab from a sprained back, when I realized I was doing almost nothing differently from my typical days off before the injury. Pathetic. I can do better.
So, I have decided I will do better. Along those lines, and considering the lost wages, I remembered FundAnything. It's a groovy website where people can create a fund-raising campaign for literally anything they want. It's very much like Kickstarter, except that you don't have to reach your goal to receive the funds you raise with FundAnything. So, I can use crowd-sourced funding to help motivate me to be productive and expand my mind, and hopefully, bring in a little bit of money to help us pay our bills. I wanted to be modest about it, so I set what I felt was a realistic and reasonable goal: $1000. This is less than our monthly rent, but a little more than one of my bi-weekly paychecks. Most importantly, it's enough to get back to a position of financial security we have been lacking. My campaign can be found here.
And, since I have included a link to this site with my campaign, I will be posting some samples of my writing for those who are considering donating to my cause to see what they might receive.

A Brit's Take on NBC, Conan, Leno, and American Late Night TV

It's been awhile since I've last posted, but who reads a non-blog anyway? This is ego stroking or self-indulgence, anyway, so I would only be apologizing to myself. Well, go sit and spin, Potzi! I'm not apologizing.

I regularly listen to a podcast of the hosts' banter from a radio show from Absolute Radio in London, UK. I have never listened to it over broadcast signal, so I have no frakking clue what they're frequency is, so the FCC and Ofcom (pronounced "off comm" for anyone who's never heard the name said. I had only heard it, and had to look up the spelling.) can bite my bum. It's called Geoff Lloyd's Hometime Show (The time slot we call "Drive Time" on American radio, some Brits call "Home Time", because it's time to go home, see?). Last Thursday, 1/21/10, he did what most radio shows over here were doing, and weighed in on the NBC snafu with Jay and CoCo (I won't get into how bizarre it is that the names that have come out of this are my wife's nickname for me, and our late pet bunny's name. It's like a strange Buddy Cop movie title/plot: "One's an overweight man in his mid-thirties. The other one's a stuffed rabbit. Together, they're Jay and Coco!").

Anyway, while I found it quite amusing listening to a Limey radio DJ try and explain both American Late Night TV and this specific situation to both his co-hosts and his audience, it actually made me realize something: "Anyone could manage NBC better than the people doing it right now."

For your listening pleasure, I have edited the podcast audio, and included the clip here. For more information, you can go to www.absoluteradio.co.uk. All material is the copyright of the originator, and not mine. All rights are reserved by the same.

My Status as a Celebrity (Non)Blogger

I think my status as a Celebrity (Non)Blogger may have jumped up a notch: I was selected as a recipient of a pair of tickets to the Michael Jackson Memorial Service at the STAPLES Center. However, I'm still not a typical celebrity blogger. For the most part, I don't give a stuff about celebrities or their sundry and sordid activities. I'm a bit of a geek (as my other posts pretty much scream), but I'm also a fiscal Conservative, and a political Libertarian, and love the idea of a Free Market. Plus, attending will mean missing work, and driving. Now, because of this Capitalistic entrepreneurial spirit, and a dash of naivete, I expected to be able to sell the tickets through eBay or craigslist, and come out a little ahead. While I might have guessed that the more homoginized eBay would shy away from allowing auctions, but I didn't count on a communal fascism by the moderators of craigslist. I really wasn't surprised when eBay pulled my posting, and informed me they were not permitting sales of any of the various forms in which the tickets may be transacted on a secondary market. They're a corporation, and have consistently followed their own not-dissimilar precedents in previous cases. I was taken by surprise when I had an initial post taken down by craigslist first thing this morning. I assumed at first that somebody had decided I couldn't possibly have the tickets in-hand yet (which was correct), or that since I had listed a price of $1000, the posting triggered someone's anti-scalping radar. Later, after I had the tickets, and had found a dozen other postings for tickets, I tried again. Again, within 15 minutes, they pulled my posting again. This time, I decided to investigate the moderator forums to see if there another user had posted something there about having a Michael Jackson Memorial ticket posting taken down. Eventually, after wading through a surprising amount of bitching and whining by users who couldn't figure out why their posts for massage therapist services or job offers were taken down, I found a post about someone in similar circumstances. This is when I discovered that craigslist was not the anarchist's utopia. In this communal moderator's orgy was a fascism that I never would have suspected from a group of people so easily imagined as a modern hippie commune. The group doesn't allow postings that establish or imply competitions or auctions; in the recent light of the crackdown on "adult services" and singles ads that made people associate craigslist with the sleazier dregs of society, they are more sensitive about ads that might use language "suggestive" of these "adult services". One of the ads flagged for closure, and suspected of degrading of the site's reputation, had offered an extra ticket to anyone who could write a couple lines showing "what they were willing to do" to attend the memorial, despite giving examples of feats such as writing a poem, or singing a Michael Jackson song, etc.

Anyway, I have severly digressed. At this pont, I am fully planning on attending the service. The tickets are too good not to. (They're on the Club/Premiere Level, right by where I can logically presume the stage will be.) Plus, all-in-all, I still grew up on his music, and the music of several of the announced performers. But, I also still have an extra ticket, and unused wristband. I am declaring them up for bid. If there is anyone interested, please post a comment here, and we can arrange to meet at a Starbucks somewhere near STAPLES Center prior to the event tomorrow.

I thought I'd post my pirate name...

 

    My pirate name is:

    

 

    Iron Morty Vane    

  

 

    A pirate's life isn't easy; it takes a tough person. That's okay with you, though, since you a tough person. You tend to blend into the background occaisionally, but that's okay, because it's much easier to sneak up on people and disembowel them that way.    Arr!

    

  Get your own pirate name from piratequiz.com.
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