When the sun hits my eyelids, I hear the orchestra of the day playing. My eyes pop open like blooming flowers in fast-forward as they cast off the crusty remains of the night before. Can I force myself up from the well-stuffed seductress that lies beneath me? Yes or no?
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Friday, December 10, 2010
50 Wordsa Day: Reflections of Icarus
Icarus was a chump. Why’s this dumb motherfucker flying near the sun? I would be using those wings to pick up some girls. Or go to the drive-through like, “I don’t got a car, but I got these wings, bitch. Gimme a milkshake.” What’s so great about the sun, anyway?
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
50 Words a Day: Makinglove.org/puns
I tried to make love digitally-don’t worry mom, I had virus protection. We got downloaded and dirty, until updates were complete. We scanned each other for what felt like minutes. She reached out and grabbed my hard drive, and then her system crashed. I just couldn’t find the right plug-in.
50 Words a Day: The Butterfly Collector
The reason I love you is because of your colors, or the way you flutter through the air to heights unobtainable. The way I want to keep you is pinned, anesthetized, under glass, so I can stare at you like a child through a sweet shop window.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
It's Not Something You Can Just Dump Something On..
Alaskan Senator Ted Stevens died today.
It was suprising to me, because I just assumed he died of being super old,
Or he was run down by a herd of caribou,
Or he got in Sarah Palin's way.
But it was, in fact, a plane crash.
We all know the late senator by now for his infamous comparison of the internet to, not a truck that we could just dump something on, but a series of tubes.
It's been a weird summer for deaths.
Gary Coleman, Dennis Hopper, George Steinbrener, Harvey Pekar, the guy who played the coach in "Major League." All legends in their own way.
I'm not trying to undermine anyone's death, it just makes you think about that last curtain call we'll all have at some point.
I've written myself into a philosophical corner that I can't work my way out of.
I'm overtired and somewhat confused.
Life is not something you can just dump something on.
It's not a truck.
It's a series of tubes.
Some connect, some never cross, some need a little adjusting, some just need a little duct tape to stay in place.
Some will burst before they should, others will go on rusting.
In memory of those we've lost.
It was suprising to me, because I just assumed he died of being super old,
Or he was run down by a herd of caribou,
Or he got in Sarah Palin's way.
But it was, in fact, a plane crash.
We all know the late senator by now for his infamous comparison of the internet to, not a truck that we could just dump something on, but a series of tubes.
It's been a weird summer for deaths.
Gary Coleman, Dennis Hopper, George Steinbrener, Harvey Pekar, the guy who played the coach in "Major League." All legends in their own way.
I'm not trying to undermine anyone's death, it just makes you think about that last curtain call we'll all have at some point.
I've written myself into a philosophical corner that I can't work my way out of.
I'm overtired and somewhat confused.
Life is not something you can just dump something on.
It's not a truck.
It's a series of tubes.
Some connect, some never cross, some need a little adjusting, some just need a little duct tape to stay in place.
Some will burst before they should, others will go on rusting.
In memory of those we've lost.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Brian Explains Movies Based Off Their Trailers: Takers
"Takers"
Starring: Matt "give me a cough drop" Dillon, Stringer Bell, Uhura, Anakin Skywalker, that dude from Fast and the Furious who wasn't Vin Diesel, Chris Brown (really?), and T.I. (no, seriously, really?).
Explanation: Okay, so Stringer Bell and everybody else are friends (except Matt Dillon, that guy's a cop) and they're apparently professional robbers...they rob. No, I'm sorry, they're grabbers...they grab. That's not it either. It'll come to me. So, they're really good at whatever it is; we know this because the cops say that they are. AND MATT DILLON JUST CANNOT STOP THEM. But then T.I. shows up after spending his time in jail for, oh, let's say, owning a few too many automatic weapons while on parole. So, all the stealers...they steal, are all like "oh man, can we trust him?" "Do you think he rated us out?" "Why is Anakin Skywalker wearing that hat?" But T.I.'s all like "I have THE BEST. ROBBERY. IDEA. EVER."
His plan involves Anakin Skywalker hitting people with a baseball bat and Matt Dillon talking to his friend Jay Hernandez and getting into a fender bender with an armored truck and Anakin Skywalker jumping through the air with a gun after paying royalties to John Woo, and blowing up a series of feathered pillows, and T.I. reminding us via a song that "we ride AND we roll" and Chris Brown doing a lot of parkour.
'Cause they're Takers...they take. Nope, still doesn't sound right.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
7 Layers of Love
James was a man of, I suppose you could say, moderate success. He was the owner and landlord of the Golden Axel Trailer Park; married, with two children and he loved hamburgers. Let me make sure I’m making this clear: HE LOVED HAMBURGERS. James’ father, who worked at the local meatpacking plant, would sneak home hamburgers for dinner every evening and James would gobble them up, which is particularly impressive considering his pixie-like frame. As he got older, James tried hamburgers cooked in every way they could be served; deep fried, sauteed, buffaloed, boiled, breaded, candied, and of course, baked into a pie. James believed that he had tasted every type of hamburger imaginable. Then, in 1999, James was asked to be a judge in his hometown’s Hamburger Harvest Festival. What exactly hamburgers had to do with harvesting no one knew but the alliteration was just so darn cute no one seemed to care. It there that he found the burger his taste buds had longed for. It was simply called “Back to Basics;” not expecting much, James took a quick, uncaring bite. Suddenly, a tidal wave of flavor swept over him. Each individual flavor shook off the cobwebs of a different memory- the warmth of the ketchup felt like a hug from his mother, the crisp lettuce tasted like the first time he tried salad and was then sent to his room by his father. Every bite brought a hazy moment from the past into sharp focus- the cheese tasted like the macaroni and cheese he once shared with his first love Suzie Matthews, I would comment on the mayonnaise but my personal dislike for that particular condiment is so strong I can’t bring myself to create a heartwarming memory for it. James looked over at the burger’s creator; she was a rotund woman whose heart was as wide as her girth. Her name was Patty. James slowly chewed the burger in order to savor the last few bites.
“This is incredible,” James said.
“Oh thank you,” Patty blushed “it’s an old family recipe.”
“Well the taste is obviously amazing, and with its simple presentation you wouldn’t expect it to be so life altering…hey, are you doing anything tonight?”
That night, Patty and James made love. I will, however, not be describing their beautiful night of passion to you as I have retired from the field of erotic fiction. If you are interested in those works, here are a few of my novels published by Sexy Classics: “The Island of Dr. Moan-‘Oh,’” The Scarlet Letter 2: Hester Does Plymouth, and Naked Lunch.
One marriage, two kids, and ten years after that night, James opened the news paper and fainted at the sight of the first article he read. James awoke to his daughter, Ketchup, drawing on his face with finger paint. He leaped to his feet and ran to his wife.
“Patty!” he cried “Patty look at this!”
James held up the newspaper article to his wife, it was about a promotional stunt that a major food chain (which for legal reasons, we will refer to as “King of Burgers”) was doing to advertise the release of a new computer operating system (which for legal reasons, we will refer to as “Windows 6+1).
“It’s a seven layered burger! But it’s only available for a limited time, and in Japan!” James looked with joy back at his wife’s blank stare.
“That’s wonderful honey but…”
“No time to talk! It’s only available for one week and I’ve already wasted so much time!”
“This is incredible,” James said.
“Oh thank you,” Patty blushed “it’s an old family recipe.”
“Well the taste is obviously amazing, and with its simple presentation you wouldn’t expect it to be so life altering…hey, are you doing anything tonight?”
That night, Patty and James made love. I will, however, not be describing their beautiful night of passion to you as I have retired from the field of erotic fiction. If you are interested in those works, here are a few of my novels published by Sexy Classics: “The Island of Dr. Moan-‘Oh,’” The Scarlet Letter 2: Hester Does Plymouth, and Naked Lunch.
One marriage, two kids, and ten years after that night, James opened the news paper and fainted at the sight of the first article he read. James awoke to his daughter, Ketchup, drawing on his face with finger paint. He leaped to his feet and ran to his wife.
“Patty!” he cried “Patty look at this!”
James held up the newspaper article to his wife, it was about a promotional stunt that a major food chain (which for legal reasons, we will refer to as “King of Burgers”) was doing to advertise the release of a new computer operating system (which for legal reasons, we will refer to as “Windows 6+1).
“It’s a seven layered burger! But it’s only available for a limited time, and in Japan!” James looked with joy back at his wife’s blank stare.
“That’s wonderful honey but…”
“No time to talk! It’s only available for one week and I’ve already wasted so much time!”
James had never concerned himself with saving money; the bare essentials were enough for him. The best he could come up with for a quick way to raise money for plane tickets was a lemonade stand and car wash in front of his trailer. His youngest daughter, Onion, made a sign that read:
LEMONADE- 10 DOLLARS
CAR WASH- 5 CENTS
CAR WASH- 5 CENTS
Never one to stile his child’s creativity, James didn’t correct Onion’s error. Five days went by, and after 50 car washes James raised two dollars and fifty cents. While Onion made almost 3,000 dollars in lemonade sales (Onion was one hell of a salesperson). With the money raised, James and his family found themselves on the next flight to Japan.
“We should be there just in time to get the burger,” James said as he reclined his chair slightly so as to not crush the elderly man sitting behind him “wake me up when we get there?”
“Yes dear,” Patty began “but I need to tell you.”
“Not now dear, I really need to prepare,” James placed a pillow behind his head. Just as he was about to enjoy a particularly entertaining dream about a pool of ketchup, the captains voiced filled the airplane’s cabin.
“Folks, this is your captain speaking. We’ve just received word from air traffic control that a particularly nasty dragon has been awakened from his thousand year sleep just off the coast of Honshu and he’s heading our way so we’re going to make an emergency decent. Thank you for your cooperation and thank you for flying Mr. Roboto Airlines. Domo arigato…or whatever.”
“NO! I HAVE COME TOO FAR!” James cried as he leaped out of his seat “I HAVE WASHED TOO MANY CARS AND ONION HAS SOLD TOO MUCH LEMONADE TO GIVE UP NOW!”
With the speed of a man on fire moving towards a lake, James stormed down the aisle towards the emergency exit. As he rushed passed the seats he snagged a lasso from a nearby rodeo clown-who was now 88 percent sure he was on the wrong flight-and kicked open the emergency door. Every loose object that wasn’t held down started to fly out of the plane; after being pelted by soda cans and peanut wrappers James finally spotted the dragon. Its blue scales made it look like a river flowing through the sky. The coarse rope scrapped James’ palms as he braced himself for what could be his final moments in his brief but mildly enjoyable life. As the dragon brushed passed the plane, James threw the lasso out the door and managed to snag the dragon’s mouth. James held on for dear life as the dragon bucked, spun, and looped around the plane; any maneuver it could think of to shake its unwanted passenger. Pulling hard on the rope, James managed to turn the dragon and level out next to the plane.
“Patty! Grab the kids and let’s go!” James cried. Once Patty and the kids climbed onto the back of the dragon, James snapped the rope which he had fashioned into a pair of reins making the dragon speed off towards Japan and James’ destiny. James parked the dragon in the first parking garage he found that was located next to a King of Burgers. Bursting through the front door, James ran up to the front counter.
“I would like one 7-layered burger, please!” he exclaimed.
“First of all, you’re lucky I speak some English,” the teenage girl behind the counter replied “and second, we stopped selling those yesterday.”
If you listened closely, you could hear the faint sound of James’ dreams, like glass, breaking into thousands of pieces.
“I guess I’ll just have seven hamburgers then.” James said.
With his wife and two daughters, James sat in the restaurant, eating the massive hamburger he had carefully constructed from his seven individual patties.
“It’s pretty good, I guess,” James said in between bites of the massive burger “it would be better if it was the real thing.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you honey,” Patty said “they have those burgers at the King of Burgers back home. They’ve had them for years now.”
James couldn’t believe his ignorance, especially when it came to matters relating to hamburgers. He slowly stood up with what was left of his pride intact.
“Honey,” he said slowly “I need some time to think. You and the girls keep eating; I’ll be waiting with at dragon.”
My Abusive Relationship with this Blog
Hey baby, I'm back again. I know I've been gone for a real long while but I've realized just how bad I need ya in my life. Let me put on some Curtis Mayfiled to set the mood.
Mmm...that's nice....
Look, there have been some other places, but none of them like you baby...my baby...my one and only. Watch this space.
Mmm...that's nice....
Look, there have been some other places, but none of them like you baby...my baby...my one and only. Watch this space.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Career Advice and Public Transit
Red, green, navy blue; I think it needs more green- lime green? Evergreen? Maybe a mix. I wipe the colored residue from my palms. It seems like a fitting tribute so far. So far…needs more green.
“What are you drawing?” a man in a slick business asks me.
“It’s a homage, I guess you could say.”
There once was a man who dressed as a boat captain and stood on the corner of a street waiting for a ship that would never appear. He stood there proudly with his ash colored beard and tattered sailor’s hat. A small pile of money lay near his feet; left by those who confused him for someone who was begging for spare change. He just went on staring and staring. I saw him on that corner every day as I walked to the bus stop. I finally got tired of wondering and asked him what he was doing there.
“Can’t ya tell lass?” he asked me “I’m giving sail boat rides; it’s the city’s oldest form of transportation. Aye, I remember the old days when I gave rides to the wealthiest folks in town on their way to the opera houses or the pie eating contests. The sewers used to be the only way to travel!”
“Wow,” I said “I was expecting you to be a Vietnam vet with some kind of boat related post-traumatic stress or something.”
“Nah, nothin’ like that; just a man trying to make a humble living. So, will you be needing a ride this morning?”
I could see my bus rumbling towards the stop in the distance.
“I would love to but-”
“FANTASTIC!”
The captain stepped back from the rusty doors that were built into the sidewalk beneath his feet. He flipped through a giant ring of keys that would make any high school janitor blush with envy until he found a long copper colored key. The key slid into the padlock and the Admiral opened rusted doors that screeched like a pterodactyl that had caught on fire.
“Look, Captain-”
“I’m an Admiral! The Admiral said.
“Admiral, I really can’t miss my bus.”
“Sorry ma’am, could you repeat that? I’m just so excited to have my first passenger in nearly forty years!”
I looked into the Admiral’s blue oval eyes; they had the same kind of sadness behind them that my grandfather’s eyes had the local gangs would throw his walker onto his roof.
“I said ‘I can’t wait!’ What’s your fare?”
The Admiral closed his left eye and stuck out his tongue; I came to know this as his “thinkin’ face”
“Two nickels,” he finally said after a few minutes of deliberation “or a slice of pie!”
I dug through the bowels of my bottomless bag and dug out two shiny nickels.
“Hmm…what happened to the pictures of the buffaloes?” he asked me.
Beneath the doors was an old ladder that led down to sewers below. I carefully stepped down one, two, three rusted rungs then slipped down to the bottom.
“Careful there lass!” the Admiral said.
“I’m good, don’t worry,” I said as I rubbed my backside.
The boat looked like it was built by a bored child on a summer afternoon. Crooked nails jutted out like a porcupine’s quills. The paint appeared to have been neglected for years judging by the chipping layer of school house red paint. I inspected the hull, which had been hastily repaired by duct tape and bubblegum.
I really wished I had caught the bus in that moment.
Or, kept ignoring the Admiral and walked to the bus stop.
Or, finished college.
Or, not loaned my brother that money.
“Are ya ready to go lass?”
The boat bobbed up and down in the dirty water as I gently stepped onto its unstable interior.
“Jesus, how do you put up with this smell?” I asked.
“After awhile, it begins to smell like home. Ya start to wonder how you ever lived without the smell of people’s droppings around ya at all times. So, where to lass?”
“Oh, I need to get to Jittery Joe’s Java Joint on 5th street.”
“Then away we go!”
The Admiral looked out along his domain and breathed in the filthy air. He looked proud as he raised his make-shift craft’s sail. He flicked on a large fan attached to the back of the boat that gently bloated the sail with an artificial gust of wind.
“So, ya make coffee do ya?” The Admiral asked.
“Yup, I’m a barista.” I said.
“A ba-what? In my time they were coffee makers. Coffee back then was called ‘the Devil’s drink!’ Can ya believe that? There was only one place in the city where you could find it, but it was never in the same place twice! You could always find it though; all ya had to do was follow the sound of wild jazz and the smell of burning opium.”
I gazed over the edge of the boat into the murky surface beneath us. I could barely make out my own reflection in the dim lighting, but I could see my indigo-colored glasses resting on my nose; my ordinarily red hair looked like a penny in a parking lot after it rains, due to the liquid mirror’s coloring.
“This sure brings back memories, lass,” The Admiral said.
“My name is Shannon,” I said.
“Aye lass, so many great memories. I gave a ride to F. Scott Fitzgerald once.” The Admiral said.
“The author?” I asked.
“He wrote a book?”
The Admiral continued to steer the boat down the urban Amazon. I tied my official barista apron around my waist as I waited to arrive.
“Admiral, are we getting closer?” I asked.
“Well, we have to make a quick stop at my girlfriend’s…ex-girlfriend’s, actually.”
“What? I’m already running late!”
“Look lass, I know this goes against the sailor’s code, but I have to prove a point to her! Sewer
transportation is lucrative business.”
“But it’s not! I only took this stupid boat ride because I missed the bus! I’d rather walk through glass than take a sewer boat!”
The Admiral’s face began to sag, as though it was weighed down by his many wrinkles. I immediately regretted what I said.
“I’m sorry,” I said “I overreacted, and it just smells so much down here, and I’ve been under a lot of stress lately.”
“Don’t apologize,” a voice said “you’re completely right.”
I looked into the water and saw a woman’s head floating along the right side of the boat; the head’s blond hair floated in the water like yellow seaweed. A pair of arms rose from the water’s surface and lifted the woman into the boat. I saw that the woman’s human body ended just below her navel and became the tail end of a fish.
All of the grace and beauty typically associated with mermaids was immediately erased from my mind as the overwhelming stench of half sewer-fish half sewer-human barbarically invaded my nostrils.
“Lucielle!” the Admiral cried “You see? I got a customer! I told you I could do it!”
“Zachary, we broke up two years ago. One customer in two years isn’t going to make me change my mind about you and your ridiculous job!”
“This is just the beginning though; she’ll recommend me to friends and family! Won’t you?”
I stayed silent.
“Even IF she told ANYONE it wouldn’t change anything, Zachary. I’ve moved on; my life is different now.”
“You’re not dating Todd are you? I’ve seen him charming you with that crocodile smile!”
“He’s an alligator man!”
“Oh, whatever!”
The three of us stood in a thick silence for a few seconds.
“Um…Zachary,” I said “I kinda have to get going.”
Zachary started up the sail’s fans without any of the dramatic flourishes that he used earlier. Lucielle climbed off of the boat and splashed back into the water.
“Please don’t come back,” she said.
Zachary did not respond.
After a few minutes of sailing, the boat stopped in front of a ladder to the streets above.
“Once you climb up that ladder you’ll be right in front of your coffee place,” Zachary said.
“Thank you…Admiral,” I said.
Zachary popped out a small smile.
“Is this what you want to do for the rest of your life? Be a…barracuda?”
“Barista,” I said “and no, no it’s not.”
“What do you want to do?” he asked.
And I told him the dream that I had kept in my head for years.
“I want to be a chalk artist,” I said “I’ve never told anybody that.”
The Admiral smiled. He flipped on his fan and the sail majestically filled with air.
“Good luck lass,” and with that, he was gone.
“So, this is the crazy guy?” the man in the business suit asks.
“He’s not crazy, he’s just a man with a dream…maybe he’s a little crazy.”
I placed the final touches on my drawing. The sidewalk was now adorned with a drawing of the Admiral standing in a metallic sewer pipe. In his arms he was carrying Lucielle and the two of them are locked in a passionate kiss as her blond hair rests on her shoulders. The Admiral’s right foot stands on the chest of a slain alligator man triumphantly.
I think it might just be perfect. Maybe it needs more green…
“What are you drawing?” a man in a slick business asks me.
“It’s a homage, I guess you could say.”
There once was a man who dressed as a boat captain and stood on the corner of a street waiting for a ship that would never appear. He stood there proudly with his ash colored beard and tattered sailor’s hat. A small pile of money lay near his feet; left by those who confused him for someone who was begging for spare change. He just went on staring and staring. I saw him on that corner every day as I walked to the bus stop. I finally got tired of wondering and asked him what he was doing there.
“Can’t ya tell lass?” he asked me “I’m giving sail boat rides; it’s the city’s oldest form of transportation. Aye, I remember the old days when I gave rides to the wealthiest folks in town on their way to the opera houses or the pie eating contests. The sewers used to be the only way to travel!”
“Wow,” I said “I was expecting you to be a Vietnam vet with some kind of boat related post-traumatic stress or something.”
“Nah, nothin’ like that; just a man trying to make a humble living. So, will you be needing a ride this morning?”
I could see my bus rumbling towards the stop in the distance.
“I would love to but-”
“FANTASTIC!”
The captain stepped back from the rusty doors that were built into the sidewalk beneath his feet. He flipped through a giant ring of keys that would make any high school janitor blush with envy until he found a long copper colored key. The key slid into the padlock and the Admiral opened rusted doors that screeched like a pterodactyl that had caught on fire.
“Look, Captain-”
“I’m an Admiral! The Admiral said.
“Admiral, I really can’t miss my bus.”
“Sorry ma’am, could you repeat that? I’m just so excited to have my first passenger in nearly forty years!”
I looked into the Admiral’s blue oval eyes; they had the same kind of sadness behind them that my grandfather’s eyes had the local gangs would throw his walker onto his roof.
“I said ‘I can’t wait!’ What’s your fare?”
The Admiral closed his left eye and stuck out his tongue; I came to know this as his “thinkin’ face”
“Two nickels,” he finally said after a few minutes of deliberation “or a slice of pie!”
I dug through the bowels of my bottomless bag and dug out two shiny nickels.
“Hmm…what happened to the pictures of the buffaloes?” he asked me.
Beneath the doors was an old ladder that led down to sewers below. I carefully stepped down one, two, three rusted rungs then slipped down to the bottom.
“Careful there lass!” the Admiral said.
“I’m good, don’t worry,” I said as I rubbed my backside.
The boat looked like it was built by a bored child on a summer afternoon. Crooked nails jutted out like a porcupine’s quills. The paint appeared to have been neglected for years judging by the chipping layer of school house red paint. I inspected the hull, which had been hastily repaired by duct tape and bubblegum.
I really wished I had caught the bus in that moment.
Or, kept ignoring the Admiral and walked to the bus stop.
Or, finished college.
Or, not loaned my brother that money.
“Are ya ready to go lass?”
The boat bobbed up and down in the dirty water as I gently stepped onto its unstable interior.
“Jesus, how do you put up with this smell?” I asked.
“After awhile, it begins to smell like home. Ya start to wonder how you ever lived without the smell of people’s droppings around ya at all times. So, where to lass?”
“Oh, I need to get to Jittery Joe’s Java Joint on 5th street.”
“Then away we go!”
The Admiral looked out along his domain and breathed in the filthy air. He looked proud as he raised his make-shift craft’s sail. He flicked on a large fan attached to the back of the boat that gently bloated the sail with an artificial gust of wind.
“So, ya make coffee do ya?” The Admiral asked.
“Yup, I’m a barista.” I said.
“A ba-what? In my time they were coffee makers. Coffee back then was called ‘the Devil’s drink!’ Can ya believe that? There was only one place in the city where you could find it, but it was never in the same place twice! You could always find it though; all ya had to do was follow the sound of wild jazz and the smell of burning opium.”
I gazed over the edge of the boat into the murky surface beneath us. I could barely make out my own reflection in the dim lighting, but I could see my indigo-colored glasses resting on my nose; my ordinarily red hair looked like a penny in a parking lot after it rains, due to the liquid mirror’s coloring.
“This sure brings back memories, lass,” The Admiral said.
“My name is Shannon,” I said.
“Aye lass, so many great memories. I gave a ride to F. Scott Fitzgerald once.” The Admiral said.
“The author?” I asked.
“He wrote a book?”
The Admiral continued to steer the boat down the urban Amazon. I tied my official barista apron around my waist as I waited to arrive.
“Admiral, are we getting closer?” I asked.
“Well, we have to make a quick stop at my girlfriend’s…ex-girlfriend’s, actually.”
“What? I’m already running late!”
“Look lass, I know this goes against the sailor’s code, but I have to prove a point to her! Sewer
transportation is lucrative business.”
“But it’s not! I only took this stupid boat ride because I missed the bus! I’d rather walk through glass than take a sewer boat!”
The Admiral’s face began to sag, as though it was weighed down by his many wrinkles. I immediately regretted what I said.
“I’m sorry,” I said “I overreacted, and it just smells so much down here, and I’ve been under a lot of stress lately.”
“Don’t apologize,” a voice said “you’re completely right.”
I looked into the water and saw a woman’s head floating along the right side of the boat; the head’s blond hair floated in the water like yellow seaweed. A pair of arms rose from the water’s surface and lifted the woman into the boat. I saw that the woman’s human body ended just below her navel and became the tail end of a fish.
All of the grace and beauty typically associated with mermaids was immediately erased from my mind as the overwhelming stench of half sewer-fish half sewer-human barbarically invaded my nostrils.
“Lucielle!” the Admiral cried “You see? I got a customer! I told you I could do it!”
“Zachary, we broke up two years ago. One customer in two years isn’t going to make me change my mind about you and your ridiculous job!”
“This is just the beginning though; she’ll recommend me to friends and family! Won’t you?”
I stayed silent.
“Even IF she told ANYONE it wouldn’t change anything, Zachary. I’ve moved on; my life is different now.”
“You’re not dating Todd are you? I’ve seen him charming you with that crocodile smile!”
“He’s an alligator man!”
“Oh, whatever!”
The three of us stood in a thick silence for a few seconds.
“Um…Zachary,” I said “I kinda have to get going.”
Zachary started up the sail’s fans without any of the dramatic flourishes that he used earlier. Lucielle climbed off of the boat and splashed back into the water.
“Please don’t come back,” she said.
Zachary did not respond.
After a few minutes of sailing, the boat stopped in front of a ladder to the streets above.
“Once you climb up that ladder you’ll be right in front of your coffee place,” Zachary said.
“Thank you…Admiral,” I said.
Zachary popped out a small smile.
“Is this what you want to do for the rest of your life? Be a…barracuda?”
“Barista,” I said “and no, no it’s not.”
“What do you want to do?” he asked.
And I told him the dream that I had kept in my head for years.
“I want to be a chalk artist,” I said “I’ve never told anybody that.”
The Admiral smiled. He flipped on his fan and the sail majestically filled with air.
“Good luck lass,” and with that, he was gone.
“So, this is the crazy guy?” the man in the business suit asks.
“He’s not crazy, he’s just a man with a dream…maybe he’s a little crazy.”
I placed the final touches on my drawing. The sidewalk was now adorned with a drawing of the Admiral standing in a metallic sewer pipe. In his arms he was carrying Lucielle and the two of them are locked in a passionate kiss as her blond hair rests on her shoulders. The Admiral’s right foot stands on the chest of a slain alligator man triumphantly.
I think it might just be perfect. Maybe it needs more green…
Monday, April 19, 2010
The Epic of Rogarth Part 3: Rogarth and the Trial of the Job Interview
Rogarth stared at the cat-shaped clock hanging in Ted’s office.
“Gift from the missus,” Ted said, indicating the clock.
“AYE,” Rogarth was still trying to remember the tips that Jeffery had given him about how to control the volume of his voice. He adjusted himself in the cold folding chair; trying to find a position that made him feel comfortable in the strange Earth clothes that Jeffery had given him. The clothes, which belonged to Jeffery’s older brother, proclaimed that Rogarth was currently “with” someone of inferior intelligence. Rogarth’s massive frame caused the seams to burst one by one with each movement.
“So…Jeffery tells me you’re European. I’m having a hard time placing the accent though. What part of Europe are you from?”
Rogarth thought back to the conversation he had with Jeffery the night before.
“If he asks what country you’re from,” he said “just tell him Iceland.”
“I COME FROM THE ICE LAND.” Rogarth smiled to himself, very satisfied with his own answer.
“Ah…Iceland, I see,” Ted looked down at his clipboard. He added a few more explosions to the masterful doodle he was crafting of himself standing in front of the ruins of the White House in his Anarchy Inc. uniform. In the doodle he had replaced the American Flag with a waving banner of his own face and he was flanked by Miss America and Miss USA who were fawning over his exaggerated cartoon muscles.
“So, Rogaine,” Ted continued “have you had any previous experience in food service before?”
“Aye,” Rogarth said. Again, this was part of Jeffery’s instructions. Always say ‘yes’ to any of the questions he may ask.
“And which restaurant did you work in?” Ted asked.
Rogarth could feel the pain in his head returning. His memories would fade in and out after he had hit his head and fallen into the parking lot, but they had slowly started to come back piece by piece. He remembered an old man in white and a woman in a flowing red gown.
“The…old man with the silver beard…” Rogarth said.
“Oh, Kentucky Fried Chicken,” Ted said “I didn’t realize their franchise had gone over seas…now then, do you have any experience with grilling meat patties?”
“Aye,” Rogarth said.
“How about firing automatic weapons?”
“What?”
“You know…in case of a robbery.”
“I am skilled with many weapons…I HAVE EARNED, THROUGH COMBAT, THE ENERGY SWORD OF THE GOD-” Rogarth felt the painful migraine return. It was his memory’s way of telling him they weren’t ready to come out of hiding just yet.
“Uh…okay, well, that’s all I need to hear! You’re hired!”
“Aye?”
“Aye! I mean…yeah! Whatever, come in on Tuesday, we’ll have Jeffery show you the ropes.”
Rogarth burst out of Ted’s office with an invigorated sense of pride. It was a feeling he only slightly recalled having once before in his past. The incomplete memory of a grand victory over an archenemy came to his mind. He could only see the fragments of his past life like a jigsaw puzzle spilled onto a floor. He walked out into the mid-afternoon sun and shouted to the sky.
“I AM ROGARTH! AND I HAVE BEEN GIVEN A JOB!”
He took a deep breath and began the walk back to Jeffery’s house.
“Gift from the missus,” Ted said, indicating the clock.
“AYE,” Rogarth was still trying to remember the tips that Jeffery had given him about how to control the volume of his voice. He adjusted himself in the cold folding chair; trying to find a position that made him feel comfortable in the strange Earth clothes that Jeffery had given him. The clothes, which belonged to Jeffery’s older brother, proclaimed that Rogarth was currently “with” someone of inferior intelligence. Rogarth’s massive frame caused the seams to burst one by one with each movement.
“So…Jeffery tells me you’re European. I’m having a hard time placing the accent though. What part of Europe are you from?”
Rogarth thought back to the conversation he had with Jeffery the night before.
“If he asks what country you’re from,” he said “just tell him Iceland.”
“I COME FROM THE ICE LAND.” Rogarth smiled to himself, very satisfied with his own answer.
“Ah…Iceland, I see,” Ted looked down at his clipboard. He added a few more explosions to the masterful doodle he was crafting of himself standing in front of the ruins of the White House in his Anarchy Inc. uniform. In the doodle he had replaced the American Flag with a waving banner of his own face and he was flanked by Miss America and Miss USA who were fawning over his exaggerated cartoon muscles.
“So, Rogaine,” Ted continued “have you had any previous experience in food service before?”
“Aye,” Rogarth said. Again, this was part of Jeffery’s instructions. Always say ‘yes’ to any of the questions he may ask.
“And which restaurant did you work in?” Ted asked.
Rogarth could feel the pain in his head returning. His memories would fade in and out after he had hit his head and fallen into the parking lot, but they had slowly started to come back piece by piece. He remembered an old man in white and a woman in a flowing red gown.
“The…old man with the silver beard…” Rogarth said.
“Oh, Kentucky Fried Chicken,” Ted said “I didn’t realize their franchise had gone over seas…now then, do you have any experience with grilling meat patties?”
“Aye,” Rogarth said.
“How about firing automatic weapons?”
“What?”
“You know…in case of a robbery.”
“I am skilled with many weapons…I HAVE EARNED, THROUGH COMBAT, THE ENERGY SWORD OF THE GOD-” Rogarth felt the painful migraine return. It was his memory’s way of telling him they weren’t ready to come out of hiding just yet.
“Uh…okay, well, that’s all I need to hear! You’re hired!”
“Aye?”
“Aye! I mean…yeah! Whatever, come in on Tuesday, we’ll have Jeffery show you the ropes.”
Rogarth burst out of Ted’s office with an invigorated sense of pride. It was a feeling he only slightly recalled having once before in his past. The incomplete memory of a grand victory over an archenemy came to his mind. He could only see the fragments of his past life like a jigsaw puzzle spilled onto a floor. He walked out into the mid-afternoon sun and shouted to the sky.
“I AM ROGARTH! AND I HAVE BEEN GIVEN A JOB!”
He took a deep breath and began the walk back to Jeffery’s house.
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