Thursday, March 26, 2009

Eleanor

Hantry had never had a friend before, but he had plenty of opportunities to make one. In the past three years, he had actually found that by not doing much different than he usually did, he could make friends with practically no effort at all. His new friendship with Sandy was the most surprising. A girl his same age, she had come up to him out of the blue and just started talking about the most random things. Their first conversation was about hard-boiled eggs and their taste compared to halibut. Hantry had never considered himself a food critic, but after their conversation he had a better idea of what it would be like to be one. Investigating this line further took him to a small halibut shop near school, where some unusual people hung around. There he ran into Johnson McNabb, a friend of his uncle, who came over to the house often enough, but never spoke to him. Now with the excuse of halibut, they spoke for a full hour and a half. The next day, Johnson McNabb was over at the house to watch some TV with Hantry's uncle:

INT. LIVING ROOM - DAY

JOHNSON MCNABB, a seventy-something man with gray hair wearing a Hawaiian shirt and Bermuda shorts, sits on a large couch in a dirty living room. HANTRY, a young 12 year old boy, is eating popcorn and playing with a lobster.

Johnson McNabb: I once knew a girl named Eleanor, but that was a long time ago. Back in those days, a lot of people knew girls named Eleanor. It was a pretty common phenomenon, not even worth making a fuss about. In fact, I never did find out for sure if she was the same Eleanor as a friend of mine knew. I just took it for a fact that it didn't matter either way. Sometimes I wish I did find out, because I think back on it and realize that I don't have a clue, and now my friend is dead and gone and no one can tell me if I should connect the image I have of his Eleanor with the mental picture I still have of my acquaintance Eleanor, or if I should keep the two separate. Things like that really drive you crazy towards the end of your life, you know. And I plan on ending my life sometime in the near future, so I really should get this figured out first.

Hantry: Why are you telling me this? Does it matter?

Johnson McNabb: Not one bit for a fellow like you. In fact, you'd do good to put Eleanor and all of this awful business out of your mind. Pretend I never said anything of the sort.

Hantry: Okay

EXT. STREET - DAY

Hantry walks down the street with his young friend SANDY.

Hantry: Hey, Sandy. Do you know anyone named Eleanor?

Sandy: Not really. Eleanor Roosevelt, but I don't really know her.

Hantry: You know of her?

Sandy: Yeah.

Hantry: Well, Johnson McNabb was over at my house this morning, talking something crazy about Eleanor, and told me to forget it.

Sandy: That sounds like the type of thing Johnson McNabb does. I'd follow his advice and forget about it.

Hantry: Alright, Sandy. I'll do that.

The two reach a crossroads.

Sandy: Well, I need to get going. See you later, Hantry.

Hantry: You too, Sandy.

EXT. PARK - DAY

Hantry is sitting by a slide in a playground, watching many kids come and go, playing. Hantry asks each child as they come out of the slide if they know Eleanor.

Hantry: Do you know Eleanor?

Child 1 shakes his head and runs off.

Hantry: Do you know Eleanor?

Child 2 shakes her head and runs off.

Hantry: Do you know Eleanor?

Child 1 shakes his head and runs off.

Hantry: What are you doing on the slide again? I need to ask others, you know.

Child 1 continues to run.

Later that evening, Hantry prepares for his bedtime. He is brushing his teeth, thinking of all the nonsense he went through that day because of Johnson McNabb's request that he forget about Eleanor, and cursing him for bringing it up in the first place. He knew he'd never know an Eleanor, and it was pointless to argue with that. Even if he knew an Eleanor, he wouldn't want to. So what was the point? Exactly. Nothing. Hantry was through playing games. He spat out his toothpaste and rinsed out his mouth. Then he ran outside and screamed for Johnson McNabb to get over to his house immediately.

Johnson came running, apparently from behind some bushes to the side of the house. Hantry went up to him calmly, and stated matter-of-factly, "You sir, are a lame duck." After he said this, Johnson McNabb disappeared into thin air. Hantry felt vindicated and rearranged his hair on his scalp. Eleanor Roosevelt peered from behind the bushes with a smile on her face. Hantry returned home and fell asleep in his bed.

THE END



This post is an installment in a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Enoch Allred of Chiltingham, John Allred of clol Town, Jon Fairbanks of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Eli Z. McCormick and Miriam Allred of Modern Revelation!, John D. Moore of Whatnot Studios, William C. Stewart of Chide, Chode, Chidden, Sven Patrick Svensson of Sadness? Euphoria?, and WiL Whitlark of The Real McJesus. This week's theme: 'Eleanor'.

Monday, March 16, 2009

Snowflakes

Boris Pasternak wrote a remarkably beautiful account of falling snow in his short novella, "The Childhood of Zhenya Luvers" (Детство Люверс):
The heavens quivered, and down from them tumbled whole white kingdoms and countries. They were countless, and they were mysterious and dreadful. It was clear that these lands falling from goodness knows where had never heard of life and earth: coming blind from the northern darkness, they covered them over without ever seeing or knowing them.
For me, there has always been something magical about snowflakes. Their very nature makes one reflect on life and look towards heaven. Even after understanding how they are formed, and the science behind it, there remains a captivating feeling associated with them. They provoke a child-like response that urges one to catch, play, and twirl. The snow that sticks to the ground does not have the magic, and increases its association with cold. As the snow remains and gets dirty and slushy, it loses all connection to the snowflakes that it came from. But at that moment, as it falls in the form of individual, inconceivable snowflakes, there remains an indescribable connection to a magical, unknown realm somewhere far beyond our understanding.



This post is part of the Blue-Beta Blog Coordination, a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Confuzzled of I Keep Wondering, Gromit of The Dancing Newt, Redoubt of Redoubt Redux, Third Mango of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, and Xanthippe of Let’s Save Our Hallmark Moment. This week's theme: 'Snowflakes'.

Thursday, March 12, 2009

Poverty

Young Albert Einstein awoke one morning ready to take on the world. He knew that he'd been treated unfairly by most everyone he'd met, that he hadn't been given a chance to prove what he's worth to the world. He was fed up and ready to make a break for it - run off to Honolulu.

But young Albert didn't have the money for such a trip. In fact, he didn't have money for anything at all. His parents raised him in the most abject poverty, without a roof over his head, without a sole to his shoes, and without a penny to his name. Poor Albert even had to beg for admission into the school system himself, which almost didn't accept him due to his wild haircut, which he couldn't afford to have cut.

But fuck all that. Einstein was going to make it to Honolulu today, even if it meant giving up his own life, his chances at a future career in science (he'd been under the tutelage of a well-known professor of Physical Sciences, Dr. Isaac Lowenblatt, for quite some time, and was promised a chance to apply for a renowned scholarship in exchange for doing his dishes and laundry every evening), and his familial ties to family and friends (his best friend was a turtle named Gifford who lived under a rock near an old pond).

His trip commenced with the goodbyes: goodbye Rowena, young little child (his stepsister of only five years), goodbye Jackson, a well-known figure on Einstein's block (he was young Albert's favorite juggler in a circus performance group that made regular public appearances, often for free), and goodbye Gifford (with whom the reader is already introduced).

After his goodbyes, young Albert started walking. He got as far as Prague when he realized that he didn't know where he was, or the best route to get to Honolulu from there. He bought a map and asked a few questions of the clerk, only to find out that his dream of going to Honolulu was not nearly as strong as he had imagined. He lost his determination after about an hour of looking at the map. He decided to go see Gifford at the pond and just say to himself that the pond is in fact Honolulu, and that the other Honolulu not only doesn't exist, but is the least desirable place to visit in the world.

Well, I needn't tell you the rest of the story. You are well-acquainted with Einstein's future accomplishments. He became one of the best-known names in science, having risen from his place of poverty through his intellect and hard work. But, even after all of his many accolades (and, yes, remuneration for his time served in poverty), Einstein never made it to the real Honolulu. He never thought back to that moment in Prague, when he gave up his dreams for a life with Gifford. Nor did he care that Honolulu was a real place that denied him his chance to make something else of himself - something greater than anyone could ever have imagined. Einstein died peacefully, thinking little of his impoverished beginnings, and not at all of Honolulu. Gifford was by his bedside, on the table, immovable and still. He had died 15 years previously, and was now in the great Honolulu in the sky. Einstein, rest in peace.



This post is an installment in a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Enoch Allred of Chiltingham, John Allred of clol Town, Jon Fairbanks of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Eli Z. McCormick and Miriam Allred of Modern Revelation!, John D. Moore of Whatnot Studios, William C. Stewart of Chide, Chode, Chidden, Sven Patrick Svensson of Sadness? Euphoria?, and WiL Whitlark of The Real McJesus. This week's theme: 'Poverty'.

Monday, March 09, 2009

Trends

FRED: Trends!! I see trends!! JOE: What's the big deal, Fred? It's just Trends. FRED: I hate trends. All I ever see all day are trends. JOE: Well, I'd say you're pretty lucky. Last time I saw Trends in the daytime was about a month ago. FRED: I'm not talking about Trends the person. I'm talking about trends in general. You know, like trendy people and such. JOE: You don't think Trends is trendy? I'd say he's very trendy. He even has that new sweater that all the girls are talking about. FRED: I don't know what you're talking about. I don't like trends. JOE: You're not making any sense. TRENDS: Hey guys! JOE: Hey Trends. How's it going? TRENDS: Great! How do you like my sweater? JOE: It's fabulous! I'd say you're very trendy, wouldn't you? TRENDS: Well, I sure hope so. I am Trends, after all. JOE: You have a good point, Trends. TRENDS: Well, gotta run. Bye guys! JOE: Bye, Trends! FRED: I hate Trends.



This post is part of the Blue-Beta Blog Coordination, a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Confuzzled of I Keep Wondering, Gromit of The Dancing Newt, Redoubt of Redoubt Redux, Third Mango of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, and Xanthippe of Let’s Save Our Hallmark Moment. This week's theme: 'Trends'.

Thursday, March 05, 2009

Prosperity

Old man Carter lived in relative prosperity. What this means, of course, is that he lived in a state of utter poverty, but was unwilling to admit to his complete downfall in the rough economic times he was facing, and preferred to think of himself as semi-prosperous. This he did through a clever means of self-deception.

Instead of going out to buy groceries and other necessary items, he simply decided he didn't need them anymore. As a result, his cupboards were completely empty, and he felt he had a great opportunity to fill them with various other items. He found some tinsel and some old ornaments in front of his neighbor's house, and took them without asking. He also found some old metal cans in the parking lot at the bottom of the street one day. In addition to these treasures, he would sometimes build things of his own by cutting down a tree or two from a large field not far from his home and nailing the wood bits together to make small wooden items which he called "wilygigs."

Not long after old man Carter had begun to live his life in relative prosperity, he was visited by a young whippersnapper by the name of Fred. Fred was old man Carter's grandson, but since he had long since disowned any of his family ties, he preferred to think of him simply as a young kid he didn't know. Fred had come over on the prompting from his parents, who were kicked out of the house immediately if they ever got it into their heads to come visit their father (/father-in-law). Fred hated everything about old man Carter (as he preferred to think of his grandpa) except for the wilygigs. The wilygigs fascinated him, and made him feel at peace in life. Sometimes he would go out with old man Carter to collect the wood for the wilygigs. Old man Carter allowed him this intimate look into his relatively prosperous life, but knew that such an arrangement could not last long. One's fascination with things like wilygigs quickly wanes, and, sure enough, Fred stopped coming a few weeks after he had begun.

Old man Carter preferred the silence to any visit from strangers. For him, the wilygigs were just one more unnecessary item in his life - proof of his prosperity, since they served no purpose other than to take up space that was once filled by vital substances. He decided that life as a relatively prosperous individual was far better than it was when he was truly prosperous. Although certain things were always just out of his reach, he had his wilygigs, he had his peace, and he had his space. For old man Carter, this was all he needed.



This post is an installment in a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Enoch Allred of Chiltingham, John Allred of clol Town, Jon Fairbanks of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Eli Z. McCormick and Miriam Allred of Modern Revelation!, John D. Moore of Whatnot Studios, William C. Stewart of Chide, Chode, Chidden, Sven Patrick Svensson of Sadness? Euphoria?, and WiL Whitlark of The Real McJesus. This week's theme: 'Prosperity'.

Monday, March 02, 2009

Sentiments

EXT. STREET - DAY MAN1 is walking down the street, wearing a business suit. He is stopped by MAN2, who looks to be homeless. MAN2: Excuse me, sir, but I would like to give you something important. MAN1: Oh, no thank you, I'm really in quite a hurry. Perhaps some other time. MAN2: I don't think you realize what I have to give to you. I'm a collector of rare sentiments. MAN1: What sort of sentiments? MAN2: Very rare ones, sir. Sentiments you've never seen the likes of, I'm sure. MAN1: How do you go about collecting them? You haven't got any money, do you? MAN2: Ah, you can't buy sentiments like these, sir. No, no. Sentiments like these need to be found and nurtured and cared for. Sentiments don't just fall into your lap, either. You really need to be on the look out for them, spend every waking minute searching for them in order to spot them. That's why I gave up my day job. MAN1: You had a day job? MAN2: Of course. Just like you, sir. I used to work at Carlyle Electronics, down in the Quido Valley. Of course, back then they were just a small startup company, just about to make their name in the marketplace. I was one of their top-tier employees, brought on to help them make the transition to multiple market sectors. Of course, nothing could take me away from the draw of sentiments, not even the prospect of a six-figure salary. No, sir. MAN1: Well, I feel sorry for you, but I really must be going. MAN2: Sorry? Don't feel sorry for me, sir. I'm the one with sentiments. I have so many rare sentiments that I'm prepared to give them out to whomever I feel needs them. You strike me as a rare individual yourself, and so I'm offering you not only one of my sentiments, but also a chance to take part in the allocation of the other sentiments. What do you say? MAN1: I'm afraid you haven't convinced me of the need or the draw of these sentiments, so I really must decline your proposition. MAN2: That's too bad, sir. You could have been somebody. We would have made a great team. I hate to horde the sentiments, you know, but unfortunately, those who respect their power are rarely those who need them. I like to find people like you, people who could change their entire life in the search for the perfect sentiment. I really wish you'd reconsider. MAN1: I'll see what I can do. In the meantime, enjoy your sentiments and try not to lose them all. If I ever have the urge to assist in this sentimental endeavor, I will contact without delay. MAN2: Alright, I'll mark you down as a future prospect. Enjoy the rest of your day, sir! MAN2 makes a mark in a dirty, torn notepad that he pulls out from his coat pocket. MAN1 continues on his walk to work, stepping with urgency to make it to his meeting on time. MAN2 puts his notepad back into his pocket and looks out into the distant crowd of people on an even busier street. Looking out for traffic he makes his way across the street to join the crowds.



This post is part of the Blue-Beta Blog Coordination, a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Confuzzled of I Keep Wondering, Gromit of The Dancing Newt, Redoubt of Redoubt Redux, Third Mango of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, and Xanthippe of Let’s Save Our Hallmark Moment. This week's theme: 'Sentiments'.

Sunday, March 01, 2009

About a Ball - Victory!!!

In between my studying, I have found ample time to enjoy myself in playing a rather simple, yet challenging and fun game called About a Ball (click here to download). The game was designed by my friend John at Whatnot Studios as a demo while he works on more complex projects. The game proved to be especially difficult at the very last section of it, forcing me to play it many times before I was finally able to beat it, but beat it I did.


I'm not sure how good a score of 6609 is, so I'll continue to play until I get that number better. I really can't say enough good stuff about this game. It's simple and short, so you can play it during breaks in your schedule without committing too much of your time, it has enough variation to keep it difficult and enough consistency to allow you to improve with practice. Download this game, you won't regret it.