The Holiday Spectacle

I heard an NPR news report today that the Guinness World Record for the largest number of Christmas lights is now held by an Australian family, with 500,000 lights.  Apparently, they beat out an American family who topped out at 350,000. 

I’m glad the Americans lost the title, though, I’m sure, they will come back to try to top the Australians.  I dread the thought of how many lights it will take to set the record next year.

Has anybody thought about the huge waste of energy this is? Isn't it bad enough that we pollute the air to make electicity for necessary consumption? I’d like to pluck these half-wits out of their mindless cocoons and shake them silly. 

Sure, I know that this energy abuse is just a miniscule fraction of the overall consumption and waste, but, the symbolism of this spectacle is so disturbing. It drives me crazy that these people are rewarded for their excesses and that a multinational corporation promotes this useless macho competition.

And while I’m raving, I am wondering what any of this has to do with Christmas.  Or is that a stupid question?   

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I wrote this for the Week 105 Trifecta Writing Challenge where we are to write a 33-333 composition using the word “pluck” in this context:  “to move, remove, or separate forcibly or abruptly.”

Your comments are appreciated.    

My Companion

“Ok, what did you accomplish by saying that?...Did you really need to offer your opinion?...Jeez, that was a dumb-ass thing to do….So, what’s the big deal?...Just let it go!…Yeah, you showed his ass...but, maybe a little over the top, don’t you think?...Chill out man…you’re gonna’ get there eventually...Does everything have to be so serious?...Really, do you need to talk politics?...Just talk about the weather, for God’s sake…oh yeah, that’s a tough subject these days too... ”

If you hadn’t already guessed, I am introducing you to my inner companion. He goes wherever I go and talks to me all the time. He is a harsh critic and very judgmental. He’s especially annoying when he contradicts himself and rambles.

I think that most people have an inner companion, so I guess I can’t really complain. It’s just that this guy never shuts up.
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I wrote this for the Week 104 Trifecta Writing Challenge where we are to write a 33-333 word composition using the word, “companion” in the context of one that is closely connected with something similar or one who is employed to live with and serve another.

Your comments are appreciated.

Scaredy Cat

I read the warning on the quit smoking medication: 

SIDE EFFECTS MAY INCLUDE SUICIDAL AND HOMICIDAL IDEATION, DEPRESSION, AGITATION, ANXIETY, HOSTILITY, ARACHNOPHOBIA, COULROPHOBIA AND CRAVING FOR CIGARETTES

Why am I a scaredy cat?

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I wrote this for the Week 90 Trifextra Writing prompt where we are to write exactly 33 words about what scares us or our character. 

Your comments are appreciated.

The Three Musketeers: Setting the Record Straight

The Three Musketeers
Historicalnovels.info

Though romanticized in Dumas’ fiction, the real Three Musketeers were a pathetic lot: Pathos, a habitual whiner, Orthos, couldn’t stand straight without his corrective boots and Ignoramus, was…well, just that, a real dumb-ass.

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Blogger's Notes:  You will see that there are four people in the illustration.  The fourth person, on the far left, is Neuros, who was not technically a "Musketeer".  He was a mere "hanger on" and had "issues".

I wrote this for the Week 87 Trifextra Writing Challenge where we are to write 33 words about a famous trio from literature, history or popular culture.

 

Your comments are appreciated.  

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Wrong Place, Wrong Time: April 14, 1912

“Captain, I know you have no reason to listen to a guy wearing a Led Zeppelin T-shirt, cargo shorts and flip flops, but I’d steer clear of those icebergs if I were you.”
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I wrote this for the Week 86 Trifextra Writing Challenge where we are to write a 33-word time travel story. 

Your comments are appreciated. 

Everybody Loves Cinco de Mayo

As I listened to the crowd shout: “Viva Mexico! Viva Mexico! Viva
Mexico!” on Mexican Independence Day, I wondered why most people think that Cinco de Mayo is Mexico's Independence day. 

“El Grito de la Indepencia” (the Cry of Independence) was first heard in the small town of Delores, Mexico on September 16, 1810.  The actual date of Mexico’s independence from Spain did not occur until September 28, 1821, over a decade later, however, it is the date of the declaration of independence that is celebrated. 

So, what is Cinco de Mayo?  That date commemorates the improbable Mexican victory over the much larger French army on May 5, 1862 in the Battle of Puebla. Indeed, some said the Mexicans were chasing a rainbow the day they took on the French and it wasn’t until four years later that the French finally withdrew from Mexico.

While Cinco de Mayo is a day of celebration, it is not a Mexican national holiday, nor is it widely celebrated in Mexico.  It is mainly celebrated by Mexicans who live in the state of Puebla (Hooray for the home team!) and, of course, “sympathetic” Americans who enjoy pounding down a few beers in support of the “cause.”  

Ok then, why is Cinco de Mayo such a big deal?  As I pictured all those gringos downing their Coronas with limes jammed in the bottlenecks, I started wondering whether Corona was hoping to promote sales and created this “national [read: American] holiday”.  After all, didn’t some greeting card company invent Mother’s and Father’s Days?  And it dawned on me that “Dieciséis de Septiembre” (September 16) is not nearly as catchy as “Cinco de Mayo.”

Ok, Corona, tell us the truth.  It was a big marketing campaign, right?  I can picture those big inflated Corona bottles bouncing around every Mexican restaurant on May 5th.  It’s cool, you can tell us.  Everybody loves Cinco de Mayo.   

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I wrote this for the Week 95 Trifecta Writing Challenge where we are to write a 33-333 word composition using the word “rainbow” in the context of “an illusory goal or hope.” 

Your comments are appreciated. 

El Gringo Pelon

Marcia and I have been exploring cool, little towns in Mexico and we stopped in Sayulita, a city of about 5,000 people on the Pacific coast.  It’s about a 45 minute drive from Puerto Vallarta, to the north.

The first person we spotted in Sayulita was a shirtless, older American guy with a huge gut. He was adorned with several tattoos and a pony tail that began at the back of his head, his crown being bald or, “pelon”, in Mexican slang. In the next few minutes, we saw several men wandering the streets who, for the most part, matched this description.  A few of them actually wore shirts, mostly, “wife beaters”.

This is not to say the place was overrun by gringos.  There were many locals manning the surf shops and bars.  Indeed, one young entrepreneur approached me and said, in perfect English:  “Hey, do you want some ‘weed’ or ‘coke’?  I can get you anything you want.” The way he said “anything”, was a little creepy, yet, strangely charming.

After declining my young friend’s offer, we sat at a table planted in the sand and ordered rum with fruit juice.  As we sipped our drinks, we noticed an Aztec mask nailed to the palapa that we were sitting under.  Looking puzzled, Marcia said:  “I don’t think the Aztecs inhabited this area of Mexico.”  I couldn’t resist offering a cynical response:  “Maybe the Aztecs came here to do business with the gringos.”   

Watching the people drift by, we could see that Sayulita is a place for alienated Americans to escape, hibernate or to just wait for the next big thing to happen.  I suddenly had a bright idea:  “Ok, so this place is a little sketchy, but it’s interesting.  I’ll write an article for one of those In-flight magazines…they love this stuff, right?”  Marcia looked at me quizzically and said:  “Sure, I bet they just love stories about places where people go to take drugs and waste away their last days.”

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I wrote this for the Trifecta Week 94 Writing Challenge where we are to write a 33-333 word composition using the word “mask” as a noun.

Needless to say, after Marcia pointed out the obvious, I didn’t submit this piece to any “In-flight” magazines. 

Your comments are appreciated.

Kids, Don't Try This At Home

Jill hit the tetherball.

The blow causes the tether to break.

The ball achieves great loft,

ultimately falling with some force, breaking Jack’s crown.

Jack tumbles down.

Jill, in shock, comes tumbling after.

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I wrote this for the Week 84 Trifextra Writing Challenge where we are to write a 33 word composition which incorporates the words “tether”, “loft” and “crown”.

Your comments are appreciated.

The Chasm

My children’s reaction
Upon hearing of the divorce
A shock to me

After all,
They were all adults
Save one, who was one month shy

Sure, I knew they’d be sad
And they’d be upset,
But they knew it was coming, right?

My first…
Of many mistakes
Naively assuming their feelings

Frustration and hurt
Were at the center
But at the core, was anger

And my inability to grasp

And respond
Ignited the flames

My helplessness

Compounded
By years of jammed up work weeks

Muted by the abyss

The chasm was vast
And wide
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I wrote this for the Week 90 Trifecta Writing Challenge where were are to write a 33-333 word composition using the word "grasp" in the context of take hold of in the mind, as in "comprehend".

Your comments are appreciated. 

Band of Goofballs -The Lost Tapes

One day in 1968…

Rob: “Hey, we all play instruments, let’s form a band.”

Dave:  “Yeah, good idea, except that’s not going to meet the Trifecta prompt requirements.”

Curt and Rob, whining in unison:  “ What?  We don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Dave:  “Well, it’s hard to explain, but in thinking about my future, about 40 years from now, I imagine I will be doing these writing challenges and I will have to use the word “band” as a verb, not a noun.” 

Rob:  “For God’s sake, ok then, let’s band together and form a rock group.”

Dave:  “Ok, that’s better.  What instruments are we going to play?” 

Rob:  “Well, Curt can only play drums, so he’s the drummer.”

Curt:  “Cool.”

Dave:  “Well, I wanted to play drums but…”

Rob:  “Dave, your drum playing sucks.”

Dave:  “Ok, I’ll play guitar.”

Rob:  “Well, we really need a bass player since I can play the lead guitar on ‘Spoonful’, you know, the Cream song.”

Dave:  “Ok, I’ll play bass.”

Later that day in Curt’s garage…   

Rob, singing:  “Could fill spoons full of diamonds

            Could fill spoons full of gold…”

Dave:  “I only have two notes to play for this song.” 

Rob:  “I know Dave, but the bass is the backbone of the whole song.”

Curt:  “I thought the drums were the backbone.”

Rob:  “Yeah, those too.   Ok, one, two, one, two, three, four… ‘That spoon, that spoon, that spoonful…’  oh man we suck.”  

Dave:  “Jeez, I thought this would be easy.” 

Curt:  “I thought it sounded good.”

Rob:    “Yeah Curt, but you thought it sounded good because the drums drowned out the other music.  Maybe it’ll be better if you don’t hit the cymbals after every note. ” 

Curt:  “Yeah, ok.  Hey, I’ve got this reel to reel tape recorder.  Let’s record this stuff.”

Rob:  “Why don’t we try to play it better first?”

Dave:  “Aw come on, it’ll sound better if we record it.”

Rob:  “Yeah, right.” 

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I wrote this for the Week 88 Trifecta Writing Challenge where we are to write a 33-333 word composition using the word “band” as a verb in the context of people gathering together or uniting. 

Untimely News

Just heard my friend, Joe, died…can’t take the news at this stage. Walk into a bar. “Jack, no water.” My phone lights up…shit, it’s Joe calling! I owe him $150.  Let it ring.
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I wrote this for the Week 77 Trifextra Writing Challenge where we are to write a 33 word composition using the words “ring”, “water” and “stage”.

Your comments are appreciated.   

The Chicken Fight

The judge’s chambers were just what you would expect.  The walls were clad in mahogany paneling and burgundy leather chairs lined the table. I was assisting my boss Max that day, as I had been on the job just two weeks and had only been a “real” lawyer for a few weeks before that.

We all stood as the judge entered the chambers. The judge was in his 70s and a little hunched over. He had a full head of white hair.  His craggy face bore a permanent scowl. Max whispered to me, “That’s Judge Wilson, a real ‘good ole’ boy’ who was raised in the country.”   “Jeez”, I thought, I’m glad I‘m not arguing in front of this guy.”

Max leaned over to me, “Dave, you’ve done all the research; I’m going to let you argue this.”  After recovering from the shock, I protested, “But Max, I’ve never argued in court.”  Max chuckled:  “I guess you’ll learn. And by the way Dave, I don’t think your arguments are going to fly.”  “Great”, I thought, “not only am I a novice, now I’m being told I have a bad case.”

Indeed, aside from my lack of experience, I had a bigger hurdle.  I represented the County and was arguing that cock-fighting was illegal, despite the fact that it had been going on openly in our town for over 100 years.  The County was fairly urban, but there was a substantial rural and agricultural population, and cock-fighting was a way of life.  The key to my position was that cock-fighting violated the laws prohibiting cruelty to animals.

After making my arguments and citing all the applicable cases, the opposition offered its self-assured rebuttal:  “Judge, we been doin’ this a long time and nobody ever stopped us. It ain’t cruel, it’s a sport.”

After the last arguments were made, Judge Wilson looked at the court file for a few minutes and stood up.  He looked at me and said, “That dog won’t hunt.” 

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I wrote this for the Week 85 Trifecta Writing Challenge where we are to write 33-333 words using the word “fly” in the context of something moving or passing. 

Your comments are appreciated.     

 

  

Freedom and Redemption

Ok, I get it.  Trifecta is messing with me.  Last week, I complained that the prompt was too constraining. So, this week, no constraints.  Just me and my imagination. Well, I’ll show…oops!
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I wrote this for the Week 75 Trifextra Writing Challenge where we are to write 33 words about anything we want.

Your comments are appreciated.

The Crude Gourmet

Walter stood over the grill, sweat dripping off his forehead. The grill always let out an angry hiss when one of his sweat drops hit the hot surface.  He took the spatula and pushed it toward the well at the edge of the grill, along with any cigar ashes that happened to fall.  That was one reason Sarah, his daughter hated to go into the restaurant.  “Ewwww Dad”, she’d say, “…that’s just gross.”  But Walter didn’t care, he was just going through the motions; he worked twice as hard as he ever did and made half the money. “What am I doing in a damn restaurant anyway?” he thought. 

At age 60, Walter was declared obsolete.  Before computers came along, he would repair all the typewriters, adding machines and pay-masters for banks in Manhattan. Walter was proud of the work he did and offered a mild protest. His boss stared at him incredulously and said:  “Walter, you’ve got to be kidding, your machines are antiquated and crude.” Sure, Walter would have been happy to retire at age 60, but he had no real savings and three teenage kids. So, he thought he’d move to Florida, maybe work at a small bank that didn’t have all those computers yet. But he could hardly get any interviews and when he did, no one was interested in him fixing old machines.

Walter grabbed the first opportunity he found: a friend was selling a restaurant. It was a typical breakfast and lunch place, with eggs, sandwiches and hamburgers. Ironically, Walter didn’t know how to cook and he never even worked in a restaurant.  “What the hell”, he thought, “I can do this”.      

Before she left, Sarah always said, “Dad, don’t forget, you’ve got to scrub everything down at night or the roaches will carry the place away.”  Walter gave his usual response, “Yeah, yeah, sure”, knowing that he would be so tired that he could hardly drag himself out the door. 

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I wrote this for the Week 84 Trifecta Writing Prompt where we are to write a 33-333 word composition using the word “crude” in the context of something marked by the primitive, gross, or elemental or by uncultivated simplicity or vulgarity.

Your comments are appreciated.

One Lumdog-Hold the Relish

I'm of two minds about Trifecta prompts.  Sometimes, I relish the confining structure; sometimes, I bristle under the constraints. Today, my first reaction is to bristle, my second: bristle and my third: bristle.
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I wrote this for the Week 74 Trifextra Writing Challenge where we are to write an up to 33 word composition following the same general structure of the quote, below:

 Three things in human life are important. The first is to be kind. The second is to be kind. And  the third is to be kind.
--Henry James

Despite my bristling protests, I suppose the joke is on me since I entered anyway!

Your comments are appreciated.    

 

Cerro del Muerto

Santiago had a half hectare plot at the base of a mountain called “Cerro del Muerto” in central Mexico.  He raised a few cows and grew corn.  He married Carmen when he was 23 and she was 18 and they had eight children.  Since the income from his land was not enough to support the family, Santiago took extra work in a factory and did other odd jobs.  But he continued to work the land and managed to save a little, here and there.  Carmen worked hard too, cooking all the meals, cleaning the house and hand washing all the clothes.   

Santiago was a humble man, but he knew he could make more money if he could expand his farm, and so, when he could, he bought an extra piece of land:  One little parcel after another, eventually enough to support his family and his grandchildren too.  But, for Santiago, nothing ever changed, he just worked on his farm.  Oddly, very few people in town knew that Santiago, with his worn sombrero and faded overalls, had become the largest land owner in town.  Santiago probably didn’t know that either.

While he never indulged in himself, Santiago finally had to retire his old, rusty pick-up truck and he bought a new one.  This was hardly a luxury, but a real prize for a simple man like Santiago.  On his way into town one day, the new truck stalled on the railroad tracks.  Instead of jumping clear of the oncoming train, he stayed with the truck, trying to get it restarted. The impact was swift and severe.  The truck was unrecognizably mangled.  But Santiago managed to get out of the truck and say, “Yo estoy bien.”  He collapsed a moment later and died where he fell.  

Santiago never really enjoyed his wealth, but he provided very well for his family.  Much of his land has been donated for schools, parks and churches and, ironically, some of the land was sold to build more factories.         

I wrote this for the Week 83 Trifecta Writing Challenge where we are to write a 33-333 word composition using the word “rusty” in the context of something which is a rusty color.

Your comments are appreciated.    

Making the Cut

"Diamond cutting is an art and a science. Not for amateurs.  My first cut, slightly off. My second, a miss. Well... here goes:  'The third time is the charm'...oh shit, pixie dust!"

I wrote this for the Week 73 Trifextra Writing Challenge where we are to write 33 words dealing with the adage, "The third time is the charm."

I have been jammed with a lot of stuff this week and thus, this late entry.  I will try to see as many entires as I can.  I'm glad to have made it though. 

Thank you for your comments.

You Don't Have to Hit Me with a Club

Old timer:  “Hey man, you not in the club?”

Newbie:  “No, I don’t think so.  What club?

OT:  “Jeez man, don’t you know anything? If you want to make it in this town, you got to be in the club.”

N:  “Well, who’s in the club?”

OT:  “Anybody who is anybody.”

N:  O.k., but what does the club do?”

OT:  “Ahh…what do you mean, ‘do’”?

N:  “Like, what activities to you do? Do you raise money for sick kids, sing to people in the hospital, the usual stuff?”

OT:  “Well not exactly, we mainly just sit around and hang out.”

N:  "If I'm understanding you correctly, you're telling me you don't do anything?”

OT:  “Well…shit, that would require work, we just like to drink a lot and smoke cigars.”

N:  “So, it’s really just about being able to say that you hang with the cool people.”

OT:  “Yeah, well…now that you put it that way, that’s pretty much it.”

N:  Ok, how do I get in?”  

I wrote this for the Week 82 Trifecta Writing Challenge where we are to write a 33-333 word composition using the word “club” in the context of an association of persons.

Your  comments are appreciated. 

Jack Did It

"Oh yeah, I remember, I'm in this fleabag hotel reaking of Lysol, wearing nothing but the polyester bedspread around my waist. Ok, I know I had way too much Jack last night, but jeez, I know how to hold my liquor, right?"

"Right darling, my folks will be so happy to hear they have a new son-in-law, shall we call them now?

I wrote this for the Week 71 Trifextra Writing Challenge where we are to write a complete story in three sentences.

The Disruptive Student

“Class, I’m going to teach you about onomatopoeia. Walter! What’s that rumbling noise?”

“Sorry Mrs. Astute, it’s borborygmi. I’m hungry and my stomach’s growling.”

“Do not interrupt when I’m trying to teach something!”   

 

I wrote this for the Week 67 Trifextra Writing Challenge where we are to write exactly 33 words using an example of onomatopoeia.

Your comments are appreciated.

Undaunted

She laughed in the face of adversity, handling the onslaught with gusto and assurance. The jabs and barbs were easily repelled and she handily dispatched the adversary. A Divorce Lawyer Superhero was born.

 

I wrote this for the Week 66 Trifextra Writing Challenge where we are to write a 33 word composition about the origin of a superhero. 

 

Your comments are appreciated. 

Let's Make a Deal

Contestant #2 was immobilized with indecision.  As he stood dumbstruck, the immortal words of Jimmy Buffett ran through his head: “My whole world lies waiting behind Door Number Three.”

“Ok, that’s easy”, he thought. “It’s a sign, it must be. I have to pick Door Number Three. But wait a second; I shouldn’t be making any hasty decisions here. I really need the money.  My wife left me in huge debt, I was fired last month, I lost my house and my dog ran away. 

“Yeah, I need to think this through.  Who’s to say Jimmy was speaking to me when he wrote that song? Holy shit, this could be a trick!

“Well ok… if it’s not Door Number Three, then it has to be Door Number One or Two. Jeez, I got a 50-50 chance now, right?  Yeah, now I’m on the right track. 

“So, which one is it, then?  Ok, let’s see. I was born on November 1^st, and I’ve never been lucky, so Door Number One can’t be a good idea. And my wife left me on January 2^nd, which is a two and, fuck, that seems sorta lucky to me…now that I think about it. I’m goin’ for Door Number 2”

As it turned out, Contestant #2 was right; the grand prize of $25,000 was behind Door Number Two.  It’s funny, though, how things turned out.  That $25,000 wasn’t really enough to cover all his debts, with taxes and all, but somehow, another door opened for him that day. 

After appearing on national television, Contestant #2 was sought out far and wide.  He wrote one of those self-help books, which sold millions of copies:  How to Use Your Natural Analytical Skills to Make Critical Decisions.  

I wrote this for the Week 75 Trifecta Writing Challenge where we are to write a 33-333 word composition using the word “door” in the context of a means of access to, or an opportunity for, success.

 Your comments are appreciated. 

 

A Creature of Habit

Boys were calling day and night. The well-endowed sixteen year old was causing her parents angst.   And who knew what she was doing, being a latch-key kid?  Problem solved: Off to the convent. 
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I wrote this for the Week 65 Trifextra Writing Challenge where we are to write a 33 word composition using a compound modifier. Bonus: Compound modifiers which preceed the noun they modify are to be hyphenated and only count as one word. 

Your comments are appreciated.   

La Corrida de Toros

Plaza de San Marcos
Aguascalientes, Mexico
Photo by Lumdog

The matador de toros, with his ornate, gold embroidered suit enters the ring with his two lesser toreros (subaltemos). The ritual would now begin.  Each torero attempts to attract the bull with his brightly colored cape of pink and gold.  The bull randomly charges, seemingly intent on mauling whoever enters his vision.  The subaltemos take no shame in running from the bull, which allows the lead torero to assess his foe.

The picadors enter on horseback with their lances.  The bull immediately charges the blindfolded horses and a picador gives one or two strikes into the back of the neck. The bull is weakened, but not intimidated.

The torero raises his arms, banderillas in hand, like a conductor holding his baton.  He taunts the bull.  The bull charges and the violent dance begins.  Two banderillas are plunged into the bull. Enraged, foam spews from the bull’s mouth; his desire to gore the torero is sharpened.  The bull charges and the torero is grazed, but not injured.  The bull charges again and again and the dance continues.   

Finally, the torero enters the ring alone, now carrying his red muleta (cape) and a sword and the final steps of the dance take place.  As the end comes near, the torero and bull lock eyes in final ecstasy, each believing he will vanquish the other.   

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I wrote this for the Week 74 Trifecta Writing Challenge where we are to write a 33-333 word composition using the word “ecstasy” in the context of a trance.

This was a challenging piece for me to write. I don’t condone cruelty to animals in sport or otherwise, and I was hesitant to see a bullfight. Yet, I was interested in going. Perhaps, I was inspired by my favorite author, Ernest Hemingway, who wanted to be a bullfighter and who wrote so eloquently about bullfighting and by the fact that bullfighting is very much a part of my fiancée’s cultural heritage. 

Indeed, my fiancée and her brother had a good laugh at my expense when I referred to the torero as the “matador”, as it is a word only used by gringos in that context.  Technically, the matador is the senior of the three toreros, but this word is only used in Spanish when one is saying: “matador de toros”, to distinguish the senior torero from the lesser ones. 

Finally, I would like to note that I saw this bullfight in Mexico, but through my research, I learned that the various stages of a bullfight, the roles of the participants and the terminology vary from country to country, so this may not entirely square with your own experiences.

Your comments are appreciated.

Los Colores de Mexico

Vibrant colors abound

From the cobblestones

To the church campanario

Stucco walls

Of oranges, reds and yellows

Punctuated by limestone fountains

Like the abundant shades and tones

The faces of the people

Reflect well being, with nuanced color and hue




Guanajuato, Mexico

I wrote this for the Week 73 Trifecta Writing Challenge where we are to write 33-333 a 33-333 word composition using the word “color” in the context of complexion: the tint characteristic of good health or blush.

Your comments are appreciated. 

The All Too Common Saga of a Young Marriage

They said it wouldn’t last, but it did, for 35 years. I went to law school and you were a flight attendant. You flew to Luxembourg while I studied. On breaks, we went all over Europe. You went to med school and I started my first job. We blissfully raised three kids. As they trickled out the door, we grew apart.  We tried, I guess. Even then, for me, it was “until death do us part”, until you shut me out. I couldn’t handle the charade and made the big move. I was a fool to do your dirty work.

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I wrote this for the 100 Word Song writing prompt, which is to write 100 words inspired by Steely Dan’s song, “Dirty Work”. Ironically, this was a song my ex-wife and I loved and we first heard it while we were traveling in Germany.

Your comments are appreciated.     

Advice: The Untold Truth

Let's face it. Advice is overrated: obvious and unnecessary.  Don't smoke. "Duh". Don't text and drive. "Yeah, thanks Dad; tell me something I can use, like how to get in that girl's pants." 
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I wrote this for the week 62 Trifextra Writing Challenge where we are to write exactly 33 words of advice.  I didn't actually follow the rules since I couldn't think about anything useful I would say, which is pretty much what I think about most advice. 

Your comments are appreciated.

Noir Mal: The Long Day

The tall blonde sauntered into my office.  I knew it was going to be a bad day when she asked me to take a case without a retainer.  But this babe had legs like a gazelle and a body that wouldn’t quit; I just couldn’t turn her down.  I poured her a whiskey, straight up, and she spilled her guts. It seems that her husband had been slapping her around, real bad. 

The broad told me that she had lots of dough, so much, that she could open a bakery for the Chinese Army.  She then told me that her husband was connected and that the cops wouldn’t help her.  I said, “So, what am I supposed to do, rub this guy out?”  Sheepishly, the lady said: “Well…whatever you think…and I’ll pay you a lot, and then some, once the job is done.” I didn’t believe her cock and bull story about the money; but her line: “and then some”, intrigued me.

So, I had some friends meet the husband in a bar.  Yeah, we could’ve fit him for a cement kimono, but that’s not my style.  So, my buddies just roughed him up; they were all over him like a cheap suit.  They slipped him a mickey and the next thing he knew, he was on a freighter, bound for…who knows?  I didn’t ask. 

So, I called the dame and there was no answer.  I could’ve guessed she’d skip town.  I strolled to my walk-up on Eighth Avenue.  I walked in; the place was so quiet, it made the morgue seem like Joe’s Bar. I turned on the lights and there she was, wearing nothing but her birthday suit, lying on a pile of thousand dollar bills that would fill Hoover Dam. After we rolled around in the dough, she grabbed a handful of bills, threw them in the air and let them rain down.

Turned out, the husband had quite a stash and it was a good day after all. 
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I wrote this for the Week 71 Trifecta Writing Challenge where we are supposed to write a 33-333 word composition using the Urban Dictionary definition of "rain" in the context of bills coming down on someone.

I was inspired to write a Noir-like piece after having read many idioms in last week's Trifextra Writing Challenge and having also played a #hashtag called #failednoir on Twitter.

Your comments are appreciated.

Dashed Hopes

After the burst of the bubble, my cash flow went in the red. My hopes to cash in my chips, become a script writer and play guitar in Tampico went by the boards.
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I wrote this for the Week 61 Trifextra Writing Challenge where we are to write a 33 word composition using an idiom.

Your comments are appreciated. 

How About Dealing With Some Real Problems?

I read and watch the news about the pending gay marriage cases in frustration.  To be sure, there are all sorts of difficult legal issues to be resolved, but I just wonder why we can’t just step back and ask, “Why is all this necessary?” 

If the state and federal governments could just refrain from legislating how two consenting adults decide to live together as a couple, we could get past the legal wrangling over manufactured issues and get on with some real problems.  There are too many to name, but how about adopting some simple gun control legislation?  Or asking what should be done about teenage boys who rape a girl and then brag about it?

“Huh”, you say: “What planet have you been living on?” Yeah, I get it; I know how the real world works:  There are the self-appointed moral police, the special interest groups and big business, not to mention plain-old evil thinking people, all of whom make it their life’s work to influence our lawmakers.   Yeah, but wouldn’t we be lucky people if just a few of these ignorant souls could get their heads out of their asses?

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I wrote this for the Week 70 Trifecta Writing Challenge where we are to write a 33-333 word composition using the word “lucky” in the context of producing a favorable result by chance.

I am late entering this week due to having some surgery which came out ok, but which had me tied up with doctors and hospitals all week.  I mention this only because I may not see as many of the other entries as I usually do, especially now that there are so many.

Your comments are appreciated. 

 

 

The Abyss

I stand in the cold rain
And try to remember
What the rebellion was all about
As I think about the loss
And who did what first, 
I wonder if it really matters anymore
An abyss
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I wrote this for the Trifextra Week 60 Writing Challenge where we are supposed to write a 36 word composition using the words "remember", "rain" and "rebellion".

Your comments are appreciated. 

What's Up With the Bad Boy Thing?

None of the cute girls in high school noticed me until I became a “hippie”.  At the beginning of my senior year, my friends wanted to go to a Led Zeppelin concert.  I had liked their music on the radio, but going to a live concert was a totally different experience.

I loved the loud music in the dark, smoky concert hall and I was hooked. Within a couple of months, my friends and I saw Traffic, Cat Stevens, Alice Cooper and Grand Funk Railroad (I know, I’m embarrassed about the Grand Funk thing, but we went to see any band which came to town).

Along with my new interests, I grew my hair past the top of my ears and bought a few pairs of bellbottoms and a wide leather band for my watch. And, so, as it is with many high school kids, I changed my whole persona. Since most of the kids wore button down collared shirts and penny loafers, I caused some attention.   

The funny thing was, I had no strategy with the new look. I wasn’t the rebellious type and I wasn’t trying to make a statement.  I was just going along with my friends.  But, it was a big surprise to see how my new style would infect me with a different status in school.  Suddenly, all the cheerleaders who I had a crush on were interested in me. Apparently, these very proper girls were attracted to what they perceived was a risky, mysterious lifestyle.  

Even though I enjoyed the attention, as events unfolded, with escalation of the Viet Nam war, the riots and head bashing at the Democratic National Convention and Watergate, I realized that my style of dressing and the cheerleaders’ reaction to it were pretty superficial; there were other things to worry about. 
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I wrote this for the Week 69 Trifecta Writing Challenge where we are to write 33-333 words using the word “infect” in the context of: “to contaminate, corrupt” or “to induce” some reaction. 

Your comments are appreciated.