The 300... (...th Posting Of Drivel-y Bits To The Drivel-y Place)!

 The 300...

Islamorada, FL - Photo by Joe

300 times have I done this. I sit and stare at this screen and wonder, "What in THEE hell is wrong with me?" I'm not sure how to commemorate my 300th post. For POST #100, I shared the first sentence of each of the first 100 posts. Tedious, but the results were kind of cute, I guess. When it came time for my 200th POST, I spent hours stringing together the first word of the first post, the second word of the second post, and so on - all the way to 200. That post reads like the offspring of a fever dream and a dictionary on acid. For some reason, I felt compelled to mark my 250th POST with a "clip show" - not a true greatest hits collection; more of a random sampling of my first quarter-thousand posts. You're welcome to click on that one and then on the links within it, for old times' sake. I'll wait...

Did you go? I went. I even clicked on some of the links! One still mystifies me, and gives me an idea that isn't very good but when has that ever stopped me...

Presenting the Mostly Harmless Drivel 300th Post Awards! 

• Most Viewed Post: I still don't know why, but CARDBOARD & APATHY: A LOVE STORY is still my most-viewed post, by a LOT. I like it, but it's not that good. Some cute dialogue, a stupid ending, but what brought this post to so many screens? I just don't get it.
• Least Viewed Post: Okay - technically, a couple of the posts from this month are the least-viewed, but that's not fair. So, of the 270ish posts from before this month, the least-viewed is We'll Drink To That! And That! And That.... Brings back memories. [Maris] and I used to have shots and chips for dinner, and this post utterly FAILS to capture the fun and buzzy cleverness of those evenings and their toasts. I remember, though...
• Best Hobo: It's a tie! SANTA FE JINGLEBELL, THE WORLD'S MOST CHRISTMASSY TRAMP and JACK SKUNK will have to share this trophy. No matter - some fellow hobo will steal it within the first week. What can I say - I'm a sucker for a hobo with hope - and second chances.
• Worst Hobo: Wicked Paul Fourteen-Toes. Yeah, he's not very nice at all.
• Best Picture: 

  

  Jim Sees Me! Photo by Joe

  Okay, technically not my best picture, by a longshot, but it's got Jim and Charlie, and Jim's saying hey to me (or, "hey - put your phone down, mate!"), so I dig it. Also it's not the muddy Bart Simpson doll, for the dozenth time, and you're welcome!
• Author's Least Favorite Post: [Deleted]  Ha! Sorry, it really has been removed. If it hadn't been, this would be post number 301, and space-time would collapse in on itself like a neutron star. 
• Author's Favorite Post: This one was hard, and if you ask me to choose again next week, I could easily come up with several other selections. But tonight, this award goes to Heads, We're Dancing. It's just a wee bit of flash-fiction-y romance with a title stolen from Kate Bush, but it begat my favorite and most potential-ish novel. So, yeah. 

Lasers. Why'd it have to be... lasers? - Photo by Joe

So, there are 300 of these things, now. How 'bout that? Not sure I have another 300 in me, but who knows? There are at least that many names left on John Hodgman's list of hoboes. And I still have muse-like influencers - like three of 'em! So stay tuned. Maybe we can celebrate some more hundreds together...

Thank you for taking the time to read my mind, such as it is!

Black-Footed Ferrets: It's Their World; We're Just Living In It

 

"We're not *quite* extinct. In fact, we're *quite* not extinct."

In 2013, I wrote a little novel about a young-- sorry, a *new* couple who befriend a 100-year old hobo. For reasons I can no longer remember, the hobo kept an unexplained endangered black-footed ferret named Bingo as a pet. Bingo steals several scenes in that story, and yes that's the one I should be working on publishing right now, instead of trying to do a blog post every night for a month. 

A couple of years later, I succumbed to the relentless direct mail fundraising campaign of the World Wildlife Fund when I saw black-footed ferrets in their catalog of "adoptable" critters. I threw money at the WWF, and a few weeks later I was the proud adoptive dad to my very own Bingo, and her brother Yahtzee. When they found out that I work for the Humane Society of the United States, and that we have a program focused on saving prairie dogs (their primary food source in the wild), they insisted on accompanying me to work. There, they...

...mooned everyone...

...ate all the candy...

...calculated things...

...listened to old-timey iPods...

...hogged the fan...

...demonstrated a bad attitude...

...engaged in shenanigans...

...and more shenanigans...

...got into the Christmas spirit...

...kept watch...

...embraced our brand...

...waited for Santa...

...inspected the new drop safe...

...and helped process donations.

 They also enjoy a bit of drink (or pretend drink)...

"This is a tin mug of lies!"

"Bombay Sapphire, straight-up, twist, very cold for Opening Day."

"Who says martinis can't have paper umbrellas?"

"What?"

They also like sports...

In 2019, they predicted we'd need a bigger schedule, and they were right.

2020 - "You call that a schedule? Why bother playing at all?"

Now, they are endangered black-footed cityferrets. They relocated from our unfashionable suburb to the moderately-fashionable "West End," in DC, where they are plotting to become the life of the office. They also keep me off the ledge, with their relentless and optimistic encouragement and support. It's mostly non-verbal.

"Is that the White House?"

The Rise Of That Thankfulness Thing - 2021 (Part 3 of 3)

Oops! I was supposed to post all 30 of my things for which I'm THANKFUL during November. My bad. First, to review, here are parts ONE and TWO. I'll wait...

Up to speed? Of course you are. Now - where were we? Ten more things. First, let me just say this gets more and more difficult each time I do it - not because I can't think of things for which I'm grateful, but because I've already used most of them in previous years, and I hate repeating myself. Don't want to bore either of my readers, you know.

So...

Endangered black-footed shenanigansferrets!

21. Shenanigans! Whatever the form (I prefer the antics of the endangered black-footed ferrets), I think we could all use a bit more shenanigans.

 

Nope.

Oh HELL no.

 

22. Snow. HAHAHAHA no. No, no, no. [941-word string of spectacularly crude and inventive expletives deleted] no. 

 

23. "Born To Run." It is the perfect rock song. It's perfect. I had all kinds of thoughtful, thorough analysis of this Springsteen classic to share, here, but what's the point? It is simply the perfect musical expression of teen angst (Rock & Roll). 'Nuff said.

 

I have a present!

Don't look at these candles in daylight. You WILL want to return them.

24. Flameless candles. Yeah, you'll run through a LOT of batteries, but you won't burn your house down, and they last for years and years and whatnot. I'm thankful for 'em, pretty much year-round.

25. Siberian cats. [Maris]'s Instagram feed suggested them once and now we follow SO MANY Siberian cats. As a lifelong cat guy, I'm on board with this - especially because we're only looking at pictures of them, don't have to actually deal with *all that*.

26. SPRINKLES!!!!

27. Being alive in interesting times. What other generation can say they were around for The End? It's an absolute dumpster fire shitstorm, and I guarantee it will get worse before it gets worse, but you gotta admit - it's fascinating to watch. Enjoy your minority rule, oligarchy and demise, America. 

28. Mike Krzyzewski. HAHAHAHAHA no. That dude is the devil. No. He's the devil's excised cancerous colon polyp. I can't believe I'm wasting these precious seconds typing words about him.

Yikes. Things took a bit of a turn, didn't they? I told you I was running out of things for which I haven't already expressed my heartfelt thanks. Okay, let's finish up all like positive...

Don't let go...

29. Hopeless romantics. Not necessarily ROMANCE romantics... okay, mostly that. More, though... People who, in spite of all they've learned and seen and lived, still have the capacity to believe in magic.

30. You probably thought I was going to say "legs" again, didn't you? I know I always include legs, but it's 2021 - almost 2022 (which is to say, almost 1890, 1951 etc.). So, yeah. Legs. But also... 

[MARIS]!!!

Whether it's 20-something years ago...

...or 2020HOLYSHITWEHATESELFIES

I thank my lucky stars for her, every day. 

So, you made it and you are a trooper and a good sport. Join us next November, when we'll be probably just sort through all my old thankfulness posts and rehash the funny bits!

Is It Semi-permanent Self-medication If I Do It All The Time?

Callista burst into the apartment, somewhat short of breath, locked the door, and announced, "I'm back.  You ready?"  She turned toward the living room and found Edward waiting for her, grinning, with one hand behind his back.  "Oh - hi, sweetie!"

He held up a quarter.  "Hey - heads, we're drinking Patron silver."

She tilted her head, quizzically.  "That depends.  What's tails?"

Edward thought for a moment.  "Tails... Tails, and we're drinking the resposado, I guess."

"And that," she smiled, wrapping her arms around him, "Is why I love you."

"For my mastery of the win-win scenario?"

"Sure, let's go with that," she agreed, holding up a small grocery bag, "I may not have found Bingo, but I got limes!"

Tails.  Patron Resposado.  Two souvenir shot glasses from the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame were produced.  The cutting board took its place on the kitchen counter, along with two small bowls - one with salt, for Callista, and one with sugar, for Edward.  In a skillful blur of kitchen knifesmanship, Edward turned lime number one into eight wedges.

He raised his shot.  "Here's to...."

"To Bingo?" Callista suggested.  "Furry little illegal pain in my ass."

"Hey..."

"I'm sorry, but she's been nothing but trouble.  Plus, she hates me."

"She doesn't hate you.  She's just a ferret.  Apparently, she's not ready to be BFFs, yet - with either of us.  But that's not tonight's first wedge."

"No?  What gets first wedge, then?  Blink, blink," she actually blinked, for once.

A wry smile crept into the corners of Edwards mouth.  "Happy anniversary, Callista Jane.  To us..."

She checked a mental calendar, which was more easily said than done, because it was blurry.  "Oh.  My.  God."

"What?"

"You're an anniversary rememberer."

"Huh.  Yeah, I guess I am.  At least, I think I am.  I'm pretty sure it's been one year since I used my best terrible pick-up line on you..."

"And it worked," she said, clinking shot glasses.  "It totally worked.  Okay.  My turn.  Wedge number two..."

"Whoa - no ten minutes?  Straight to the next wedge?"

"Yep!  Do not pass 'Go,' do not collect two hundred dollars, babe.  Wedge two is for Buck.  He may have been a grumpy, stinky old hobo, but I miss him."

Buck Mope's Ghost, and The Signals at Magnolia Cut

"To Buck Mope," Edward toasted.  "We should stick with one lime, though.  I gotta get back to looking for Bingo, and I need to stay sharp."

Callista nearly choked on her lime juice.  "Sharp?  Really?  You've been in a semi-permanent state of self-medication since she disappeared."

"Is it 'semi-permanent' if I do it all the time?"

She poured the third round, then stopped and looked at Edward.  "Of course it is.  As long as you don't do it forever, it is semi-permanent - pretty much by definition, actually.  You're fine.  I'll be the first to tell you when you're not.  Trust me."

"And that," he declared, holding the next shot aloft, "is why I love you.  Wedge three is for Bingo.  Wherever you are, little stinker, here's to you."

"To Bingo, the illegal endangered orphaned black-footed ferret!  Hang in there, sweetie."  Callista slammed her glass down for emphasis.

Edward poured the fourth round, took a few deep breaths, and shoved his final piece of lime into the sugar, which crunched deliciously.  "So.  What's wedge number four?"

"Four..." Callista cleared her throat.  "Four is... To you finishing the book, so the world can know old Buck and Bingo, and love them as we have."

He shook his head and chuckled, but eventually raised his lime wedge to her glass.

"Glass?"  She suggested.

"Oops.  Yes.  Can't clink with a lime wedge.  To the book!" he toasted.

"Cheers!"



Today, I was writing in response to another Studio 30 Plus prompt, the phrase "semi-permanent state of self-medication," courtesy of Katy's fine post Just Like A Dream.  Go!  Read it!

Heads - Dancing. Tails - What Was Tails, Again?

(This is Part Two.  Here's PART ONE)

Edward was lost, but unafraid.  He hadn't expected to meet anyone at the club, and had not for a second thought that his heads-or-tails request for a dance would lead him outside into the cool spring night, hand in hand with a pretty stranger.  He had never actually picked up a woman, and had never excelled at small talk, but a couple of drinks, her smile, and a huge looming decision all combined to put him strangely at ease with the prospect of talking to her.  

The first important fact Edward and Callista learned about each other was revealed as they tried to converse among the smokers loitering outside the club.  "You don't smoke, do you," they asked in unison.  Thank God, they both thought.  They strolled down the two blocks that separated the club from a riverside park, part of an area that was in the late stages of transition to nice from not-so-nice.  

The walk was just long enough for her to learn that he was a sales manager for a company that made teleconferencing software, and that he was divorced with no kids.  He learned that yes, he had heard her name correctly, and that he was not to put a "Flockhart" after it, or he would never see her again.  She was a corporate trainer for a cell phone manufacturer, and had been laid off that afternoon.  Also, she promised she wasn't a hooker, not that the thought had crossed Edward's mind.

A lazy rain began lightly spritzing them as they walked, but neither wanted to be the first one to acknowledge it.  Edward knew the park, and steered them to his favorite bench, knowing that one way or another, they wouldn't be there long.

"So," Callista said, "You're a Kate Bush fan?"

"What?"

She smiled, assumed an English accent and softly sang, "'Heads, we're dancing?'  That's a Kate Bush song.  You found the only woman in that club - maybe in the whole city - who knows that song.  So, ten-out-of-ten for style, but minus several million for... luck, I guess."

Edward shook his head.  "Man.  Busted.  I really like that CD-- Wait.  Are you paraphrasing who I think you're paraphrasing?"

She tilted her head at him.  "I don't think I've ever heard a sentence with 'paraphrasing' in it twice.  Also, what?"

He thought for a moment.  "Well, when you were getting hit on by that big blonde guy, what would have happened if I had walked up and said, 'Hey sweetheart - is this guy boring you?  Why don't you talk to me instead?  I'm from a different planet.'"

"Hey doll," she corrected.

"Excuse me?"

"It was 'Hey doll, is this guy boring you.'  At least, in the book it was.  I can't bring myself to see the movie.  And I would have left with you on the spot."

A multitude of electrical impulses surged through Edward's brain, and in that millisecond he saw himself, decades later, sitting in a rocking chair, telling his grandchildren that this was the moment he fell in love with their grandmother.  A woman who knew The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy and obscure 80's musicians?  And who seemed interested in him?  And who didn't seem to mind a little rain?  Ridiculous.  Too good to be true.

"Well, the heads-or-tails thing was all that came to mind," he sighed.  "Next time, I'll know to quote Douglas Adams at you."

"Nah.  The outcome's the same," she said, looking up at a nearby streetlamp to check on the gradually intensifying rain.  "So.  Not to sound too much like some wretched twenty-something on a dating show, what does a software sales manager do for fun?"

"I'm in a Leon Redbone tribute band," he answered matter-of-factly.

She stared at him.  

"What?  It's fun."

"How old do you think I am?" she asked. 

"Not old enough to remember Leon Redbone," he countered, "but there are tons of Beatles tribute bands whose members weren't born yet when the band was still together."

"Yes, but..."

"I had a weird roommate in college, and he used to play all these old vinyl Leon Redbone albums, and I just got into it, I guess..."

"No," Callista interrupted. "I get that.  I'm just wondering how you're in a band that covers a guy who used to sit alone on stage - just Leon and his banjo."

"You do know Leon Redbone!"

"Probably not as well as you do, but yeah.  I'm familiar.  Look, it's really starting to rain, and it's been a long day.  Would you mind walking me to my hotel?"

"Not at all," Edward said, rising from the bench and offering her his arm.  "It's about time for old Hobo Jack to be getting here, and this is apparently his bench.  Wait.  Hotel?  You're not from DC?"

"Nope.  I live in Philadelphia."

"So, they laid you off when you were traveling?" Edward was equal parts confused and incredulous.

"Yep." She nodded in the direction of the hotel. "I won't be surprised to find my suitcase in the lost-and-found, and my train ticket canceled.  But whatever."

"That sucks.  I was going to ask you out on a real date."

"So ask.  I got a great severance package.  Maybe I'll stick around for a few days." 

"Would you like to have dinner with me, tomorrow night?" Edward asked. "Please?"

Callista laughed at the "please," and promptly felt bad about it.  "I would love to."

They were nearing the front steps of the hotel.  A wave of nervousness finally caught up with Edward, who didn't know what the protocol was, here.  To the front door?  To the elevator?  To the room?  Ack!  He heard himself stall for time with, "So, I told you about my hobby.  What do you do for fun?"

She stepped in front of him and took his hands.  "I seduce unsuspecting men and trick them into assisting me in high-level international espionage, crimes, and assorted capers."

"Like Angelina Jolie in 'The Tourist?'" 

Crap.  I picked up the only guy east of the Mississippi who's seen that movie, she thought.  "Yes.  Like that."

Edward played along.  "Oh my God!  Are you going to 'Tourist' me?"

"Well, that depends, Edward.  Are you a tourist?" she tried to raise one eyebrow at him, but both went up, resulting in an awkward, surprised look.  Edward saw only a pretty woman, suppressing a smile.

"Well, no."

"You're safe for now, then." She handed him one of her now-obsolete business cards.  "The cell number is my own, so they can't have turned that off.  Call me tomorrow afternoon.  Good night, Edward."  She kissed him, quickly but softly, before he had a chance to kiss her, then scampered up the steps toward the hotel lobby.

"Good night," he said, nearly overcome with happy hope.

She turned around on the top step.  "Hey.  Are you really in a Leon Redbone tribute band?"

Edward smiled guiltily.  "No.  But I've always wanted to start one."  He soaked up the smile she left him with, and watched her lean into the revolving door and disappear.  He knew he was late for his nightly chat with the old homeless man whose bench they had borrowed, but right now, standing in the rain with Callista's card in his pocket, he didn't care.


Another fine writing prompt (SHOWER) from my friends at STUDIO 30 PLUS !