Why Come, How for, and other Such Silly Notions

Vintage Romance Novels

Have you ever wondered why things are the way they are? I don’t mean things that have any real meaning, but instead things that more or less represent the epitome of useless information. If so, then jump on the bandwagon with me as we explore these hopeless bits.

Take for instance, Fabio. Now I’m secure enough in my masculinity to be able to admit that Fabio is a good-looking guy. He has graced the cover of many romance novels. Now here’s the part I have a hard time justifying. The images that appear on these covers are not photographs, but drawings.  In this world we have talented artists that could easily draw a make-believe cover model that would rival any living person, and the best part of this situation is that drawings don’t demand huge salaries. To me it’s a no-brainer. Write a novel, draw a nonexistent cover model and save a bucket ‘o’ bucks.

Here’s another:

Why do famous, beautiful female celebrities appear in hair color commercials, but never grace the box themselves? The cardboard containers seem to be reserved for attractive yet less well known faces. Maybe the hair color folks got smart and in order to save megabucks decided to go with unknowns. Move over Fabio, looks like the freebies are coming after you.

And now we move to the infamous couch cover. Did your grandmother or mother ever buy a new couch and immediately spread a cover over it for protection? Your family may have owned this davenport For 20 years but you never saw what it actually looked like until it was time to throw it away. This is a great segue into what we called when I was a child “the living room.” This room was never used unless special company (a preacher, for instance) came to pay us a visit. It was like owning a time capsule that one could go to study the ancient furniture and obsolete fabrics still in pristine condition. Often, clear plastic would adorn these articles to afford additional protection.

Here’s the point at which I would normally begin to conclude my thoughts by writing something like, “in conclusion,” or “to sum up,” or “I’ll finish this post with.” But you have to admit it sure has been fun delving into the world of models, Grandmothers, couch covers and archaeological furnishings. This time, however, I’m going to leave you with a question. Something that hasn’t happened yet, but has the possibility, nay the probability, of coming to fruition in the very near future.

Computer generated images (C.G.I.) have brought movies to astounding heights of realism. These computer geniuses are coming very close to being able to replicate the human form including body movement, facial features and all of our many nuances and idiosyncrasies. What if, unbeknownst to the general public, a moviestar could be created using this technology? After performing in film after film this cybernetic actor would be bolstered on to the pedestal of megastar, seemingly earning millions per film but in truth no more able to spend a dollar than the proverbial church mouse.

And this begs another question be answered: What will become of the millions made? Will this money be spread around within the filmmaking community, or will the technicians who hold this power within their little palms become the new Hollywood heartthrobs? Rest assured, when there is money to be made, someone will be there to wrap their grubby little paws around it.

Hmm…Could be fodder for my next bestseller.

An Excerpt from my New Book!

I thought I’d do something a little different for this post:  An excerpt from my latest novel would change up my usual format and also to give my wonderful readership an idea of how I really write. Even though the book I am presently working on is a bit different from my usual work, it still runs along the same lines. My novels are usually an intermarrying of adventure, fantasy, science fiction, mystery and a touch of romance. I coined the term scifadstery. So let’s take a short jaunt to a world that may be closer to ours than you think.

 Chapter One

       Clay stepped up onto the raised walkway. “I hate this place,” he mumbled. Patting his sidearm, he grabbed the door handle and prepared to enter.

Clay was a bounty hunter. His latest skip (if you want to call him that since Clay had spent the better part of two years chasing empty leads) was Sal Ricky. A career criminal with a taste for refined women (and I mean a real taste) as he would consume certain body parts of his victims after performing whatever atrocities piqued his fancy.

Clay stood tall, six foot five. He always wore black (feeling it more intimidating.) His trademark trench coat covered a muscular frame, formed by hard work in the palladium mines most of his life. His face was clean shaven, save for a mustache that ended at his jaw line.

He stepped into the brothel.  A dozen pair of eyes immediately turned his way. He removed his sidearm from its holster.

“I’m looking for Sal Ricky,” he announced. After a slight pause he repeated the phrase. “I said…I’m looking for Sal Ricky.”

“If you want me, all you gotta do is ask,” came a smug response. The voice emanated from a dark corner.  In it stood a six foot tall figure. Instead of legs it sported four eight foot long appendages that would shoot forward landing on the ground and allow the rest of the body to move over these like treads on a tank.

It would repeat this scenario and could move surprisingly fast when necessary.

“So?” Sal Ricky asked.  “What exactly is it that I can do for you?”

Clay moved closer toward the corner and clicked the safety off his weapon.

“Don’t play stupid you ball of snot,” he raised his free hand and wrapped it around the bottom of his pistol grip.  “I’ve been looking for you for almost two years now.” Clay cocked the second hammer on his handgun.  “This time you’re all mine.”

Sal Ricky was a hydrak. He lived up to his name, constantly oozing fluid and leaving a trail similar to that of a slug when he moved.

“Ya think so.” The creature calmly lit a cigarette with two surprisingly human like hands. He inhaled deeply, burning up nearly half the smoke in one drag.

“Better men have tried,” he said, finishing his cigarette with a second drag and dropping it into a puddle of slime, the butt hissing as the glowing ashes died.

Clay tightened his grip.  “We can do this the easy way or the hard way.  I get just as much for you dead as alive.”  He smiled out of one corner of his mouth.  “Makes no difference to me.”

Sal Ricky crossed his arms which were anything but human.  They were muscular with a lizard like texture and a green color to match.  His lower half was bulbous and horizontal to the ground, turning vertical at mid thorax until it formed his head.

“Don’t you get tired of the same old clichés?” Sal Ricky snickered. “Easy way, hard way. Alive or dead. Blah, blah, blah. After two years you should know I don’t do anything the easy way.” His head was square with a round circle on each side.  He could spin his neck three hundred and sixty degrees if need be. He had a set of eyes at the upper portion of each circle.  Only one side contained an orifice with which he spoke and took in nourishment. One big tuft of green hair sprang from the center of his scalp climbed vertically, about a foot, and then flopped over on all sides.

“Have it your way,” Clay said.  Just then, two humanoid figures appeared on either side of Sal Ricky. The first figure made a move and then slipped on his boss’ excretions, landing flat on his back.

Clay rolled to his right behind a steel column and fired one barrel, removing most of the second figures’ head. The first man still floundering in the goo was an easy take out.

Sal Ricky moved toward Clay, knocking him to the floor as he passed.  Clay moved to one knee and steadied himself. He would only have one shot.

Sal Ricky could easily bust through the wall and that’s what he had a mind to do, Clay surmised.  He made sure both hammers were cocked.  Cocking them was one thing, firing both simultaneously was something you didn’t do unless you absolutely had to.

Clay took a deep breath and pulled both triggers….

No Matter How You Clip It, It’s Still Gonna Grow Back

English: Reel lawn mower (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

As springtime wanes, we begin our downhill push to the summer solstice. This phenomenon happens every year on June 21, marking the first day of summer. I am saddened by the return of the hot and humid weather, but hold tight to the realization that fall is a mere three miserable months away and soon followed by the icy grip of winter.

As you can probably tell I tend to lean more toward the cool weather, but let’s take a moment to examine exactly what it is that makes the warm weather months so desirable to so many people. I begin to ponder this notion. We take vacations during the summer. Hmm… But that’s something we can do in the winter also. We can swim, fish, and participate in varied water sports during the summer. Once again these are all activities that can be held during the winter months, albeit on occasion, ice would have to serve as a substitute for liquid H2O.

The one thing I can muster is that grass must be cut during the summer and lies dormant during the winter. It is for this reason that lawn care will be the subject of this post, and what could be more appropriate when speaking of lawn care than the almighty, the all-powerful, lawnmower.

Now long ago in days of yore manly men were perfectly happy shaving the tops of their medieval lawns with scythes, sickles and other barbaric blades of mayhem and destruction. Then one historic day in the early nineteenth century an engineer working in a textile factory developed the first mower of the lawn. It was very similar in construction to the un-motorized real type mowers still in use today.

Then down through the preceding years, namely 1870 and 1885 vast improvements were made, making this mower of the lawn much easier to use. Not until that glorious day in 1919 when the first gasoline powered mower was constructed had such a liberating device graced the annals of mandom. Needless to say the rest is history. Today we even have lawnmowers that are built for racing and travel close to the century mark in miles per hour.

But I digress. Let us continue shall we?

Now I like a freshly clipped lawn just as much as the next guy, but that’s about as far as it goes. When it comes to my yard I’m not a stickler as many are. I don’t aerate, nor do I fertilize. Any water the grass receives falls from the sky. I don’t spread pesticides, insecticides, weed killers or any other ”cides” on my lawn, although I have been known to consider treating my entire yard with Roundup. I don’t even bother with planting grass. I just cut what grows, which by now is a wonderfully diverse selection of weeds.

In short, if I gave my writing endeavors the same attention that I do my lawn, my novels would be in a sad state of affairs to say the least.

So in an attempt to back out of this post gracefully, I’ll leave you with this bit of advice. Drain the gas from that newfangled lawnmower; invest in a solid scythe–a sharp blade being a must. Spend the summer hacking away at the grass the old-fashioned way…A million medieval weed whacker’s can’t all be wrong.

Post script: A scythe is one of those things Death carries…Just so you’ll know if a cloaked figure carrying a large metal blade turns in your direction, he’s probably not coming to cut the grass.

Don’t Bother Me, I’m Chasing Honeybees Amongst the Pretty Blue Flowers. Now Bug Off!

European hornet  (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Things that creep, crawl, scurry and buzz their way into our psyche are a part of daily life we cannot escape. If I were to attempt to discuss the entire insect world, it would take the better part of a lifetime to read this post. Instead, I will stick with a few species that are familiar in my neck of the woods and what I have learned about them through my years on this planet.

Without too much scientific mumbo jumbo, of course.

I will say, however, that it is estimated that there are at least ten quintillion insects currently inhabiting the Earth. And yet we’re the ones screaming about overpopulation with our measly six billion.

We’ll choose from this monolith a few species native to Virginia. Among the stinging insects we have honeybees, bumblebees, carpenter bees, paper wasps, yellow-jackets, hornets, and the Pièce de résistance, the Japanese Hornet.

Have you ever seen someone who was scared of a stinging insect? Get the two within close proximity and you’ll have a form of modern dance on your hands, never before witnessed by human eyes. Other than that, these various bees, wasps and hornets fly around, gathering nectar, killing other insects and making babies.

We will now slip into the depths reserved only for the dreaded Japanese Hornet. This beast has been known to kill at least forty people a year…In Japan. What we have in this country is the European Hornet, which is often mistaken for its violent Asian counterpart. And despite popular myths, the hornets that reside in the mid-Atlantic region are less aggressive and no more poisonous than smaller stinging insects. In fact, they will defend their nest vigorously only when provoked and have been known to retreat from human aggressors.

Onto the wonderful world of creepy-crawlies. Namely, the American Cockroach. Why the American Cockroach, you ask? Because among the four most common species (the German, the Asian, the Oriental and American) the American is the largest and lives the longest. Like the Oriental, it can also fly. And on top of all these reasons, this cockroach is an American cockroach. And as you may know, Virginia is in America.

Another tid-bit you may not know about our friend the cockroach: When decapitated, cockroaches can still survive for several weeks. If given nutrients and put in the refrigerator, the head can live even longer. This tells me one very important piece of information about this hearty insect: It’s stupid.

Have you ever seen someone who is scared of creepy-crawlies? They too, when in close proximity to one of these six-legged creatures, can create an interpretive dance that rivals even the best Russian ballerinas.

And last but not least, the piss-ant.

Well, there ain’t so such thing. The term can apply to any wood ant. The formic acid they excrete produces a urine-like odor, hence the name “piss-ant.”

Well there you have it. Our excursion through the Virginian insect world. …Hey! That gives me an idea for my next novel: A radioactive praying mantis mates with a twelve-legged bumble bee and produces an Americanized Japanese Hornet. I can see it now. Bestseller here I come!

Postscript: I bet you’re thinking “spiders would have been a good thing to include in this post.” But since they are actually arachnids, they just wouldn’t fit. And man oh man, talk about interpretive dance…

It Done Broked Again!

Foto einer Glühbirne (an), (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

If you strip our capitalistic society down to bare bones, it’s all about “buy stuff, sell stuff.” Now within this simple concept, there must be a supply of goods and a supply of buyers with which to purchase these goods. Because of this, Men Who Think Great Thoughts created the notion of “planned obsolescence.”

This idea holds that products have a predetermined moment where they will become obsolete, like a light bulb that eventually needs to be replaced. This mainstay of production serves both the consumer and the manufacturer… well, until taken to the extreme.

For instance, there is a light bulb located within a fire house in Livermore, California, which has been functioning for over 110 years. While the inhabitants of the fire house appreciate this bulb, if all light bulbs were constructed in this fashion, manufacturers would be few and far between.

On the other hand, have you ever replaced a blown light bulb and had the new one flash and die just as you screwed it in? Indeed, this would line the pockets of light bulb salesmen but would probably cause an uprising amongst consumers. This, in turn, would precipitate an increase in muggings of light bulb salesmen laughing their way to the bank.

One place planned obsolescence affects me is in the wearing of blue jeans. As we all know, the longer we wear a well-built denim garment, the better it feels. Notice I did not say “the better it looks.” For once again, we all know the longer we wear that same well-built denim garment, the worse it looks. I would wear my jeans until everything but my naughty bits were exposed. And then sadly hum taps as I buried my old friend in the waste basket.

Slamming on the breaks and shifting into reverse, timeless is what an author wants his work to become. But sometimes, due to a dated storyline, an obscure writing style or anyone of a thousand other things, unplanned obsolescence can slip in and void the work.

In conclusion, when that light bulb blows in the dark of night, stay calm, knowing that a replacement is nearby. But remember, I won’t say that Thomas Edison didn’t invent the incandescent light bulb in 1879. But there was some scuttlebutt about an Englishman named Frederick de Moleyns receiving a patent for the first incandescent light bulb in 1841.

Ain’t life funny?

Please Run That by Me One More Time…and Try to Make Some Sense This Time

Dog sunny Day Afternoon (Photo credit: allert)

Whether writing a novel, a novella or short story, I’ve learned that just because I know what’s in my brain, doesn’t mean my readers do. I must convey my ideas to my readership in a clear and concise fashion. In other words, they must know what I know.

I find that in the advertising and packaging industries, this particular formula does not ring true.

For instance (and allow me to set the scene):

A slightly disheveled bedroom, early morning light streams through the windows. A young couple awakens. The man, in his early twenties, rolls from the bed, donning nothing but tighty-whities. He pulls on a pair of pants, all the while smiling at the attractive young lady still lying in the bed. As he heads for the bathroom, the woman throws back the covers and steps onto the floor, wearing a man’s button-up shirt with the fringes of her underwear visible from behind. She also makes her way to the bathroom.

The scene changes: Both stand in front of a large mirror, the female shaving her head with a disposable razor as the man scrubs his teeth with a used toilet brush. The camera pans back, the screen darkens and a company’s logo appears, finally revealing what the commercial is actually trying to sell.

Not exactly “clear and concise”, is it?

I’ll admit that example was a little over the top, but come on. It seems that some commercials are written for absolutely nothing… Kinda makes you wonder from which elementary school these advertisers obtained their degrees? Moreover, what company would actually purchase these ads to promote their products?

Maybe I should rethink my career choice?

Continuing the bedroom theme, in the early 1970s, the Ivory Snow Company chose a pretty young actress cuddling an adorable infant to grace their boxes. This young woman turned out to be none other than porn star Marilyn Chambers. Talk about burying the lead…clear and concise? I think not.

Now let’s jump on our ladders and crawl out of the bathroom.

There’s a commercial that has recently surfaced that promises pure dog and cat food. It asks the viewer if the food that they’re feeding their pet now contains the proper nutrients in the appropriate amounts; such as, “Is your pet getting too much protein?”

Ugh.

Stop the presses. Correct me if I’m wrong, but unless things have changed recently, cats and dogs are carnivores. If they were living in the wild, they would eat nothing but protein, except for the occasional grass salad. If you want to sell me dog food, sell me dog food. I don’t need a multivitamin for my pet…clear and concise? Nope.

 ‘Nuff said.

I believe I have laid some of your most worrisome questions to rest which leaves me with a very satisfied feeling. One could almost use the term “warm and fuzzy” to describe it.

Oh, and the product being advertised in my example earlier in this post? It was obviously a commercial introducing a new anti-inflammatory cream exclusively for vegan dogs and cats. Duh.

Two Steps Back

Cathode ray tube (Photo credit: Micah Sittig)

Hello and thank you for joining me for part 2 of “Do You Really Want Your Plane to be That Plain?” There was just too much good stuff to fit in a single post. So let’s get down to it, shall we? If you haven’t read my last post please start there.

I’m going to start by telling on myself. I mentioned in my last post that my idiosyncrasies were another story. And since this is another story, here goes.

I am a musician. I have played guitar for years and have always loved good, hard rock. Now with the amplifiers of today, you can get nearly any sound you can imagine. However, I refuse to play on anything but a tube amp. Tube amps were replaced by transistors, and when this happened, the warm sound of the tube was lost.

I had my small amp rebuilt several years ago, and since tubes are not easy to come by, it was a bit of a chore to obtain the necessary implements. In fact, I think the only manufacturer of the old-style  tube is located in Russia. I was able to find mine through some friends who owned thirty-year-old stock. And viola! An old amp with and old sound.

Some folks, including myself, are not particularly fond of the microwave oven. I do own one, but only use it occasionally to heat up certain foods. If you’ve ever tried to cook a fresh piece of meat in a microwave, you’ll find that it cooks quickly, turns gray, and depending on the cut and species, tastes somewhere between a clump of smooth mud and salt-treated saw dust. All in all, a great idea for communication towers, but as far as food? Start a fire instead.

Now, I come to the crème de la crème. A small portion of the population lives without computers, cell phones, microwaves, and probably still uses a dial telephone. I’ve coined a term for these individuals. They shall henceforth be known as “The Elitist Hold-Outs.” They work in their gardens each summer, they shy away from anything more technologically advanced than a ballpoint pen, they cook three great meals each day and go to church on Sunday.

I affectionately call mine “grandma.”

So there you have it. The lack of technology in a technological world. It can be done. And sometimes, maybe it should. Oh, and just one more personal idiosyncrasy. In a world inundated with new movies almost weekly, my family tells me that I am slightly behind the times, insofar as I rarely watch a film that doesn’t include a shark, tornado, or some combination thereof.

So I put in my VHS copy of Jaws, unplug the microwave, and keep an eye out the window. I hear tell there may be a twister looming on the horizon.

Follow the yellow brick road…