As usual, the wife (who wouldn't allow me to share), AM and Butchered Paper gave their take on yesterday's prompts. Todays?
Write a story about friendship with a high school student as the main character and a fountain as the key object. Set your story in a flower shop.
The flower shop on the east side of New Ashford had been the go-to hang out for Lindsay Schuller since she was a little girl. It seemed that while other girls had gone to the playground and, later in life, the mall, Linday Schuller had always gone to the flower shop on Hudson avenue.
The shop had first opened in 1961 under Vivian DuSable, and while Vivian could arrange a bouquet of peonies like no one else in town she wasn't the most creative woman; she named the flower shop Vivian's. The flower shop was a gem in the tiny Massachusetts town of New Ashford. Ivy crawled along the inside walls and clung to the tin ceiling. The small attached green house in the back kept the inside consistently humid and warm, a slight dew coating the counters and windows year-long. And in the center of the shop stood an elegant four foot ceramic fountain, installed in 1944 when the building was still the office and showroom for the green house and not yet just a flower shop. The fountain ran every day and worked without fail until one late summer day in 1974 when, for no particular reason, it stopped working. In a strange turn of events Richard Nixon was impeached from office just one day before the fountain let out it's last drop of water. The day after the fountain stopped working Lindsay Schuller was born.
In 1978 Vivian sold the shop to Janet Schuller, one of her longtime employees, and moved to Florida to be with a man named Arnold who lived in Boca Raton. Janet Schuller, long known as Vivian's right hand gal, could create a gift basket like no one else in town and she believed (erroneously) that this also meant she was creative in other ways. After taking over Vivian's she renamed the flower shop The Big Bloom.
Janet's Schuller's niece, Lindsay, had first come into her aunt's shop when she was four, and in one way or another had never left. At age six she found the spot near the shop's front windows an ideal place for tea parties with her best friend Alicia and her stuffed animals. At age 12 she was coming after school to help fulfill orders, water plants and make deliveries. When Lindsay started her junior year in high school most of the other girls in her class were doing their best to master eyeliner and were listening to Madonna (or if they were particularly tortured sixteen year olds, Sinead O'Connor), but Lindsay Schuller spent every free moment she had at The Big Bloom.
"You need to do more things with girls your own age," Janet Schuller told her niece one fall afternoon, half of her attention occupied with filling out an order form. "But I'm just starting a new project," Lindsay said, rearranging several pots along the east wall of the shop. Janet looked up at her. "Project?" Lindsay nodded, tucking her hair behind her ears, walking a few steps over to the fountain and kicking it.
Janet Schuller rolled her eyes. "You're not going to fix that fountain," she said, looking back down at her order form and walking off into the back room. In Janet's defense, many in the past had tried to fix the fountain and many had failed. But Janet didn't know her niece's plan, and that it involved a boy who went to school with Lindsay by the name of Jonathan Bright.
Jonathan Bright kept to himself almost as much as Lindsay did, but everyone in town knew his predisposition towards plumbing, if not because he had tagged along with his father on his house calls, because of his science fair project entitled "Pipes!" that had won him a 2nd place ribbon. Lindsay Schuller knew that if anyone could fix The Big Bloom's fountain, it would be Jonathan Bright.
Responses to yesterday prompt include a story the wife sent based on the Edith/Caleb prompt (which again, I'm not allowed to share), and both Switching Over to AM and Butchered Paper posted their own story based on the prompt (more of you may have done this too, please let me know if you did). So why not, let's keep this prompt party going. Today's?
Write about a heart that wouldn't quit.
The heart transplant that transpired at St. Augustine's on October 3rd at 8:13am was, for all intents and purposes, normal. But as the Igloo cooler containing the heart was whisked down the hall of the third floor the truly observant would have noticed that heart rates around the third floor speed up slightly, that patients could be overheard commenting on the lime Jello's unusually sweeter taste, and that empty bedpans around the ward sparkled more than usual.
The heart being transported in the Igloo cooler had previously belonged to Derick Mulroon, a professional snowboarder who had competed in the X-Games seven times from 1998 to 2005 (missing 2003 because he had gotten more intoxicated than usual and had somehow woken up the next morning in the neighboring state of Utah, behind a 7-11). Derick had lived his life on the edge, to the extreme and without limits. Needless to say, when Derick Mulroon danced, he danced like no one was watching. Unfortunately, Derick Mulroon's life ended much the same way it began: struggling, screaming, and inside a woman. He was 34 and two days after he died ESPN2 aired a retrospective on his life.
The recipient of Derick Mulroon's heart was Tobin Tobler Jr., a sales executive at Blumner & Broderick Ball Bearings Inc. Tobin Tobler Jr. did not live his life on the edge. Nor did he live his life to the extreme. And it goes without saying that when Tobin Tobler Jr. danced he assumed that everyone was watching.
And so, on the evening of October 3rd, as Tobin Tobler Jr.'s blood was finally getting used to beating through Derick Mulroon's heart, Tobin Tobler Jr. was struck with a curious sensation that he had never felt before: He had the urge to go snowboarding.
Yesterday's prompt spawned a short story from the wife (which she refused to let me share because she's shy) and a post over at Switching Over to AM using the prompt. Today's prompt?
Edith Tidwell and Caleb Francis meet when a mutual acquaintance introduces them to each other. One of them is a chemist.
Over the course of the evening Caleb Francis had consumed more passed appetizers than was probably healthy. He had eaten several peppery beef kebabs with pearl onions, he had scarfed down a small plate of crab cakes with pomeray mustard and he had commandeered almost an entire tray of teriyaki salmon skewers ("Ooo 'otta 'huy 'eese," he told his friend David, talking through a mouth full of food and holding out a tray). By the time the fig and goat cheese crostinis came around he was almost too stuffed to eat, but Caleb was an avid eater and he managed to find room in his stomach.
Edith Tidwell, on the other hand, was eating less than was probably healthy. She was going through vodka and sodas at a dangerous speed and had only tried a tiny bite of the saffron infused prawn skewers. "You need to eat more," he friend Judith told her, raising an eyebrow as Edith started on her fifth cocktail. "I'd eat more if the food didn't taste like Connecticut," Edith replied. Judith would have argued with her friend, but Edith was right, the food did taste vaguely of the Constitution State.
It was after Caleb Francis had finished of the last of the crab and mango empanadas that his friend David had wanted to introduce him to someone. "She's someone I work with," David said, "and if you stop focusing on the appetizers for one second I think you'd enjoy talking to her." Caleb, who was still chewing, simply nodded in agreement.
"Edith!" David said, dragging Caleb across the room by his sleeve. "How are you?"
Edith, who had been left alone by Judith and was sucking the vodka off the last of her ice cubes, was caught off guard. "David," she said, tucking the cube into her cheek rather than spitting it out, giving her the vague appearance of a chipmunk. "Good to see you."
"You too," David replied. "I wanted you to meet my friend Caleb." David stepped aside and Caleb and Edith stared at each other, Edith with a tiny ice cube still tucked in her cheek and Caleb with a small bite of food still lingering in his mouth.
- Argentinian labor rights
- Women's suffrage
- Her husband's political career
- Her own charitable foundation
- The people of Argentina not crying on her behalf
06.22.09 Check It Out (Get It? Because It's About Libraries!)
Last week I happened to comment something particularly lame and ignorant on one of Pop Culture Librarian's blogs. It was something about libraries.
"Oh Josh," she responded, "your comment is of the ilk that makes public librarians weep. I want to say something on the role and mission of public libraries and how research papers are like 10% of what we do...So many things to say in response...brain shutting off...so sad...sniff sniff..."
I told her that it might help inform the public at large to have a librarian featured prominently on a television show, the same way Bill Cosby was the first black man featured on a show when he was in I Spy back in the 60's, and Ellen was the first actual gay star of a TV show. I suggest that maybe we need a show about librarians. And that's when the two of us started brainstorming and came up with Overdue
(one Saturday of my life wasted on Photoshopping so that five of you can be amused)
Overdue stars Alexis Bledel (Rory on Gilmore Girls) as a new hire at the library, learning the ropes. The wacky-yet-sage librarian who has been there forever and takes her under her wing is played by Kristin Chenoweth (Olive on Pushing Daisies). Of course, spending her days and nights at the library leads Bledel to develop a crush Brian Austin Green (we all know who he is), the graduate student lothario that comes in every day to work on his never ending dissertation. And John Krasinski (Jim on The Office) plays the semi-nerdy librarian for teens that's secretly in love with Alexis, and while we all know she should be with him, she somehow doesn't see it. Also, the library perv is played by David Spade.
What's that, you say? The weekend is almost here? It's so close you can taste it? Yes. Yes, I'd say I agree with you.
This weekend the wife is out of town. I've learned that my internet pal and blogwrecked companion, the baseball loving Switching Over to AM is also spending the weekend alone, with his wife out of town as well. Unfortunately he's in Texas and I'm in Chicago. But I like to imagine that later tonight we'll both be sitting on our porches, drinking a bottle of beer and staring up at the moon, humming the theme from American Tail (that movie with the mouse that comes over from the old country and sings about being under the same moon as another mouse far away). Ah, how sweet it will be. And not gay at all.
But really, what's a guy to do around the house when his wife is halfway across the country for a few days?
A brief list:
- Stretch out in the bed.
- Order lots of pizza.
- Not light candles in the bathroom (wink, wink. nudge, nudge).
- Frasier marathon! Holla!
- Sing songs to the dog (my favorite, to the tune of Copa Cabana: "His name was Murphy/ he was a doggy/ he would run up and down the stairs/ walks and food his only cares").
- Hook my computer up to our 52" plasma and watch YouTube the way it was intended to be seen!
No, but seriously, I'm probably just going to sleep the entire time.
Have you ever been sitting around and thought, "I wonder which kitchen utensil would work better as a microphone, just in case I ever need to use one as such?"
Well wonder no more! Or...continue wondering, but at least have some outside research to base your answer on.
Companies producing baked goods that tried (and ultimately failed) to reproduce the hook of Famous Amos Cookies:
- Uneven Stephen Eclairs
- Irani Johnny Bastani-e Za'farāni
- Boozin' Susan Rum Cake
- Clammy Sammy Brownies
- Wacky Jackie Biscotti
- Semi-Well Known Amos Cookies
There's a new website called Meet Me In the Future. As far as I can tell it's sponsored by the College Board and maybe the SATs, but as far as what it's purpose is...I haven't the slightest idea.
The only way I even ended up at the site was after I ran across this ad on the side of a blog the other day:
So, okay, the first bubble of "running the country" is a fine goal (I guess), but "opening a book store"?
With independent bookstores being eaten up by Barnes & Noble, print sales slowing, and Kindle and e-book sales going up, should we really be encouraging the dream of opening a book store?
I think an ad like this would be more appropriate in this day and age:
I saw this ad on the side of a website the other day and thought, "Is it intentional that it looks like she's supporting his weight and he looks like he's kind of trying to push her out of the ad?"
I want the kind of relationship where I can jam my shoulder into the back of my diminutive girlfriend's head! And she smiles about it!
A time line of sad moments in Josh music history over the past 20 years:
1989 - I become obsessed with the song Joshua Giraffe, if only because it includes my name. My family suffers. 1992 - I receive a boom box for Hanukkah. I suggest we listen to Weird Al on it. My family firmly refuses. 1993 - I buy the first album by Ace of Base. 1995 - In a moment of adolescent boredom I write a parody of the Michael Jackson song Scream entitled Sneeze. 1996 - I buy the second album by Ace of Base. 1997 - I get a box of pencils thrown at my head by a misery chick in art class after I make a joke about Courtney Love lacking any real talent. 2001 - I sing Raspberry Beret by Prince for the first time at karaoke. People clap politely. 2002 - Dictionaraoke. 2003 - I attempt to sell a giant box of at least 50 old CDs at used CD shop. The guy buys two and gives me back the rest (while, I swear, he chokes back laughter). 2005 - I'm finally corrected during Every Breath You Take by The Police when I sing "I'm a pool hall ace!" and someone says, "Um, it's 'how my poor heart aches'." Oh. 2009 - I make the playlist for dance songs at my wedding. Only a few people pick up on the fact that Let's Go to the Mall by Robin Sparkles is not a real 80's song.
Last night I was out at a bar, having a few beers and reading a book (god I'm so much fun!) when I overheard two guys a few stools down talking about some movie they just saw called Double Down.
My ears perked up. I wanted to turn to them and say "You mean the Sean William Scott/Brittany Murphy Las Vegas fun-loving-romp comedy that Artjewtino and I wrote?" (and that you can read about here.)
Unfortunately I couldn't hear the rest of what they were talking about. So rather than interrupt some strangers and start talking about a movie I'd made up, I headed home and went onto IMDB.
It seems that Double Down was such an awful movie that it didn't even have a synopsis. But it did have a tagline: "One Briefcase. Four Friends. The Best day of their lives."
Does that sound at all familiar? Oh, maybe because the tagline for OUR Double Down was "One night. One city. Two parties."
God, I hate it when Hollywood steals my good ideas*.
*Unless of course they give me a lot of money for it.
Man, oh man, do I not feel like blogging. Or rather, I feel like everything I write is crap. My Drafts folder is full of blogs I've started to write over the past few days, only to abandon halfway through.
A blog about my awful music collection? Half written (though still including a reference to Hootie and the Blowfish).
A list of rejected names for Pepperidge Farm cookies? Sadly unfunny (with the exception of Consternationables, which would be great name for a Pepperage Farm cookie).
A recap of this past Sunday, including stats and photos? Boringly boring.
A compilation of zoologists whose names sound similar to bots I've recently received spam from? Funny, sure, but in a "Oh, hmm, that's humorous," kind of way (though Ernst Freiherr von Blomberg is a knee-slapper).
So what am I doing instead? I'm writing this. You people got screwed.
