Category Archives: Life

Long Distance

Short Fiction for Guests of the WordFeeder
Sunday, July 4, 2010

“Norm honey, aren’t you going to answer it?”

Becky, the girl Norman Allgood had been dating for the past few months, had seen that look on his face before, whenever the subject of his parents came up. But lately, when the other cell phone he kept in his desk drawer would ring, the usual angst was laced with… with fear? Fear wasn’t something most people see in their friends, and she wasn’t sure, and couldn’t imagine why it would be there.
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Question of the Day: When, in the Gulf, is it time for a “last resort”?

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

About a month ago,* I suggested what I thought was the obvious, that the use of carefully engineered explosives would do what BP obviously can’t, seal the open hole it made in the bottom of the Gulf floor under the Deep Water Horizon. In light of today’s new estimates of the extent of the problem, I think it’s reasonable to suggest that the use of explosives be given renewed and very careful consideration.

Some people have effectively dismissed of the use of conventional explosives by focusing their criticism on those few nut balls who have recommended nuclear force. Needless to say, the use of nuclear weaponry is nonsensical and unnecessary, and no one is seriously considering it.

Understandably, more reasoned experts have called the use of explosives a last resort. It’s tricky business that needs the input and management of our best scientists, engineers and industry experts, and which cannot be left up to BP to implement whose track record is abysmal, to say the least.

The simple objective is to focus enough force onto the well head to press and fuse it shut. Easier said than done? Of course. What isn’t? Is it a last resort? Maybe, but it’s doable, and last resorts are, after all, what you do when you’ve run out of options, when you’ve lost confidence in the ordinary solutions, when the scope of the damages from a continuing problem become unbearable, which is pretty much where we are now.

What? We’re supposed to wait for the relief wells BP is drilling? Does anybody out there really believe they’re going to work?

*“They’re the “BP” in ‘bupkis.’ The solution they haven’t and won’t consider.,” published May 18.

**“Scientists up estimate of leaking Gulf oil”, by Ray Henry, published today on MSNBC.com.

-wf


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Mandel Bread, the Final Solution to the Gulf Oil Problem

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

Mandel (pronounced “mahn-dle”) Bread, if you don’t know what I’m talking about, is Jewish biscotti. I like to call it “Miracle Bread,” because I believe it is miraculous that it stays together despite the fact that it has, in my opinion, negative moisture content, if that’s possible. You think you understand the meaning of the word “dry”? Well, you don’t have a clue what you’re talking about until you’ve tried some, Mandel Bread that is.

However tasty, Mandel Bread is best consumed in small bites which can be difficult to swallow without a beverage, hence the tradition of dipping it into something. Just be careful not to overdo it. Too much Mandel Bread at one time and you won’t see saliva in your mouth for a month. Two or more pieces at a time will turn you into a raisin.

The absorptive powers of Mandel Bread are legendary. Even an undergraduate student in ancient history knows that Moses didn’t part the Red Sea, not exactly, but that the Jews, in a hurry to get the hell out of Dodge, spilled cartloads of freshly baked Mandel Bread which soaked up the water and allowed them to pass. It’s true. That’s the way it happened. I know this because my Grandfather told me, when I was a kid, that he was there and knew Moses personally.

And so, flash forward a few thousand years, the solution to the Gulf Oil problem is simple. First, we need to replace BP CEO Tony Hayward with someone who’s Jewish or Italian. (The British like to make scones, but they’re not nearly as effective.) Second, get everyone to work baking Mandel Bread and dump the finished product directly onto the oil in the gulf. I’ve done some calculations, and determined that less than 100 pieces using my Grandmother’s negative moisture recipe should do the trick. Hell, 200 pieces of that stuff will suck up enough sea water to offset the effect of rising sea levels associated with Global Warming.

Jeez, that was easy.

-wf


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Unfaithful

Short Fiction for Guests of the WordFeeder
Sunday, June 6, 2010

All total, he’d only been out of town for two days. Their presentation team decided to fly out Wednesday afternoon to rehearse, make last minute adjustments and get plenty of sleep for the 9 AM meeting that had to go perfectly. If it did, if it went well, they’d be invited back the next morning for what amounted to a second competition among the contract finalists. They did, and they were, and now they’d know Monday if their agency had been selected. It would be the break they needed, and had worked so hard to win. It would also affirm Ben’s standing as the heir apparent to the two aging partners who founded the agency, but whose creativity was defined by a different, no longer relevant time. Ben was the next generation, yet to realize his full potential, a natural salesman with an effortless knack for making people believe that what he said was what they wanted to hear.
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“Brainer”*

The continuing legend of “Stillborn.”
Short Fiction for Guests of the WordFeeder
Sunday, May 30, 2010

*Futurespeak for someone who hacks into people’s minds, without the need for electronic enhancement.

Personal Journal
6:18 PM, July 14, 2010

“‘There are no superheroes, or gods for that matter. Only ordinary people realizing their potential.’ Twelve years later, I can still see his eyes, the odd mix…”

“Dr. Molinara.”

No answer. The 27 year old scientist, with doctorates in electrical engineering and neuro-physiology, sat on the sofa in her office, hunched over her laptop – typing notes, so her assistant assumed, on something she’d been trying to figure out. It was how she worked. Some preferred yellow pads. Others blackboards filled with equations and chemical formulas. Hers was a more literary approach, the last stage in her creative process. Her colleagues once realized that she was able to visualize the complex science of her specialties entirely in her head, and that she only wrote it out occasionally for their sake and as a prelude to manufacturing what she had invented.
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Garmin

Short Fiction for Guests of the WordFeeder
Sunday, May 23, 2010

On his way to meeting in questionable weather, Mo (short for Morris, as in “What were your parents thinking?” which is what his wife asked him on their very first date) Williams reached up to touch and hold the button on the side of his earpiece. “Call Marlene Mobile.” A few second later, his wife answered her cell phone.

“Hi, honey, What’s up?”

“Hey. I know I promised I’d be home early, but I just picked up a voice mail, the second one in the past few minutes from a Mr. Gutierrez who says he needs talk to me as soon as possible.”

“Who?”
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Quote of the Day

A PDF for your office wall.

Better to be lost in space…

-wf

Road Trip

Short Fiction for Guests of the WordFeeder
Sunday, May 16, 2010

“You know, this is really nice. We should go places together more often.”

“Yes dear, it’s wonderful. Are you sure you don’t mind driving?”

“No, of course not. In fact, I need to get out more. I love writing, but it’s a solitary job. Just me and my computer, hardly ever getting up.”

“What about the trips you make to the refrigerator?”

“I know I’ve put on a few pounds but, some days, they’re virtually the only exercise I get.”

“How ironic is that?”
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Hono-Lulu’s

Hawaiian-Style Fresh Fruit Custard
Short Fiction for Guests of the WordFeeder
Sunday, April 25, 2010

“Anna?”

“Yes, Jack. What do you need?”

“I’m trying to find Veronica. Do you know where she is?”

“Out. She got a call a few minutes ago. Ran up, asked me how she looked and blew out here. Said she’d be back in 2 hours.”

—————-

“Hey, Babe. What? Lulu’s off again today?” It was Spring, and once again Joe’s favorite soft-serve truck was open for business at the edge of the little park across the street from where he worked. As busy as he was, it was worth waiting in line while he wondered what secret ingredient they used to make it taste so good. Maybe it was just the fresh fruit, and that every flavor had a some chopped pineapple in it. “Am I never, ever going to meet Lulu?”

“Lulu,” the shapely clerk behind the counter explained in a voice as smooth and enticing as cream she sold, “is just a figment of my imagination. …You want your usual, Joe?”
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Next Contestant

Short Fiction for Guests of the WordFeeder
Sunday, April 18, 2010

The booths were small at Kellagher’s, the downtown 1940s diner that had survived by changing with the times to serve whoever was around. In the beginning, it was mostly blue collar people who worked and lived nearby when the neighborhood was a factory district. Seventy years later, the factories had all become lofts, the customers, young professionals who worked and lived nearby, and somehow, unforgivably, arugula and goat cheese had become staples on a menu Mr. Kellagher, God rest his soul, would never recognize.

It was a busy place, even on an early Saturday afternoon. Cramped and cozy, the low-back bench seats made it easy for customers to hear the conversations behind them, but no one really minded, not so much. Patrons of such places have a certain understanding, in the fine print definition of “diner” and “deli,” that you don’t really pay attention and that, even if you do, it’s none of your business, that everyone’s anonymous, even if they’re not.
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