They’re the “BP” in “bupkis.” The solution they haven’t and won’t consider.

Tuesday, May 18, 2010

There is arguably enough oil in the earth, gushing out of the failed BP well in the Gulf of Mexico, to eventually cover the world’s oceans.  After all, it only has to be a molecule thick.  At the very least, we are in the midst of a continuing environmental disaster of potentially biblical proportions.  While BP’s various failed attempts to stop the flow are laughably pathetic, the fact is, this mess isn’t the least bit funny.

What is curious is BP’s failure to consider and implement the most obvious, quickest, least expensive solution: Set off a substantial explosive device at the wellhead on the bottom of the ocean floor.

The hole they have drilled to find the oil is relatively small and proceeds from the ocean floor more than two miles into the earth.  A carefully engineered device with sufficient power would seal that hole, fusing it shut, and that would be that.

And if BP isn’t up to it, Congress should give President Obama the authority to seize the well and get the job done without a moment’s further delay – at BP’s expense, of course.

-wf


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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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Why I’m not a fan of baseball, and what I propose to do about it.

Wednesday, April 7, 2010

Well, it’s that time of the year again. “Boring sports time.”

Just to be clear, there are two reasons why I’m not a fan of baseball. For one thing, with rare exceptions, my hometown team sucks. Year in and year out, they have struggled, and often failed to achieve even a barely winning season. The other reason is that I find baseball tedious. Even the highlights on the evening news fail to excite.

It is a sport dominated by a few big budget teams who are, for the most part, perennial champions, but I’m about to change all that… as if anyone pays attention to anything I say.

What I propose – and I’m serious about this – is just one teeny, tiny change in the rules. Are you ready? Are you sitting down? Do you have fresh underwear standing by??

It’s simple. If it was up to me, I would put the pitcher on the side of the team that’s up to bat.

In one fell swoop, I have changed the polarity of the sport. No longer will the pitcher be trying to prevent the batter from hitting. Now, it’s the other way around.

Give each batter a maximum of, let’s say, four pitches to hit the ball in fair territory, or he’s out. (I was thinking three to five, and spit the difference.)

Who will be the best pitchers? The ones who know their batters and who can throw the perfect pitch that helps that batter get precisely the hit he needs to get on base or drive in a run.

Think it’s easy? Think all the pitcher has to do is lob one in there to produce homerun after homerun? On a major league diamond, the distance from the rubber on the mound and home plate is 60.5’. That’s a huge distance. Slow pitches, “lobs” aren’t going to make it with any degree of accuracy. Some significant speed on the ball is going to be essential to encourage a precision and/or long distance hit. Keep trying for the homerun? The pitcher has only four chances, too few to waste.

As for the batters, shear power – natural or artificially enhanced – will be less important. Precision hitting, more so. Communication, chemistry with the pitcher now replaces anticipation.

What difference will it make? Well, my version of the game will be much faster, almost certainly higher scoring, with far more hitting and fielding. Who knows, stadium and TV fans might actually have to pay attention for fear of missing the action.

And watch what happens to attendance if I’m right, and my change in the rules makes even traditional losers more competitive, and more exciting to watch.

-wf


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Bubba and the Other Tomatoes

The other tomatoes never felt comfortable around Bubba because of his size, and were often cruel to him with their comments… until he was drafted by the NFL and given a multi-million dollar contract, while the rest of them went on to be salad.

-wf


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Exhausted (or “Dead Tired,” depending upon the ending)

Short Fiction for Guests of the WordFeeder
Sunday, March 21, 2010

Emma Warner got off late from work that evening and went directly to the mall, to shop, to pick up a watch she’d left off for repair a week ago, the expensive one she wears to weddings, and because it was worth it to put off going home to an empty house. Pushing hard on the outer door, Emma looked around. It was dark. She’d parked as close as she could to the front of that one department store that was particularly well lit, but she still had a way to go and the lot wasn’t as full, wasn’t as busy as it had been when she arrived.

Her cell phone rang just as she was stepping off the curb, a distraction she didn’t need. “Hello? ..Oh, hi. …Yeah, I’m fine, really. ..I’m just leaving the mall. ……………Are you sure it’s him? ……I see. ..So you think tonight’s the night? ..Me, too. …..Yeah, those cookies are good. …Alright. …..Yeah, okay. ..Bye.” Sliding her phone back into her coat pocket, she reached below it to grab her keys, pressing the open button to flash the taillights of her car and to make sure the door was already unlocked when she got there. Opening the door, she shoved her shopping bags across her seat, over the gearshift, sat down quickly and locked her doors.
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The Ripple Effect

Short Fiction for Guests of the WordFeeder
Monday, March 15, 2010

“Hey. My name is Daryl. Ever since I was a little kid, my parents have known I was special. Somehow, I was born with a natural sense of how people and events relate to each other, with an overview and a sense of anticipation that are uncanny for their accuracy, and flat out spooky in the way they enabled me to manipulate other kids and my parents. (Sorry Mom and Dad. I love you, but I am what I am.)”

“As it turns out, I’m even better working with perfect strangers. It’s not so much deception that I practice… Anyone can lie. .. as it is the patience and skill with which I come at a problem, from a distance. In fact, so remarkable are my abilities, the things I do and the way I do them have become known as…

Ripple, in case you haven’t guessed, is my family name. Need help? Ask around. No one does word-of-mouth better than me.”

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The Commute

Short Fiction for Guests of the WordFeeder
Wednesday, March 10, 2010

“Hey! Get a lane of you own, buddy. …Unbelievable. They’ll let just about anybody drive.”

“Hmm.” Dead stop. “..Beep, beeeeeeppp!!” John was never reluctant to sit on his horn, however obnoxious. He didn’t care. He was going from A to B, and everyone else was just getting in his way. Behind the wheel of his faded, once electric red two-seater, he had the selfish independence of a… of a three year old. It was all about him.
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