Podcast That Dares 44: Weeds

 Rish presents the uncollected Jordy Verrill story "Weeds," by Stephen King.  Happy Fourth of July!

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Logo by Gino "Meteor S**t!" Moretto.

The Cold Shoulder

This is something from July I meant to talk about either on my podcast or my blog, but it slipped my mind.  Then I saw a photo I had taken, and it all came back to me.  

We went to what used to be called the San Diego Wild Animal Park (damned if I can remember what they rebranded it as: the San Diego Zoo Safari maybe?), and after being there for two hours, everybody gathered at a nice observation station, which had several tables and benches, a couple snack shacks, and the view of the artificial marshes and the animals that lived there.  For some reason, my five year old nephew relocated himself to underneath the table.  I missed what set him off, but he was pouting and angry*, and absolutely would not come out no matter who talked to him.  His dad demanded he get out of there, his brothers tried to coax him out, his mother tried to sweet-talk him out, I approached him and was told to get lost by the boy's father, and so now it was up to my niece and her boyfriend to give it a try.

Aaron had bought an overpriced milkshake and got down on his hands and knees, and tried to tempt the boy out by offering a taste of it.  He held it out to him, but my nephew didn't take it.  So Aaron stretched his arm out to make him try it . . . and somehow, he dumped the milkshake all over him (I suspect that he gripped it too tight and it exploded out the top, but I can never know for sure).  The boy had shake on his face, shirt, neck, and hair, and we tried not to laugh, knowing that would just set him off further.

But it didn't.  Now he had an excuse to come out (so he could get cleaned up), and all was forgiven.

I just wanted to share that with someone.  Thank you.

*I'm not really sure why--maybe they wouldn't buy him something, maybe he was tired, maybe he'd just been told that even though we'd paid sixty dollars a ticket, my sister and her husband wanted to leave already, having only seen a third of the park.  If it was the latter (something I found out a half hour later as everybody headed for the exits instead of the Asian side of the park), I absolutely could not blame him for pitching a fit.

Rish Outcast 257: To Your Very Good Health

Rish talks about being sick (while sick) and being well (while well).  How are you?

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Logo by Gino "Hood Wealth" Moretto.

Writing Goal - August

So, the month is half over, and I set a goal of writing--gasp!--7500 words in the month of August*, and thus far, I'm doing badly.

8/2 235 words
8/4 288
8/7 526 words

8-9 628
8-10 345 words
8-13 736
8-14 876 words
8-15 36

That puts me at 3673 words for the month.  Not quite halfway there, but pretty close.  All it would take is a day or two more like yesterday, and I'd be streets ahead.

*Yeah, I know it ain't a lot, but go pound sand, I'm having a hard time wanting to write right now.

Rish Outcast 256: Caller I.D. 2

Rish (finally) produces the second installment in the ongoing "Caller I.D." series.  Maybe you should just let it go to voicemail.

Note: The first installment was Episode 227.

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Logo by Gino "Caller Superego" Moretto.

Two Strikes, You're Out

I'm at the cabin, and yesterday afternoon, as I was doing some audio editing (a Ray Bradbury story that's possibly his most famous, but one I don't like at all . . . so why would I present it on my show?), there was a loud BANG to the right of me.  I knew what it was immediately (it had happened before): a bird had flown into the window.  There have been a number of times when I've gone to the upper deck and found a dead bird up there, and no doubt, that was the reason why.  But this time, it startled the crap out of me, but I got up and went out there, and found a large brown and orange bird (I thought it was a woodpecker for the moment I saw it) awkwardly walking on the deck.  The second it saw me, it flew away, but it had left a telltale grey mark on the glass* and a couple of white feathers on the sill.  I felt bad for it (I feel bad for a lot of injured or dead animals, leading me to free the squirrels I caught in the traps around the building, and even going so far as to pity the yellowjackets I swat when they get inside and buzz around the east window), but was glad it was alright.

I kept thinking about how hard it hit the glass (imagining Alfred Hitchcock-esque scenarios), and ended up writing a story about it once the sun went down (one I'll surely never share with anyone, but pretty much wrote in one day), and that was it.  I wasn't going to mention it to anyone, and certainly wouldn't have blogged about it.

Now it's the next day, and I was reading instead of writing or editing (sorry), when, to my right, on a different window, came another meaty THUMP.  It startled me, though not as badly, and I got up to see if it had been the same bird.  

It was, but this time, he wasn't getting up.  It was fluttering its wings, its little claws opening and closing, its mouth agape, and a long thin tongue lolling out like you see in the movies.  Before my eyes, its movements ceased, and its eyes actually closed as it died.  There was another grey mark on the glass where it hit, but I swear, this one hadn't struck nearly as hard.  My guess is, the poor thing's neck was broken, but the time between flying into the window and being dead was less than a minute.  Unfortunate, beautiful animal, and now it was gone for no reason.  

The story I wrote last night was meant to be scary, since that's how I'd reacted, but if I wrote one now, it would just be sad.

*I tried to get a picture of it just now, but you just can't see it amid the mid-day reflection.

The Extra Mile

I was driving home yesterday when I passed a Subway restaurant (which was open), and thought, "I ought to stop and get a sandwich for lunch."  But I had already passed it, and had miles and miles to drive, so I just kept going.  By this point, I was four towns up from where I live, and when I got to the Subway three towns up, it was closed.  I kept driving, and pulled into the lot of the Subway two towns up, and it was closed too.  So, I got back on the road, drove a few more miles, and found the fourth Subway (one town up) was open.

I went in and told the sole employee of my plight, and he didn't much care.  "I work at three Subways," he told me, "and in some neighborhoods, they close on Sundays 'cause there's not enough business."  I looked around--the building was empty--and asked him, "But this one does enough business to stay open?"  And he said, "You're the first customer I've had in half an hour."

Anyway, I ate my food, pretty much forgetting about my irritation with not finding an open restaurant (a single customer did come in before I was done, BTW), and then left to head home.  Upon reaching the parking lot, I stopped.  For on the ground in front of me was what appeared to be a hundred dollar bill.

Now, if you examine the above photo, you'll observe (as I did) that there was something wrong with it--the edge of a second zero can be seen in the middle.  I realized that it was one of those fake bills that people sometimes put out to trick people, and that there might be someone watching me even then, to catch the hope on my face when I thought I had found a fortune*, and the shattering of that hope when I realized it was phony.

To rob them of their satisfaction, I just scooped up the bill, put it in my pocket, jumped in my car, and drove away.  At the nearest red light, I did get out the bill and examine it.  To my surprise, it was NOT a hundred dollar bill after all.

It was two.

So, it's like they say on Trandosha: "When Bossk closes a hatch, he opens an airlock."

*Yes, a hundred dollars is still a fortune.  And if you don't think so, you are paid way too much.