Contents
“Caitlin was talking to somebody in a pickup,” Little Ben was telling Big Ben — or rather, his camera. “I was afraid she would get in, so I hit her with the soccer ball. She picked it up and threw it back, and that’s when I woke up.” Little Ben went back to his lunch.
“That’s… eerie,” Jennifer said, and Big Ben turned the camera on her. “Caitlin said she had the exact same dream last night! What the hell is going on?”
“Beats me,” Ben said, putting the camera down. “But a lot of people had some kind of dream about the trucks last night. Did you?”
“I might have.” Jennifer paused, scratched her head, looked at her fingers. “Damn, I hate not being able to wash my hair every night. My scalp itches. I think I had a dream, but I don’t remember it.”
“Several people had similar — or identical — dreams last night.”
“I guess the trucks are all on our minds more than we think. It stands to reason, I guess — they took away almost everyone we knew and cared about.” Jennifer raised her mug and slurped. “Who made the soup? This didn’t come out of a can!”
“Some of it did,” someone said from the next table over. “Miss Sally put it together. All of it came out of cans, but she made it soup. Max made the rolls, they’re pretty good too.”
Kelly dropped into a chair across from Cody and Sondra, surprising them both. “Hey,” Kelly said, then slurped some soup from her mug. “Hm, that’s pretty good.”
Sondra glanced at Cody, looking at his mug as if trying to decide if he wanted it, then back at Kelly. She felt a flash of annoyance at the intrusion. Kelly looked much like any young woman these days: dressed in a sweater and jeans, but just a little tight instead of comfortable and slightly loose-fitting, showing off her body to best effect. Sondra wasn’t nearly as well-endowed… not that Cody seems to mind, she thought, and almost smiled. Like Sondra’s, Kelly’s hair was slightly greasy and pulled back in a ponytail. Nobody under forty bothered with makeup these days, but Sondra had to admit that Kelly looked good without it — and everyone was getting toned, walking or bicycling everywhere and gathering food and firewood and other items against the coming winter. Still, Kelly was pretty in a way Sondra never would be. But looks aren’t everything, are they? she found herself thinking. You thought you could slag him off until you were ready to own him… you snooze, you lose.
“You heard, right?” Kelly asked. Cody looked up at Kelly, but she was looking at Sondra.
“The dreams?” Sondra felt a chill, and her right arm tingled for a moment.
“Yeah. So was I in your dream last night, or were you in mine?”
Cody: “What was your dream about?”
Kelly scowled. “I was riding fifth wheel on your honeymoon trip, God knows why, and your car started turning into a pickup. You and Sondra jumped out, and I was trying to get out before my door disappeared or the damn truck crashed.”
“Yeah, that was my dream, too,” Cody said, returning his attention to his soup mug. He lifted it, took a sip. “But I didn’t know if you guys got away. Maybe it was your dream, if you saw that and I didn’t.”
“So why didn’t I dream it?” Sondra asked, scowling at Cody too. “Maybe I’m the fifth wheel here.”
“I don’t think it was our dream,” Cody said, concentrating on the mug. “If it was just the two of us, I’d say yeah — but a bunch of people had dreams. Not everybody… or maybe they did and don’t remember. I heard a couple people say they dreamed something, but can’t recall it.”
“So whose dream was it?” Kelly asked. Both of them dropped the scowls.
Cody looked at each of them, holding his soup mug in front of his face as if hiding. He finally took a sip and put it down. “It came from the trucks, obviously,” he said, his post-Truckalypse confidence returning. “Or whatever sent the damn things.”
“What do they care? Or it?” Sondra asked.
“Hell, I don’t know. And if I ever met the SOB, I’d be too busy trying to kill it to ask.” Cody tore into the corner of his sandwich and talked around it. “Maybe we’re unfinished business. The fish that got away, 'cause we were swimming against the current.”
Kelly gave him a curious look. “Huh. I thought you liked it this way, and you’d kill the truck maker?”
Cody stammered, “I— they— hell yeah, I’d kill it. I’m glad the preps and jocks are gone, but not everyone who drove off was them. My sister… the kids remind me of her, she was about their age. She would’ve liked them. I want her back, but I don’t think anyone who got in a truck is ever coming back — I don’t know that for sure, it’s just a gut feeling. But I’d jump in one of those fucking things myself if I thought it would bring her back.” He wiped his eyes and paused a moment. “Thing is, I don’t think we can rescue anyone. All we can do is get rid of the trucks. And maybe get some payback on whatever sent ’em.”
“How do you figure we can do that?” Cleve asked. The three teens jumped; they had gathered an audience unawares.
“What, just because I wear black and have long hair, I’m automatically the authority on All Things Evil?” Cody mock-sniped at Cleve, and grinned. “You still profiling?”
Cleve laughed, as did several others. “Busted the cop! But seriously, do you have any idea how we can fight those things?”
“Not yet. Maybe if we knew more about them — about what happens to people who drive off — we’ll be able to figure out what to do next.”
“Yeah. So what’s the next step?”
Cody took a deep breath. “You know what? I think I have an idea.”
continued…
Monday, June 28, 2010 3 comments
Friday, June 25, 2010 2 comments
Phone Booth at the Crossroads
After a few calls to support, and a little troubleshooting on my own, I’ve concluded that my iPhone 3G is pretty much toast. It works OK until it gets warm, then the phone part blows a gasket and thinks it needs to be restored. The rest of the phone works fine when this happens, including the wifi; if I turn it off and let it cool down, it comes back like nothing ever happened.
With the new iPhone 4 out, you might think this was a wonderful excuse to upgrade… but Mrs. Fetched has been complaining about the phone bill for a while and put a preemptive kibosh on upgrading. The two small areas between the manor and the retail district where we lose signal are (for her) a reason to go back to Verizon. But smartphones on Verizon are even more expensive than on AT&T, and frankly I’d rather not have a cellphone at all than live with how Verizon cripples their not-so-smart phones.
So I’m seriously considering a more radical move: keep the ailing iPhone, remove the SIM card, and turn it into a Skype phone. The IdioTs at work block wifi access for personal equipment, but that’s what an office phone is for. There are plenty of open wifi hotspots between work and the retail district, and I really shouldn’t be on the phone in the car anyway, right?
Doing a little figuring in my head, it seems like I could probably do all the phone stuff I really need on Skype for maybe $10/month, maybe a little more. For what I’m paying to have an iPhone, a few inconveniences don’t seem all that substantial…
With the new iPhone 4 out, you might think this was a wonderful excuse to upgrade… but Mrs. Fetched has been complaining about the phone bill for a while and put a preemptive kibosh on upgrading. The two small areas between the manor and the retail district where we lose signal are (for her) a reason to go back to Verizon. But smartphones on Verizon are even more expensive than on AT&T, and frankly I’d rather not have a cellphone at all than live with how Verizon cripples their not-so-smart phones.
So I’m seriously considering a more radical move: keep the ailing iPhone, remove the SIM card, and turn it into a Skype phone. The IdioTs at work block wifi access for personal equipment, but that’s what an office phone is for. There are plenty of open wifi hotspots between work and the retail district, and I really shouldn’t be on the phone in the car anyway, right?
Doing a little figuring in my head, it seems like I could probably do all the phone stuff I really need on Skype for maybe $10/month, maybe a little more. For what I’m paying to have an iPhone, a few inconveniences don’t seem all that substantial…
Tuesday, June 22, 2010 5 comments
State of the FARf
Shortly after Mrs. Fetched got off the phone Friday afternoon and told me about my doctor appointment coming up Monday, my phone and computer also got in on the act. I punch those follow-up dates into my phone on the spot so I'll have some warning.
But when Big V somehow managed to end up at the manor, with Splat's kid Skyler, it was a somewhat less than restful night. Big V passed out in the rocker that we use to get Mason to sleep, so he was up for quite a while… The Boy and Snippet ended up taking him upstairs with them until he wore himself out. Each of the babies woke up through the night, and I just don't sleep through that… so when morning rolled around, I didn't start rolling until it was impossible to get to the doc's office on time. I called and they said I could be 20 minutes late without having to reschedule, so I jumped in the car and booked it. I just made it, even with the obligatory slowpokes, but just barely.
Blood pressure was good, even with the hassle of getting there. They ran an EKG, which seemed to go OK since I didn't get referred to a cardiologist. She put on The Glove… and assured me she'd take to dinner first next time. That wasn't so wonderful, since she found a bump that didn't belong there. Now I get the full reaming, boo hiss. A large "eternal" zit on my back turned out to be a cyst, and that will get yanked tomorrow.
Might as well get all the scary stuff out of the way since I'm still employed, right? At least Big V was at her own house last night.
But when Big V somehow managed to end up at the manor, with Splat's kid Skyler, it was a somewhat less than restful night. Big V passed out in the rocker that we use to get Mason to sleep, so he was up for quite a while… The Boy and Snippet ended up taking him upstairs with them until he wore himself out. Each of the babies woke up through the night, and I just don't sleep through that… so when morning rolled around, I didn't start rolling until it was impossible to get to the doc's office on time. I called and they said I could be 20 minutes late without having to reschedule, so I jumped in the car and booked it. I just made it, even with the obligatory slowpokes, but just barely.
Blood pressure was good, even with the hassle of getting there. They ran an EKG, which seemed to go OK since I didn't get referred to a cardiologist. She put on The Glove… and assured me she'd take to dinner first next time. That wasn't so wonderful, since she found a bump that didn't belong there. Now I get the full reaming, boo hiss. A large "eternal" zit on my back turned out to be a cyst, and that will get yanked tomorrow.
Might as well get all the scary stuff out of the way since I'm still employed, right? At least Big V was at her own house last night.
Monday, June 21, 2010 2 comments
White Pickups, Episode 40
Contents
From the diary of Ben Cho, fall 2011, condensed:
We planted spinach and turnips, and a few stored onions that started sprouting. We gathered trailer-loads of walnuts, and a few buckets of hickory and pecans. One of our field guides told us how to get the bitterness out of oak acorns — put them in a cloth bag and leave them in running water for a few days — but we don’t trust nearby creeks to be running clean just yet, so we’ll let that food source pass this year. It’s clear we won’t starve though, even if the gardens fail; we just have to let things grow and know what to look for. Johnny Latimer says he’s going to start hunting, it would be nice to have some fresh meat. Feral dogs are becoming a problem, but the fence keeps the most dangerous ones out and everyone is armed when they go outside.
Water is a tougher nut. We can count on numerous rain barrels scavenged from garden centers, at least through the winter, but rainfall in a Georgia summer is anything but reliable. So many things we need water for: drinking, cooking, sterilizing (by boiling), washing, irrigation, and some of us still find ourselves trying the faucets from time to time. We decided that the creeks might be all right for irrigation and washing by spring, and we’ll start drinking from them (with filtering) this summer if we have to. We covered the swimming pool for the winter, but we’ll probably use it as a swimming pool at least one more year.
A lot of us have been having weird dreams lately. Everyone’s an amateur psychologist…
Sunday, October 16, 2011
“Cody!”
Cody hit the bedroom wall, bounced back flailing. “Uh!” Moonlight made his red robe a dark spot among shadows.
“Cody, are you all right?”
He paused a moment. “Uh. Um… yeah.”
“You must have been having a dream,” Sondra said, sitting up and wrapping her robe around herself. “You remember it?”
“Yeah.” He sat down, reached under the blanket, found her hand. “It was… weird. We got married and we were driving to Florida for our honeymoon. The weird part was, Kelly was in the back seat, I don’t know why. She said, ‘Look, we’re taking off,’ and we raised up off the ground… but the car started turning into… you know. You were yelling at me to stop, stop, and I was standing on the brakes. Then I said, ‘We’ll have to jump,’ and I opened the door and jumped out. I hit the pavement — I even felt it — and was hoping you got out too. Did I just run into the wall?”
“Yeah, you did. You okay?”
“I guess so.” He felt himself over, then shivered and climbed back under the covers. They wrapped themselves around each other. “It’s cold out of bed. I guess when winter really gets here, we’ll have to move into the living room, in front of the fireplace.”
“Sounds romantic. So… getting married wasn’t the bad part?”
“Not really. As long as it was you, anyway. Problem is, I think all the preachers drove off.”
“We’ll work something out when the time comes,” Sondra whispered, kissing him. “As for keeping warm…”
They went back to sleep, but not right away.
Jennifer Lane woke with a start, and gasped at the silhouette against the moonlit window.
“Miss Jennifer? I had a bad dream.”
“Oh. Caitlin. It’s all right, you’re awake now. Do you remember it?”
“Yeah.” The little girl shuddered, even wrapped in her blanket from the futon in the living room. “I was playing outside, and a truck stopped. My mom was in it — I couldn’t see her, but I knew it was her. She said to get in.”
Jennifer thought a moment. “Did you?”
“I didn’t want to. I said you were taking care of me now, and I was scared of the trucks, but she said I had to come. I started walking toward it, and someone — I think it was Ben — threw a soccer ball at me. I threw it back at him, then I woke up.”
“You want to know what I think?” Jennifer asked, and Caitlin nodded. “I think you had that dream because we went and got your stuff from your old house on Wednesday, and we had to stay there overnight because it was too far to ride back home before dark. That made you think about your mom, but you didn’t know you were thinking about her, so you had the dream.”
“But I did think about her!” Caitlin wailed. Her breath caught for a moment. “I did. I — I didn’t wanna make you feel bad, because I know you’re taking care of me now, but I wished she was home and I could just stay there with her.” Jennifer could see her tears in the moonlight.
“It’s okay, Caitlin,” Jennifer said. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t feel that way. It’s normal.” She took Caitlin’s hand, and the girl slumped onto the bed, crying. Jennifer let her cry, and Caitlin cried herself to sleep on the bed, still wrapped up in the blanket.
Jennifer looked at the sleeping girl for a moment. Caitlin couldn’t help being a little clingy; her parents had split last winter. First her dad had left, then her mom drove off. Her crush on Cody was likely just his “luck” at being the first older boy she’d met. The girl was already losing her fat — with no TV to speak of and lots of work to get ready for the winter, even the kids were getting in shape — but was still too heavy to pick up. After a moment of thought, Jennifer got another blanket from the closet and went to the futon. Good enough for her, good enough for me, she thought. She slept — and had her own dreams.
to be continued…
From the diary of Ben Cho, fall 2011, condensed:
We planted spinach and turnips, and a few stored onions that started sprouting. We gathered trailer-loads of walnuts, and a few buckets of hickory and pecans. One of our field guides told us how to get the bitterness out of oak acorns — put them in a cloth bag and leave them in running water for a few days — but we don’t trust nearby creeks to be running clean just yet, so we’ll let that food source pass this year. It’s clear we won’t starve though, even if the gardens fail; we just have to let things grow and know what to look for. Johnny Latimer says he’s going to start hunting, it would be nice to have some fresh meat. Feral dogs are becoming a problem, but the fence keeps the most dangerous ones out and everyone is armed when they go outside.
Water is a tougher nut. We can count on numerous rain barrels scavenged from garden centers, at least through the winter, but rainfall in a Georgia summer is anything but reliable. So many things we need water for: drinking, cooking, sterilizing (by boiling), washing, irrigation, and some of us still find ourselves trying the faucets from time to time. We decided that the creeks might be all right for irrigation and washing by spring, and we’ll start drinking from them (with filtering) this summer if we have to. We covered the swimming pool for the winter, but we’ll probably use it as a swimming pool at least one more year.
A lot of us have been having weird dreams lately. Everyone’s an amateur psychologist…
Part III
Dream Warfare
Dream Warfare
Sunday, October 16, 2011
“Cody!”
Cody hit the bedroom wall, bounced back flailing. “Uh!” Moonlight made his red robe a dark spot among shadows.
“Cody, are you all right?”
He paused a moment. “Uh. Um… yeah.”
“You must have been having a dream,” Sondra said, sitting up and wrapping her robe around herself. “You remember it?”
“Yeah.” He sat down, reached under the blanket, found her hand. “It was… weird. We got married and we were driving to Florida for our honeymoon. The weird part was, Kelly was in the back seat, I don’t know why. She said, ‘Look, we’re taking off,’ and we raised up off the ground… but the car started turning into… you know. You were yelling at me to stop, stop, and I was standing on the brakes. Then I said, ‘We’ll have to jump,’ and I opened the door and jumped out. I hit the pavement — I even felt it — and was hoping you got out too. Did I just run into the wall?”
“Yeah, you did. You okay?”
“I guess so.” He felt himself over, then shivered and climbed back under the covers. They wrapped themselves around each other. “It’s cold out of bed. I guess when winter really gets here, we’ll have to move into the living room, in front of the fireplace.”
“Sounds romantic. So… getting married wasn’t the bad part?”
“Not really. As long as it was you, anyway. Problem is, I think all the preachers drove off.”
“We’ll work something out when the time comes,” Sondra whispered, kissing him. “As for keeping warm…”
They went back to sleep, but not right away.
Jennifer Lane woke with a start, and gasped at the silhouette against the moonlit window.
“Miss Jennifer? I had a bad dream.”
“Oh. Caitlin. It’s all right, you’re awake now. Do you remember it?”
“Yeah.” The little girl shuddered, even wrapped in her blanket from the futon in the living room. “I was playing outside, and a truck stopped. My mom was in it — I couldn’t see her, but I knew it was her. She said to get in.”
Jennifer thought a moment. “Did you?”
“I didn’t want to. I said you were taking care of me now, and I was scared of the trucks, but she said I had to come. I started walking toward it, and someone — I think it was Ben — threw a soccer ball at me. I threw it back at him, then I woke up.”
“You want to know what I think?” Jennifer asked, and Caitlin nodded. “I think you had that dream because we went and got your stuff from your old house on Wednesday, and we had to stay there overnight because it was too far to ride back home before dark. That made you think about your mom, but you didn’t know you were thinking about her, so you had the dream.”
“But I did think about her!” Caitlin wailed. Her breath caught for a moment. “I did. I — I didn’t wanna make you feel bad, because I know you’re taking care of me now, but I wished she was home and I could just stay there with her.” Jennifer could see her tears in the moonlight.
“It’s okay, Caitlin,” Jennifer said. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t feel that way. It’s normal.” She took Caitlin’s hand, and the girl slumped onto the bed, crying. Jennifer let her cry, and Caitlin cried herself to sleep on the bed, still wrapped up in the blanket.
Jennifer looked at the sleeping girl for a moment. Caitlin couldn’t help being a little clingy; her parents had split last winter. First her dad had left, then her mom drove off. Her crush on Cody was likely just his “luck” at being the first older boy she’d met. The girl was already losing her fat — with no TV to speak of and lots of work to get ready for the winter, even the kids were getting in shape — but was still too heavy to pick up. After a moment of thought, Jennifer got another blanket from the closet and went to the futon. Good enough for her, good enough for me, she thought. She slept — and had her own dreams.
to be continued…
Thursday, June 17, 2010 5 comments
The Cluster-Post
Since I can’t seem to get to these nearly as often as I’d like… they all get rolled up into one big post.
I’ve only had it for a few days, and I’m finding the new iPad is a game-changer, at least as much as moving from desktops to laptops was. It’s already changing how I read email, use Twitter, read blogs, and play games. Once I get a Bluetooth keyboard for it, I expect that I’ll be on it more than I am the MacBook since I’ll use it to blog and work on stories too. Actually, in landscape mode, the on-screen keyboard is big enough to touch-type on. I have to look at it though because I have no idea whether my fingers are drifting off their correct position, though.
I really wish Google would come up with a way to allow writing and editing in Google Docs with the iPad. But until they get it figured out, I’ve found that Yahoo Notepad at least works for tapping out something into the cloud. Obviously, I’d settle for limited functionality with Google Docs.
Mason had his 9-month checkup this week. He hasn’t gained any weight, but our doc didn’t seem too concerned about that since he’s so active (which he demonstrated quite well in the exam room). She said his iron’s a little low, feed him some baby vitamins… and meat, if we can find any he’ll eat. Actually, there’s an organic turkey w/vegetables combo that he seems to like OK.
As you can see in the pic here, he: 1) is constantly in motion; 2) has figured out how to carry something around when he has his hands otherwise occupied. He’ll be walking pretty soon — this afternoon, I watched him get to his feet “open-field” (that is, not pulling up on anything), so he’s getting a little more confident with his balance. He has also taken a couple of steps, ran three more and dropped to his hands and knees once he realized what he was doing… looks like all he needs a little more confidence. I’m rediscovering how one can turn stuff laying around into instant baby toys: large pill bottles are just the right size to hold (but not eat) and can really be interesting with a few beads or jingle bells inside; cardboard boxes and upside-down laundry baskets are perennial hits; even a stack of old magazines can be a happy distraction for pulling down and strewing around.
One of the downsides of Mason’s continued development is that he’s learned how to cut loose with this blood-curdling screech when he wants attention. I guess I’d better warn the Wicked Stepfather to turn off his hearing aid when we go visit.
Reality is stranger than fiction, at least around FAR Manor, and the two sort of came together this weekend at church. The little teen girl who sings in the choir introduced me to her friend Caitlin on Sunday morning. And… Caitlin is this little redhead, just like Caitlin Cooper in White Pickups (the one with the gigantic crush on Cody). The real-life Caitlin is fairly slim, but the chubby fictional Caitlin is slimming down what with… well, some upcoming episodes will explain. I have to say, meeting one’s own characters IRL (when they more or less introduced themselves from thin air to begin with) ranks right up there with some of the weirder writing-related things I’ve run into. Speaking of writing, I’ve been making pretty good progress on the story lately… I have episodes sorted through #60 and have about eight more that need to be ordered and laid out (with one more to insert). From there, I know how it’s going to end and mostly how to get there… and the details tend to be there when I need them. Then it’s on to Book 2!
And… what would a week (or a day) at FAR manor be without some TB/SN/TS errors? Snippet has constantly been throwing SN06 errors lately (sleeping all morning, sometimes into the afternoon); her excuse is (SN05) she can’t deal with Mrs. Fetched or Daughter Dearest. Seeing as DD is in Florida this week, she should be getting up twice as soon since she only has half the can’t-deal-with to deal with.
Yesterday, she wanted to go tubing on her off-day, leaving Mason with us (of course) and Mrs. Fetched vetoed it. Snippet, of course, got all defiant and threatened to “take Mason and she won’t see him for a long time.” That qualifies as an SN08, because she can’t usually get her skinny little @$$ out of bed before noon — what makes her think (if one can call it that) that she’d be able to do even a halfway job of taking care of an active baby?
The Boy, meanwhile, has been indulging in multiple instances of TB03 (not coming home) and TB21 (in bed half the day). And several TS03 (bring weird friends over) — one of them was here all weekend and wasn’t out until Tuesday. Despite the uglification he’d obviously worked hard at, he wasn’t all that bad… he would keep Mason entertained and watched over, and was a fair hand at the piano. Snippet doesn’t like him, so that’s maybe one more thing in his favor.
Oh, and I’ve been continuing to work on the wood spill. More later…
I’ve only had it for a few days, and I’m finding the new iPad is a game-changer, at least as much as moving from desktops to laptops was. It’s already changing how I read email, use Twitter, read blogs, and play games. Once I get a Bluetooth keyboard for it, I expect that I’ll be on it more than I am the MacBook since I’ll use it to blog and work on stories too. Actually, in landscape mode, the on-screen keyboard is big enough to touch-type on. I have to look at it though because I have no idea whether my fingers are drifting off their correct position, though.
I really wish Google would come up with a way to allow writing and editing in Google Docs with the iPad. But until they get it figured out, I’ve found that Yahoo Notepad at least works for tapping out something into the cloud. Obviously, I’d settle for limited functionality with Google Docs.
Mason had his 9-month checkup this week. He hasn’t gained any weight, but our doc didn’t seem too concerned about that since he’s so active (which he demonstrated quite well in the exam room). She said his iron’s a little low, feed him some baby vitamins… and meat, if we can find any he’ll eat. Actually, there’s an organic turkey w/vegetables combo that he seems to like OK.As you can see in the pic here, he: 1) is constantly in motion; 2) has figured out how to carry something around when he has his hands otherwise occupied. He’ll be walking pretty soon — this afternoon, I watched him get to his feet “open-field” (that is, not pulling up on anything), so he’s getting a little more confident with his balance. He has also taken a couple of steps, ran three more and dropped to his hands and knees once he realized what he was doing… looks like all he needs a little more confidence. I’m rediscovering how one can turn stuff laying around into instant baby toys: large pill bottles are just the right size to hold (but not eat) and can really be interesting with a few beads or jingle bells inside; cardboard boxes and upside-down laundry baskets are perennial hits; even a stack of old magazines can be a happy distraction for pulling down and strewing around.
One of the downsides of Mason’s continued development is that he’s learned how to cut loose with this blood-curdling screech when he wants attention. I guess I’d better warn the Wicked Stepfather to turn off his hearing aid when we go visit.
Reality is stranger than fiction, at least around FAR Manor, and the two sort of came together this weekend at church. The little teen girl who sings in the choir introduced me to her friend Caitlin on Sunday morning. And… Caitlin is this little redhead, just like Caitlin Cooper in White Pickups (the one with the gigantic crush on Cody). The real-life Caitlin is fairly slim, but the chubby fictional Caitlin is slimming down what with… well, some upcoming episodes will explain. I have to say, meeting one’s own characters IRL (when they more or less introduced themselves from thin air to begin with) ranks right up there with some of the weirder writing-related things I’ve run into. Speaking of writing, I’ve been making pretty good progress on the story lately… I have episodes sorted through #60 and have about eight more that need to be ordered and laid out (with one more to insert). From there, I know how it’s going to end and mostly how to get there… and the details tend to be there when I need them. Then it’s on to Book 2!
And… what would a week (or a day) at FAR manor be without some TB/SN/TS errors? Snippet has constantly been throwing SN06 errors lately (sleeping all morning, sometimes into the afternoon); her excuse is (SN05) she can’t deal with Mrs. Fetched or Daughter Dearest. Seeing as DD is in Florida this week, she should be getting up twice as soon since she only has half the can’t-deal-with to deal with.
Yesterday, she wanted to go tubing on her off-day, leaving Mason with us (of course) and Mrs. Fetched vetoed it. Snippet, of course, got all defiant and threatened to “take Mason and she won’t see him for a long time.” That qualifies as an SN08, because she can’t usually get her skinny little @$$ out of bed before noon — what makes her think (if one can call it that) that she’d be able to do even a halfway job of taking care of an active baby?
The Boy, meanwhile, has been indulging in multiple instances of TB03 (not coming home) and TB21 (in bed half the day). And several TS03 (bring weird friends over) — one of them was here all weekend and wasn’t out until Tuesday. Despite the uglification he’d obviously worked hard at, he wasn’t all that bad… he would keep Mason entertained and watched over, and was a fair hand at the piano. Snippet doesn’t like him, so that’s maybe one more thing in his favor.
Oh, and I’ve been continuing to work on the wood spill. More later…
Monday, June 14, 2010 7 comments
White Pickups, Episode 39
Contents
The laden trailers slowed them down, which suited Cleve just fine. They stuck to the side of the road, using bike lanes or sidewalks where available. The drivers of the pickups seemed happy to share the road, but nobody wanted to listen to the constant invitations. The late-morning sun was warm, and the four of them worked up a sweat in a hurry. Everyone kept an eye out for other riders, but Tim guessed that between the head start and their load, whoever had passed by Sunlover’s was long gone.
Sara waved them to a stop shortly before Pleasant Hill. “Listen! Is that a dog barking?”
“Sounds like two, maybe more,” Johnny said, hefting his carbine. “Safeties off?”
“Not yet,” Cleve said, peering down the highway, “but let’s move slow enough where we can stop quick. Don’t worry about kickstands, just let the bikes fall over if we have to. Sara, you sure you don’t want a gun?”
“I’d just shoot myself or one of you.” She unhooked the air pump from its mount. “If I have to, I’ll whack ’em on the nose. That might slow ’em down enough for one of you to rescue me.”
They moved slowly, crossing Pleasant Hill behind a few trucks (who treated all major intersections as a four-way stop). The barking grew louder, then they saw movement up ahead. “Safeties off now,” Cleve said, stopping long enough for all of them to comply, and they hurried forward.
Up ahead, a woman faced two large dogs in a church parking lot, backed up against a truck. She had positioned her bike so the two dogs facing her could only come at her from one direction, and she had her air pump in hand. A third dog lay in the road; the occasional thump-thump of a pickup rolling over it suggested the dogs had crossed the highway to attack.
“Back off!” Cleve shouted at the dogs, who turned to face the newcomers; the woman looked up as well. They barked and darted forward, but did not close. Tim waved at the woman to get out of the way; she picked up her bike and slipped around the white pickup, as quiet as possible. One of the dogs turned back to her, but too late — Johnny fired four times as soon as he had a clear shot. Both dogs dropped to the pavement, twitching for a few moments, then lay still. The woman slumped to the pavement behind the truck, and Sara ran to her.
“Are you all right?”
The woman looked up at Sara. She was dark, nearly as dark as Sara herself; she had her long straight black hair pulled back into a tail and tucked into the collar of her shirt. A cap lay on the pavement nearby. “I think so. They didn’t bite me.” Tears ran down the rider’s eyes. “What will you do with me?” There was a lilt to her voice, an accent Sara couldn’t quite place.
“You can come with us, if you like,” Sara said. “We live a ways north of here.”
“This is why we don’t travel alone, and we don’t travel unarmed,” Cleve said, a little winded from running to catch Sara. “I guess you’ve been lucky so far.” Tim and Johnny joined them.
“Lucky? I suppose.”
Sara shook her head at Cleve. “I’m Sara Karsten. This is Johnny Latimer, Tim Petro, and Cleve Isaacs. We live… a little north of here.”
“I’m Rita Diaz. And thank you all for coming when you did.”
Tim asked, “Were you who I saw about an hour ago, riding up the highway?”
Rita nodded. “I was alone. I thought if I couldn’t find other people, I might find a farmhouse somewhere in the country where I could grow my own food. My parents used to tell me about the way they lived in Mexico; I thought if they could do it, perhaps I could too. I stopped at a gas station a ways back to rest and get a few water bottles. If you hadn’t come along… when I saw the dogs, I thought I could get into this church and claim sanctuary, but they came too fast. So perhaps God sent some angels instead?”
Johnny laughed. “We’re no angels, but we’re not bad folks either. We live in a fenced-in subdivision, and some of us are already turning it into a big ol’ lawns-to-gardens project. The trucks are all outside the fence, so I guess that makes it a little slice of Heaven. Shoot… maybe we are angels, then.” He laughed, and Rita joined him.
“May I ask… what are you carrying?”
“Solar panels, control boxes, spools of wire, batteries, all that junk,” Cleve said. “Some of us gotta have our creature comforts, you know.”
“Very resourceful. I should have thought of that myself,” Rita said. “Maybe I didn’t think things through as much as I should have. Being out in the country would make it hard to scavenge while waiting for the harvest.”
“You think we’re resourceful?” Tim laughed. “You haven’t met Cody yet!”
“I’d be glad to learn from him, and the rest of you. If you’ll have me.”
“Sure,” Cleve said. “There ain’t enough of us to worry about crowding, any time soon.”
“Thank you so much,” Rita said. “For saving me, and for taking me in. How far do we have to go?”
“Ten miles, maybe?”
“I’ll try not to slow you down. I’m not used to bicycling everywhere yet. Could we stop by a medical clinic on the way?”
“Why?” Cleve asked. “Are you hurt?” Tim caught Cleve’s suspicious look that said: or are you a druggie?
“No… I want to pick up some supplies. I’m a nurse-practitioner, so I thought it might be useful to have some things around in case they’re needed.”
Nobody said anything for several moments. “Well, you’re an answered prayer, then,” Tim said. “You sure you’re not the angel?”
to be continued…
The laden trailers slowed them down, which suited Cleve just fine. They stuck to the side of the road, using bike lanes or sidewalks where available. The drivers of the pickups seemed happy to share the road, but nobody wanted to listen to the constant invitations. The late-morning sun was warm, and the four of them worked up a sweat in a hurry. Everyone kept an eye out for other riders, but Tim guessed that between the head start and their load, whoever had passed by Sunlover’s was long gone.
Sara waved them to a stop shortly before Pleasant Hill. “Listen! Is that a dog barking?”
“Sounds like two, maybe more,” Johnny said, hefting his carbine. “Safeties off?”
“Not yet,” Cleve said, peering down the highway, “but let’s move slow enough where we can stop quick. Don’t worry about kickstands, just let the bikes fall over if we have to. Sara, you sure you don’t want a gun?”
“I’d just shoot myself or one of you.” She unhooked the air pump from its mount. “If I have to, I’ll whack ’em on the nose. That might slow ’em down enough for one of you to rescue me.”
They moved slowly, crossing Pleasant Hill behind a few trucks (who treated all major intersections as a four-way stop). The barking grew louder, then they saw movement up ahead. “Safeties off now,” Cleve said, stopping long enough for all of them to comply, and they hurried forward.
Up ahead, a woman faced two large dogs in a church parking lot, backed up against a truck. She had positioned her bike so the two dogs facing her could only come at her from one direction, and she had her air pump in hand. A third dog lay in the road; the occasional thump-thump of a pickup rolling over it suggested the dogs had crossed the highway to attack.
“Back off!” Cleve shouted at the dogs, who turned to face the newcomers; the woman looked up as well. They barked and darted forward, but did not close. Tim waved at the woman to get out of the way; she picked up her bike and slipped around the white pickup, as quiet as possible. One of the dogs turned back to her, but too late — Johnny fired four times as soon as he had a clear shot. Both dogs dropped to the pavement, twitching for a few moments, then lay still. The woman slumped to the pavement behind the truck, and Sara ran to her.
“Are you all right?”
The woman looked up at Sara. She was dark, nearly as dark as Sara herself; she had her long straight black hair pulled back into a tail and tucked into the collar of her shirt. A cap lay on the pavement nearby. “I think so. They didn’t bite me.” Tears ran down the rider’s eyes. “What will you do with me?” There was a lilt to her voice, an accent Sara couldn’t quite place.
“You can come with us, if you like,” Sara said. “We live a ways north of here.”
“This is why we don’t travel alone, and we don’t travel unarmed,” Cleve said, a little winded from running to catch Sara. “I guess you’ve been lucky so far.” Tim and Johnny joined them.
“Lucky? I suppose.”
Sara shook her head at Cleve. “I’m Sara Karsten. This is Johnny Latimer, Tim Petro, and Cleve Isaacs. We live… a little north of here.”
“I’m Rita Diaz. And thank you all for coming when you did.”
Tim asked, “Were you who I saw about an hour ago, riding up the highway?”
Rita nodded. “I was alone. I thought if I couldn’t find other people, I might find a farmhouse somewhere in the country where I could grow my own food. My parents used to tell me about the way they lived in Mexico; I thought if they could do it, perhaps I could too. I stopped at a gas station a ways back to rest and get a few water bottles. If you hadn’t come along… when I saw the dogs, I thought I could get into this church and claim sanctuary, but they came too fast. So perhaps God sent some angels instead?”
Johnny laughed. “We’re no angels, but we’re not bad folks either. We live in a fenced-in subdivision, and some of us are already turning it into a big ol’ lawns-to-gardens project. The trucks are all outside the fence, so I guess that makes it a little slice of Heaven. Shoot… maybe we are angels, then.” He laughed, and Rita joined him.
“May I ask… what are you carrying?”
“Solar panels, control boxes, spools of wire, batteries, all that junk,” Cleve said. “Some of us gotta have our creature comforts, you know.”
“Very resourceful. I should have thought of that myself,” Rita said. “Maybe I didn’t think things through as much as I should have. Being out in the country would make it hard to scavenge while waiting for the harvest.”
“You think we’re resourceful?” Tim laughed. “You haven’t met Cody yet!”
“I’d be glad to learn from him, and the rest of you. If you’ll have me.”
“Sure,” Cleve said. “There ain’t enough of us to worry about crowding, any time soon.”
“Thank you so much,” Rita said. “For saving me, and for taking me in. How far do we have to go?”
“Ten miles, maybe?”
“I’ll try not to slow you down. I’m not used to bicycling everywhere yet. Could we stop by a medical clinic on the way?”
“Why?” Cleve asked. “Are you hurt?” Tim caught Cleve’s suspicious look that said: or are you a druggie?
“No… I want to pick up some supplies. I’m a nurse-practitioner, so I thought it might be useful to have some things around in case they’re needed.”
Nobody said anything for several moments. “Well, you’re an answered prayer, then,” Tim said. “You sure you’re not the angel?”
to be continued…
Saturday, June 12, 2010 7 comments
From the “Holy Crap!” Department…
OK, I know I gripe a lot about stuff in my life. Then something like this comes totally out of right field…
Mrs. Fetched’s older sister came to visit today, bringing much food for me to grill. She handed me this iPad and said, “I thought you might like to play around with this for a while.” Oh, but of course! “This isn’t the 3G kind, just wifi,” she added… no problem, we have wifi here. (I sometimes like to think of FAR Manor as a tiny oasis of civilization in the midst of cultural darkness.) But there was much grilling of food to be done first, naturally. I got to fiddle with it a little, anyway.
She’d loaded several eBook readers and music streamers on it, and more than a few ebooks, videos, music tracks, and so on. Our media preferences don’t intersect all that well, but who cares? It was fun to fiddle with. There was “only” 20GB left (on a 64GB iPad)… I learned a while ago that an 8GB iPhone fills up pretty quick, so I figure to get at least a 16 or 32GB version next time (which may be soon, as my iPhone craps out when it gets warm now).
Then we brought to the food down to the in-laws’ place for lunch. She hugs me and whispers, “Since I didn’t get you anything for Christmas this year, I figured you could have that.” [FARf→floor]
Yeah, I complain a lot about the stupid stuff that goes on around here, but sometimes… something like that happens. Like winning a Kindle at Christmas. Okay then: the Ultimate eReader Smackdown is about to begin!
Mrs. Fetched’s older sister came to visit today, bringing much food for me to grill. She handed me this iPad and said, “I thought you might like to play around with this for a while.” Oh, but of course! “This isn’t the 3G kind, just wifi,” she added… no problem, we have wifi here. (I sometimes like to think of FAR Manor as a tiny oasis of civilization in the midst of cultural darkness.) But there was much grilling of food to be done first, naturally. I got to fiddle with it a little, anyway.
She’d loaded several eBook readers and music streamers on it, and more than a few ebooks, videos, music tracks, and so on. Our media preferences don’t intersect all that well, but who cares? It was fun to fiddle with. There was “only” 20GB left (on a 64GB iPad)… I learned a while ago that an 8GB iPhone fills up pretty quick, so I figure to get at least a 16 or 32GB version next time (which may be soon, as my iPhone craps out when it gets warm now).
Then we brought to the food down to the in-laws’ place for lunch. She hugs me and whispers, “Since I didn’t get you anything for Christmas this year, I figured you could have that.” [FARf→floor]
Yeah, I complain a lot about the stupid stuff that goes on around here, but sometimes… something like that happens. Like winning a Kindle at Christmas. Okay then: the Ultimate eReader Smackdown is about to begin!
Thursday, June 10, 2010 3 comments
Wood Spill
I finally got serious about cleaning up the wood spill behind the manor.
After dispersing the spill with power and hand tools, there ’s still a couple major plumes of wood…
Nature is lending a hand at eating the spill, although it would take a long time…
Some of the smaller wood particles have drifted into the woods, where they won’t cause any problems…
Some of the spill has been recovered and stored…
Still lots of work to do, but I’m hoping to have the spill cleaned up in the next week or so. It would go a lot faster if I could get The Boy in on the action.
After dispersing the spill with power and hand tools, there ’s still a couple major plumes of wood…
Nature is lending a hand at eating the spill, although it would take a long time…
Some of the smaller wood particles have drifted into the woods, where they won’t cause any problems…
Some of the spill has been recovered and stored…
Still lots of work to do, but I’m hoping to have the spill cleaned up in the next week or so. It would go a lot faster if I could get The Boy in on the action.
Monday, June 07, 2010 3 comments
White Pickups, Episode 38
Contents
Thursday, September 29, 2011
One by one, Cleve, Johnny, Sara, and Tim rolled up in front of Sunlover’s Solar. Cleve and Tim took up positions on either side of the strip building, covering Sara and Johnny as they pulled up. Sara was unarmed, at her insistence, but Johnny had his carbine slung over his shoulder. Morning was bright and warm, a perfect early fall day. As usual, a single white pickup whispered to them in the parking lot; others rolled north and south on Buford Highway. An overhang shaded the storefronts, but the sun reflected off the windows and doors of the trucks.
Sunlover’s had a small window; Sara peeked in and saw a few displays but no movement. She gave the door a try. “It’s locked.”
“Figures,” grumbled Johnny, watching the street. “The most important place we’ve looted so far, and the first one we’ll have to break into.” He stepped out to catch Cleve’s eye. “It’s locked, Cleve! Now what?”
“Johnny, come down here. Cover me while I check out the back door. Sara, go over to Tim’s corner and help him watch.” They split up.
Tim stood watching the driveway to the back; it was wide enough for a transfer truck. The next strip building squatted on the other side, uphill beyond a few shrubs in a four-foot landscaping island. Sara jogged to the corner.
“Watch my back,” Tim said.
“Above or below the belt?” she laughed.
He gave her a wary smile. “Good thing I didn’t tell you to watch behind me.”
“But that’s what you want, right?”
“Yeah.” She shifted to his side to watch the back lot.
After a quiet minute, Tim spoke: “You been doing okay?”
“Sure. I walked to my job at the Saver-Mart most days. Riding a bike’s a little different, but you get used to it.”
“Yeah. But I really meant, with all… all this.” He waved his hand at the street.
“Well, those trucks ain’t been what I wanted to look at the rest of my life, but I’ll get by. I’m keeping Ashley now, so I’m doing something useful. What about you?”
Tim sighed. “Has it really only been a week since I found Rebecca? It seems like a lot longer than that.”
“A crisis does funny things to time. That’s what my kin in New Orleans would say. They should know, they were there for Katrina.”
“Ow. I’m sorry.”
“Me too.” She put a hand on his arm.
“Thanks. You know? Maybe… it’s better this way. Sure, I’d rather she lived long enough for us to find her, but it would have been awkward, being around her all the time.”
“That bad?”
“Oh yeah. We’d have been checking out each others’ new interests, and probably approving them. Or not.”
“Wow. ‘Up in each other’s bidness’ is what my family called that. That wouldn’t have gone well.”
“Tell me about it.”
Johnny poked his head around the corner in the back. “Hey! The back door was unlocked, we’re about to go in. Meet us up front, but Cleve said not to stand where anyone inside can see you from the window.”
“Okay!” Sara answered. “C’mon, Tim… Tim? What is it?”
“I… I could have sworn I just saw someone ride by on a bicycle.”
“Which way?”
“Going north. On the other side of the road.” Tim pointed then walked down the storefronts, watching the street and in front of him.
“Did they see us?”
“I don’t think so. They didn’t look this way.”
“We’ll have to be careful going back, then,” Cleve said. They stood inside Sunlover’s, watching the traffic through the window while Sara looked at the displays.
“Eco-Mergency 2000,” Sara read aloud. “Portable power at home or away from home.”
“I don’t think they saw us down here,” Tim said. “He — I think it was a he — didn’t even look our way. He would have had to look over his shoulder to see me, anyway.”
“GridFree — When you’re ready to cut the cord, or when the cord isn’t long enough. Ha. Cute. Optional RV mount available.”
“So do we do anything different going back?” asked Johnny.
“I don’t guess so,” said Cleve. “We just have to be watching for places where someone could jump us.”
“Ask about our fall special: free delivery and 50% off installation. Hm. Sounds tempting. I bet they didn’t expect all their installers to drive off, though.”
“Looks like we’ll have to deliver them ourselves,” Tim said. “Nice displays. I guess the merchandise is out back?”
“Yeah. And I still can’t get outta the habit of flippin’ the switch,” Cleve grinned. “They must have one of their systems up on the roof, ’cause the lights actually came on. ’Bout gave me a heart attack!”
“You put down the doughnut, maybe you won’t get a heart attack,” Sara laughed.
“Babe, why you gotta go there?” Cleve grinned. “Nah. I think I’ve lost five pounds already, and it’s only been two weeks. The end of the world is gonna gimme back those fifteen years I was gonna lose!”
“Hey Cleve,” Tim said, still watching the window. “I just thought about this. Were any of you guys downtown smokers?”
“Damn… you know what? I don’t think any of us smoked. I used to, had to put ’em down at the end of ’08. I swore if we got a black president, I’d quit… and damn if it didn’t happen. Then the world had to go and end!”
“Stands to reason,” Johnny said, after the laughter died down. “The trucks would’ve ‘picked up’ on that right away. ‘Drive off, we got smokes.’”
“Picked up? Tell me you didn’t just say that!” Cleve fanned the air in front of his nose. “Y’know, we’ll never get this stuff loaded if we sit here shootin’ the breeze. We can do that at home. Johnny, you watch out front. We’ll bring the bikes around back and load up.”
“Beats liftin’ stuff,” Johnny laughed, patting the carbine. “You want me to shoot first and ask questions later?”
continued…
Thursday, September 29, 2011
One by one, Cleve, Johnny, Sara, and Tim rolled up in front of Sunlover’s Solar. Cleve and Tim took up positions on either side of the strip building, covering Sara and Johnny as they pulled up. Sara was unarmed, at her insistence, but Johnny had his carbine slung over his shoulder. Morning was bright and warm, a perfect early fall day. As usual, a single white pickup whispered to them in the parking lot; others rolled north and south on Buford Highway. An overhang shaded the storefronts, but the sun reflected off the windows and doors of the trucks.
Sunlover’s had a small window; Sara peeked in and saw a few displays but no movement. She gave the door a try. “It’s locked.”
“Figures,” grumbled Johnny, watching the street. “The most important place we’ve looted so far, and the first one we’ll have to break into.” He stepped out to catch Cleve’s eye. “It’s locked, Cleve! Now what?”
“Johnny, come down here. Cover me while I check out the back door. Sara, go over to Tim’s corner and help him watch.” They split up.
Tim stood watching the driveway to the back; it was wide enough for a transfer truck. The next strip building squatted on the other side, uphill beyond a few shrubs in a four-foot landscaping island. Sara jogged to the corner.
“Watch my back,” Tim said.
“Above or below the belt?” she laughed.
He gave her a wary smile. “Good thing I didn’t tell you to watch behind me.”
“But that’s what you want, right?”
“Yeah.” She shifted to his side to watch the back lot.
After a quiet minute, Tim spoke: “You been doing okay?”
“Sure. I walked to my job at the Saver-Mart most days. Riding a bike’s a little different, but you get used to it.”
“Yeah. But I really meant, with all… all this.” He waved his hand at the street.
“Well, those trucks ain’t been what I wanted to look at the rest of my life, but I’ll get by. I’m keeping Ashley now, so I’m doing something useful. What about you?”
Tim sighed. “Has it really only been a week since I found Rebecca? It seems like a lot longer than that.”
“A crisis does funny things to time. That’s what my kin in New Orleans would say. They should know, they were there for Katrina.”
“Ow. I’m sorry.”
“Me too.” She put a hand on his arm.
“Thanks. You know? Maybe… it’s better this way. Sure, I’d rather she lived long enough for us to find her, but it would have been awkward, being around her all the time.”
“That bad?”
“Oh yeah. We’d have been checking out each others’ new interests, and probably approving them. Or not.”
“Wow. ‘Up in each other’s bidness’ is what my family called that. That wouldn’t have gone well.”
“Tell me about it.”
Johnny poked his head around the corner in the back. “Hey! The back door was unlocked, we’re about to go in. Meet us up front, but Cleve said not to stand where anyone inside can see you from the window.”
“Okay!” Sara answered. “C’mon, Tim… Tim? What is it?”
“I… I could have sworn I just saw someone ride by on a bicycle.”
“Which way?”
“Going north. On the other side of the road.” Tim pointed then walked down the storefronts, watching the street and in front of him.
“Did they see us?”
“I don’t think so. They didn’t look this way.”
“We’ll have to be careful going back, then,” Cleve said. They stood inside Sunlover’s, watching the traffic through the window while Sara looked at the displays.
“Eco-Mergency 2000,” Sara read aloud. “Portable power at home or away from home.”
“I don’t think they saw us down here,” Tim said. “He — I think it was a he — didn’t even look our way. He would have had to look over his shoulder to see me, anyway.”
“GridFree — When you’re ready to cut the cord, or when the cord isn’t long enough. Ha. Cute. Optional RV mount available.”
“So do we do anything different going back?” asked Johnny.
“I don’t guess so,” said Cleve. “We just have to be watching for places where someone could jump us.”
“Ask about our fall special: free delivery and 50% off installation. Hm. Sounds tempting. I bet they didn’t expect all their installers to drive off, though.”
“Looks like we’ll have to deliver them ourselves,” Tim said. “Nice displays. I guess the merchandise is out back?”
“Yeah. And I still can’t get outta the habit of flippin’ the switch,” Cleve grinned. “They must have one of their systems up on the roof, ’cause the lights actually came on. ’Bout gave me a heart attack!”
“You put down the doughnut, maybe you won’t get a heart attack,” Sara laughed.
“Babe, why you gotta go there?” Cleve grinned. “Nah. I think I’ve lost five pounds already, and it’s only been two weeks. The end of the world is gonna gimme back those fifteen years I was gonna lose!”
“Hey Cleve,” Tim said, still watching the window. “I just thought about this. Were any of you guys downtown smokers?”
“Damn… you know what? I don’t think any of us smoked. I used to, had to put ’em down at the end of ’08. I swore if we got a black president, I’d quit… and damn if it didn’t happen. Then the world had to go and end!”
“Stands to reason,” Johnny said, after the laughter died down. “The trucks would’ve ‘picked up’ on that right away. ‘Drive off, we got smokes.’”
“Picked up? Tell me you didn’t just say that!” Cleve fanned the air in front of his nose. “Y’know, we’ll never get this stuff loaded if we sit here shootin’ the breeze. We can do that at home. Johnny, you watch out front. We’ll bring the bikes around back and load up.”
“Beats liftin’ stuff,” Johnny laughed, patting the carbine. “You want me to shoot first and ask questions later?”
continued…
Tuesday, June 01, 2010 6 comments
Self-Published Publicity (NSFW?)
… or “Boobs, Books, and Buzz.” Or "Marketing 101 in the Internet Age.”
Have you heard the names “Hayley Williams” and “Paramore”? Until Saturday, I hadn’t, although Daughter Dearest insists that I’ve heard some of their music on the radio. Anyway, this self-snapped shot (look at the angle of her left arm) appeared in her TwitPic stream on Thursday night — OK, I’ve slightly doctored it to keep this post PG-rated:
The pic was pulled down, but not soon enough for it to get copied (obviously, see above) and the old Whoops, I got hacked excuse popped up in her tweetstream. 'Course, some folks checked the pic’s EXIF data and found the shot was snapped about eight minutes before it got posted… making the possibility of a hack, shall we say, extremely remote. A much more believable explanation would have been “it was supposed to be for my boyfriend and I messed up when I emailed it.”
For those of you who have to see the original, I found out about the whole kerfuffle in an [!!!!!NSFW!!!!!] article from TheRegister [!!!!!NSFW!!!!!]; it includes the picture in all its nude-tastic glory as I type (and ElReg tends to give the meaty middle finger to take-down notices).
So… this all happens on Thursday. I read about it on Saturday. And by Monday, I’m off to Amazon’s MP3 store to check out Paramore’s music selection… which turns out to be pleasant to listen to as well. There has been a ton of press about it, and “Hayley Williams” is a trending topic on Twitter at the moment — you just can’t buy publicity that good. Hey, if I thought I’d get a huge traffic bump by posting (and taking down) a nudie of myself, I’d go for it too… but my bits just aren’t as interesting to look at. IMHO.
Clothing choices aside, I like her face better in the above shot than the one in a more “turned-out” publicity pic (in which she looks like a Jennifer Aniston clone, not that I think Jen is unpleasant looking). Hayley, lose the makeup and the hair stylist, you look better and more like yourself without them.
Now that I’ve got your attention…
Last week, I mentioned, among other things, J.A. Konrath being the subject of a Publisher’s Weekly hit-piece and his response. This week, he embarks on a fascinating experiment he calls Steal This eBook: he makes available a zip file containing Jack Daniels Stories (one of his own books) in various ebook formats (and a direct link if the first one doesn’t work). The really audacious part is where he asks people to share the file far and wide via the usual “piracy” channels.
Konrath sums up his experiment thus: “I've said repeatedly that there is no proof piracy hurts sales. So I'm manning up and putting my money where my mouth is.” Indeed. This experiment has just sailed, so it’ll be interesting to see how it pans out. But I can already say, Konrath has put one of his books in my reading pile where there were none before. I’ve never been one to shy away from making predictions, so I’ll throw one out here: I think he’ll see a negligible effect on sales for this particular book, and a noticeable uptick in sales of his other books.
Of course, it can be debated (and is being debated in the comments on Konrath’s blog) whether this is actually “piracy” or not — after all, the author himself is encouraging spreading the file far and wide. Perhaps this should be better considered a “loss leader,” an old sales tactic where a store sells one product at a loss in hopes that people will buy other (more profitably marked-up) stuff while they’re grabbing the Great Deal. But successful buzz generation means you have to get people to notice what you’re saying — and is “A free ebook” or “Hey, pirate my ebook!” going to get more notice? Or, in the case of Hayley Williams, did “hey, music” or “BOOBZIEZ!!!!” turn more heads? (Big hint: of the thousands of bands out there, who’s getting the attention right now?)
Publicity is not for the faint of heart, and DIY publicity doubly so. I think there are some lessons to be learned here, though, to make things a little less scary…
1) You can only do this thing once. Williams’s stunt definitely lands in the category of “tough act to follow.” Konrath took a more modest approach, but even if he offers another freebie later on, a lot of people will go “yeah, yeah.”
2) Know what results you’re looking for. I’m guessing that both Konrath and Williams did, and got them.
3) Seize the opportunity when something goes wrong. Sometimes, you might get free publicity in a way you neither expected nor particularly wanted. Once the genie is out of the bottle, no amount of whining nor DMCA take-down notices will get it back in… and you’ll just end up looking clueless and petty. Make it work for you instead. Get out in front of the story so you’ll have at least some control — and for your own sake, don’t come up with a lame explanation that can be easily debunked (e.g. “I got hacked”). On the other hand, if you can extend the controversy (which is an unpleasant way of saying “extend the free publicity”) with a silly comment, it might be worth it.
Consider the sad case of Stephanie Meyer throwing a hissy-fit when an early draft of Midnight Sun* got leaked onto the net — she decided that she’d “been violated” and walked away from the work. To her credit, she soon acquired a partial clue and posted a copy herself (although with the usual “Any retranscription or reproduction is illegal” stuff), but still has no plans to finish it. She would have been far better off, publicity-wise, had she said something like “I’ve been rewriting this and what hits the shelves will be different and far better, it’ll be out on [some date]. Hang in there.”
Cheap electronics and public networks have changed creative media forever. It was once said, “freedom of the press applies only to those who can afford a printing press.” Now the electronic equivalent can be purchased for a few hundred bucks new, or sometimes fished out of a dumpster for free. Of course, the old “talent” issue still applies — Sturgeon’s Law says “Ninety percent of everything is crap,” and many would say Sturgeon was an optimist — and so publishers and the recording/movie industry can claim to be a filter for that ninety percent. Still, people like J.A. Konrath are making a comfortable living without having the mass-market appeal that the gatekeepers/filters demand, simply by using the tools available today and finding a way to get noticed.
Have you heard the names “Hayley Williams” and “Paramore”? Until Saturday, I hadn’t, although Daughter Dearest insists that I’ve heard some of their music on the radio. Anyway, this self-snapped shot (look at the angle of her left arm) appeared in her TwitPic stream on Thursday night — OK, I’ve slightly doctored it to keep this post PG-rated:
The pic was pulled down, but not soon enough for it to get copied (obviously, see above) and the old Whoops, I got hacked excuse popped up in her tweetstream. 'Course, some folks checked the pic’s EXIF data and found the shot was snapped about eight minutes before it got posted… making the possibility of a hack, shall we say, extremely remote. A much more believable explanation would have been “it was supposed to be for my boyfriend and I messed up when I emailed it.”
For those of you who have to see the original, I found out about the whole kerfuffle in an [!!!!!NSFW!!!!!] article from TheRegister [!!!!!NSFW!!!!!]; it includes the picture in all its nude-tastic glory as I type (and ElReg tends to give the meaty middle finger to take-down notices).
So… this all happens on Thursday. I read about it on Saturday. And by Monday, I’m off to Amazon’s MP3 store to check out Paramore’s music selection… which turns out to be pleasant to listen to as well. There has been a ton of press about it, and “Hayley Williams” is a trending topic on Twitter at the moment — you just can’t buy publicity that good. Hey, if I thought I’d get a huge traffic bump by posting (and taking down) a nudie of myself, I’d go for it too… but my bits just aren’t as interesting to look at. IMHO.
Clothing choices aside, I like her face better in the above shot than the one in a more “turned-out” publicity pic (in which she looks like a Jennifer Aniston clone, not that I think Jen is unpleasant looking). Hayley, lose the makeup and the hair stylist, you look better and more like yourself without them.
Now that I’ve got your attention…
Last week, I mentioned, among other things, J.A. Konrath being the subject of a Publisher’s Weekly hit-piece and his response. This week, he embarks on a fascinating experiment he calls Steal This eBook: he makes available a zip file containing Jack Daniels Stories (one of his own books) in various ebook formats (and a direct link if the first one doesn’t work). The really audacious part is where he asks people to share the file far and wide via the usual “piracy” channels.
Konrath sums up his experiment thus: “I've said repeatedly that there is no proof piracy hurts sales. So I'm manning up and putting my money where my mouth is.” Indeed. This experiment has just sailed, so it’ll be interesting to see how it pans out. But I can already say, Konrath has put one of his books in my reading pile where there were none before. I’ve never been one to shy away from making predictions, so I’ll throw one out here: I think he’ll see a negligible effect on sales for this particular book, and a noticeable uptick in sales of his other books.
Of course, it can be debated (and is being debated in the comments on Konrath’s blog) whether this is actually “piracy” or not — after all, the author himself is encouraging spreading the file far and wide. Perhaps this should be better considered a “loss leader,” an old sales tactic where a store sells one product at a loss in hopes that people will buy other (more profitably marked-up) stuff while they’re grabbing the Great Deal. But successful buzz generation means you have to get people to notice what you’re saying — and is “A free ebook” or “Hey, pirate my ebook!” going to get more notice? Or, in the case of Hayley Williams, did “hey, music” or “BOOBZIEZ!!!!” turn more heads? (Big hint: of the thousands of bands out there, who’s getting the attention right now?)
Publicity is not for the faint of heart, and DIY publicity doubly so. I think there are some lessons to be learned here, though, to make things a little less scary…
1) You can only do this thing once. Williams’s stunt definitely lands in the category of “tough act to follow.” Konrath took a more modest approach, but even if he offers another freebie later on, a lot of people will go “yeah, yeah.”
2) Know what results you’re looking for. I’m guessing that both Konrath and Williams did, and got them.
3) Seize the opportunity when something goes wrong. Sometimes, you might get free publicity in a way you neither expected nor particularly wanted. Once the genie is out of the bottle, no amount of whining nor DMCA take-down notices will get it back in… and you’ll just end up looking clueless and petty. Make it work for you instead. Get out in front of the story so you’ll have at least some control — and for your own sake, don’t come up with a lame explanation that can be easily debunked (e.g. “I got hacked”). On the other hand, if you can extend the controversy (which is an unpleasant way of saying “extend the free publicity”) with a silly comment, it might be worth it.
Consider the sad case of Stephanie Meyer throwing a hissy-fit when an early draft of Midnight Sun* got leaked onto the net — she decided that she’d “been violated” and walked away from the work. To her credit, she soon acquired a partial clue and posted a copy herself (although with the usual “Any retranscription or reproduction is illegal” stuff), but still has no plans to finish it. She would have been far better off, publicity-wise, had she said something like “I’ve been rewriting this and what hits the shelves will be different and far better, it’ll be out on [some date]. Hang in there.”
*Thanks go to Daughter Dearest, a Stephanie Meyer fan, for supplying both the book title and the author name when my memory couldn’t produce either one.
Cheap electronics and public networks have changed creative media forever. It was once said, “freedom of the press applies only to those who can afford a printing press.” Now the electronic equivalent can be purchased for a few hundred bucks new, or sometimes fished out of a dumpster for free. Of course, the old “talent” issue still applies — Sturgeon’s Law says “Ninety percent of everything is crap,” and many would say Sturgeon was an optimist — and so publishers and the recording/movie industry can claim to be a filter for that ninety percent. Still, people like J.A. Konrath are making a comfortable living without having the mass-market appeal that the gatekeepers/filters demand, simply by using the tools available today and finding a way to get noticed.
Monday, May 31, 2010 4 comments
White Pickups, Episode 37
Contents
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
How did I get so lucky? Cody asked himself. She has to be the hottest girl in the world. He lay half-awake in a blurry tingly haze, Sondra wrapped in the pink robe and softly snoring, an arm and leg draped over him. How long had they screwed? — an hour? more? — it didn’t matter. Necking had led to groping, then as soon as he put a condom on she’d straddled him and rode him to exhaustion. She came at least twice, maybe three times, or maybe it was just one long orgasm… Cody didn’t know that much about sex, only the stupid stuff from Internet porn and bragging of seniors, but if Sondra was happy it was another thing that didn’t matter. He’d thought he was going to explode when it was his turn to come; he remembered crying out and Sondra’s sweaty grin, her robe flopping open around them both, his arms around her hips, lifting off the bed, her nipples still hard as she gasped again at the end…
He started to respond to the memory, but achieved only half-mast. In the morning then, he thought, if she doesn’t wake me up for more first. He grinned, realized he wouldn’t be sleeping for a little while, and eased out of bed.
“Mmmrrf?”
“Gotta pee,” he whispered, and realized it was true. Sondra made no more sound; she was a heavy sleeper most nights. He threw on a t-shirt, pants, and a fleece they’d picked up on the way out of Sears, and slipped outside to the porta-john they’d rolled from a construction site on the other end of Laurel. It was dark — no moon tonight. The stars, more than Cody was used to seeing, told him there were no clouds. He played his little flashlight over the path and made his way to the blue booth on the other side of the street.
“Shady?” Kelly’s whisper rasped down the cave-like hallway, just ahead of the splash of flashlight. “Who’s that?”
“Just Cody. Yeah, he’s here with me again.” Cody stood, holding the kitten and turning to face Kelly.
“I guess he’s going to make a habit of this,” Kelly said, taking possession of Shady and yawning. “That’s three nights in a row. I went to use the bathroom, and when I came back, he got out.”
“Yeah. How’s he getting along with Ben’s cat?”
“Oh, they either sniff each other or chase each other all around the place,” Kelly laughed. “Then they sleep together in the laundry pile.”
“Hey guys,” Tim said, walking down from the other side. “Late-night meetup?”
Cody was glad the darkness hid his embarrassment; Kelly glanced down the walk over her shoulder. “No,” she said, “Shady got out again and Cody found him. Thanks, Cody.” She hustled away.
Tim’s cocked eyebrow in the flashlight beam asked Cody the same question. “Uh-uh,” he said, shaking his head. “I just had to pee, and the cat was up here waiting for me to come back.”
“So she didn’t throw you out?” Tim glanced at Cody’s door then gestured for Cody to follow him back to the bottom.
“Uh-uh. We’re getting along… okay, I guess.” They sat on the bottom steps.
“That’s good. You want a beer? I couldn’t sleep either, so I thought I’d sit out here and watch the stars. The trees block the view from the balcony.”
“What’s — what’s up with you?”
“Oh… I guess I’m just keyed up about the run to that solar panel place tomorrow,” Tim said, handing Cody a can. “Sara’s coming, but she’s never handled guns.” He opened his own can. “They’re not cold, but at least they’re not warm either.”
“Yeah. I kinda wish I was going with you guys, but Jason’s got me helping with that composting toilet thing. We’re making a run to Home Despot so we can build a couple johns, and stuff for the brick ovens and more rain barrels. Sondra and Max are coming along in case there’s trouble. I guess you and Cleve are the cops for your own run, huh?”
“Yeah, and Johnny’s bringing a carbine. He found it in his unit, that and a couple boxes of ammo, so Sara’s the only one of us that won’t be armed. Cleve ain’t happy about that, but Sara insisted on coming to help.”
“Yeah. Maybe neither of us will run into anything.”
Kelly slipped back to the top of the steps and listened to them talk until Shady started squirming, then hurried back to #202. She kept a firm grip on her kitten until the door latched, then let him jump to the floor and run to the laundry area. Ben, sleeping on the futon in the living room, stirred then was still. An ember crackled in the fireplace, and the honest smell of a wood fire had conquered the last of the stinky fridge. Except for her flashlight, which illuminated very little beyond a few feet, the unit was pitch-dark. She walked to the hallway then turned off the light and trailed her left hand along the wall, navigating by feel, until she reached her bedroom. Kicking off her shoes, she burrowed under the pile of blankets and quilts on her bed and waited for things to warm up again before shedding her clothes.
Okay, I guess, Cody had said. Tim had probably forgotten how to speak Teenager — Susie Lin, a classmate, once told her that Mandarin was another language where a word could have multiple meanings depending on inflection — so he wouldn’t know that Cody said I’m in heaven, dude. Things had gotten so complicated… she hadn’t thought she was interested in him until Sondra came along… and not only were the two of them free agents, Kelly had both her parents to watch over her! How was she supposed to compete with that?
Tim and Cody weren’t going to be the only ones having a hard time sleeping tonight.
continued…
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
How did I get so lucky? Cody asked himself. She has to be the hottest girl in the world. He lay half-awake in a blurry tingly haze, Sondra wrapped in the pink robe and softly snoring, an arm and leg draped over him. How long had they screwed? — an hour? more? — it didn’t matter. Necking had led to groping, then as soon as he put a condom on she’d straddled him and rode him to exhaustion. She came at least twice, maybe three times, or maybe it was just one long orgasm… Cody didn’t know that much about sex, only the stupid stuff from Internet porn and bragging of seniors, but if Sondra was happy it was another thing that didn’t matter. He’d thought he was going to explode when it was his turn to come; he remembered crying out and Sondra’s sweaty grin, her robe flopping open around them both, his arms around her hips, lifting off the bed, her nipples still hard as she gasped again at the end…
He started to respond to the memory, but achieved only half-mast. In the morning then, he thought, if she doesn’t wake me up for more first. He grinned, realized he wouldn’t be sleeping for a little while, and eased out of bed.
“Mmmrrf?”
“Gotta pee,” he whispered, and realized it was true. Sondra made no more sound; she was a heavy sleeper most nights. He threw on a t-shirt, pants, and a fleece they’d picked up on the way out of Sears, and slipped outside to the porta-john they’d rolled from a construction site on the other end of Laurel. It was dark — no moon tonight. The stars, more than Cody was used to seeing, told him there were no clouds. He played his little flashlight over the path and made his way to the blue booth on the other side of the street.
“Shady?” Kelly’s whisper rasped down the cave-like hallway, just ahead of the splash of flashlight. “Who’s that?”
“Just Cody. Yeah, he’s here with me again.” Cody stood, holding the kitten and turning to face Kelly.
“I guess he’s going to make a habit of this,” Kelly said, taking possession of Shady and yawning. “That’s three nights in a row. I went to use the bathroom, and when I came back, he got out.”
“Yeah. How’s he getting along with Ben’s cat?”
“Oh, they either sniff each other or chase each other all around the place,” Kelly laughed. “Then they sleep together in the laundry pile.”
“Hey guys,” Tim said, walking down from the other side. “Late-night meetup?”
Cody was glad the darkness hid his embarrassment; Kelly glanced down the walk over her shoulder. “No,” she said, “Shady got out again and Cody found him. Thanks, Cody.” She hustled away.
Tim’s cocked eyebrow in the flashlight beam asked Cody the same question. “Uh-uh,” he said, shaking his head. “I just had to pee, and the cat was up here waiting for me to come back.”
“So she didn’t throw you out?” Tim glanced at Cody’s door then gestured for Cody to follow him back to the bottom.
“Uh-uh. We’re getting along… okay, I guess.” They sat on the bottom steps.
“That’s good. You want a beer? I couldn’t sleep either, so I thought I’d sit out here and watch the stars. The trees block the view from the balcony.”
“What’s — what’s up with you?”
“Oh… I guess I’m just keyed up about the run to that solar panel place tomorrow,” Tim said, handing Cody a can. “Sara’s coming, but she’s never handled guns.” He opened his own can. “They’re not cold, but at least they’re not warm either.”
“Yeah. I kinda wish I was going with you guys, but Jason’s got me helping with that composting toilet thing. We’re making a run to Home Despot so we can build a couple johns, and stuff for the brick ovens and more rain barrels. Sondra and Max are coming along in case there’s trouble. I guess you and Cleve are the cops for your own run, huh?”
“Yeah, and Johnny’s bringing a carbine. He found it in his unit, that and a couple boxes of ammo, so Sara’s the only one of us that won’t be armed. Cleve ain’t happy about that, but Sara insisted on coming to help.”
“Yeah. Maybe neither of us will run into anything.”
Kelly slipped back to the top of the steps and listened to them talk until Shady started squirming, then hurried back to #202. She kept a firm grip on her kitten until the door latched, then let him jump to the floor and run to the laundry area. Ben, sleeping on the futon in the living room, stirred then was still. An ember crackled in the fireplace, and the honest smell of a wood fire had conquered the last of the stinky fridge. Except for her flashlight, which illuminated very little beyond a few feet, the unit was pitch-dark. She walked to the hallway then turned off the light and trailed her left hand along the wall, navigating by feel, until she reached her bedroom. Kicking off her shoes, she burrowed under the pile of blankets and quilts on her bed and waited for things to warm up again before shedding her clothes.
Okay, I guess, Cody had said. Tim had probably forgotten how to speak Teenager — Susie Lin, a classmate, once told her that Mandarin was another language where a word could have multiple meanings depending on inflection — so he wouldn’t know that Cody said I’m in heaven, dude. Things had gotten so complicated… she hadn’t thought she was interested in him until Sondra came along… and not only were the two of them free agents, Kelly had both her parents to watch over her! How was she supposed to compete with that?
Tim and Cody weren’t going to be the only ones having a hard time sleeping tonight.
continued…
Friday, May 28, 2010 No comments
5 Years of Blogging
Once again, I let the blogiversary slip by! Then again, I seem to have forgotten it completely last year. Last time I did this, I commemorated it with a video, so I’ll do it again…
Someday, we’re gonna rise up on that wind, you know
Someday, we’re gonna dance with those lions
Someday, we’re gonna break free from these chains
And keep on … flyin’
Someday, we’re gonna rise up on that wind, you know
Someday, we’re gonna dance with those lions
Someday, we’re gonna break free from these chains
And keep on … flyin’
Thursday, May 27, 2010 No comments
Creamy Chicken/Pasta Salad
A good “hot day” dish, everyone liked it and got extra. I threw this together yesterday for supper from what we had laying around, and it went over pretty well. It takes maybe half an hour to make, plus chill time. The dressing part is modified from a tex-mex recipe I found online; I wanted something creamy and this seemed to fit the bill. The original recipe called for vinegar (and I used it) but everyone suggested to lose the vinegar next time… which means I’ll be making this again.
¼ c. dried tomatoes
12oz package of rotini
Dressing:
1-½ tsp. dried cilantro (or 2 T fresh)
¼ c. lemon (or lime) juice
½ c. sour cream
1 clove garlic, pressed (or 1 tsp. minced garlic)
1 T honey
¼ tsp. white pepper
½ tsp. salt
½ c. olive oil
12oz leftover boneless chicken, cooked and diced (or 1 12oz can)
1/3 c grated parmesan cheese
Bring 4-6 qt water to a boil. Break dried tomatoes into dime-sized (1cm) pieces, boil for 5 min. to reconstitute. Skim the tomatoes into a colander to drain, add rotini to the boiling water and cook as instructed by package directions. Drain and rinse in cold water.
While rotini is boiling, put cilantro, lemon juice, sour cream, garlic, honey, pepper, and salt in a blender or food processor, blend on high until smooth. Continue to blend, slowly adding olive oil.
Fold together tomatoes, pasta, dressing, chicken, and parmesan cheese until evenly coated. Cover and chill. Serves 5-6.
¼ c. dried tomatoes
12oz package of rotini
Dressing:
1-½ tsp. dried cilantro (or 2 T fresh)
¼ c. lemon (or lime) juice
½ c. sour cream
1 clove garlic, pressed (or 1 tsp. minced garlic)
1 T honey
¼ tsp. white pepper
½ tsp. salt
½ c. olive oil
12oz leftover boneless chicken, cooked and diced (or 1 12oz can)
1/3 c grated parmesan cheese
Bring 4-6 qt water to a boil. Break dried tomatoes into dime-sized (1cm) pieces, boil for 5 min. to reconstitute. Skim the tomatoes into a colander to drain, add rotini to the boiling water and cook as instructed by package directions. Drain and rinse in cold water.
While rotini is boiling, put cilantro, lemon juice, sour cream, garlic, honey, pepper, and salt in a blender or food processor, blend on high until smooth. Continue to blend, slowly adding olive oil.
Fold together tomatoes, pasta, dressing, chicken, and parmesan cheese until evenly coated. Cover and chill. Serves 5-6.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010 4 comments
Weird and Wacky Wednesday
Well, not that weird, not much weirder than any other day at FAR Manor. The day started out kind of promising; Snippet woke up pissy from a bad dream and threatened to leave The Boy. His response: “Go right ahead.” (They’ve talked about getting married in July, but stuff like this has to make you wonder.) She seems to have gotten over herself though — her mom coming by may have had something to do with that. She (Snippet’s mom) had to have an MRI today, and she needs to be sedated due to seizures when exposed to certain electrical fields, so Snippet did the driving. They took Mason with them, which made for a pretty quiet day.
Daughter Dearest was a little concerned about it; she heard much of the argument The Boy and Snippet had this morning and thought maybe Snippet would bolt the manor with the baby. “That’s the absolute last thing I’m worried about,” I told her. “Snippet lays in bed all day until I take Mason upstairs and drop him in bed with her, and ten minutes later she’s asking me to take him so she can get a shower or eat breakfast, and then she’ll eff off to watch TV. She takes care of him as little as possible; she’s not going to take him on full-time.” Sure enough, they were back later in the afternoon. Mason has been free-standing for a while now, and trying to take his first steps, but he’s not even 9 months old yet. He’ll be walking soon enough, then we’ll really have to get serious about baby-proofing the manor.
My wallet is $1500 lighter, but I have my Civic back. Most of that was replacing the clutch and timing belt/water pump, but there were a few other minor things that got done. I still don’t have working A/C, but so far everything else seems to be okay.
While my net worth took a thumpin’ at the mechanic’s, today was somewhat of a net-worth watershed for Apple: today was the day Apple’s market cap overtook Microsoft’s for the first time. I don’t expect it to be a permanent situation — Microsoft will rally, or Apple will stumble, and this might only last a few days or weeks — but it’s going to be a fun datapoint to rub in the faces of all those people who thought Apple was walking-dead just 10 years ago. Too bad I didn’t grab some Apple stock back then…
Lately, I’ve been reading J. A. Konrath’s blog, off and on. Konrath is a mid-list author who writes a series of crime novels, and has lately had a huge sales boost by selling Kindle editions of his books, out of print and otherwise, and pricing them dirt-cheap (like $1.99). As book publishing (the major publishing houses, collectively referred to as “New York”) has found itself circling the same drain as newspaper publishing, this hasn’t exactly been welcome news in some circles. Publisher’s Weekly wrote a nice little hit-piece about Konrath signing with AmazonEncore, including lovely sentiments like “a book that nobody wanted” (where “nobody” = New York), misrepresenting his sales, and implying that AmazonEncore is a bare step above self-publishing. Naturally, Konrath set the record straight. I’ve been the victim of a similar hit-piece in the past, when I posted a series of articles (on a now-defunct Yahoo!360° blog) that was critical of XML — or rather, how consultants were deliberately over-complicating it for their own gain — and a consultant got a bunch of other consultants together and trashed me… of course, without bothering to contact me for a rebuttal. It did have the side effect of sending a tsunami of traffic to that blog though.
Seeing that I’ll have to write a sequel to White Pickups, which is now “Book I of the Truckalypse,” maybe I should look into this whole publish-on-Kindle thing myself.
Daughter Dearest was a little concerned about it; she heard much of the argument The Boy and Snippet had this morning and thought maybe Snippet would bolt the manor with the baby. “That’s the absolute last thing I’m worried about,” I told her. “Snippet lays in bed all day until I take Mason upstairs and drop him in bed with her, and ten minutes later she’s asking me to take him so she can get a shower or eat breakfast, and then she’ll eff off to watch TV. She takes care of him as little as possible; she’s not going to take him on full-time.” Sure enough, they were back later in the afternoon. Mason has been free-standing for a while now, and trying to take his first steps, but he’s not even 9 months old yet. He’ll be walking soon enough, then we’ll really have to get serious about baby-proofing the manor.
My wallet is $1500 lighter, but I have my Civic back. Most of that was replacing the clutch and timing belt/water pump, but there were a few other minor things that got done. I still don’t have working A/C, but so far everything else seems to be okay.
While my net worth took a thumpin’ at the mechanic’s, today was somewhat of a net-worth watershed for Apple: today was the day Apple’s market cap overtook Microsoft’s for the first time. I don’t expect it to be a permanent situation — Microsoft will rally, or Apple will stumble, and this might only last a few days or weeks — but it’s going to be a fun datapoint to rub in the faces of all those people who thought Apple was walking-dead just 10 years ago. Too bad I didn’t grab some Apple stock back then…
Lately, I’ve been reading J. A. Konrath’s blog, off and on. Konrath is a mid-list author who writes a series of crime novels, and has lately had a huge sales boost by selling Kindle editions of his books, out of print and otherwise, and pricing them dirt-cheap (like $1.99). As book publishing (the major publishing houses, collectively referred to as “New York”) has found itself circling the same drain as newspaper publishing, this hasn’t exactly been welcome news in some circles. Publisher’s Weekly wrote a nice little hit-piece about Konrath signing with AmazonEncore, including lovely sentiments like “a book that nobody wanted” (where “nobody” = New York), misrepresenting his sales, and implying that AmazonEncore is a bare step above self-publishing. Naturally, Konrath set the record straight. I’ve been the victim of a similar hit-piece in the past, when I posted a series of articles (on a now-defunct Yahoo!360° blog) that was critical of XML — or rather, how consultants were deliberately over-complicating it for their own gain — and a consultant got a bunch of other consultants together and trashed me… of course, without bothering to contact me for a rebuttal. It did have the side effect of sending a tsunami of traffic to that blog though.
Seeing that I’ll have to write a sequel to White Pickups, which is now “Book I of the Truckalypse,” maybe I should look into this whole publish-on-Kindle thing myself.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010 3 comments
Happy Birthday, Mrs. Fetched!
And a milestone, no less!
Flowers, cards, dinner out, and now she’s zorched out in bed and it’s not even 11. These milestone birthdays are the ones that get you…
Flowers, cards, dinner out, and now she’s zorched out in bed and it’s not even 11. These milestone birthdays are the ones that get you…
Monday, May 24, 2010 4 comments
White Pickups, Episode 36
Contents
Little Ben led Tim, Kelly, Jennifer, and the other kids to his house: a grey Cape Cod with brick trim. He tried the front door, and found it unlocked. “Come on in, guys,” he said. “Or Miss Kelly, maybe you should come in first, just in case my folks are home.”
Kelly shrugged and followed him in. Ben’s call went unanswered, leaving him a bit more disappointed than even he expected. “I should have known they wouldn’t be here,” he told Kelly. “They would have come for me at the theater.” She gestured to the others; they filed in.
The house smelled musty. “I hope Cheddar was outside,” Ben said.
“Who’s Cheddar?” Kelly asked.
“Our cat. He was yellow, like cheddar cheese. That’s how he got his name.”
“I’ll look for him,” Kelly said. “You take the others to get your stuff.” She checked the kitchen, found an unshredded bag of cat food and a mostly-unused litter box, then checked the bathroom and found it empty.
“Bring some big garbage bags!” Jennifer called. “They’re in the kitchen!”
“Good timing, I just left there!” Kelly called back and went to get the bags.
Most of Ben’s clothes were already piled on his bed by the time Kelly arrived. “I think Cheddar was outside,” she told Ben. “I didn’t seem him anywhere, and the cat food bag wasn’t torn up.”
“Good.” Ben turned back to his clothes. “I guess I better get my winter stuff too,” he said. “It’s in the closet by the laundry room, I think. Mom made me help her put away all that stuff in April.”
“Will it fit you?” Ashley asked him. “A lot of my stuff from last year didn’t fit me in the spring. I got to shop for new summer clothes.”
“Maybe.”
“Ben, does your family have any camping gear?” Tim asked. “Sleeping bags, lanterns, anything like that?”
“It would all be in the camper, and that’s at the self-store place.”
“Hm… do you know how to get there?”
“Not really.” Ben studied a bookshelf and pulled down several books. “It’s off Peachtree Industrial.”
“Ben, do you know where your parents put their mail?” Jennifer asked.
“Mom’s office, probably,” he said. “Why?”
“Maybe there will be a bill and it’ll tell us where the self-storage place is. We’ll need warm gear for the winter.”
“Oh. I thought that’s what you were getting at the mall.”
“We got what they had,” Tim said, “but it wasn’t enough for everyone. We expect we’ll find even more people, so we need to gather everything we can find, even if we don’t end up using it right away.”
“Yeah.” He looked at a knapsack on the floor next to his desk, hesitated. “We don’t have to get my school books, do we?”
Kelly and Jennifer laughed. “Just because the world ended doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have an education!” The kids groaned.
“Well, who’s gonna teach us?” Sheldon said, as Ben hefted the pack.
“All of us,” Tim said. “I don’t think it will be school like before, sitting in class all day.”
“So why bring the books?”
“We might be able to use them,” Jennifer said. “That goes for all of you. Well, let’s get your stuff loaded up. You sure you have everything you want? It might be a while before we come back for anything else.”
“Sure,” Ben said, and everyone hoisted bags or boxes.
As they stepped outside, a scrawny yellow cat slipped out of the bushes and meowed, looking wary of all the strange people. “It’s Cheddar!” Ben said. “Oh man, he’s skinny! C’mon, kitty, let’s get you a snack.” He dropped his bags and ducked back in the house, the cat at his heels.
“Let’s put this stuff on the trailer,” Tim said after a moment. “I sure hope they have a pet carrier in the house somewhere.”
“I’ll go ask Ben,” Kelly said, dropping her bag of Ben’s clothes on the trailer.
Ben was sitting on the floor in the kitchen, stroking the cat as he ate. “I hope we can take him with us,” Ben said as the cat purred around a mouthful of cat food. “I never really liked him that much before, but he’s…” He waved his hand around.
“All that’s left,” Kelly said, leaving of your family unsaid. “Do you know if he had a carrier here?”
“Sure, it’s in the closet by the back door. Good idea.”
Kelly walked to the back of the house and looked out the back door window before opening the closet door. “Ben!” she called, pulling out the carrier and a box of Ben’s winter clothes on top of it. “Did your neighbors have a garden?”
“Yeah. I used to sneak over and pick up rotten tomatoes to throw at the tree. Did you find the carrier?”
“Uh-huh. Are there any grocery bags in the kitchen?”
“Sure, Mom always put ’em in the bottom drawer by the sink. Why?”
“Nobody’s had fresh vegetables in over a week! We’re gonna go pick!” Kelly returned with the carrier and the box, and found the drawer with the bags. “Will he give you any problem about going in the carrier?”
“Nah, I’ll put his dish in there. He’ll follow it right in.”
Kelly ran out the front door, waving the grocery bags. “I can’t believe we almost missed it!” she yelled. “There’s a garden next door!”
Ben followed the chatter out the back door, carrier in hand. The older three were happily tramping down the wet rows: “How can you tell if green beans are ready?” “Is this corn any good?” “Yeah, get the green tomatoes too if they’re big enough. They’ll ripen.” “Hey Jennifer, no fair eating the cherry tomatoes!” The other kids followed behind, picking or tying full bags and carrying them to the edge of the garden.
Ashley handed Ben a handful of bags. “I’m allergic to cats,” she said, “but he can stay in the shade. Let’s go help.” Ben sighed and followed her into the garden.
continued…
Little Ben led Tim, Kelly, Jennifer, and the other kids to his house: a grey Cape Cod with brick trim. He tried the front door, and found it unlocked. “Come on in, guys,” he said. “Or Miss Kelly, maybe you should come in first, just in case my folks are home.”
Kelly shrugged and followed him in. Ben’s call went unanswered, leaving him a bit more disappointed than even he expected. “I should have known they wouldn’t be here,” he told Kelly. “They would have come for me at the theater.” She gestured to the others; they filed in.
The house smelled musty. “I hope Cheddar was outside,” Ben said.
“Who’s Cheddar?” Kelly asked.
“Our cat. He was yellow, like cheddar cheese. That’s how he got his name.”
“I’ll look for him,” Kelly said. “You take the others to get your stuff.” She checked the kitchen, found an unshredded bag of cat food and a mostly-unused litter box, then checked the bathroom and found it empty.
“Bring some big garbage bags!” Jennifer called. “They’re in the kitchen!”
“Good timing, I just left there!” Kelly called back and went to get the bags.
Most of Ben’s clothes were already piled on his bed by the time Kelly arrived. “I think Cheddar was outside,” she told Ben. “I didn’t seem him anywhere, and the cat food bag wasn’t torn up.”
“Good.” Ben turned back to his clothes. “I guess I better get my winter stuff too,” he said. “It’s in the closet by the laundry room, I think. Mom made me help her put away all that stuff in April.”
“Will it fit you?” Ashley asked him. “A lot of my stuff from last year didn’t fit me in the spring. I got to shop for new summer clothes.”
“Maybe.”
“Ben, does your family have any camping gear?” Tim asked. “Sleeping bags, lanterns, anything like that?”
“It would all be in the camper, and that’s at the self-store place.”
“Hm… do you know how to get there?”
“Not really.” Ben studied a bookshelf and pulled down several books. “It’s off Peachtree Industrial.”
“Ben, do you know where your parents put their mail?” Jennifer asked.
“Mom’s office, probably,” he said. “Why?”
“Maybe there will be a bill and it’ll tell us where the self-storage place is. We’ll need warm gear for the winter.”
“Oh. I thought that’s what you were getting at the mall.”
“We got what they had,” Tim said, “but it wasn’t enough for everyone. We expect we’ll find even more people, so we need to gather everything we can find, even if we don’t end up using it right away.”
“Yeah.” He looked at a knapsack on the floor next to his desk, hesitated. “We don’t have to get my school books, do we?”
Kelly and Jennifer laughed. “Just because the world ended doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have an education!” The kids groaned.
“Well, who’s gonna teach us?” Sheldon said, as Ben hefted the pack.
“All of us,” Tim said. “I don’t think it will be school like before, sitting in class all day.”
“So why bring the books?”
“We might be able to use them,” Jennifer said. “That goes for all of you. Well, let’s get your stuff loaded up. You sure you have everything you want? It might be a while before we come back for anything else.”
“Sure,” Ben said, and everyone hoisted bags or boxes.
As they stepped outside, a scrawny yellow cat slipped out of the bushes and meowed, looking wary of all the strange people. “It’s Cheddar!” Ben said. “Oh man, he’s skinny! C’mon, kitty, let’s get you a snack.” He dropped his bags and ducked back in the house, the cat at his heels.
“Let’s put this stuff on the trailer,” Tim said after a moment. “I sure hope they have a pet carrier in the house somewhere.”
“I’ll go ask Ben,” Kelly said, dropping her bag of Ben’s clothes on the trailer.
Ben was sitting on the floor in the kitchen, stroking the cat as he ate. “I hope we can take him with us,” Ben said as the cat purred around a mouthful of cat food. “I never really liked him that much before, but he’s…” He waved his hand around.
“All that’s left,” Kelly said, leaving of your family unsaid. “Do you know if he had a carrier here?”
“Sure, it’s in the closet by the back door. Good idea.”
Kelly walked to the back of the house and looked out the back door window before opening the closet door. “Ben!” she called, pulling out the carrier and a box of Ben’s winter clothes on top of it. “Did your neighbors have a garden?”
“Yeah. I used to sneak over and pick up rotten tomatoes to throw at the tree. Did you find the carrier?”
“Uh-huh. Are there any grocery bags in the kitchen?”
“Sure, Mom always put ’em in the bottom drawer by the sink. Why?”
“Nobody’s had fresh vegetables in over a week! We’re gonna go pick!” Kelly returned with the carrier and the box, and found the drawer with the bags. “Will he give you any problem about going in the carrier?”
“Nah, I’ll put his dish in there. He’ll follow it right in.”
Kelly ran out the front door, waving the grocery bags. “I can’t believe we almost missed it!” she yelled. “There’s a garden next door!”
Ben followed the chatter out the back door, carrier in hand. The older three were happily tramping down the wet rows: “How can you tell if green beans are ready?” “Is this corn any good?” “Yeah, get the green tomatoes too if they’re big enough. They’ll ripen.” “Hey Jennifer, no fair eating the cherry tomatoes!” The other kids followed behind, picking or tying full bags and carrying them to the edge of the garden.
Ashley handed Ben a handful of bags. “I’m allergic to cats,” she said, “but he can stay in the shade. Let’s go help.” Ben sighed and followed her into the garden.
continued…
Monday, May 17, 2010 2 comments
White Pickups, Episode 35
Contents
“Kelly and I will take them,” Tina said. “One of them, anyway. I doubt Kelly would let me not make the offer.” That drew several chuckles, and several others offered at once to take in one or more of the kids as well.
“We could let the kids decide who they want to stay with,” Sondra said. Cody gave her a horrified look, which made her snicker.
“At this point, the kids would probably choose Jennifer, Kelly, and Tim,” Tina said, trying to hide a smile herself, “simply because they’re the ones taking them around to get bikes. They know those three better by now than the rest of us.”
“Well, four of them would,” Cody muttered. Only Sondra heard, and stifled a laugh.
“A few of us have either had kids, or helped with kids before,” Tina continued. “I suggest that anyone who has had a — what’s the word, tween? — a ten year old child around and was comfortable with that should be at least considered.”
“That would include me, I suppose,” Charles said.
“I’ve helped raise a few kids,” Sally McMinn said. “I could probably teach ’em something useful, too.”
“I bet you could!” Johnny Latimer retorted from a safe distance. She ignored him.
“Jennifer will probably insist on adopting at least one of them,” Charles said. “So you, me, Jennifer, Ms. Sally… and if someone takes two, we’re set.”
“I always wanted children,” Sara said, sitting next to Tim. “Maybe I’ll have my own some day, but I wouldn’t mind a head start.”
I wouldn ’t mind giving you a head start, Cleve thought to himself. Tim glanced at her.
“Well, we have our five surrogate parents,” Charles said. “All that’s left is to figure out which kid gets which adult.”
“Speaking of the devil… or five of them, anyway,” Max said, looking out the window at the parade of kids on bikes.
“You sure you don’t want to take in Caitlin?” Sondra whispered to Cody.
“Where’d she sleep? We only got one bedroom.”
“Yeah, good point. We’ll just have to — get by with letting her visit.”
Cody snickered, hugging Sondra tighter.
Tim came in with the kids in tow, followed by Kelly and Jennifer. “Hey all,” Tim said. “We’ve been talking. Turns out Ben, Ashley, and Sheldon all lived fairly close to here. They’re all feeling a lot better, so we’re going to take a little ride to Ben’s place first and then Ashley’s or Sheldon’s if they’re up to it. Caitlin and Lily live a bit farther away, but they agreed to let us get to their places later. They’re all coming with us so they can pick up some of their belongings and bring them back. And get some exercise. They were cooped up in that mall for a long time.
“All the kids say they’ll be fine with whoever they live with — we’ll see each other every day anyway, so it doesn’t matter who they live with, we’ll all be helping raise them. We can figure out who they’ll stay with when we get back. See ya.”
“Bye!” The kids all waved at the others, then filed out.
Nobody spoke for a few moments. “Well,” Tina said at last, “I guess that lets us put off the decision for a little longer.”
“In that case, let’s talk creature comforts,” Johnny said. “I don’t know about the rest of y’all, but I ain’t exactly lookin’ forward to the day when we run out of gas — or it all goes bad — and we can’t light this place up anymore. We need to use some of it to cut up wood for the winter, and we need to get us some chainsaws too.”
“We’re going to get some solar panels this week,” Tina reminded him. “That won’t run a chainsaw, though. We’ll do alright this winter, but we need to start looking to next winter as well, don’t we?”
“Natural gas, too,” Sara said. “I think the pressure’s starting to go down. We’ll all be grilling outside in a week or two, I’m afraid.”
“Maybe we need to build a brick oven of sorts,” Sally McMinn said. “And an outhouse or two.”
“Speaking of gas,” Jason said, and everyone laughed. “No, seriously. We can capture the methane from our… sewage. It’s pretty low-tech. There was all sorts of stuff about it online, but maybe there will be something at a bookstore or local library. Where is the library around here, anyway?”
Charles drew a vertical line down the middle of the whiteboard. On the right side, he wrote:
Brick oven/outdoor cooking
Outhouses
Methane capture
Chain saws/firewood
Library?
“We need to hit a few auto parts stores, or hardware stores,” Cody said, “maybe both. If we can scrounge up enough gasoline preservative, we might be able to use the gas at the QuickFill until it’s gone.”
Gasoline preservative
“What do we do with it?” asked Ben.
“Just dump it in the storage tank,” Johnny said. “Maybe stir it a bit with the dipstick.”
“If we do that, maybe we could just leave it for later, and use up some other station’s gas until it goes bad,” Ben said. “Would that work?”
“The next closest gas station is another two miles past the QuickFill,” Tina said. “Is it going to be worth the effort to go that far, when we’re going to have to go without gasoline sooner or later?”
“Sure. I don’t know about you, but I’m not ready to give up my creature comforts either. Not having hot water or working toilets is bad enough. Besides, we’re using ten, maybe fifteen, gallons a day. It’ll be gone in what… three or four months?”
“Maybe a little longer,” Kelly said. “There was about 1800 gallons in the tank when I checked it last week. We’re pumping ten or fifteen gallons a day to run the generators. If we were trying to light up this whole place, it would be gone pretty quick, but if it doesn’t go bad it should last four to six months. Maybe a little less — we won’t be able to siphon out every drop, after all.”
“What about the chainsaws?” Johnny Latimer said. “I don’t wanna try sawing firewood by hand, we’ll be doin’ it every day of the year!”
“We could try making ethanol,” Jason suggested. “I've already heard some talk about setting up a still. Maybe we’ll be able to keep a few chainsaws going on what doesn’t get drank.” Laughter.
Ethanol
“If we get enough juice here,” Cleve said, “maybe we could run a few electric chain saws.”
“They’d be good for cutting little stuff,” Johnny said. “Nothing more than a few inches across.”
“Better than nothing.”
“That’s a lot of electricity,” Cody said. “And you’d have to drag the trees to where the juice is to cut ’em up anyway. I guess we’ll see what we come up with when we go for the solar panels tomorrow or Thursday.”
continued…
“Kelly and I will take them,” Tina said. “One of them, anyway. I doubt Kelly would let me not make the offer.” That drew several chuckles, and several others offered at once to take in one or more of the kids as well.
“We could let the kids decide who they want to stay with,” Sondra said. Cody gave her a horrified look, which made her snicker.
“At this point, the kids would probably choose Jennifer, Kelly, and Tim,” Tina said, trying to hide a smile herself, “simply because they’re the ones taking them around to get bikes. They know those three better by now than the rest of us.”
“Well, four of them would,” Cody muttered. Only Sondra heard, and stifled a laugh.
“A few of us have either had kids, or helped with kids before,” Tina continued. “I suggest that anyone who has had a — what’s the word, tween? — a ten year old child around and was comfortable with that should be at least considered.”
“That would include me, I suppose,” Charles said.
“I’ve helped raise a few kids,” Sally McMinn said. “I could probably teach ’em something useful, too.”
“I bet you could!” Johnny Latimer retorted from a safe distance. She ignored him.
“Jennifer will probably insist on adopting at least one of them,” Charles said. “So you, me, Jennifer, Ms. Sally… and if someone takes two, we’re set.”
“I always wanted children,” Sara said, sitting next to Tim. “Maybe I’ll have my own some day, but I wouldn’t mind a head start.”
I wouldn ’t mind giving you a head start, Cleve thought to himself. Tim glanced at her.
“Well, we have our five surrogate parents,” Charles said. “All that’s left is to figure out which kid gets which adult.”
“Speaking of the devil… or five of them, anyway,” Max said, looking out the window at the parade of kids on bikes.
“You sure you don’t want to take in Caitlin?” Sondra whispered to Cody.
“Where’d she sleep? We only got one bedroom.”
“Yeah, good point. We’ll just have to — get by with letting her visit.”
Cody snickered, hugging Sondra tighter.
Tim came in with the kids in tow, followed by Kelly and Jennifer. “Hey all,” Tim said. “We’ve been talking. Turns out Ben, Ashley, and Sheldon all lived fairly close to here. They’re all feeling a lot better, so we’re going to take a little ride to Ben’s place first and then Ashley’s or Sheldon’s if they’re up to it. Caitlin and Lily live a bit farther away, but they agreed to let us get to their places later. They’re all coming with us so they can pick up some of their belongings and bring them back. And get some exercise. They were cooped up in that mall for a long time.
“All the kids say they’ll be fine with whoever they live with — we’ll see each other every day anyway, so it doesn’t matter who they live with, we’ll all be helping raise them. We can figure out who they’ll stay with when we get back. See ya.”
“Bye!” The kids all waved at the others, then filed out.
Nobody spoke for a few moments. “Well,” Tina said at last, “I guess that lets us put off the decision for a little longer.”
“In that case, let’s talk creature comforts,” Johnny said. “I don’t know about the rest of y’all, but I ain’t exactly lookin’ forward to the day when we run out of gas — or it all goes bad — and we can’t light this place up anymore. We need to use some of it to cut up wood for the winter, and we need to get us some chainsaws too.”
“We’re going to get some solar panels this week,” Tina reminded him. “That won’t run a chainsaw, though. We’ll do alright this winter, but we need to start looking to next winter as well, don’t we?”
“Natural gas, too,” Sara said. “I think the pressure’s starting to go down. We’ll all be grilling outside in a week or two, I’m afraid.”
“Maybe we need to build a brick oven of sorts,” Sally McMinn said. “And an outhouse or two.”
“Speaking of gas,” Jason said, and everyone laughed. “No, seriously. We can capture the methane from our… sewage. It’s pretty low-tech. There was all sorts of stuff about it online, but maybe there will be something at a bookstore or local library. Where is the library around here, anyway?”
Charles drew a vertical line down the middle of the whiteboard. On the right side, he wrote:
Brick oven/outdoor cooking
Outhouses
Methane capture
Chain saws/firewood
Library?
“We need to hit a few auto parts stores, or hardware stores,” Cody said, “maybe both. If we can scrounge up enough gasoline preservative, we might be able to use the gas at the QuickFill until it’s gone.”
Gasoline preservative
“What do we do with it?” asked Ben.
“Just dump it in the storage tank,” Johnny said. “Maybe stir it a bit with the dipstick.”
“If we do that, maybe we could just leave it for later, and use up some other station’s gas until it goes bad,” Ben said. “Would that work?”
“The next closest gas station is another two miles past the QuickFill,” Tina said. “Is it going to be worth the effort to go that far, when we’re going to have to go without gasoline sooner or later?”
“Sure. I don’t know about you, but I’m not ready to give up my creature comforts either. Not having hot water or working toilets is bad enough. Besides, we’re using ten, maybe fifteen, gallons a day. It’ll be gone in what… three or four months?”
“Maybe a little longer,” Kelly said. “There was about 1800 gallons in the tank when I checked it last week. We’re pumping ten or fifteen gallons a day to run the generators. If we were trying to light up this whole place, it would be gone pretty quick, but if it doesn’t go bad it should last four to six months. Maybe a little less — we won’t be able to siphon out every drop, after all.”
“What about the chainsaws?” Johnny Latimer said. “I don’t wanna try sawing firewood by hand, we’ll be doin’ it every day of the year!”
“We could try making ethanol,” Jason suggested. “I've already heard some talk about setting up a still. Maybe we’ll be able to keep a few chainsaws going on what doesn’t get drank.” Laughter.
Ethanol
“If we get enough juice here,” Cleve said, “maybe we could run a few electric chain saws.”
“They’d be good for cutting little stuff,” Johnny said. “Nothing more than a few inches across.”
“Better than nothing.”
“That’s a lot of electricity,” Cody said. “And you’d have to drag the trees to where the juice is to cut ’em up anyway. I guess we’ll see what we come up with when we go for the solar panels tomorrow or Thursday.”
continued…
Sunday, May 16, 2010 No comments
Shiny Things! Mini-podcast #2: Maya Ring Sling
Now that I’m getting a feel for how GarageBand does things, it (as expected) doesn’t take too long to do these. I just didn’t get a chance to do it yesterday, so it’s a day late. This week, I talk about the Maya sling:
And the associated AudioBoo page, where you can see a picture, leave a comment, whatever.
And the associated AudioBoo page, where you can see a picture, leave a comment, whatever.
Friday, May 14, 2010 4 comments
Friday Picture-Rama
If a picture’s worth a thousand words, this would be a looooong blog post.
We keep getting cool snaps, and I keep thinking “this one must be Blackberry Winter,” but they just keep coming. It warms up, then we get a line of thunderstorms, and it cools off, lather rinse repeat. Well, rinse anyway.
The blooms look pretty good this year, and I’ve noticed several stands in a nearby pasture. We still have plenty of jelly and jam though, so I’m sure sure I’ll do much picking come Fourth of July or not.
Upsize the vines, the thorns, and especially the flowers… and this is what you get. The vining roses are really kicking this year — much better than last. We have a dogwood that blooms twice, since there’s one of these vines crawling all through it.
But seriously, I need to get the shears a hold of the rose vines — they’re doing a fair imitation of kudzu, but with teeth!
I was going to say something like “moving from flowers to weeds,” but Big V isn’t here to defend herself. Oh well, I’m still gonna talk about her, that’s the price she pays for dragging me out of bed last weekend and driving her to Tractor Supply. She has her “permanent” prosthetic, the one that’s custom-fit for her, and she can get around on it reasonably well now. That day, she was still working on her balance, and was doing fine pushing the cart around. That is, until she had them drop about 350 pounds of horse and dog feed on it.
She gave the laden cart a push, and said, “I can’t get that going. You’ll have to push.” Then she climbed on top of it. I was a little worried about the cart’s rated maximum load, but it didn’t come apart on us. Of course, that meant I had to push her and the feed up to the cash registers and then out to the car. She hopped down and got in the seat before I had a chance to tell the guy to throw her in the trunk with the rest of it. ;-)
Of course, what would one of these photo-posts be without the World’s Cutest Grandkid? This pretty much sums things up for Mason these days. He’s crawling all over the place, pulling himself up on anything that will stand still long enough to support him, trying to free-stand, and chewing on things.
We started giving him teething biscuits this week — they’re a really hard cookie-like thing that is supposed to be hard to bite through. Mason’s beaver-chompers make pretty quick work of them, though; they don’t last more than a few minutes before he’s bit the end off and working on the loose piece. He likes some regular (i.e. not-baby) food, but definitely not fish or guacamole. He made the most hilarious face after Mrs. Fetched gave him a little home-made guacamole last night… then ejected it quick. I think he was expecting peas, which he does like. Next time, I’ll have the camera at hand and on speed-shoot mode.
Stupid gout is running at a low level at the moment. I’ve temporarily stopped drinking… when the foot is good for an entire week, I’ll resume the occasional nip at the rum bottle.
We keep getting cool snaps, and I keep thinking “this one must be Blackberry Winter,” but they just keep coming. It warms up, then we get a line of thunderstorms, and it cools off, lather rinse repeat. Well, rinse anyway.The blooms look pretty good this year, and I’ve noticed several stands in a nearby pasture. We still have plenty of jelly and jam though, so I’m sure sure I’ll do much picking come Fourth of July or not.
Upsize the vines, the thorns, and especially the flowers… and this is what you get. The vining roses are really kicking this year — much better than last. We have a dogwood that blooms twice, since there’s one of these vines crawling all through it.But seriously, I need to get the shears a hold of the rose vines — they’re doing a fair imitation of kudzu, but with teeth!
I was going to say something like “moving from flowers to weeds,” but Big V isn’t here to defend herself. Oh well, I’m still gonna talk about her, that’s the price she pays for dragging me out of bed last weekend and driving her to Tractor Supply. She has her “permanent” prosthetic, the one that’s custom-fit for her, and she can get around on it reasonably well now. That day, she was still working on her balance, and was doing fine pushing the cart around. That is, until she had them drop about 350 pounds of horse and dog feed on it.She gave the laden cart a push, and said, “I can’t get that going. You’ll have to push.” Then she climbed on top of it. I was a little worried about the cart’s rated maximum load, but it didn’t come apart on us. Of course, that meant I had to push her and the feed up to the cash registers and then out to the car. She hopped down and got in the seat before I had a chance to tell the guy to throw her in the trunk with the rest of it. ;-)
Of course, what would one of these photo-posts be without the World’s Cutest Grandkid? This pretty much sums things up for Mason these days. He’s crawling all over the place, pulling himself up on anything that will stand still long enough to support him, trying to free-stand, and chewing on things.We started giving him teething biscuits this week — they’re a really hard cookie-like thing that is supposed to be hard to bite through. Mason’s beaver-chompers make pretty quick work of them, though; they don’t last more than a few minutes before he’s bit the end off and working on the loose piece. He likes some regular (i.e. not-baby) food, but definitely not fish or guacamole. He made the most hilarious face after Mrs. Fetched gave him a little home-made guacamole last night… then ejected it quick. I think he was expecting peas, which he does like. Next time, I’ll have the camera at hand and on speed-shoot mode.
Stupid gout is running at a low level at the moment. I’ve temporarily stopped drinking… when the foot is good for an entire week, I’ll resume the occasional nip at the rum bottle.
Monday, May 10, 2010 4 comments
White Pickups, Episode 34
Contents
The kids soon got nervous with everyone hovering over them, watching them eat lunch in the clubhouse, until Jennifer and Kelly shooed the adults away. They returned to their own lunches, talking about what they had seen at the mall and out at the gate. The kids finished their sandwiches, and some multi-vitamins they scrounged from various houses, and they all looked noticeably better after a single decent meal. Kelly, Jennifer, and Tim offered to take them around the complex and find each one a suitable bicycle. After they left, Tina moved to stand between a whiteboard on an easel, taken from the clubhouse office, and a TV set.
“Let’s take a look at the video again,” Tina said, “then we’re going to start asking questions — not only about the trucks, but about everything — and we’re not going to worry about answers just now. Charles, let’s start the generator, so we can put this on the big screen for everyone to see.” He stepped outside, and Ben — Big Ben, now that there was a Little Ben — connected his camcorder to the flat screen and waited.
“What a relief,” Cody whispered to Sondra.
“What?”
“Caitlin’s doing something else. She — I don’t know.”
Sondra stifled a laugh. “I’m sorry, Cody. It’s just so cute. You never had to fend off all the girls, have you?”
He shrugged, and gave her a lopsided grin. “I always figured the world would end first. I was right!” This time, Cody laughed with her, and it felt good. “I don’t want to hurt her, but I don’t know how to deal with her either. She’s like my sister’s age, and she was never like that.”
Charles stepped back inside before Sondra could answer. “Okay, Ben. Let’s see what there is to see.”
Ben pressed Play, then fast-forwarded through the mall footage to Cody lighting the torch. “The trucks show up on the video,” he said. “That’s not surprising, when you think about it — anything that creates or reflects light is going to be picked up by the sensor.”
“But they could still be an illusion, though,” Johnny Latimer said. “Like a mirage. That’s a reflection too, right?”
“Heck of a reflection,” Cody said. “It reflected my foot and a crowbar.”
“Yeah,” Ben said, pausing where Cody put the torch to the truck. “But it didn’t reflect — or deflect — the flame.” The intense white of Cody’s blowtorch nearly filled the screen, until the camcorder adjusted, then they could see it disappearing into the body of the truck. He fast-forwarded to where Cody threw the crowbar, then stepped the video frame by frame. “And… well, you can see it.” They all watched the crowbar disappear through the windshield, and Cody retrieving it and banging it on the side of the truck before dropping it through the bed.
“Seen enough?” Tina asked. Nobody objected. “All right, we’ll start asking questions.” Ben turned off the gadgetry while Charles went to cut off the generator.
“She’ll get over it,” Sondra whispered to Cody. “I had a crush on a high-school kid when I was eleven. By the time I was thirteen, I wondered what the big deal was.”
“Lucky him,” Cody whispered back. “And lucky me he didn’t sweep you away.” He grinned. “We need to come up with something to keep the kids occupied through the day, though. Maybe a school of sorts.”
“What would we teach them now?” Sondra said. “Reading, math… sure.”
“Science and technology. They’ll need to know how to rebuild. Even history, and I hated it. But they need to understand how things were.”
“Are we ready?” Tina said. “Who has a question?”
Cody sat up straight. “This doesn’t have anything to do with the pickups — or maybe it has everything to do with them. There’s five little kids to take care of now — how do we raise them? Are we gonna try to give them some kind of education?”
The others murmered encouragement. “That’s… probably the most important question anyone could have asked,” Charles said, back inside. “Of course, I was in education before the Truckalypse, so naturally I’d think that.” A few chuckles. “You know, it seems to be we also have three kids of high school age here. What are we going to do about completing their education?”
More laughter; Cody grinned. “I did okay with math and science. English, yeah, I just wasn’t that interested. But I don’t guess there’s gonna be much demand for video game designers in my lifetime!” The others laughed again. “I guess I — all of us, really — should be learning what we can about how to grow food and make useful stuff out of all the junk the drive-offs left behind.”
Charles wrote Continuing Education on the whiteboard. “And I guess that goes for all of us,” he said. “Okay, now that the really important question has been asked, what else do we want to know?”
“Where did the trucks come from?”
“Why did they come?”
“Why haven’t they tried to attack us or anything?”
“Can we get rid of them somehow?”
“How many people are left in the world? And how many do we need to keep the gene pool full?”
Charles wrote:
Trucks: origin, purpose, how to fight Number of survivors Gene pool concerns
“I know we’re not supposed to be answering questions,” Max said, “but I’ve heard that you need about 150 people to keep a gene pool viable. And that there were about 10,000 humans alive at the end of the last ice age, but I guess they were scattered around. So we need to find at least four or five more groups our size.”
Charles jotted >10,000? next to Number of survivors and need >150 next to Gene pool concerns. “Any more questions?”
“Yeah,” Johnny Latimer said. “How can we go about contacting other groups of survivors, and… intermingling, I guess?”
How to contact other groups
“Sooner or later, there will be new kids,” Sondra said. She rolled her eyes at the few snickers (word was already getting around). “As far as I know, nobody here has medical training beyond first aid. How do we learn what to do in the next year or so? For that matter, what do we do if someone gets injured?”
Medics?
“Who’s going to raise these kids?” Sally McMinn said, standing up in the back. “Yeah, I know we’re all gonna have a hand in taking care of 'em. But who are they gonna live with?”
“That’s maybe the second most important question,” Tina said. “And unlike the others, we can’t leave it unanswered today. Let’s give this some thought.”
continued…
The kids soon got nervous with everyone hovering over them, watching them eat lunch in the clubhouse, until Jennifer and Kelly shooed the adults away. They returned to their own lunches, talking about what they had seen at the mall and out at the gate. The kids finished their sandwiches, and some multi-vitamins they scrounged from various houses, and they all looked noticeably better after a single decent meal. Kelly, Jennifer, and Tim offered to take them around the complex and find each one a suitable bicycle. After they left, Tina moved to stand between a whiteboard on an easel, taken from the clubhouse office, and a TV set.
“Let’s take a look at the video again,” Tina said, “then we’re going to start asking questions — not only about the trucks, but about everything — and we’re not going to worry about answers just now. Charles, let’s start the generator, so we can put this on the big screen for everyone to see.” He stepped outside, and Ben — Big Ben, now that there was a Little Ben — connected his camcorder to the flat screen and waited.
“What a relief,” Cody whispered to Sondra.
“What?”
“Caitlin’s doing something else. She — I don’t know.”
Sondra stifled a laugh. “I’m sorry, Cody. It’s just so cute. You never had to fend off all the girls, have you?”
He shrugged, and gave her a lopsided grin. “I always figured the world would end first. I was right!” This time, Cody laughed with her, and it felt good. “I don’t want to hurt her, but I don’t know how to deal with her either. She’s like my sister’s age, and she was never like that.”
Charles stepped back inside before Sondra could answer. “Okay, Ben. Let’s see what there is to see.”
Ben pressed Play, then fast-forwarded through the mall footage to Cody lighting the torch. “The trucks show up on the video,” he said. “That’s not surprising, when you think about it — anything that creates or reflects light is going to be picked up by the sensor.”
“But they could still be an illusion, though,” Johnny Latimer said. “Like a mirage. That’s a reflection too, right?”
“Heck of a reflection,” Cody said. “It reflected my foot and a crowbar.”
“Yeah,” Ben said, pausing where Cody put the torch to the truck. “But it didn’t reflect — or deflect — the flame.” The intense white of Cody’s blowtorch nearly filled the screen, until the camcorder adjusted, then they could see it disappearing into the body of the truck. He fast-forwarded to where Cody threw the crowbar, then stepped the video frame by frame. “And… well, you can see it.” They all watched the crowbar disappear through the windshield, and Cody retrieving it and banging it on the side of the truck before dropping it through the bed.
“Seen enough?” Tina asked. Nobody objected. “All right, we’ll start asking questions.” Ben turned off the gadgetry while Charles went to cut off the generator.
“She’ll get over it,” Sondra whispered to Cody. “I had a crush on a high-school kid when I was eleven. By the time I was thirteen, I wondered what the big deal was.”
“Lucky him,” Cody whispered back. “And lucky me he didn’t sweep you away.” He grinned. “We need to come up with something to keep the kids occupied through the day, though. Maybe a school of sorts.”
“What would we teach them now?” Sondra said. “Reading, math… sure.”
“Science and technology. They’ll need to know how to rebuild. Even history, and I hated it. But they need to understand how things were.”
“Are we ready?” Tina said. “Who has a question?”
Cody sat up straight. “This doesn’t have anything to do with the pickups — or maybe it has everything to do with them. There’s five little kids to take care of now — how do we raise them? Are we gonna try to give them some kind of education?”
The others murmered encouragement. “That’s… probably the most important question anyone could have asked,” Charles said, back inside. “Of course, I was in education before the Truckalypse, so naturally I’d think that.” A few chuckles. “You know, it seems to be we also have three kids of high school age here. What are we going to do about completing their education?”
More laughter; Cody grinned. “I did okay with math and science. English, yeah, I just wasn’t that interested. But I don’t guess there’s gonna be much demand for video game designers in my lifetime!” The others laughed again. “I guess I — all of us, really — should be learning what we can about how to grow food and make useful stuff out of all the junk the drive-offs left behind.”
Charles wrote Continuing Education on the whiteboard. “And I guess that goes for all of us,” he said. “Okay, now that the really important question has been asked, what else do we want to know?”
“Where did the trucks come from?”
“Why did they come?”
“Why haven’t they tried to attack us or anything?”
“Can we get rid of them somehow?”
“How many people are left in the world? And how many do we need to keep the gene pool full?”
Charles wrote:
Trucks: origin, purpose, how to fight Number of survivors Gene pool concerns
“I know we’re not supposed to be answering questions,” Max said, “but I’ve heard that you need about 150 people to keep a gene pool viable. And that there were about 10,000 humans alive at the end of the last ice age, but I guess they were scattered around. So we need to find at least four or five more groups our size.”
Charles jotted >10,000? next to Number of survivors and need >150 next to Gene pool concerns. “Any more questions?”
“Yeah,” Johnny Latimer said. “How can we go about contacting other groups of survivors, and… intermingling, I guess?”
How to contact other groups
“Sooner or later, there will be new kids,” Sondra said. She rolled her eyes at the few snickers (word was already getting around). “As far as I know, nobody here has medical training beyond first aid. How do we learn what to do in the next year or so? For that matter, what do we do if someone gets injured?”
Medics?
“Who’s going to raise these kids?” Sally McMinn said, standing up in the back. “Yeah, I know we’re all gonna have a hand in taking care of 'em. But who are they gonna live with?”
“That’s maybe the second most important question,” Tina said. “And unlike the others, we can’t leave it unanswered today. Let’s give this some thought.”
continued…
Sunday, May 09, 2010 2 comments
Shiny Things! Mini-podcast #1: Kindle
Audioboo and its five-minute limit is a godsend for me… I can find the time it takes to record and edit a five-minute podcast without too much trouble. One reason I haven’t done the Podcast from FAR Manor for three years(!) is that I just can’t get an entire uninterrupted afternoon needed — “Shiny Things!”, of course, was one of the segments of the original podcast, so I already had the beds for it.
Give it a listen:
And the associated AudioBoo page, where you can see a picture of the Kindle (a familiar pic if you’ve been reading TFM), leave comments, follow me, and so forth.
Now to get the next White Pickups episode tuned up and ready to roll…
Give it a listen:
And the associated AudioBoo page, where you can see a picture of the Kindle (a familiar pic if you’ve been reading TFM), leave comments, follow me, and so forth.
Now to get the next White Pickups episode tuned up and ready to roll…
Thursday, May 06, 2010 2 comments
The Boy and Snippet at the Cinder Block Hilton
So we add one to the collection:
The Boy got to serve his mini-vacation over the weekend, going in on Friday. Snippet was scheduled to go in on Tuesday, which meant we got to listen to her whine about how much she missed The Boy for several days. Finally, she got her own trip to the pokey. “I wonder if I’ll get to see him in there.”
“Probably not,” I said. “I’m pretty sure they keep the men & women separated.” As it was, I went on to work and Mrs. Fetched took her in Tuesday morning. That left us to take care of Mason, which isn’t much different from the usual situation. DoubleRed is visiting her family all week, and Daughter Dearest is home from college, so we were planning for a fairly quiet couple of days. There was a wrinkle, though: Granny fell that morning and broke her nose (I tell her to stop picking fights in biker bars, but nobody listens to me) and The Boy wasn’t released. So when the phone rang at 1a.m., Mrs. Fetched was ready to hear her mom inform us that Granny had died.
“They let me out,” The Boy said. “Someone needs to come pick me up.” Since I’d gotten up with Mason shortly after midnight, a highly-relieved Mrs. Fetched volunteered to go get him. As it turned out, he spent most of his four days in the medical block: the doc wants him checking his glucose at each meal and the jail’s SOP is to do it once a week. He said that went well enough, he had his own shower and bed. But our quiet couple of days ended up being about 16 hours.
Snippet was supposed to spend two days in the clink, but they let her out Wednesday night at 10 p.m. and I went to get her. She was already highly giddy at the prospect of seeing The Boy, but once again there was a wrinkle: not expecting her to be home, he went down to Kobold’s to play Guitar Hero or something. Mrs. Fetched didn’t want them down there all night, so we agreed to pick him up and bring him home. Snippet, if anything, got even more giddy as we rolled down to Kobold’s: “I’m going to jump on him and kiss him all over!” or something like that. yeeeeesh And that’s pretty much what she did. Mrs. Fetched agreed to let them stay at Kobold’s until 11:30, at which time Kobold would bring them home, and that was good because it gave Snippet a chance to get it out of her system.
You know what? I don’t think I ever wrote about what earned them their mini-vacations. Back when they were at the apartment, a drunk underage chick from next door came over crying and saying she’d been “inappropriately touched” (and both The Boy and Snippet said she’d been their “mattress” for quite a while). She called 911, thought better of it, hung up, and hid in The Boy’s closet. What she didn’t realize is that when you call 911, the emergency services operator can keep the line open even if you hang up on your end… and since she had a cell phone, they could trace both number and location, which brought the heat to The Boy’s door. Now it should be pointed out that this drunk chick wasn’t the only underage person in the apartment who had been drinking… and even though The Boy had not been there, he got hung with contributing. Oh, and Drunk Chick tossed a baggie of pot over the balcony rail, and the cops decided to try pinning that on The Boy as well. The problem was, Drunk Chick was telling one story (as the so-called victim) while everyone else was telling an entirely different one, so The Boy got off with a fairly light charge and Snippet got an underage drinking rap.
So they’re back. DoubleRed’s still gone, but she doesn’t make much noise through the evenings anyway.
The Boy got to serve his mini-vacation over the weekend, going in on Friday. Snippet was scheduled to go in on Tuesday, which meant we got to listen to her whine about how much she missed The Boy for several days. Finally, she got her own trip to the pokey. “I wonder if I’ll get to see him in there.”
“Probably not,” I said. “I’m pretty sure they keep the men & women separated.” As it was, I went on to work and Mrs. Fetched took her in Tuesday morning. That left us to take care of Mason, which isn’t much different from the usual situation. DoubleRed is visiting her family all week, and Daughter Dearest is home from college, so we were planning for a fairly quiet couple of days. There was a wrinkle, though: Granny fell that morning and broke her nose (I tell her to stop picking fights in biker bars, but nobody listens to me) and The Boy wasn’t released. So when the phone rang at 1a.m., Mrs. Fetched was ready to hear her mom inform us that Granny had died.
“They let me out,” The Boy said. “Someone needs to come pick me up.” Since I’d gotten up with Mason shortly after midnight, a highly-relieved Mrs. Fetched volunteered to go get him. As it turned out, he spent most of his four days in the medical block: the doc wants him checking his glucose at each meal and the jail’s SOP is to do it once a week. He said that went well enough, he had his own shower and bed. But our quiet couple of days ended up being about 16 hours.
Snippet was supposed to spend two days in the clink, but they let her out Wednesday night at 10 p.m. and I went to get her. She was already highly giddy at the prospect of seeing The Boy, but once again there was a wrinkle: not expecting her to be home, he went down to Kobold’s to play Guitar Hero or something. Mrs. Fetched didn’t want them down there all night, so we agreed to pick him up and bring him home. Snippet, if anything, got even more giddy as we rolled down to Kobold’s: “I’m going to jump on him and kiss him all over!” or something like that. yeeeeesh And that’s pretty much what she did. Mrs. Fetched agreed to let them stay at Kobold’s until 11:30, at which time Kobold would bring them home, and that was good because it gave Snippet a chance to get it out of her system.
You know what? I don’t think I ever wrote about what earned them their mini-vacations. Back when they were at the apartment, a drunk underage chick from next door came over crying and saying she’d been “inappropriately touched” (and both The Boy and Snippet said she’d been their “mattress” for quite a while). She called 911, thought better of it, hung up, and hid in The Boy’s closet. What she didn’t realize is that when you call 911, the emergency services operator can keep the line open even if you hang up on your end… and since she had a cell phone, they could trace both number and location, which brought the heat to The Boy’s door. Now it should be pointed out that this drunk chick wasn’t the only underage person in the apartment who had been drinking… and even though The Boy had not been there, he got hung with contributing. Oh, and Drunk Chick tossed a baggie of pot over the balcony rail, and the cops decided to try pinning that on The Boy as well. The problem was, Drunk Chick was telling one story (as the so-called victim) while everyone else was telling an entirely different one, so The Boy got off with a fairly light charge and Snippet got an underage drinking rap.
So they’re back. DoubleRed’s still gone, but she doesn’t make much noise through the evenings anyway.
Monday, May 03, 2010 2 comments
White Pickups, Episode 33
Contents
The trip back to Laurel took longer, with the kids and merchandise weighing things down. Cody volunteered to pull a Kidd Hauler, and Caitlin insisted on being his passenger (to Sondra’s continued amusement, and Cody’s continued embarrassment). The kids acted almost relieved to have adults — any adults — around again, and peppered their drivers with conversation.
“I don’t live far from here,” Ben Crawford told Palmer as they turned into the entrance to Laurel. “Keep going and take the third right. Or fourth.”
“What’s your address?” Palmer said.
“4573 Mary Street. Do you think we can go and see if my parents are there?”
“In a little while. But if they’re at home…” Palmer thought better of finishing the question and let it trail off.
“Yeah,” Ben said. “I guess they’re not. But we should check anyway. When we can.”
The white pickup was still sitting near the gate. Cody glared at the thing as he held the gate for everyone else, then stomped over to the truck and flung the driver-side door open. “Look, you —” He stopped a moment, braced against the pull, then slammed the door (it made a hollow chuff sound) and stomped back. Everyone else had stopped to watch.
“What was it?” someone asked.
“Nothing,” Cody said. “The damn thing’s empty.”
“It’s waiting for a driver,” Charles said.
“Well, it can wait until I get back,” Cody growled. “I’m getting a cutting torch, I can see what makes it go and it can wait here in pieces until hell freezes over for all I care.” He rode off, leading the pack to the clubhouse.
“I wanna come with you,” Caitlin said as he disconnected the Kidd Hauler in front of the clubhouse.
“I need to use a regular trailer,” Cody said. “I’m getting a cutting torch, and it has a couple tanks for the fuel, so there won’t be room for a passenger. I’ll be back in twenty minutes or so.”
“Well… can I watch you cut it up?”
“Sure, if you stay inside the fence. I guess everyone else is gonna come watch.”
Indeed, everyone was at the gate before Cody returned, carrying the torch, tanks, and a crowbar on the trailer, a welding mask dangling off the handlebars. Ben had his camera rolling once again, standing off to one side. Sondra and Charles volunteered to help, and convinced everyone else to stay inside the gate. Cody left the crowbar sitting on the trailer as the three of them carried the torch and tanks over to the truck. He opened the valves on the tanks and scraped a sparker in front of the torch until it caught. He put on the welding mask, adjusted the flame to a thin, intense blue pencil and walked over to the truck.
“Awright, you SOB,” he said, his voice muffled by the mask, “let’s make you a hood and then we’ll see what’s under it.” He brought the flame down to the truck. “Whoa. That’s whack.”
“What?” Charles asked.
“The flame. Look at it.” Charles and Sondra walked over; Sondra rubbed her arm without seeming to notice.
“Why isn’t it cutting?” she asked.
“Damn if I know. But the flame isn’t even splashing… it looks like it’s going right through the sheet metal. Watch.” He lifted the nozzle up, then down. “But it ain’t cutting.” He pulled the flame away, touched the metal, then laid his hand on it. “Not even warm.”
“Wow. Is there anything you can do about that?”
“Quit?” Cody cut off the torch and pulled the mask off his head. “It’s not life or death. ” He coiled up the hose and they rolled the tanks back onto the trailer. “Waste of time anyway —” Suddenly, Cody snatched up the crowbar and threw it at the truck. “Bite me!” he yelled, as the crowbar went through the window —
Without breaking. And clattered to the pavement behind the truck.
Everyone stood gaping, then started talking at once. “What the hell?” Johnny Latimer said, for all of them.
“It’s like… like it wasn’t even there,” Charles said.
Cody reached under the back of the pickup and retrieved the crowbar. “It’s there,” he said, “I guess.” He kicked the rear fender. “Ow. It feels like it’s there.” He reached out with the crowbar; it thumped against the rim of the bed. “It’s there if we hit it with something.” He tossed the crowbar into the bed, and it clanged to the pavement again. “But if you’re not touching that something… it goes right through.”
Everyone stood quiet for a moment. “Are they real, then?” Ashley Harbin (one of the kids) asked.
“It’s one h— heck of a hallucination if it’s not,” Tim said.
“I guess that’s how they stay so clean,” Tina suggested. “The dirt doesn’t stick to them. It’s not there for the dirt.”
Cody ducked as a yellow jacket flew by his head and landed on the truck. “I think it’s only there for living things. Or whatever they’re holding.”
“We need to discuss this,” Charles said.
“We need to experiment,” Cody replied, tapping the bed with his crowbar. He shifted to a two-handed grip and took a hard sideways swing at the side of the truck. The crowbar bounced back and Cody let it go; it tumbled up the pavement, away from the others.
Cody shook his hands. “That stung. Good thing I was expecting it.” He squatted down. “Not even a mark, let alone a dent.” He stood. “Hey Ben, bring that camera over here. I’m gonna do it again, but I want you to tape it.” He retrieved the crowbar while Ben slipped around the truck. “Yeah, stand over here, next to me. I’m gonna whack the taillight this time.” Ben zoomed in and Cody took his stance. “Ready, Fire, Aim!” He swung again, and once again let the crowbar bounce away. “Okay, come see what I did. Or didn’t do… that’s where I hit it, but you can’t tell. If that was really plastic, it would be all over the place right now, huh?”
Charles joined them, and tapped the sheet metal next to the taillight with a knuckle, then tapped the taillight itself. “Doesn’t feel any different,” he said. “They sound the same, too, don’t they?”
Cody rapped the door — thunk — then the side window, then the roof. “Yeah. Same sound each time. Same feel, too. What are these things made of, anyway?”
“Voodoo,” Tim said, not smiling. Several people nodded.
continued…
The trip back to Laurel took longer, with the kids and merchandise weighing things down. Cody volunteered to pull a Kidd Hauler, and Caitlin insisted on being his passenger (to Sondra’s continued amusement, and Cody’s continued embarrassment). The kids acted almost relieved to have adults — any adults — around again, and peppered their drivers with conversation.
“I don’t live far from here,” Ben Crawford told Palmer as they turned into the entrance to Laurel. “Keep going and take the third right. Or fourth.”
“What’s your address?” Palmer said.
“4573 Mary Street. Do you think we can go and see if my parents are there?”
“In a little while. But if they’re at home…” Palmer thought better of finishing the question and let it trail off.
“Yeah,” Ben said. “I guess they’re not. But we should check anyway. When we can.”
The white pickup was still sitting near the gate. Cody glared at the thing as he held the gate for everyone else, then stomped over to the truck and flung the driver-side door open. “Look, you —” He stopped a moment, braced against the pull, then slammed the door (it made a hollow chuff sound) and stomped back. Everyone else had stopped to watch.
“What was it?” someone asked.
“Nothing,” Cody said. “The damn thing’s empty.”
“It’s waiting for a driver,” Charles said.
“Well, it can wait until I get back,” Cody growled. “I’m getting a cutting torch, I can see what makes it go and it can wait here in pieces until hell freezes over for all I care.” He rode off, leading the pack to the clubhouse.
“I wanna come with you,” Caitlin said as he disconnected the Kidd Hauler in front of the clubhouse.
“I need to use a regular trailer,” Cody said. “I’m getting a cutting torch, and it has a couple tanks for the fuel, so there won’t be room for a passenger. I’ll be back in twenty minutes or so.”
“Well… can I watch you cut it up?”
“Sure, if you stay inside the fence. I guess everyone else is gonna come watch.”
Indeed, everyone was at the gate before Cody returned, carrying the torch, tanks, and a crowbar on the trailer, a welding mask dangling off the handlebars. Ben had his camera rolling once again, standing off to one side. Sondra and Charles volunteered to help, and convinced everyone else to stay inside the gate. Cody left the crowbar sitting on the trailer as the three of them carried the torch and tanks over to the truck. He opened the valves on the tanks and scraped a sparker in front of the torch until it caught. He put on the welding mask, adjusted the flame to a thin, intense blue pencil and walked over to the truck.
“Awright, you SOB,” he said, his voice muffled by the mask, “let’s make you a hood and then we’ll see what’s under it.” He brought the flame down to the truck. “Whoa. That’s whack.”
“What?” Charles asked.
“The flame. Look at it.” Charles and Sondra walked over; Sondra rubbed her arm without seeming to notice.
“Why isn’t it cutting?” she asked.
“Damn if I know. But the flame isn’t even splashing… it looks like it’s going right through the sheet metal. Watch.” He lifted the nozzle up, then down. “But it ain’t cutting.” He pulled the flame away, touched the metal, then laid his hand on it. “Not even warm.”
“Wow. Is there anything you can do about that?”
“Quit?” Cody cut off the torch and pulled the mask off his head. “It’s not life or death. ” He coiled up the hose and they rolled the tanks back onto the trailer. “Waste of time anyway —” Suddenly, Cody snatched up the crowbar and threw it at the truck. “Bite me!” he yelled, as the crowbar went through the window —
Without breaking. And clattered to the pavement behind the truck.
Everyone stood gaping, then started talking at once. “What the hell?” Johnny Latimer said, for all of them.
“It’s like… like it wasn’t even there,” Charles said.
Cody reached under the back of the pickup and retrieved the crowbar. “It’s there,” he said, “I guess.” He kicked the rear fender. “Ow. It feels like it’s there.” He reached out with the crowbar; it thumped against the rim of the bed. “It’s there if we hit it with something.” He tossed the crowbar into the bed, and it clanged to the pavement again. “But if you’re not touching that something… it goes right through.”
Everyone stood quiet for a moment. “Are they real, then?” Ashley Harbin (one of the kids) asked.
“It’s one h— heck of a hallucination if it’s not,” Tim said.
“I guess that’s how they stay so clean,” Tina suggested. “The dirt doesn’t stick to them. It’s not there for the dirt.”
Cody ducked as a yellow jacket flew by his head and landed on the truck. “I think it’s only there for living things. Or whatever they’re holding.”
“We need to discuss this,” Charles said.
“We need to experiment,” Cody replied, tapping the bed with his crowbar. He shifted to a two-handed grip and took a hard sideways swing at the side of the truck. The crowbar bounced back and Cody let it go; it tumbled up the pavement, away from the others.
Cody shook his hands. “That stung. Good thing I was expecting it.” He squatted down. “Not even a mark, let alone a dent.” He stood. “Hey Ben, bring that camera over here. I’m gonna do it again, but I want you to tape it.” He retrieved the crowbar while Ben slipped around the truck. “Yeah, stand over here, next to me. I’m gonna whack the taillight this time.” Ben zoomed in and Cody took his stance. “Ready, Fire, Aim!” He swung again, and once again let the crowbar bounce away. “Okay, come see what I did. Or didn’t do… that’s where I hit it, but you can’t tell. If that was really plastic, it would be all over the place right now, huh?”
Charles joined them, and tapped the sheet metal next to the taillight with a knuckle, then tapped the taillight itself. “Doesn’t feel any different,” he said. “They sound the same, too, don’t they?”
Cody rapped the door — thunk — then the side window, then the roof. “Yeah. Same sound each time. Same feel, too. What are these things made of, anyway?”
“Voodoo,” Tim said, not smiling. Several people nodded.
continued…
Sunday, May 02, 2010 4 comments
Unplanned Dim-itude
I’d planned to have at least two posts up this week, but life (as usual) got in the way. Here’s one of the things that kept me busy this week:
Oh well… while I’m getting tomorrow’s White Pickups episode queued up — and this is one you won’t want to miss — you can watch Mason getting on his feet (click for full-size and then some):
His balance is improving rapidly. Last weekend, when he first started pulling up solo, he had to have both hands firmly on some kind of support. This morning, after working at it all week, he succeeded in reaching down and grabbing something off the floor of his playpen while holding on with the other hand. Panda said one morning he turned loose and free-stood for all of two seconds before lunging for the rail.
Maybe I’ll get some more blog-related stuff done next week.
Oh well… while I’m getting tomorrow’s White Pickups episode queued up — and this is one you won’t want to miss — you can watch Mason getting on his feet (click for full-size and then some):
His balance is improving rapidly. Last weekend, when he first started pulling up solo, he had to have both hands firmly on some kind of support. This morning, after working at it all week, he succeeded in reaching down and grabbing something off the floor of his playpen while holding on with the other hand. Panda said one morning he turned loose and free-stood for all of two seconds before lunging for the rail.
Maybe I’ll get some more blog-related stuff done next week.
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