Mental note: Patent nos 2,613,794-5

Mental note: Patent nos 2,613,794-5

Next chapters not ready

I know the Nanowrimo people said "Don't edit" but their site is always busy, so they can bite me.

In the mean time, here is something funny provided by Jenny and Jill Salomon having to do with Spiders (See Spider is a character in the story? It's unclear to me whether Dakota just means that to be the character's name or if the character is actually a spider and nobody notices because the world is cartoony and if nobody notices that Scooby Doo is a talking great dane with a speach impediment, then anything is possible)

Eulogy for a Monarch

 

I found this poor soul near my doorstep, no doubt bewildered by the sudden frost after days of balmy warmth. Such is life, and alas death, in Houston. As I inspect the last grimace of this noble Monarch, I wonder if there were any regrets. Will anyone mourn for the tsunamis that were not caused in Japan?

I will.

At the risk of seeming like Titus Andronicus or Michael Scott, the tragedy of a life so short cut shorter while seemingly looking to me for shelter does give me pause. Have I failed in some unknown responsibility? Is this a portent? Or call to a greater purpose? Or is this just one of those things that I am supposed to just shrug off unaffected?

As I wonder this, I am reminded to get my kids their flu shot.

In the car with Dakota after getting the mail

Me: Do you know what this is? Its my bar result!

Her: Oh yeah... Well do you know what that is? Its a streetlight!

Chapters 1 and 2 revised

I filled in some of the missing bits and fixed a continuity error.

Chap 3

Scarecrow is dizzy. Dizzy from falling. Falling from a great height; about 31,000 feet.

So the first thing you should know about crash landings is that they are no fun. It is not like a roller coaster. It's more like a dinosaur attack, and you are a baby. And you've pooped yourself. And there is no mommy or daddy. Because the dinosaur ate them.  Anyhow, that's how Scarecrow felt.

The next thing you should know is that when the oxygen masks fall, you are too scared gripping the seat to get them. It just dangles there in front of you, occassionaly smacking you in the face.

Also, you say things which are surprising.  For example, a laconic fellow in Seat 22B, turned to his wife of 30 years in Seat 22A and finally said, "Why don't you just shut the hell up?" For his part, Scarecrow never could have imagined that faced with impending death he would scream out all of the names of vegetables that he could think of.

"SQUASH! TOMATO! CARROT! RUTABEGA!"

But then, the plane lands.  Scarecrow had never been in an emergency airplane landing before, so he didn't know what to expect. He was expecting flaming wreckage and screaming and skidding and bodies flying all over the cabin and the drink cart overturned. But none of those things happened.  Only a big bump, like a bad landing on a good runway. But he imagined that this was probably a good landing on a bad runway.

So first things first. He needed to get the heck out there. He wondered if the local fire department would come with a jetway staircase. Or maybe donuts. All this screaming and wimpering made him hungry. But to his surprise, the fire department never came and there were no donuts and overall, the flight crew was not that focused on the hurrying up part. Instead, they kept repeating something about "orderly fashion" and "please remain calm."

But to remain calm, one had to be calm in the first place. This was not him. Fortunately, he was in good company. Plenty of other passengers were of a like mind in that they were a motivated group of people who were quite adamament to make their point that they wanted outs now; vociferous adamance triumphing over decorous solemnity. Less fortunately, most of those people were better than him at the pushing and the shoving with elbows and the biting. Soon he found that his wish to get out of the plane in the worst way possible was going to happen in three two one and tumbling head first down a big yellow slide into a pile of angry passengers below who had also been pushed out.

But after first things first, comes second things second. Scarecrow imagined that Flappy was in really bad shape and needed to be rescued from the baggage compartment.

Actually, Flappy was not in bad shape. He didn't even realize that anything happened. In fact he was sleeping. I just wanted to mention this, in case you were getting worried.

So, getting luggage off of an airplane is no problem: for a skilled airplane crew working efficently with the right equipment, the nearest of which was about 200 to 300 miles away. Freaked out passengers standing around with flight crew and local police arriving to the scene, however, are less adept at handling baggage. Scarecrow was dismayed that, "Hey! My bat is trapped in baggage" did not inspire the level of urgency and proactivity that he desired. Instead he got a bunch of "accounting for all the passengers first" and "you don't look like a baseball player."

"Idiots!" He thought.

It soon became apparent to Scarecrow, however, that there was a bigger problem. Apparently the flight crew had been so orderly in bringing the plane down that they had managed not only to land in a dry desolate patch of south Texas dessert, but also, the National Transportation Safety Board had been alerted. And the NTSB, with all due expediency, had dispatched an investigator, who was to be shortly arriving, and would immediately start identifying survivors.

This was a bad development. This would mean explanations. Explanations and alibis. And scrutiny of his passport. And being taken into custody. And interogation. This would not do. This would not do at all.

Despite his reputation for being bristly, Scarecrow had a soft spot for the Flapster. As such, he was ashamed to think that he was about to abandon a friend. So he decided that he wouldn't think of it as abandonment, just a tactical retreat. Before getting Flappy, he'd have to slip away.

Second things would have to be third.

Chap 2

Kitty, Jack, and Spider were watching the arrivals monitors.

"I told you the flight would be delayed." said Kitty.

Spider scurried about and finally said, "I am getting thirsty. We need coffee. That's right. Coffee will be just what we need now. You want cream and sugar, Kitty? Cream and sugar, right? That's what I thought. Good, Kitty. And Jack.... double espresso right? No? No. Ok... I'll surprise you. You'll love it."

And with that he was off. The obvious choice was to go to the Starbucks kiosk, but the line seemed to stream around the beige and green wonderland; all the way back to the Parking Garage entrance. Anyhow, Spider's choices were never the obvious ones.

"Oh serendipitous me!" He thought as he drifted south westerly towards to the "Dick Clark's American Band Stand Grill"  Besides the ersatz Americana decor, they had a wicked selection of refreshments that were far more interesting.

"Table for one?" Asked the hostess.

"Well... Connie," replied Spider, reading her name tag. "I was hoping for some drinks to go. I'll have a double espresso add a shot of Kaluha, a 'Mrs. Clark's Old Fashion Root Beer Float' with a double shot of Kalua a fogato style, and an American Dream 'Apple Pie' ... substitute Kalua for the Bailey's"

The hostess looked up from her pad, "I'm sorry, sir. For starters, I'm somehow doubt that you are going to show me a real ID if I asked for one, but in any case I can't let you get alcoholic drinks to go."

"Sure you can," said Spider, unfazed. "But just for a minute let's say you couldn't; what would you say to a song?"

"What?"

"Forget about the drinks, I've always had great admiration for American Bandstand. Remember the theme song:

    On the road for forty days,
    Last night in little rock put me in a haze.
    Sweet, sweet Connie -- doin her act..."

"Um, Sir, that's not American Bandstand, that's Grand Funk Railroad, and if you are not going to order..."

"Wait, wait, wait... we got started off on the wrong foot.  I can see that now, and I'm sorry. You know, its funny, these places.  Just because I'm the customer and you're the hosting professional, I think its all about me me me. But obviously you are a woman of class and virtue.  What am I doing? Just blathering on, that's what. I should listen.  Do any of your customers ever offer you anything? Offer to listen? Really... listen? Tell me you dreams, Connie; your hopes; your aspirations. Did anyone ever tell you that you have beautiful eyes? It's true, you know."

"You can't be serious, kid."

"I'm as serious as heart attack, dollface."

Something about Spider's absurdly earnest tone gave the hostess pause. Two divorces and a stint as a "lobbyist's aide" had prepared Connie for many things in life, but a gangly teen, young enough to be her son, calling her "dollface" was new and amusing.

"Why don't you sit down and stay a while, kid." Said Connie, absent mindedly pouring herself a shot of Kaluha, "I can tell you about my dashed hopes and broken dreams, if you want. I can tell you things that will break your heart and make you cry..."

* * * * * * * * *

 

"Great. Just great!" Kitty growled. "You could have said something."

Jack's eyes were fixed on the monitor. His countenance frozen in a half-grimace, half squint. Jack's face was lit by the eerie glow of the HD screens, which in turn seemed a touch more sinister, even sepulchral, by reflecting Jack's visage. A diameter of about 2 yards formed around Jack as the other airport travelers (whether consciously or not) simply chose not to stand near him. There were other flights which were late, but one by one all the flight status lines on the monitor changed first to "On Time", followed by a curt "Arrived", and then cleared off; as if they too wanted to avoid Jack's scrutiny.

Kitty tried to burn a hole into the back of Jack's round orange head with her laser stare. She scratched an imaginary piece of lint off her black Adidas "Super Girl" track jacket, peevishly inspected her perfectly manicured nails, then she returned to the important task of burning a hole in the back of her funny round-headed brother. It was bad enough that she had to rely on big stupid Jack to drive her around, but why did he have to be such a freak? If only Flappy were here, then they could just go, and people wouldn't keep, doing... doing that thing they do when Jack was around.

Places she would rather be:

    number 1: her bed

    number 2: a dark ritual with a coven of witches

    number 3:Bayonne, New Jersey

    number 4: the stanky pits of hell. Oh wait, that's number 3. Okay, how about... anywhere.

Finally she could stand it no longer. "Well?" She exploded.

Jack turned around and melted her glower with his dark unearthly orbs. With a spindly finger, he pointed at the monitor. The excitedly blinking "DELAYED" changed to a sedate but more menacing "See airline representative for more information"

Spider returned carrying a bevy of drinks. He blurted out, "that's a whole lot of text for such a small space."

Kitty's worst fears suddenly gripped her. She forgot all about how mad she was at Jack for being such a weirdo. She forgot how annoying Spider was (for almost three whole seconds). She could only think about Flappy. She never should have let him go for the whole summer; or at all, for that matter. Kittty took the drink out of Spider's hand and chugged it. The coffee burned the roof of her mouth, but it didn't matter. The pain was bracing, but soon her mouth felt numb and wave of warmth rushed through her body. She was ready to be back in control of herself again; poised. Spider looked at her, clearly impressed.

"Ok," she said. "Let's go find that airline rep."

A word of explanation about Chap 1

The NaNoWriMo web site is more of less always busy. I think the idea of writing 50K words of dreck in a month is pretty goofy, but the twist on why I am doing it is that Dakota is supplying the ideas. She and I have done this at least two times in the past, and she has lots of good ideas.

Chap 1

The first thing that happens is traveling.

Scarecrow, a ghost, and a bat are traveling back to their hometown in Scarsrivers, Arizona. It's not what you think, the Scarecrow was using his frequent flyer miles to fly busines class to Sky Harbor, where he was going to get picked up by friends. The nice thing about traveling with a ghost is that you don't have to get him a seat. And the bat was check-in luggage; natch.

The bat got bored hanging around in the baggage compartment. After playing his his video games for a while, and reading all of his "Batman" comics, he decided to write a letter.

 

Dear Cousin Batz,

I had fun hanging around with you over the summer, but its now October and I've got to fly home. My friend are waiting for me to lead their Halloween plans. It going to be a great party. I am so sorry that you could not come with me. Maybe next year, your Mom will let you go.

I am flipping through my summer scrapbook. We certainly had some good times. I appreciate that you invited me and my friends for all the adventure. I didn't realize your cave was also an undiscovered archeological wonder. I sure hope that Bob Xuma finds whatever he is looking for.

Sincerely,

Flappy

 

"I wonder how Bob is handling his first airplane trip," thought Flappy.

 

The airline stewart felt a strange urge to bury an obsedian hatchet in the skull of the small, noisy children and to dismember their big parents in their silly t-shirts and graceless Northeastern accents. He eyed the exact spot where he could grab the dad by the wrist and twist to have him on the ground with tears of pain streaming from his eyes. The stench of the man's "Old Spice" emboldened him to want to plant a foot in his chest and stomp.  This feeling was very uncharacteristic for the stewart and he felt both embarassed and confused. In 12 years of working for the airline, he prided himself on having a very thick skin and not being rattled by, or judgemental of his passengers. Now, however, the adreneline had his heels bouncing like he was doing the pee pee dance. This was no good. Maybe he could repair to the galley for a drink to steady his nerves. Yes. A drink would be quite good. He thought of the nights in the arena when he would clam his nerves before a match with a flagon of cocoa mixed with the glands of a fatted fowl, and the delicious taste of the nectars of the gods after he had decapitated the last of his enemies on the fields of glory.

 

Bob Xuma was starting to overexcite his host and so he moved on to a sleeping passenger, who grunted restlessly. Bob was sorry to have riled the priest-accolyte of this flying temple bird, but the unnatural magic which propelled all of the congregants through the palace of the sun was really freaking him out.

 

"Would you like something to drink?" asked female flight attendant.

 

"No thanks," replied the Scarecrow. "I will, however, take some more straws..."