Category Archives: Light

First Week at the Nexus

I realize this is two letters home from children in a week, but they’re very different and apparently this is how my mind is thinking at the moment.

copyright Joe Owens

copyright Joe Owens


Dear Mum and Dad,

Greetings from the land of inter-dimensional hospitality! Well, my first week at the Nexus Hotel is over. It didn’t drive me insane but there were several points where I wished I’d never been born. Sorry Mum, you did your best and all.

It’s pretty brutal out here. I had a party of Neanderthals stumble in from some primitive dimension and demand the first floor suites. No credit card, of course, but I got half a gazelle as payment. They trashed the rooms and set fire to two of the beds. They also massacred half a Venusian furry convention that was meeting on the third floor. I comped the survivors their rooms. Hope that’s okay.

On Wednesday, we had a couple dark specters arrive. Didn’t pay, of course, just loitered around haunting the place. I got them exorcised finally. It’s fine now.

Some sort of space princess came two days ago. That’s when things started looking up. She’s pretty. I let her have the top two floors indefinitely. I’m redecorating for her, turning it into a castle.

Don’t worry about the hotel, I’m handling everything.

Your son,

Winky.


Winky’s father put down the letter. “Maybe I should go help him out. Just for a few days.”

“You’re retired,” his wife said. “You promised.”

Her husband noticed the way she was fingering her knife. “Right, right. I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

 


5 Annoying Things About the Apocalypse

copyright Joe Owens

copyright Joe Owens

It was the end of the world in a few hours. Yep, no doubt about it. The news had confirmed it and they were never wrong. Half the population was cowering and the other half was making fun of it or partying.

She clicked on a comedy site link: 5 Annoying Things about the Apocalypse.

  1. We’re never going to be able to make a movie about this.
  1. We’ll never be able to eat up all the canned beans in our fallout shelter in time.
  1. Game of Thrones will never, ever be finished.
  1. Bruce Willis really dropped the ball on this one.
  1. Despite all our pop culture about the apocalypse, absolutely no one saw this coming.

Cassandra looked sadly over at her sandwich board lying by the door, The End is Nigh scrawled in her spidery handwriting. She opened up her blog where the last entry: WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE! sat with no comments and no likes. It had been posted a week before the news of the monster asteroid had been announced.

The phone rang. “Hey Cassandra, let’s go out with a bang!” her friend said. “A group of us are going over to the bar to get drunk.”

“It’ll be closed,” Cassandra said.

“No it won’t. Come on!” Her friend hung up.

Sigh.


Endy and the Office

Endy was a baby enderman. In that way, he was an enderboy, if such a thing existed. Endy didn’t know; he couldn’t even remember his parents, except that they were tall, shimmery, and had purple eyes. Just like him, minus the tall part. But Endy had teleported away from them one night and couldn’t find his way back. By morning, he had sought refuge in an office building and had gotten stuck in an office.

All Endermen can teleport, but for some reason Endy couldn’t teleport through things. He didn’t know if it was because he was young or if there was something wrong with him. This particular office had had the door open but usually it was shut and Endy was trapped. When the professor who worked there was in, the door was always shut and Endy did not dare move while it was open, in case he was spotted.

When he was alone, though, he could do what he wanted. He quickly made friends with the computer mouse.

Endy and the Office

“Let’s go for a ride!” Endy said. He teleported to Mouse’s back

“Okay, here we go!” Mouse said and reared up like a horse and slid over the mouse pad as far as its cord would allow.

“Go further! More! More!” Endy had said the first time. Mouse stopped and his scroll wheel blushed deep red.

“I can’t,” he said. “I’m not wireless. If I were, I could anywhere, but I’m stuck here. My dream is to leave and scroll across the world, double-clicking on everything I see.” Mouse was a little weird, but he was a good friend.

Endy tried to make friends with the keyboard too, but that was harder. The keyboard could not talk like Mouse but it could push its keys down and spell things out. Endy couldn’t spell well, but with the help of an elderly electronic dictionary that lived in the top drawer, he soon learned all the keys.

“Hey, this one says End!” he exclaimed. “That’s almost like my name.”

“What does the one above it say?” the dictionary asked.

“It says Home,” Endy said. “Does it work? When I push it, can I go home?”

“Only if you live at the beginning of a line,” the dictionary said, which did not make any sense to Endy.

Endy and the Office

The keyboard was a little gruff and would sometimes put down its Shift key and burst out with a series of *%$#@ expletives if Endy got too rowdy, but it was usually protective. Endy would play around the keys, especially near the End and Home keys, which he liked the best.

At night, Endy slept on top of one of the speakers. It played soft music for him to fall asleep or occasionally, if Endy was feeling homesick, parody songs about his people that it found on Youtube.

Endy and the Office

One day, the professor got up to go to class. He was late and in a hurry. Endy looked up and saw that the door was still partially open.

“The door’s open,” Endy told Mouse. “What should we do?”

There was a furious clacking from the keyboard. It was repeating pushing down it’s uppermost left key.

“What’s it saying?” Mouse asked.

“It’s saying ‘Escape,’” Endy said.

“Go on,” Mouse said. “You deserve it. Go find your family.”

“No, we’ll do it together,” Endy said. He jumped on Mouse’s back. “Come on, try! Try to break free.” Mouse strained and pulled and then there was a pop and his cord popped out the USB slot. They were free.

“Good bye, Keyboard! Good bye, Speakers,” Endy said. “If I can, I’ll come back and say hello again. Good luck.”

Ctrl-C, the keyboard typed. With that, Endy and Mouse rode out the door.


5 Mind-blowing Facts about English that Historians Don’t Want You to Know

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It’s easy to take our language for granted and not think about where it came from or what it looked like only a short time ago. However, the English language has had a twisted and bizarre past, and historians have tried to cover up some of the most startling facts. Here are five facts about the English language that they don’t want you to know, which will literally blow your mind.

5. Shakespeare created the future tense.

This is hard to imagine but before William Shakespeare, there was no future tense. Time in that period of history was divided in two: past and present. This was the case not only for English but every other language up until that point.

The main reason for this was that in ages past, life was very hard. Hopes for the future were slim or non-existent and people did not dwell on it. A popular proverb in Old Germanic translates as, “Let it be so: we shall all die today anyway.” Today, in this case, meant either the present or the future.

We still have a vestige of this in today’s grammar, in the expression “to be going to” as in “I am going to eat a bucket of gerbil heads.” Even though we know this means the future, it is still technically the present.

Shakespeare, however, was the first person in history to have both hope and a way to express it: i.e. through his writings. He created the future tense and then, when trying to think of a word to use for it, decided to use his own name. At first, people were confused at this new word will, but Shakespeare cleverly always used it with a future time phrase and soon people accepted the new word and the idea of the future. Eventually, many other languages noticed this and formed their own future tenses.

4. Spaces Between Words Were Created During WWI.

This one may surprise you, but take a look at any book written before 1914 and chances are, there will be no spaces between the words (later editions of these books have since put in the spaces for the benefit of the modern reader). The reason for this was that paper was extremely expensive and so publishers would push all the words together to save space. Authors were allowed to have one blank line between chapters, although they were charged 1 cent per line by the publisher (this is where the term “publisher’s penny” comes from, when referring to line breaks.)

Actually, spaces between words used to be a hot issue, with many authors in the 19th century fighting for their use. Other authors, however, were against them. Jane Austen once famously said, “I want my words huddled together so as not to catch cold, when read upon a cold winter’s night.” To give you an idea of what this looked like, here are the first few sentences of Pride and Prejudice, as they would have looked when first published:

jane austen no spaces

Jules Verne, another supporter of no spaces, declared that reading novels with no spaces “caused the reader to strive mightily and through great toil, to attain the true meaning of the text.”

Kind of like this, but with words (copyright Universal Pictures)

Kind of like this, but with words (copyright Universal Pictures)

World War One, however, changed all that. Suddenly, troops at the front were having to read dispatches quickly and accurately. They began to put spaces between words to make them easier to read in the trenches. After the war, authors who had been soldiers adopted this practice and within a few years, it had become standard, to the point that now it seems inconceivable to have text with no spaces in it.

3. The Semicolon was Created in a Bar Bet

semicolon cat

[*]

In 1871, two writers, Lewis Carroll and Benjamin Disraeli, were drinking together in a tavern in Oxford. Carroll argued that there were no more innovations to be made in literature and that the art form was more or less dead. Disraeli declared that he could create an entirely new punctuation mark and have it accepted within 5 years. They wagered a Nebuchadnezzar of fine Bordeaux wine on the attempt. Disraeli drew a period and a comma on a napkin and although he meant to draw them side by side, his hand was shaking and he accidentally drew the period above the comma. He liked the effect and this is how it has remained.

Its usage was somewhat in debate at first. Disraeli first declared that it was designated for “full stops that have not yet a full-committal” or as Punctuation Daily editor Mark Groobinsky put it, “when you think you want to stop, but you’re not sure.” It would take fifty years or more before the modern usage of the semicolon came into standard practice.

Over the next few years, Disraeli included this new mark in all his writings and even gave talks on it. Initially, he called it the ‘perio-comma’ but it was later renamed ‘semicolon’ since it “partially resembles that particular body part.

The semicolon was slow in catching on and Disraeli eventually lost his bet. However, by the turn of the twentieth century, the semicolon was an accepted punctuation mark.

2. The US Almost Adopted its Own Alphabet

Although the US has never had an official language, back in 1795, it almost had its own alphabet. Right after the Revolutionary War, there was a great deal of anti-British sentiment in the United States. It was generally agreed that changing the language would be too hard, but some senators proposed changing the alphabet to make it purely American.

It was known as the Stockton-Bloodworth Plan, named after the two senators who proposed it. The idea was to replace the standard letters with American symbols that started with those letters. Thus, “T” was replaced by a sketch of a turkey and “G” was replaced by an upright gun. Today, there are only a few examples of this type of writing in existence, all of which are stored in the Library of Congress archives.

The current American alphabet [*]

The current American alphabet [*]

Critics of the plan pointed out that many of the symbols were not uniquely American (the letter “H” was a horse); some were very hard to draw (the letter “F” was an American flag, complete with all fifteen stars and fifteen stripes); and others simply did not make sense (the letter “X” was represented by a picture of a man kicking a puppy.) Ultimately, the proposal was defeated in Congress with a vote of 18-14.

1. For a Period of 300 Years, All English Words Were Palindromes

Henry II was crowned king of England in 1133 AD. He always had trouble reading and in 1135, his court doctor declared that he “had a right-moving globe of Apollo”, as opposed to most people, whose globe of Apollo apparently moved left. This meant, according to the doctor, that the king could best read words from right to left. To facilitate both types of reading, the king declared that all words be made into palindromes, so that they could be read from either direction. The court scholars worked for two years to perfect this system (some of these words, such as “level” and “refer” still persist in English today).

The king trumpeted the achievement as a great step forward for both right- and left-moving globes of Apollo, despite the fact that he was the only person to have ever been found in the former category (historians now believe this was actually a form of dyslexia.)

Here is a sample of this type of text from the Old English version of Orosius’ The Amazons, converted to palindromes:

Old English Palindromes

Spaces added later for modern readability

This type of writing became established and persisted long after Henry II’s reign. It was finally abolished in 1443 by Henry VI when a major ink shortage caused the king to look for ways of shortening the language. Still, whenever you talk to an “Anna” or do anything “civic”, think of Henry II and his right-moving globe of Apollo.

 

 

The preceding article has been rated “S” for satire.


Ablutophobic

copyright Al Forbes

copyright Al Forbes

Ablutophobic

“NOOOO!” my son screamed. He Houdini’ed out of my grasp, snaked between my legs and sought refuge under the table.

“Nathan,” my tone was firm but warning. “This is going to happen. Now hold still.”

He was like a cornered tiger, so I took it slow, making hushing noises as I moved in. Just when I thought I had him, he slipped under the far side and hopped out the kitchen window.

My walkie-talkie crackled. “Status?”

“He pulled a runner,” I said. “Target’s in the backyard, heading towards the woods.”

“Copy. I’m ready to go mobile.”

I ran to the roof, where my wife was in the cockpit of a small helicopter.

“He can’t have gotten far,” she said. As soon as I was in, she took off, heading towards the grassy space behind the house.

“Do you have the stuff?” I asked.

She pointed between the seats. “Right here.”

We spotted Nathan running hard. My wife maneuvered the chopper above him. “Now!” she shouted.

I grabbed the bucket and dumped the warm, soapy contents out the door. It hit Nathan square on the head, running down his hair like a judge’s wig.

“Does that count as a bath?” she asked.

“It’s as good as we’re getting.” Nathan was looking up furiously. I threw him a towel.

“How long will this have to go on?” she asked.

I shrugged. “Well, his high school graduation is this afternoon. I think he’s on his own after that.”


Note: although I used this title for comedic effect, I don’t wish to make light of the actual phobia, which can be a serious thing for those who suffer with it.


The Bronze Lady

The Bronze Lady

There was a crunch and the chariot lurched. Another puppy gone. A scream from the owner.

“Watch where you’re going, you maniac!”

“Shut up, shut up!” Boudicca yelled. She maneuvered the chariot further into the dog park. This clearly hadn’t been a good idea.

“Are you insane?”

“I’m trying to give the horses some exercise!” she shouted over her shoulder. There were too many trees here for a good run.

“They’re bronze! Why do they need exercise?” someone yelled.

“Well, I don’t need to kick your arse, but I still might,” she said, pulling back a bronze foot to emphasize her point.

It was no good anyway; the heavy wheels were sinking into the turf. She turned around and retreated.

As she rode back sadly along Bridge Street to her pedestal, cars honking behind her, she sighed. There was no place in this modern world for a bronze woman. It was lonely, being the only one of her kind. If only her friend the Iron Lady were still alive.


Dear Man in 45C

I saw on a flight for my job interview. It seemed like desperate pleading to me. Thus, this story.

I saw on a flight for my job interview last summer. It seemed like desperate pleading to me. Thus, this story.

Dear man in 45C,

Please feel better. Please? I’ve noticed that slightly green look on your face, and the way you heave slightly with every lurch of the plane. I can see that the spew volcano is restless and I’m doing every ritual dance I know to keep it from erupting. I’ll even bring you another ginger ale, if it helps.

I don’t normally beg, but you’ve seen this flight and carting off your full bag of transformed airplane food would be the puke-colored straw on the back of the camel that is this flight.

It’s not just the dead guy either. True, it was a bit jarring to witness a guy have a heart attack and die screaming just after I’d served him his peanuts. That was a new one, I’ll admit. One for the ol’ memoir. But for the moment, it’s not helping my day, especially when I see other passengers looking askance at their own peanuts, as if I knock off people as a hobby, or something. And it didn’t make it any better that since I’m the only male flight attendant and the dead guy had had more than his share of triple fudge sundaes, I was the one who had to haul him off to cold storage for the rest of the flight.

Also, this job is stressful enough without the two teenagers throwing a Nerf football back and forth and running plays in the aisles (and calling me a “stewardess”, no less). And let’s not forget about the two racist women in first class, talking loudly about how the Jews and the blacks are taking over the world. That would be annoying enough for anyone, even if I weren’t a black Jew.

So that’s why I’m asking you—begging you—please don’t drop a puke cherry on top of this septic sundae.

Oh look, there you go. Goody.

And you missed the bag too. Wonderful.

Two hours into a twelve-hour flight. Hooray.

“Excuse me, sir. It looks like you are in some discomfort. It would be my pleasure to clean this up for you.”


The Kiss War

I was lying on the couch reading one afternoon when my wife walked by and blew me a kiss. On instinct, I dodged it. She looked affronted but kept walking. I went back to my book, but several minutes later, I looked up to see her standing over me. Quick as a bullet, she smooched twice and blew them at me. Double tap to the forehead. I didn’t have a chance.

 

lips

War has never been so schmaltzy.

 

I might have let it go at that, but the next morning I saw that she had written 2:0 on the whiteboard in the kitchen.

“Oh, that’s how you want to play, is it?” I asked.

“Bring it on, jerk,” she said. I made as if I was going back for the cereal but then turned and blew her a kiss as fast as I could. She caught it and threw it back at me.

“Hey, no kissbacks!” I said.

“Sorry, them’s the rules.” She smirked and changed the 2 to a 3.

I entered by the garage that day when I came home from work. I could hear her making dinner in the kitchen. I took off my coat and boots and then crept noiselessly into the kitchen and up behind her. She was chopping carrots at the counter.

“Kiss kiss kiss!” I shouted. “Three points for me.”

She screamed and spun around, throwing the knife at me. It shot past my ear and hit the fridge, clattering to the floor. “Don’t ever sneak up behind me! Are you crazy?”

I assured her I wasn’t. “At least I got three points.” I went and changed the tally on the whiteboard.

“Who cares? I almost killed you.” Then she relaxed. “Sorry, you just really scared me. Welcome home.” She gave me a kiss, then grinned. “One more point for me.”

“What? I kissed you back.”

“But I kissed you first, so I get the point.” She went and changed the tally to 4:3, then staunchly refused to let me kiss her until dinner was over.

“We need to make a rule,” I said when dinner was over. “Contact kisses don’t count. I don’t want to be keeping score all the time.”

“Fair enough,” she said. Then she dove behind the table and fired a kiss at my leg. I ran into the hall and for the next half hour we ran around the house like kids, firing kisses at each other. By the end of it, the score was 54:42 for her.

The next day at work was exhausting and I forgot about our little kiss war as I staggered through the door. “I’m home!” I shouted. The house was quiet. I was just wondering where she was when I saw a bunker of couch pillows built in the kitchen. There was a smacking sound and then another.

“Got you!” she shouted.

It was a bloodbath of affection. I was pinned down by the doorway, still in my boots and coat. I had to take them off before I could even get down behind the couch and take cover. I finally charged the kitchen but it cost me dearly and by the time I reached the bunker and we declared a truce, the score stood at 93:44.

I had to end things once and for all. I went down to my workroom that evening and with a box and a length of wire, I started to create my ultimate project. I brought it up as my wife was in the bathroom brushing her teeth and when she came out, I was standing there, box between us, button in my hand.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a kiss nuke,” I said. “15 million kisses at the push of a button.”

“But, but you’ll be kissing yourself too,” she protested.

“I’m willing to do that.”

“There’s no way this house can withstand 15 million kisses all at once. You’ll be kissing all the neighbors with this. I won’t have you kissing the neighbors!”

“Sorry,” I said. “This is the way it’s going to be. Now kiss this contest good-bye.”

She suddenly started laughing. She laughed and laughed until she fell on the floor. I went over and helped her up.

“Come here, you dork,” she said. She gave me a real kiss and a hug and we stood like that for a minute.

“So what now?” I asked.

She looked up at me. “I don’t know. Wanna have a hug o’ war?”


The Tireless Pirate

Everyone knows that the squeaky wheel gets the grease and a pirate that doesn’t yell “Avast!” every now and then, or at least swing his cutlass around, is likely going to be ignored.

It was a busy day at the tire garage to begin with. Pete called in sick again, one of the machines broke and the customers just kept coming. Around 10, the guy walked in, dressed like an extra from Pirates of the Carribbean 6: Jack Sparrow Takes Manhattan.

“I need new tires for my ship,” he said.

I frowned. “Ships don’t have tires.”

“Mine does.”

“Well, okay then.” I pulled out a form. “What’s the make, model and year?”

“Make?”

“Who made it,” I said slowly.

He wrinkled his brows, thinking. “Spain?”

“Okay . . . Model and year.”

“A brigantine, around 1802.”

“Gotcha. Your name?”

“Alec Greenbeard.”

“Okay, just have a seat, Mr. Greenbeard. We’ll get right on that.” Just then I got a call and I put the form on the desk.

I did look once but the manufacturer laughed at me when I asked for a lookup on tires for an 1802 Spanish brigantine. After that, I was too busy to worry about it and Mr. Greenbeard just sat there, waiting patiently. It was easy enough to ignore him. Soon he just seemed to fade into the décor.

A couple months later, the janitor found me. “You remember that pirate?”

“No.”

“The one who wanted the tires for his ship.”

“Oh crap! I forgot about him. Where is he?”

“Maybe you should come into the waiting room.”

copyright Al Forbes

copyright Al Forbes


Quantum Parking: the conclusion (where things get even worse)

This is the second part of a story about time travel, valet parking, and an inexorable personality known as Bruno Brax. Part 1 is here.

Cosmic Orb Weaver

Terrible, horrible life experience

“At least I’ve never killed anyone,” I said to myself as Bruno’s phone number rang. I wanted to say it now while it was still true. I had just sent a man ahead into the far future, asleep in the back of a Hummer.

Bruno picked up at last. “Hello?”

“Hello, Bruno? Hello?”

“Hello?”

“Bruno, it’s Jimmy!” I shouted. “I’ve got a problem. Where are you anyway?” I had to repeat the question.

“Have you heard of a cock fight? Well, that’s not what this is.” In the background, I heard seals barking.

“You’re fighting seals?”

“They’re not fighting each other. What’s up?”

I explained the situation. “Yeah, that happened once before to a Chihuahua. It was fine. Pretty incontinent afterwards, but otherwise fine.”

“What do I do?”

“Bring the car back, of course.” Click. Bruno had a real gift for brevity.

I selected the Hummer in the computer and pushed the red button. It appeared as smoothly as it had disappeared and I opened the back door, afraid of what I might find.

The car was empty. I even checked under the seats. Nothing.

Just as I was starting to feel a hurricane of panic sweat start to build, Bruno strode in.

“The fight’s over?” I asked, as sarcastically as I could.

He nodded. “The robot won. Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

He went to the control booth and started typing things in. “You know, this is what I’m paying you for.”

“You’re not actually paying me anything,” I said.

Bruno pushed a button decisively, then nodded. “Okay, it’s set. The computer will scan for life in the area and automatically bring it back. Should get him back soon.” He typed in some numbers and hit the green button. The Hummer disappeared again.

“Where did you send that?”

“The future, of course. You can’t have the car here if something else comes back. Very messy. Very messy, indeed. Well, I’m off.”

“Wait! So this will bring back any life that comes into that area? What if it’s not him? What if it’s a dinosaur?”

“There aren’t any dinosaurs in the future,” Bruno called back, already on the street. “Probably. If there is though, catch it alive. I’ll pay good money.”

Another car honked its horn outside. My sociology dissertation, which had looked like a hopeless quicksand pit a few hours ago, was now looking like a quicksand pit with a silver lining and a great place to drown myself.

At that moment, there was a pop and a large rat appeared on the receiving pad, standing on its hind legs and waving a pistol. I ducked behind the control panel just as a shot rang out and the control panel exploded in sparks. By the time I gathered up the shattered pieces of my courage and crammed them back into my psyche, the rat was gone.

I called Bruno.

“You know, I don’t even know why I hired you,” he said, his voice almost drowned out by what sounded like metallic whale songs.

“You didn’t! You press-ganged me.”

He sighed. “I thought you’d be more grateful, considering. Look, I’m busy now but just push the black button, call in a gas leak, and go home.”

“Isn’t that illegal?”

He chuckled. “Ah, you’re cute.” There was an explosion in the background of the phone and a loud roar. “Oops, things just got interesting here. Gotta go.”

I tried to push the black button, but it had melted in the explosion from the gunshot. The other buttons didn’t work either.

Suddenly, what looked like a cross between a python, a millipede, and a Tickle-me-Elmo appeared on the receiving pad. At this point, calling in a gas leak was like turning down your thermostat in a forest fire. However, before I could react, a car also popped into existence on the pad, combining most interestingly with the abomination that had just appeared before it. The results looked like Jackson Pollock trying to cook a whale liver with a pile driver.

This last nightmare-inducing episode was enough to throw me out of the gravity well that was Bruno Brax’s hypnotic personality. I went home, threw the sociology dissertation in the garbage, then thought better of it and put it in the fridge instead. Then I started to drink and write fiction. None of it made sense, so I assumed I was on the right track, art imitating life and all.

By the end of the day, the restaurant district was cordoned off and sealed. The official story was a gas leak, but I knew better. There were also reports of a gun-wielding rat riding a small dinosaur.

Two weeks after my short-lived valet job, the phone rang and I answered it without thinking.

It was Bruno.

“Hey Jimmy. I found you a job. You’ll need your own harpoon though.”

Click.

It was me this time.

Ether Generator - Inverted


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Straight up with a twist– Because life is too short to be subtle!

Unmapped Country within Us

Emily Livingstone, Author

Silkpurseproductions's Blog

The art of making a silk purse out of a sow's ear.

BJ Writes

My online repository for works in progress