Sunday, October 03, 2010

Seemingly A Proposal

The wine was delicious. The duck was succulent. The music was glorious. And of course, he was perfect.
These were all the thoughts that swam through Catherine's head as she sat enjoying her elegant dinner with her lovely boyfriend, Daniel. They had met six months before at a yoga class. She had been so lucky. Cute and spiritual. 

For all the love she felt for him, it was certain in her heart that he felt the same for her. They gazed into each other's eyes as the piano cascaded through Bach. This was a night to remember. Though she was overjoyed to be on such a luxurious date, she couldn't help but wonder if a hidden plan lay behind it. A very pleasant plan. A very permanent plan. Surely it would be tonight.
Daniel cleared his throat. "Catherine," he said in that gentle voice of his.
“Yes, Daniel?" she chirped back.  He placed his napkin next to his plate, and went down on one knee next to her. Though Catherine looked calm, her insides were spinning out of control as this moment she had waited for since childhood unfolded.
"My dear,” he said. “I have an excess of iron filings in my left knee cap. And as you know, that mad Dr. Svizago has magnetized the earth's core." 


Silence.
All the anticipation in Catherine's heart gushed out like air from a balloon. She sadly opened her mouth to say, "So your knee is just attracted to the earth's surface like that sometimes?" 


"Yes." 


Catherine sighed. She thought he might say that.

All I Want For Christmas

Another child left the fake snow platform and the jolly man looked up, his rosy cheeks sparkling. "All right, who's next?"

"I am, Santa," replied Jason M. Swiftly, hopping up on Santa's lap. The little boy looked up at St. Nick with a seriousness uncommon for a six-year-old.

"What do you want for Christmas, little boy?" asked Jolly St. Nick. Jason folded his hands and took a breath, looking out at his father. Mr. Swiftly stood next to the platform, arms crossed, shaking his head. Then Jason turned back to Santa.

"I want stellar rhetorical and debate skills for Christmas. This and this only," replied the little boy. Mr. Swiftly sighed out of frustration and Santa looked at Jason with a bit of consternation, lifting one of his furry eyebrows.

"You're sure that's what you want for Christmas?"

"Yes. Definitely."

"All right. I'll see what I can do. Have a Merry Christmas."

On the last school day before Christmas break, Jason M. Swiftly and his best friend Samuel F. Norton walked on the playground, with their hands behind their backs. "I visited Santa Claus this previous Saturday, Samuel."

"Oh really? Did all go as planned, my friend?" asked Samuel, taking out his pipe and striking a match.

"Certainly," replied Jason, "I asked Santa for superior rhetorical and debate skills, and I shall undoubtedly attain them." Just then, Frank J. Vanderslice, the school bully, was passing by.

"You fool," scoffed the bully, "Santa Claus isn't real." Jason C. Swiftly turned to him abruptly and without fear.

"Really? Well, that depends on what your definition of real is. Do you see reality as what you can only touch or feel, or those things that play a vital role in your psychological well-being? I could surely say that Santa Claus isn't completely real, due to the unbelievability of his flying reindeer and one night trip around the world, but what benefit might I find from such a pessimistic supposition? In my mind, it is better to appreciate those parts of life that inspire the magical and sentimental quality of childhood rather than the more menial aspects of existence that will be with me always. I am but six years old, Mr. Vanderslice. I have the rest of my life to lose faith in the simple things. Can I not atleast enjoy my innocence for the time being without you infringing upon it?"

Frank J. Vanderslice stared at Jason for a moment. "My apologies," he whispered, bowing and walking away.

"Well played, old boy," mused Samuel, puffing at his pipe. Jason looked to the sky, his belief in Santa Claus ever stronger. And for a moment, the sound of sleigh bells seemed to cascade through the frosty air.

Wednesday, August 30, 2006

Heat Causes Crime, Even Among Mice

According to the FBI’s Total Crime Index, violent crimes have peaks during the summer around the month of August. In the winter months, however, there is a distinct decline in crime. As the temperatures increases during the hot and long summer months, so does the amount of crime.

The same goes for Frisco, believe it or not. The number of burglaries and disturbances I summarize every week in the police reports show it.

But I’ve never been one to just believe statistics and studies done by police and federal law enforcement. I’d rather see it myself. Could outside temperature – relentless heat in our case – truly increase the level of crime? I set out to do an experiment this week.

By enclosing 89,071 lab mice in a smaller, yet proportional, version of Frisco, I was able to simulate what happens here on any given day. At first, I set the temperature inside at a comfortable 72 degrees.

You can probably guess what I found. The mouse were agreeable to one another, driving courteously, finishing their work assignments, and respecting the elderly. The mice high school students seemed to pay attention better in class, and the mice teachers gave more comprehensive lessons.

I even listened in on a family dinner conversation at one home. The father mouse called the children into dining room, saying, “Squeak squeak squeak squeak squeak,” in an authoritative tone.

Once the mice sat down, the youngest mouse shouted, “Squeak squeak squeak squeak!” commenting on how delicious the tiny meatloaf smelled. The family had a rousing conversation of squeaks until the middle child spilled juice on the carpet. “Squeak squeak!” shouted the mother mouse, but seeing her child’s face, she quickly forgave him.

Mice certainly are civil. Or so it seemed, until I turned up the heat to a boiling 105 degrees. Before I knew it, burglaries, domestic violence, theft, and public intoxication doubled. Mouse cars were broken into, miniature iPods were ripped off, and mice businessmen were stumbling out of bars with their jackets on backwards. The young mouse spilled juice on the carpet again, and this time, his mother slapped him. I felt very sorry for their understaffed police department.

My conclusion was this: heat causes crime. Human beings (or mice in this case) cannot be expected to act civilly when an egg can fry on the sidewalk. That’s why I think we need to provide some amnesty during the summer.

So if somebody backs his SUV into your house and then drives away…let him go. If a teacher “takes care of” a rowdy student, just let it slide. And if a guy steals some construction materials from your site, give him a break. He’s just hot. Anybody would do the same in his situation.

Reading Braille on the Way to Starbucks

I’ve lived in Frisco for a month now, and I must say that I mostly love it. The school district, rich history, a Starbucks at every intersection – these are all great things. But unfortunately, one thing in this town is a giant thorn in my side.

At this point I’d like to apologize to those of you who thought this would be another flowery article only in praise of Frisco. But when you consider that there’s only one thing I don’t like about Frisco…is that really so bad? One couldn’t say that about Baghdad or Beirut, after all.

The thing in this city that I deplore, detest, abhor and (pausing to look at the thesaurus one more time) anathematize….are those bumpy metal things that divide the lanes on a lot of the roads.

You know what I’m talking about. Those things that punish your tires when you change lanes or turn. One moment you’re cruising along, thinking about what kind of fancy-pants drink you’re going to get at Starbucks, and the next moment, you’re bouncing all over the place and it sounds like a giant bumble bee is outside your car begging for honey. Now I personally never give honey to bum bumble bees, so I find it that much more irritating when the bumpy metal things and my tires start simulating their buzzing.

I personally can’t see the advantage of these things over regular painted lane divider lines. Am I supposed to take comfort in the fact that I could drive with my eyes closed and never drift out of my lane? The same guy who invented Braille must have invented them to improve driving for blind people. The only problem is that no one told him that blind people don’t generally drive.

So who is responsible for putting these abominable metal bumpy things on our roads? After doing some reporting, I discovered that it was the work of city official Dr. Ronald J. Featherdorf, director of Lane Dividing Engineering*. I sat down with Dr. Featherdorf yesterday in his humble dining room while Mrs. Featherdorf made chocolate chip cookies.
First I asked him about his credentials, and he replied, “I hold a doctorate from MIT in Lane Dividing, and I have worked in the industry for 215 years.”

At this point I reminded the doctor that cars have only existed for 100 years, and he gingerly laughed, saying, “All right, four years.” However, an evil look remained his eye the remainder of the interview, which told me that he did not like to be corrected.

He explained the need for the bumpy lane dividers this way: “When people are driving, they must not become too comfortable, for if they do, they will surely fall asleep. And as we all know, unconsciousness can impair one’s driving skills.”
It was hard to argue this point with Dr. Featherdorf because, firstly, my mouth was full of Mrs. Featherdorf’s chocolate chip cookies. And secondly, it was a good point. Despite the doctor’s strange attire (which was only a Panama hat), he was indeed a wise man.

Perhaps my distaste for the metal bumpy things on our roads is irrational and unfounded. But even if it is, that shall not stop my campaign against them. For most campaigns are irrational, especially if a hippy is involved. You may ask what my replacement for the metal bumpy things is. Well, I’ve got an answer for you, fellow citizen…your own conscious effort to not drift out your lane and hit the car next to you. Is that good enough?

*Not an actual city official or department