Carl was an engineer and spent lots of time perfecting things. The woman on the screen before us was called Danyelle. Unfortunately, her image kept disappearing, while Carl frantically hit keys on his laptop. We could hear her high, feminine voice-- she looked distinguished and sounded quite educated.
My fellow writers, gathered around the table,were unnerved, especially after Danyelle vanished for good, leaving a white screen. Carl cursed and blamed faulty Skype.
Afterwards, we waited until Carl left, looking annoyed. Keith opined that something evil was afoot and we agreed. We decided to break into Carl's house and search the basement for anything strange. Carl was a sound sleeper-- we knew this because he often dozed off during our readings.
Lena jimmied the lock that night and, using flashlights, we found the basement door. It didn't take more than five seconds to spot the body lying on the table. It was the entity known as Danyelle, eyes closed, wires attached everywhere.
Something evil is afoot, Ron said. Keith smacked him. That's my line, he said. Susan examined the thing up and down, frowning. He gave her blue nail polish. Ugh!
We sneaked out of the house and back to my car. There was only one conclusion: Carl was playing God.
The next writing session a week later, we were tense, not sure what this madman had planned. The door opened and there she stood--Danyelle in the flesh, if that's what you want to call it. We tried to act surprised and impressed.
See, Carl barked, I told you she was real. His smile was as smug and phony as this entity. All through the prompts being read around the table we were aware of the moral and ethical implications here.
He changed the polish to pink and gave her a beautiful brooch, Susan whispered.
Carl looked up suspiciously, but she smiled, deflating the tension. Danyelle winked at me. I almost threw up inside my mouth.
Saturday, July 26, 2014
Gimme, Gimme, Gimme
Faust recognized Roy's greediness from afar and one day offered him a deal. Roy's soul in exchange for ten extra pairs of chromosomes.
Roy didn't believe in souls or an afterlife and thought Faust was a senile old man. He humored him by signing a silly contract making the exchange.
The next morning Roy felt different. His mind was racing with ideas and insights. Everything was faster and sharper. He felt rejuvenated. He left the house with his briefcase and 33 pairs of chromosomes. Roy proceeded to sell $500,000 worth of life insurance just going door to door. He thought nothing of Faust and the contract until he got home, stripped and showered. It was then he noticed a tiny tail sticking out of his haunches. He became furious, not because of the tail itself, but because it was so small. He wanted more tail.
In the ensuing weeks more leathery growths appeared over his body, too many to cover. He became grotesque, frightened his clients and was subsequently fired.
He was forced to join a traveling carnival and eventually married the bearded lady. They had three kids whose chromosome pairs totaled only 14 among them.
Roy, ironically, could not get life insurance because of his condition. He was doomed. Faust never returned. Once you sign that contract there is no backing out.
This tale of greed entails upsetting material for those with tails, large and small. It's not tailored for everyone.
Roy didn't believe in souls or an afterlife and thought Faust was a senile old man. He humored him by signing a silly contract making the exchange.
The next morning Roy felt different. His mind was racing with ideas and insights. Everything was faster and sharper. He felt rejuvenated. He left the house with his briefcase and 33 pairs of chromosomes. Roy proceeded to sell $500,000 worth of life insurance just going door to door. He thought nothing of Faust and the contract until he got home, stripped and showered. It was then he noticed a tiny tail sticking out of his haunches. He became furious, not because of the tail itself, but because it was so small. He wanted more tail.
In the ensuing weeks more leathery growths appeared over his body, too many to cover. He became grotesque, frightened his clients and was subsequently fired.
He was forced to join a traveling carnival and eventually married the bearded lady. They had three kids whose chromosome pairs totaled only 14 among them.
Roy, ironically, could not get life insurance because of his condition. He was doomed. Faust never returned. Once you sign that contract there is no backing out.
This tale of greed entails upsetting material for those with tails, large and small. It's not tailored for everyone.
My Emotional Bunker
When stress hits, I retreat to my Happy Place, my emotional bunker. I stick in a K.C. & the Sunshine Band CD, open my collected Calvin & Hobbes cartoons, lean back in my recliner and let negativity fly away.
Writing should be my escape, but all I envision are those rejection slip and grumpy fellow scribes furious at indifferent editors.
I'll think about somewhere peaceful like Maine or Canada where nothing happens. Happy memories of my youth help form my bunker. Falling off a bike and having people rush to see if I was alright makes me smile. Actually I was 45 when that happened and screamed like a four year old.
Other times I will call people I know aren't home, listen to their answering machine and politely correct any grammatical mistakes in the message.
Slicing food calms my nerves, especially red and green peppers. I get to the white part, rip it out and feel powerful. I slice until my fingers are numb. Numbness is a very effective way of confronting the insanity around us.
When all else fails, I tie and retie my sneakers.
I'm kind of getting sick of K.C. Time for a Manilow Moment.
Writing should be my escape, but all I envision are those rejection slip and grumpy fellow scribes furious at indifferent editors.
I'll think about somewhere peaceful like Maine or Canada where nothing happens. Happy memories of my youth help form my bunker. Falling off a bike and having people rush to see if I was alright makes me smile. Actually I was 45 when that happened and screamed like a four year old.
Other times I will call people I know aren't home, listen to their answering machine and politely correct any grammatical mistakes in the message.
Slicing food calms my nerves, especially red and green peppers. I get to the white part, rip it out and feel powerful. I slice until my fingers are numb. Numbness is a very effective way of confronting the insanity around us.
When all else fails, I tie and retie my sneakers.
I'm kind of getting sick of K.C. Time for a Manilow Moment.
Friday, July 25, 2014
The Cleanse
I'm doing an emotional cleanse, where I wipe out bad memories and disappointments by closing my eyes and whispering BEGONE! five times.
So many rotten thoughts to figuratively wash away. The beatings in school, falling off my bike, stupid comments, my crush on nurses and flight attendants, rejection slips from editors, spilling food in restaurants, bad pick up lines. Inappropriate burps. Gone, all of them, out of my purified consciousness.
Once my mind is completely cleansed I can focus on the positive. I wish prune juice or grapefruit would speed this process. Every time I think I've tossed away all the humiliation, another bad memory pops up.
Some say failure and unhappiness are needed so we can appreciate the opposite. Bah! I reject that notion. In fact, I'm cleansing that absurdity right out of my mind.
One unexpected side effect of this cleansing is I've lost seven pounds. My head is actually smaller, more compact, which, unfortunately, makes my ears seem bigger.
So many rotten thoughts to figuratively wash away. The beatings in school, falling off my bike, stupid comments, my crush on nurses and flight attendants, rejection slips from editors, spilling food in restaurants, bad pick up lines. Inappropriate burps. Gone, all of them, out of my purified consciousness.
Once my mind is completely cleansed I can focus on the positive. I wish prune juice or grapefruit would speed this process. Every time I think I've tossed away all the humiliation, another bad memory pops up.
Some say failure and unhappiness are needed so we can appreciate the opposite. Bah! I reject that notion. In fact, I'm cleansing that absurdity right out of my mind.
One unexpected side effect of this cleansing is I've lost seven pounds. My head is actually smaller, more compact, which, unfortunately, makes my ears seem bigger.
Buyout
I am executing a writer buyout. I am surrounded by annoying writers with plenty of ideas they can't organize into anything cogent. I am offering a barter deal. Give me your ideas and I'll teach you sleight of hand magic.
It's not that I lack ideas. I force feed my concepts onto my laptop until I have a story. I am a cluster bomb of ideas. Believe me, I have plenty of ideas.
Other writers stockpile theirs until the whole mess is covered with asbestos and mold, cracked and useless. This morning I sat across from a writer who pitched a concept where he personified buildings and bridges. They are sick of working 24/7 and not getting compensated and proceed to disrupt the entire infrastructure of the city. A solid, potentially lucrative story opportunity he was doing nothing with. So I bartered a trick involving cuff links and a tie pin for that idea. He seemed almost relieved not to be responsible for following through on it.
If these deals continue, I will have an idea monopoly. If things become too unwieldy I may subcontract some to starry eyed college students looking to become writers. Whatever I decide, I will not let good ideas waste away in the cloud, where ever that is.
It's not that I lack ideas. I force feed my concepts onto my laptop until I have a story. I am a cluster bomb of ideas. Believe me, I have plenty of ideas.
Other writers stockpile theirs until the whole mess is covered with asbestos and mold, cracked and useless. This morning I sat across from a writer who pitched a concept where he personified buildings and bridges. They are sick of working 24/7 and not getting compensated and proceed to disrupt the entire infrastructure of the city. A solid, potentially lucrative story opportunity he was doing nothing with. So I bartered a trick involving cuff links and a tie pin for that idea. He seemed almost relieved not to be responsible for following through on it.
If these deals continue, I will have an idea monopoly. If things become too unwieldy I may subcontract some to starry eyed college students looking to become writers. Whatever I decide, I will not let good ideas waste away in the cloud, where ever that is.
Monday, July 21, 2014
Super Moon
It is night and I am at Liberty State Park trying to paint this incredible pink super moon that appears sporadically. As the evening progressed, more and more artists arrived with the same agenda. By 9pm hundreds of easels covered the grounds. They were interspersed with food trucks, a motorcycle gang, protestors against using public open space to paint, someone selling time shares in Boca, a dance troupe performing in the moonlight, Swat teams in case the moon drove people nuts, folk singers celebrating Pete Seeger for the 400th time, a stray vampire, and the mayor of Jersey City handing out pamphlets asked for support for more hydrants.
At some point I became frustrated by my inability to capture the true mystery of this lunar sight. So I took out a photo of model Kate Upton and began painting her. The mayor leaned down and informed me her nose was too big. I disagreed. It escalated into harsh words and finally a wrestling match on the grass.
I was arrested and jailed. Here I sit in this dank cell waiting for the sun and sanity to take over.
I really believe the moon belongs to Satan.
At some point I became frustrated by my inability to capture the true mystery of this lunar sight. So I took out a photo of model Kate Upton and began painting her. The mayor leaned down and informed me her nose was too big. I disagreed. It escalated into harsh words and finally a wrestling match on the grass.
I was arrested and jailed. Here I sit in this dank cell waiting for the sun and sanity to take over.
I really believe the moon belongs to Satan.
Withdrawing My Support
On more than a few occasions I have thrown myself in front of street mimes to protect them from bullies I wrote my Masters thesis on Mime Immigration from Slavic Countries in the 30's and 40's. Their influence on Stanislavsky and The Method school of acting is immeasurable.
I have brought them meals and offered shelter. Talked them out of hurting themselves while in the depths of depression. This was out of respect.
But I have decided, after much deliberation, to withdraw my mime support. Contemporary practitioners have blasphemed tradition by incorporating tap dancing, and not very good tap at that. This is strictly prohibited in the International Book of Mime. This is cheating and robbing true tappers of their livelihood.
Yes, I have transferred my loyalties to tap dancers, although I can't see myself getting beaten up protecting one of them.
I have brought them meals and offered shelter. Talked them out of hurting themselves while in the depths of depression. This was out of respect.
But I have decided, after much deliberation, to withdraw my mime support. Contemporary practitioners have blasphemed tradition by incorporating tap dancing, and not very good tap at that. This is strictly prohibited in the International Book of Mime. This is cheating and robbing true tappers of their livelihood.
Yes, I have transferred my loyalties to tap dancers, although I can't see myself getting beaten up protecting one of them.
Sunday, July 20, 2014
Little Crimes
We all commit little crimes on a regular basis. Mother Teresa refused to use biodegradable soap when washing people's feet.
Little crimes eat away at civility. Why don't others notice when I wear a new shirt? I carry that indifference around with me all day.
When someone tells a long story and the ending is flat and unfunny, that is a crime of stealing the audience's time. If you spot a piece of col slaw on someone's chin and don't tell them, shame on you. If a person can't finish their sentences, you must step in and finish. Pronounce words for them.
Peeing in the bushes destroys our common humanity, unless it's your Uncle Ned with a prostate problem.
On the counter at McDonald's, you'll see a penny left behind. Don't grab and pocket it. Put it in the Ronald McDonald House container. Sometimes silence is better than speaking. Do not ever comment on an older person's neck. Something unseemly happens to necks as we age. Frankly, I consider this epidermal outrage one of God's little crimes.
Little crimes eat away at civility. Why don't others notice when I wear a new shirt? I carry that indifference around with me all day.
When someone tells a long story and the ending is flat and unfunny, that is a crime of stealing the audience's time. If you spot a piece of col slaw on someone's chin and don't tell them, shame on you. If a person can't finish their sentences, you must step in and finish. Pronounce words for them.
Peeing in the bushes destroys our common humanity, unless it's your Uncle Ned with a prostate problem.
On the counter at McDonald's, you'll see a penny left behind. Don't grab and pocket it. Put it in the Ronald McDonald House container. Sometimes silence is better than speaking. Do not ever comment on an older person's neck. Something unseemly happens to necks as we age. Frankly, I consider this epidermal outrage one of God's little crimes.
Time on My Hands
I was driving to the library and saw a woman in an apron pacing outside her business. I hate seeing small business people not busy. I imagine them agonizing over paying the rent. I want to buy whatever they're selling.
My dad had a fruit and vegetable store for awhile. I would stand outside, wanting to drag people in so he'd have customers. Kids with time on their hands are a teacher's worst nightmare.
I try never to be at loose ends because then I think too much, always a problem. Folding laundry calms me, but that only takes 10 minutes, including matching up my socks. Sometimes I combine this with sweeping and dusting.
I'll find myself walking somewhere and realize there is no real purpose involved. How many deodorant sticks do you need? I may panic and question the meaning of my life.
Phoning someone combats being at loose ends, but the other person also has to have time on their hands. Maybe I could start a business, employing people to stand around holding signs indicating they are free to spend time with others for a small fee. I'd take 30% off the top.
I need to get away. How about exotic Turkey? But what if I get there and see shop owners pacing, waiting for customers. I'd buy huge amounts of food, drink, baubles, pastry out of guilt. I'd have to consume all of it before flying back, putting on 20 pounds. Which will make it harder to find people to spend time with me. Time to fold some laundry.
My dad had a fruit and vegetable store for awhile. I would stand outside, wanting to drag people in so he'd have customers. Kids with time on their hands are a teacher's worst nightmare.
I try never to be at loose ends because then I think too much, always a problem. Folding laundry calms me, but that only takes 10 minutes, including matching up my socks. Sometimes I combine this with sweeping and dusting.
I'll find myself walking somewhere and realize there is no real purpose involved. How many deodorant sticks do you need? I may panic and question the meaning of my life.
Phoning someone combats being at loose ends, but the other person also has to have time on their hands. Maybe I could start a business, employing people to stand around holding signs indicating they are free to spend time with others for a small fee. I'd take 30% off the top.
I need to get away. How about exotic Turkey? But what if I get there and see shop owners pacing, waiting for customers. I'd buy huge amounts of food, drink, baubles, pastry out of guilt. I'd have to consume all of it before flying back, putting on 20 pounds. Which will make it harder to find people to spend time with me. Time to fold some laundry.
Word Police
They are out there, ears wide open. Listening to every single word you say. Stop being so condescending, is one of their castigation. Another--That is inappropriate. Don't be so smug, or insulting or self satisfied, other reprimands by the word police. How dare you speak with letting me vet your words beforehand.
If you express an opinion, say something ironic, satirical or tongue in cheek, they're all over you. Whatever happened to tongue in cheek anyway? If you have the audacity to defend your position, that only makes them angrier.
At least they listen. What passes for conversation now is two or more people cutting each other off, talking AT each other. If Reagan was The Great Communicator, it seems he was the last.
That's the good thing about a blog. You can't interrupt me.
If you express an opinion, say something ironic, satirical or tongue in cheek, they're all over you. Whatever happened to tongue in cheek anyway? If you have the audacity to defend your position, that only makes them angrier.
At least they listen. What passes for conversation now is two or more people cutting each other off, talking AT each other. If Reagan was The Great Communicator, it seems he was the last.
That's the good thing about a blog. You can't interrupt me.
Spreading Blankets
I hate when people show up at outdoor concerts and just spread their blanket right next to your folding chair, their germ laden blanket. Entire families make themselves perfectly comfortable in what had been your space. Then they remove shoes and socks and take out tons of food and drink. Their kids race around with no purpose, making strange noises and gesticulating like crazed traffic cops.
Bah!
I get it. You are a loving family living a rich, full life and I'm an old guy in a wide brimmed hat designed to keep my ears protected from the sun. Sometimes they'll stand and dance in place. Then I'll either have to also stand to see anything or sit there and mutter curses, hunched like a crumpled napkin.
When people are that close, you are privy to insipid conversations. What some idiot at work did, what their first cousin said at some stupid wedding.
I'm going to get Lyme Disease from these people. I know one of their kids will run into my shin and I'll get blamed. Maybe I can subtlety trip one.
Bah!
I get it. You are a loving family living a rich, full life and I'm an old guy in a wide brimmed hat designed to keep my ears protected from the sun. Sometimes they'll stand and dance in place. Then I'll either have to also stand to see anything or sit there and mutter curses, hunched like a crumpled napkin.
When people are that close, you are privy to insipid conversations. What some idiot at work did, what their first cousin said at some stupid wedding.
I'm going to get Lyme Disease from these people. I know one of their kids will run into my shin and I'll get blamed. Maybe I can subtlety trip one.
Sunday, July 13, 2014
Movie Day
I attend free senior movies every two weeks in town. They usually choose inane Adam Sandler/ Cameron Diaz comedies, well beneath my intellect. So I wait in the men's room until everyone is seated. Then I explore the other showings in the multiplex to check what else is playing. I just sneak in and watch one of those, usually containing explosions, dismemberment and chase scenes. Right in my wheelhouse.
Recently I arrived at the theater the same time as always, hoping to skip the endless previews. To my shock, Jersey Boys was already a half hour in. Damn. As I stumbled up the steps in the dark I was afraid I'd accidentally mistake a taken seat for an empty one and sit on someone's lap. Some seniors would welcome that. Some would pull a knife.
I ran right into the woman who runs the program, seated in the last row. She told me to stop dead while she flipped on her I-pad and used the light to guide me to an empty seat "before I killed myself."
At that moment I truly felt like a helpless senior and it sucked. The movie was great though.
Recently I arrived at the theater the same time as always, hoping to skip the endless previews. To my shock, Jersey Boys was already a half hour in. Damn. As I stumbled up the steps in the dark I was afraid I'd accidentally mistake a taken seat for an empty one and sit on someone's lap. Some seniors would welcome that. Some would pull a knife.
I ran right into the woman who runs the program, seated in the last row. She told me to stop dead while she flipped on her I-pad and used the light to guide me to an empty seat "before I killed myself."
At that moment I truly felt like a helpless senior and it sucked. The movie was great though.
Leftovers
What if 2% of all poems vanished? How would remaining ones feel? Abandonment? Fearfully beg to be locked in drawers? Expect memorization in case they too disapear?
Would they ruminate about individual versus collective worth? Would there be friction at open mikes, traces of those gone poisoning the air? Would poems go rogue, fragment, toss away their punctuation?
Would poets lose their identity? Demand an international day of mourning? Would essays and monologues feel pressure to pick up the slack?
What about all those obscure words poets use? What is their fate? Would new work be stifled by the knowledge that perhaps 2% of them will vanish?
Let us hope that those missing poems would be in a better place. San Francisco, maybe.
Would they ruminate about individual versus collective worth? Would there be friction at open mikes, traces of those gone poisoning the air? Would poems go rogue, fragment, toss away their punctuation?
Would poets lose their identity? Demand an international day of mourning? Would essays and monologues feel pressure to pick up the slack?
What about all those obscure words poets use? What is their fate? Would new work be stifled by the knowledge that perhaps 2% of them will vanish?
Let us hope that those missing poems would be in a better place. San Francisco, maybe.
Decisions
If I walk fast at my usual pace, I'll startle her.
If I slow up and drop back, she'll think I'm tailing her.
If I move ahead of her, she might take it as a challenge and speed up, which will force me to match her pace.
If I sit on a bench and let her go far ahead, she'll assume I'm planning something.
If I start to jog, she'll humiliate me because I'm a terrible jogger.
If I just had a dog everything would be so much easier.
If I slow up and drop back, she'll think I'm tailing her.
If I move ahead of her, she might take it as a challenge and speed up, which will force me to match her pace.
If I sit on a bench and let her go far ahead, she'll assume I'm planning something.
If I start to jog, she'll humiliate me because I'm a terrible jogger.
If I just had a dog everything would be so much easier.
If Shoes Could Speak
Wear socks!
Great. You slide me off under the table, then rub her calf & I'm irrelevent.
We're going in circles. Ask for directions.
Stay away from that dog park.
Explain this dangerous attraction to sandals.
These inserts will not get you a date with Kate Upton.
Unstrap me immediately. You are a 300 pound lineman, not a petite woman. Work on your issues.
That's the fourth time you've stepped on her foot doing a simple two step.
I am not your size. Stop forcing the issue.
Could you shine me just once?
Please don't let that be a bunion.
Wearing lumberjack boots does not increase your testosterone.
Do all of us ballet slippers feel this vulnerable?
Are we going to kick another stupid ball for no logical reason?
You're an upgrade over my last owner--an old lady with a brood of nasty kids.
Hate to inform you, but your new boyfriend has been sniffing me when you're out of the room.
Great. You slide me off under the table, then rub her calf & I'm irrelevent.
We're going in circles. Ask for directions.
Stay away from that dog park.
Explain this dangerous attraction to sandals.
These inserts will not get you a date with Kate Upton.
Unstrap me immediately. You are a 300 pound lineman, not a petite woman. Work on your issues.
That's the fourth time you've stepped on her foot doing a simple two step.
I am not your size. Stop forcing the issue.
Could you shine me just once?
Please don't let that be a bunion.
Wearing lumberjack boots does not increase your testosterone.
Do all of us ballet slippers feel this vulnerable?
Are we going to kick another stupid ball for no logical reason?
You're an upgrade over my last owner--an old lady with a brood of nasty kids.
Hate to inform you, but your new boyfriend has been sniffing me when you're out of the room.
Monday, July 7, 2014
Let the Grand Kids Sort it Out
I could just give everything to Goodwill. That would be the easy way out. But I want to leave all to my grand kids. My kids don't talk to me anymore, so screw them.
Some of what I've collected might be termed quirky or inappropriate. You decide.
A collection of Taiwanese hand puppets to ward off evil.
A hand made balsa wood Japanese nose flute.
A book of smutty haiku poems.
Spoons from drought ridden countries.
Clay sculptures of almost extinct flying South American insects.
A documentary tracing how Staten island garbage collectors changed the industry.
Dozens of crumpled napkins with my story ideas.
Women's used bowling shoes, all sizes.
A Maid Marion inflatable doll.
A hand held mirror once owned by Rosie Perez.
A tape of the Flying Wallendas rehearsing.
All my old bed pans.
My porcelain doll collection depicting the Kardashians.
Let the grand kids figure out who gets what. I'd divide up my brain, but most of the frontal lobe was destroyed by the electroshock treatments.
Some of what I've collected might be termed quirky or inappropriate. You decide.
A collection of Taiwanese hand puppets to ward off evil.
A hand made balsa wood Japanese nose flute.
A book of smutty haiku poems.
Spoons from drought ridden countries.
Clay sculptures of almost extinct flying South American insects.
A documentary tracing how Staten island garbage collectors changed the industry.
Dozens of crumpled napkins with my story ideas.
Women's used bowling shoes, all sizes.
A Maid Marion inflatable doll.
A hand held mirror once owned by Rosie Perez.
A tape of the Flying Wallendas rehearsing.
All my old bed pans.
My porcelain doll collection depicting the Kardashians.
Let the grand kids figure out who gets what. I'd divide up my brain, but most of the frontal lobe was destroyed by the electroshock treatments.
Things That Should Be Caffeinated
Bulldogs
Budget Reports
Political filibusters
Any Daniel Craig interview
Modern architecture
Ikea furniture
Saturday Night Live skits
Bead & breakfast establishments
Montana
Sulky cab and bus drivers
Customer Service reps
Whining folk singers
String quartets
Clog dancing
The Amazing Kreskin
Senseless napping people
Newspapers
Pop up ads
Morgan Freeman
Baked beans
Snoopy
Upstate NY
Budget Reports
Political filibusters
Any Daniel Craig interview
Modern architecture
Ikea furniture
Saturday Night Live skits
Bead & breakfast establishments
Montana
Sulky cab and bus drivers
Customer Service reps
Whining folk singers
String quartets
Clog dancing
The Amazing Kreskin
Senseless napping people
Newspapers
Pop up ads
Morgan Freeman
Baked beans
Snoopy
Upstate NY
Saturday, July 5, 2014
Shaking Off the Cobwebs
My name is Mycroft Billings and I am a professional tickler. I dropped out of college--anthropology wasn't for me. I wandered around for months seeking something to define who I was.
For awhile, about ten years ago, I was a free lance cuddler when cuddle parties were big. I discovered I could creatively cuddle for hours, serial cuddle without batting an eye. But then, around 2009 the cuddling industry collapsed and cuddle parties disappeared.
One day I was invited to a secret party downtown. It turned out to be a tickle party. We spent the evening enjoying light refreshments, drinking wine and blatantly tickling each other. Needless to say, much wine was spilled in the process. From people's compliments afterwards, I gathered I was more skilled than most, so I became a free lance tickler. I instinctively knew where to attack, how long to remain before moving on to another body part, and most important, how to avoid being tickled myself. I was in complete control.
But there was no security or good health coverage in this career, so around 2012 I became an insurance salesman. Boring.
I craved the old excitement and when former clients contacted me pleading for a session, I was weak and agreed. But the cobwebs were there. I soon found my timing and touch were off. I was grabbing the wrong body parts. My fingers had gotten lazy and stiff. No dexterity in a tickler is a career killer.
I was met with disdain and got no call backs. They had found younger, Euro-trash ticklers fresh off the boat. I was a has-been.
For too long I drifted from city to city with no purpose, no home, no family or friends.
One day a man started choking at an outdoor cafe. I rushed over and gave him the Heimlich Maneuver and out popped a cherry pit. It wound up on You Tube.
I was onto something. The only way to master this skill was to walk up behind strangers and employ the Heimlich, which is what I've been doing. I just may save someone's life, and in the process, give meaning to my own.
For awhile, about ten years ago, I was a free lance cuddler when cuddle parties were big. I discovered I could creatively cuddle for hours, serial cuddle without batting an eye. But then, around 2009 the cuddling industry collapsed and cuddle parties disappeared.
One day I was invited to a secret party downtown. It turned out to be a tickle party. We spent the evening enjoying light refreshments, drinking wine and blatantly tickling each other. Needless to say, much wine was spilled in the process. From people's compliments afterwards, I gathered I was more skilled than most, so I became a free lance tickler. I instinctively knew where to attack, how long to remain before moving on to another body part, and most important, how to avoid being tickled myself. I was in complete control.
But there was no security or good health coverage in this career, so around 2012 I became an insurance salesman. Boring.
I craved the old excitement and when former clients contacted me pleading for a session, I was weak and agreed. But the cobwebs were there. I soon found my timing and touch were off. I was grabbing the wrong body parts. My fingers had gotten lazy and stiff. No dexterity in a tickler is a career killer.
I was met with disdain and got no call backs. They had found younger, Euro-trash ticklers fresh off the boat. I was a has-been.
For too long I drifted from city to city with no purpose, no home, no family or friends.
One day a man started choking at an outdoor cafe. I rushed over and gave him the Heimlich Maneuver and out popped a cherry pit. It wound up on You Tube.
I was onto something. The only way to master this skill was to walk up behind strangers and employ the Heimlich, which is what I've been doing. I just may save someone's life, and in the process, give meaning to my own.
Wither Debonair?
Old movies equal debonair. George Sanders, Rex Harrison, Cary Grant. They knew how to hold a drink or cigarette, how to lean into a woman and speak in a sensual, mellifluous manner. Breeding, manners, charm, class. They could toss out a witticism so casually it seems easy. They could really fill a tux.
Can you imagine Mark Walberg opening a door for a woman, sliding her chair in, gracefully leading her across a dance floor? Channing Tatum coming up with a witty remark? Let's not mention Stephen Segal. The concept has dried up and we men have to take responsibility.
I resolve to stand the next time a woman enters a room, provide her with a clean hanky if her nose is running, and listen to every word she says, nodding at just the right moment.
Don't ask me to guide her across the dance floor. Debonair and coordination are two separate realms.
Can you imagine Mark Walberg opening a door for a woman, sliding her chair in, gracefully leading her across a dance floor? Channing Tatum coming up with a witty remark? Let's not mention Stephen Segal. The concept has dried up and we men have to take responsibility.
I resolve to stand the next time a woman enters a room, provide her with a clean hanky if her nose is running, and listen to every word she says, nodding at just the right moment.
Don't ask me to guide her across the dance floor. Debonair and coordination are two separate realms.
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