Tuesday, February 15, 2005
Here's a little something that I wrote just now. I was lying in bed, thinking about how people are motivated and how they tend to see other people as having things better than they do, and I decided to zip out a little bit that illustrates this principle over the course of a normal interation.
Waist
*****Ding a ling a ling*****
Rita glanced up at the door from where she sat behind the cash register. Mrs. Winthrop. The old woman had been coming into Max's Diner at the same time, fifteen minutes, give or take, after the end of the breakfast rush, for almost twelve years now.
Rita waited patiently while Mrs. Winthrop negotiated the chairs and tables, on her way to the window seat from which she kept watch over the daily activities of Kenzie Street. Finally, once the frail old bat had come to roost, Rita shifted her awkward bulk into action.
"Morning, Vera. Coffee."
"Thank you Rita. How are you today?"
"Fine. Knee's still bugging me."
"Did you try using ice? My son, the doctor, had been telling me to use ice on my knees, and it works wonders."
"I tried, Vera, but I'm not sure if it's helping. Breakfast?"
"Yes."
"It'll be right out."
Rita walked back to the register where her paper waited. When she arrived, she spotted that Sam had his head down on his prep table so that he could see out into the diner through the short, wide rectangle through which his kitchen breathed dirty dishes and greasy food.
"Vera."
"I saw. Pass me a coffee?"
"Sure."
Rita leaned against the counter to get a look at the story on page two while she waited for Vera's char-bacon and toast, not cut, extra butter, to slide out. It was about two inches about how some virulant jungle disease was set to waste several million people away crammed between
three screaming colour ads for competing used-car lots. The next page was "Ms. Page Three." Rita, who didn't have a driver's license, lingered over the spread, eyes flickering back to the little story again and again.
"Rita! S'up!"
"Yeah, yeah."
Rita snagged the warm plate before it terminated its skid across the well-greased countertop, dropped it in front of Mrs. Winthrop where it would spend the rest of the day gradually turning into uneaten crusts, and heated up her cup before returning to the register.
*****Ding a ling a ling*****
"Oh, hey. Back again?"
"Yep," said the pretty white brunette who had just stepped into the diner.
"Barb, right?"
"Yep. Er..."
"Rita."
"Thanks," replied the momentarily pink-eared Barb as she sat down at the counter.
"You sure you don't want a booth? It's no trouble."
"No thanks. I just need to talk to a person. I'm not bugging you, am I?"
"Nope. All I'm doing is reading the paper, and it's depressing. Coffee?"
"Please, and a water and dry toast."
Rita dished up a cup of coffee and barked at Sam to wake up and do his job before turning back to Barb. "So have you found a job yet?"
"Not yet. I joined a gym last night, though."
"Which one?"
"Just up the block. 'Ages,' it's called."
"Already? But you just moved here a few days ago. You must still be beat."
"I'm a little sore, but I need to keep at it. I've already sent in some head-shots to a couple of agencies and I need to drop a few pounds before they call back."
"You must be kidding, girl. You look like a stick!"
"No way. I'm at least five pounds over-weight."
"You're talking to the wrong girl here. I've been working in this grease pit so long that I must make two of you."
"Whatever. If I wasn't a model I'd make you look like a twig. I hate worrying about what I eat so much."
"Rita! S'up!"
"Yeah, yeah.' Rita collected the cloudy glass of water and toast and watched Sam's legs saunter toward the back door for his smoke before she passed them across the counter.
"Thanks. Seriously, though, I shouldn't even be eating this. Girls who only eat celery for breakfast are going to kick my ass for the jobs."
"No way. You actually look healthy, not like those sticks. Besides, if I looked like you, I would be the happiest waitress in town."
"Well, what do they say on TV? Aren't we just supposed to be happy with the way we are?"
"That's one to grow on," chuckled Rita. "Really, though, look at the old lady back there. You think she worries about this stuff?"
"I doubt it. She looks more worried about the guy letting his dog pee on the curb, though."
"Heh, heh. Yeah. And does she look happy?"
"Only if being upset makes her happy."
"I think it must. More coffee?"
"Thanks."
Joel M.
Waist
*****Ding a ling a ling*****
Rita glanced up at the door from where she sat behind the cash register. Mrs. Winthrop. The old woman had been coming into Max's Diner at the same time, fifteen minutes, give or take, after the end of the breakfast rush, for almost twelve years now.
Rita waited patiently while Mrs. Winthrop negotiated the chairs and tables, on her way to the window seat from which she kept watch over the daily activities of Kenzie Street. Finally, once the frail old bat had come to roost, Rita shifted her awkward bulk into action.
"Morning, Vera. Coffee."
"Thank you Rita. How are you today?"
"Fine. Knee's still bugging me."
"Did you try using ice? My son, the doctor, had been telling me to use ice on my knees, and it works wonders."
"I tried, Vera, but I'm not sure if it's helping. Breakfast?"
"Yes."
"It'll be right out."
Rita walked back to the register where her paper waited. When she arrived, she spotted that Sam had his head down on his prep table so that he could see out into the diner through the short, wide rectangle through which his kitchen breathed dirty dishes and greasy food.
"Vera."
"I saw. Pass me a coffee?"
"Sure."
Rita leaned against the counter to get a look at the story on page two while she waited for Vera's char-bacon and toast, not cut, extra butter, to slide out. It was about two inches about how some virulant jungle disease was set to waste several million people away crammed between
three screaming colour ads for competing used-car lots. The next page was "Ms. Page Three." Rita, who didn't have a driver's license, lingered over the spread, eyes flickering back to the little story again and again.
"Rita! S'up!"
"Yeah, yeah."
Rita snagged the warm plate before it terminated its skid across the well-greased countertop, dropped it in front of Mrs. Winthrop where it would spend the rest of the day gradually turning into uneaten crusts, and heated up her cup before returning to the register.
*****Ding a ling a ling*****
"Oh, hey. Back again?"
"Yep," said the pretty white brunette who had just stepped into the diner.
"Barb, right?"
"Yep. Er..."
"Rita."
"Thanks," replied the momentarily pink-eared Barb as she sat down at the counter.
"You sure you don't want a booth? It's no trouble."
"No thanks. I just need to talk to a person. I'm not bugging you, am I?"
"Nope. All I'm doing is reading the paper, and it's depressing. Coffee?"
"Please, and a water and dry toast."
Rita dished up a cup of coffee and barked at Sam to wake up and do his job before turning back to Barb. "So have you found a job yet?"
"Not yet. I joined a gym last night, though."
"Which one?"
"Just up the block. 'Ages,' it's called."
"Already? But you just moved here a few days ago. You must still be beat."
"I'm a little sore, but I need to keep at it. I've already sent in some head-shots to a couple of agencies and I need to drop a few pounds before they call back."
"You must be kidding, girl. You look like a stick!"
"No way. I'm at least five pounds over-weight."
"You're talking to the wrong girl here. I've been working in this grease pit so long that I must make two of you."
"Whatever. If I wasn't a model I'd make you look like a twig. I hate worrying about what I eat so much."
"Rita! S'up!"
"Yeah, yeah.' Rita collected the cloudy glass of water and toast and watched Sam's legs saunter toward the back door for his smoke before she passed them across the counter.
"Thanks. Seriously, though, I shouldn't even be eating this. Girls who only eat celery for breakfast are going to kick my ass for the jobs."
"No way. You actually look healthy, not like those sticks. Besides, if I looked like you, I would be the happiest waitress in town."
"Well, what do they say on TV? Aren't we just supposed to be happy with the way we are?"
"That's one to grow on," chuckled Rita. "Really, though, look at the old lady back there. You think she worries about this stuff?"
"I doubt it. She looks more worried about the guy letting his dog pee on the curb, though."
"Heh, heh. Yeah. And does she look happy?"
"Only if being upset makes her happy."
"I think it must. More coffee?"
"Thanks."
Joel M.
Monday, February 07, 2005
Wow. Two entries in one day! It must be all of that floor varnish at work.
Here's a quick rundown on some of the real problems in the world that a belligerent, freedom-loving U.S. should be thinking about: The Ten Most Underreported Humanitarian Crisis of 2004
For 18 years, people in northern Uganda have endured a brutal conflict... Congolese cannot meet even their most basic needs. Local militias and government troops prey on civilians throughout the east... Various armed factions fight for control inside (Columbia's) shanty towns, making violence and intimidation a part of people’s daily lives... TB is making a comeback throughout the developing world: one-third of the world’s population is infected with the TB bacilli and eight million people annually develop active TB... Fourteen years of violence have dramatically affected Somalia’s population of nine million, with approximately two million people displaced or killed and even though a recently selected central government offers a glimmer of hope, violence still shatters people’s lives as predatory militias and warlords wield power for financial profit... About 90 percent of people in the Chechen camps and 80 percent in Ingushetia had had someone close to them die from war-related violence, while more than a third of people in Ingushetia and two-thirds in Chechnya felt unsafe... In regions of Burundi covered by the user-fee system, malaria deaths were twice as high as in areas adopting a low flat fee. One in five people interviewed said they didn’t visit health centers even when they are sick because they couldn’t afford it – not surprising in a country where nearly 99 percent of the people live on $1 a day and a staggering 85-90 percent survive on $1 a week... Even though huge amounts of international assistance pours into North Korea, there is no way of knowing if it reaches those most in need and many suspect that the bulk of aid is simply diverted by the military regime... More than 10 percent of children do not survive their first year of life in Ethiopia... During three days of riots in Monrovia in October 2004, nearly 400 people were wounded and 15 killed...
Er, so. How's that Iraq business coming? Anybody feeling up to dealing with an actual problem?
Joel M. (via www.boingboing.net)
Here's a quick rundown on some of the real problems in the world that a belligerent, freedom-loving U.S. should be thinking about: The Ten Most Underreported Humanitarian Crisis of 2004
For 18 years, people in northern Uganda have endured a brutal conflict... Congolese cannot meet even their most basic needs. Local militias and government troops prey on civilians throughout the east... Various armed factions fight for control inside (Columbia's) shanty towns, making violence and intimidation a part of people’s daily lives... TB is making a comeback throughout the developing world: one-third of the world’s population is infected with the TB bacilli and eight million people annually develop active TB... Fourteen years of violence have dramatically affected Somalia’s population of nine million, with approximately two million people displaced or killed and even though a recently selected central government offers a glimmer of hope, violence still shatters people’s lives as predatory militias and warlords wield power for financial profit... About 90 percent of people in the Chechen camps and 80 percent in Ingushetia had had someone close to them die from war-related violence, while more than a third of people in Ingushetia and two-thirds in Chechnya felt unsafe... In regions of Burundi covered by the user-fee system, malaria deaths were twice as high as in areas adopting a low flat fee. One in five people interviewed said they didn’t visit health centers even when they are sick because they couldn’t afford it – not surprising in a country where nearly 99 percent of the people live on $1 a day and a staggering 85-90 percent survive on $1 a week... Even though huge amounts of international assistance pours into North Korea, there is no way of knowing if it reaches those most in need and many suspect that the bulk of aid is simply diverted by the military regime... More than 10 percent of children do not survive their first year of life in Ethiopia... During three days of riots in Monrovia in October 2004, nearly 400 people were wounded and 15 killed...
Er, so. How's that Iraq business coming? Anybody feeling up to dealing with an actual problem?
Joel M. (via www.boingboing.net)
A really excellent piece of short fiction about spontaneous assemblages of intelligent household devices called blebs. Check it:
I gave her a hug and kiss and was about to tell her to be careful on the subway when I caught movement at floor level out the corner of my eye.
The first bleb in our new joint household had spontaneously formed. It consisted of our two toothbrushes and the bathroom drinking glass. The toothbrushes had fastened themselves to the lower quarter of the tumbler, bristle-ends uppermost and facing out, so that they extended like little legs. Their blunt ends served as feet. Scissoring rapidly, the stiltlike toothbrush legs carried the tumbler toward the half-opened door through which Cody had been about to depart.
Joel M.
I gave her a hug and kiss and was about to tell her to be careful on the subway when I caught movement at floor level out the corner of my eye.
The first bleb in our new joint household had spontaneously formed. It consisted of our two toothbrushes and the bathroom drinking glass. The toothbrushes had fastened themselves to the lower quarter of the tumbler, bristle-ends uppermost and facing out, so that they extended like little legs. Their blunt ends served as feet. Scissoring rapidly, the stiltlike toothbrush legs carried the tumbler toward the half-opened door through which Cody had been about to depart.
Joel M.
Wednesday, February 02, 2005
Buh?
I'm sort of uncomfortably aroused right now. Like oogling a faraway girl in the mall who turns out to be fourteen. Or staring at some chick's butt, only she turns around and has Downs' face. Brrr.
Joel M.
I'm sort of uncomfortably aroused right now. Like oogling a faraway girl in the mall who turns out to be fourteen. Or staring at some chick's butt, only she turns around and has Downs' face. Brrr.
Joel M.
