550 Words A Day Challenge Reboot: The Twenty Nine

(I've decided as a writing exercise to write 550 words everyday and see what I come up with. The subject matter and narrative will not be limited to anything, and I'm only allowed to edit what I write once)


Part V --- The Twenty-Nine


The setting is a bus stop with a green bench beside it. Three people wait in a row by the sign: PARKER, a well dressed salesman holding a suitcase, GUNBY, a casually dressed young man with a guitar bag over his shoulder, and SIBELLA, a teenage female hockey player on her way to a game (hockey stick in hand, enormous sports bag by her feet. All three give off body language that they've been waiting for a while

 
GUNBY: Damn 29. The 29 is always late.

PARKER: Is it now?

GUNBY: Everytime. I always have to wait at least fifteen minutes for it.

PARKER: Wouldn't know. I'm not from this area.

GUNBY: Me neither. I'm across town. Bank district I like to call it.

PARKER: Sounds interest-ing.

GUNBY: I like to think so, man.

PARKER: Normally I don't take public transportation. Too slow, really. But today I'm heading into a neighbourhood with such terrible parking I have no other choice.

GUNBY: What's your business there?

PARKER: Have you heard of the Grand Electron Corporate Dynamo Group?

GUNBY: No.

PARKER: Well I sell payment plans for them.

GUNBY: Payment plans?

PARKER: Yes. Door to door.

GUNBY: What kind of payment plans?

PARKER: Oh, a bit of everything.

GUNBY: And where does it go?

PARKER: Here, there. Sometimes everywhere. And really, the destination isn't a big part of it.

GUNBY: More so the 'paying' part.

PARKER: Exactly. As far as you know, it's going towards whatever you want.

GUNBY: Can it go towards not having to wait fifteen minutes for the bus?

SIBELLA: Why not just arrive here ten minutes later?

GUNBY: But then I'll miss the bus!

PARKER: He's got a point there.

GUNBY(to Sibella): You a basketball player?

SIBELLA: Hockey.

GUNBY: Is that the one with the touchdowns?

SIBELLA: Not a sports fan I take it.

GUNBY: Hey now, I enjoy sports. I like the game where the two rich guys in suits argue back and forth with big words for like three hours.

SIBELLA: You mean a political debate?

GUNBY: Maybe. It's the one where the commentators are always talking about 'points' but there's no score.

PARKER: I prefer when the two guys, or sometimes one guy one girl, are sitting behind a big desk with screens behind them and talk about things that are happening in the world, whatever sport that is.

SIBELLA(to herself): Geez, this bus does take a while...

PARKER: Say young lady, have you ever heard of Grand Electron Corporate Dynamo Group?

SIBELLA: I think I saw them featured in one of those 'sports' you just mentioned, and it wasn't a very good game.

GUNBY(to Parker): How do I get on board with one of these payment plans you mentioned?

PARKER: Do you have a credit card?

GUNBY: Do I ever!

PARKER: Great! Now I have some forms for you to fill out... (opens his suitcase and begins rummaging through) Banking information, place of birth, mother's maiden name, power of attorney, nothing too big...

SIBELLA: The bus is coming.

GUNBY: Bus?

PARKER: Now, I am going to need a sizeable cash payment up front.

GUNBY: Is it okay if I give you my chequebook instead?

SIBELLA: Not in service? Come on! (turning to the audience) Oh well, beats waiting for the Queen streetcar.

(on cue, PARKER's suitcase pops open and nothing but shredded newpapers spill onto the stage)


CURTAIN

550 Words A Day Challenge (IV) Lionel and Gerry

(I've decided as a writing exercise to write 550 words everyday for two weeks and see what I come up with. The subject matter and narrative will not be limited to anything, and I will only be allowed to edit what I write once)


Part IV --- Lionel and Gerry


       It was a face Gerry knew better than perhaps anybody: the black hair was longer and wilder, the cheeks thinner and creased with age, the once determined lips now cracked from exposure to cold weather, but the crooked nose and the wide green eyes and cauliflower ears were still as they had always been. This was Lionel McCarthy, an old acquaintance to Gerry and a man driven by image and success.
      They made eye contact and for a brief moment Lionel did not recognize him. Five uncomfortable seconds of staring passed until at last the unfamiliarity evaporated.

      'Gerry Sanchez! You scoundrel you! How long has it been!'
      'Six years come November.'
      'At Bob Parin's cottage, right?'
      'Something like that.' replied Gerry.

      Lionel did not dress as immaculately as he had in the past. Neither was his grooming as careful, for his skin seemed rough from spotty shaving and a lack of soap. His shoes were caked with dirt and the seams along the sides were bursting towards the ground. Gone were the suit and ties he was notorious for wearing at any occasion, replaced by a brown overcoat and stained blue jeans that had not seen his better days.

      'What are you up to these days, old boy? Still pushing pencils and typing buttons for ILC?' asked Lionel.
      'Yeah, same old ILC. Became an assistant director of office resources a few years back. Boring work but I've ever minded it.'
     'Sounds like the Steady Gerry we've always known!' said Lionel, without the faintest admiration.

     A smell of damp unwashed socks slowly drifted into Gerry's nostrils and he attempted not to retch. It was the most foul scent he had ever encountered, and that included his three month stint volunteering at the homeless shelter near the sewage plant. Lionel continued to grin, unaware or indifferent of the disturbing odour.

     'How... are you doing, Lionel? Everything all right with you these days?'
     'What a foolish question, old boy! Everything is better than ever! I quit those bastards at Richards and Parker to become a private consultant! Oh, things are better than ever, better than ever.'

      Gerry and Lionel shook hands and said their goodbyes as if they had seen each other yesterday. As he began to walk away, Gerry turned back and called his old acquaintance back.

     'Are you sure you don't need anything? Maybe I can talk to some folks at ILC and...'
     'You're being silly and ridiculous, old boy. I don't need anybody's help, never ever will. Worry about yourself and that one-lane-street job of your's.'
     'All right, Lionel.' said Gerry quietly.
     'Exactly, old boy! Now don't keep me any longer, I have so many more appointments this evening! We surely must catch up some more soon. Perhaps at Bob Parin's cottage in a few weeks? See you then!'

     Gerry waved good bye to his friend and continued on his way. As he went, he could not shake an uncomfortable thought from his mind: Bob Parin had moved to Spain four years before.
     

    

550 Words A Day Challenge (III) Sound Check

(I've decided as a writing exercise to write 550 words everyday for two weeks and see what I come up with. The subject matter and narrative will not be limited to anything, and I will only be allowed to edit what I write once)

-----------------

Part III --- Sound Check


Two young people standing in a crowd of seventy. One male, one female, an empty stage in front of them. The large room is dimly lit, underground, with ceramic tiled walls for better acoustics.

'Dean, what time were they supposed to come on?'
       'I told you, eleven!'
'You did no such thing.'
       'I've told you like, at least six times by now. God, Sara, you're sooooo forgetful.'
'You definitely didn't tell me. I would've remembered.'
       'Yeah, like you remembered where this place is.'
'The streetcar confused me. It made that right turn at Parliament. It was the detour's fault.'
       'That streetcar like, always turns at Parliament.'
'No it doesn't. I know, I used to live right there.'
       'Right where?'
'On Parliament!' 
      'Of course. Hey is Fenton coming?'
'Doesn't look like it. He's gotta study for this CAE or something.'
       'Dag. What about Hayward?'
'Dinner with the folks. They live in Burlington, poor bastard.'
       'Yeah that's a trek. How about Cy? He's gotta make it, this is like, his favourite band!'
'No clue. I know he went pre-drinking with the Carters so... probably in a ditch somewhere.'
       'Sara, does this like mean it's just us?'
'Looks like it.'
       'Huh.'
'Huh indeed.'
       'Yep.'
'Yep yep.'
       'Quite.'
'Mmmmmm hmmmmm.'
      'Yah.'
'Yeah.'
      'Well.'
'Yup.'
      '...try giving Craig a call.'
'Damn. Don't get reception down here.'
     'You like, win again, crappy cell phone coverage!'
'Wanna get a drink at the bar?'
     'Nah I'm good. Not a fan of Mudweiser.'
'You call it "Mudweiser?"'
     'They call it "Mudweiser" here. Look at the tap.
'Wow. That's filthy. Bet the bartenders have to wash their hands a lot.'
     'Yeah. It's like, popular with the pigs though.'
'What do you like to drink?'
      'I'm a fan of liquids. Some solids.'
'Good one.'
      'Thank you, thank you, I'm here all night. Don't try the Mudweiser.'
'Dean, what time do you have?
      'Eleven-twenty.'
'And what time were they supposed to come on?'
      'Like I said, eleven.'
'You never said that.'
      'I like, so totally did! We need like, a transcript of our conversation so I can prove it.'
'Yeah, good luck with that.'
      'Hey, I see Cy! By the bar there!'
'Really?'
      'Yeah! No wait, that's just a beer stained dartboard.'
'The resemblance is uncanny though.'
      'Like, seriously. 
'Listen, Dean. There's something I want to talk to you about.'
      'The bullseye is kinda like his mouth.'
'Dean, we've started hanging out a lot more these days.'
      'His beard does look like a number 19...'
'And I've discovered I really like spending time with you. Really like it.'
      'I think his head like, might be more circular though...'
'So what I wanna say is, I... would you, will you... I... this is really hard to say.'
      'Hey the show's like, starting! Maybe really loud music will help you say it, Sara, whatever it is!'
'God damn it. What time were these dopes supposed to start again?'

550 Words A Day Challenge (II) A Squirrel

(I've decided as a writing exercise to write 550 words everyday for two weeks and see what I come up with. The subject matter and narrative will not be limited to anything, and I will only be allowed to edit what I write once)


Part II --- A Squirrel


         I knew this silver car and I knew these streets but they were unfamiliar to me: these were the same houses I had seen hundreds of times before. Along the sidewalk I saw a brown squirrel, frolicking through the short grass of the well-kept front lawns. It was pleasant but distracting from my immediate task of finding a way out of here.
        A street sign appeared to at least give this place a title: Fallsdale Road and Sixteen. It was a quaint neighbourhood lined with bungalows, thin trees and bushes. Many of the houses had vines growing along the windows and up the chimneys, flower beds atop porches like crown jewels, and a lit lamppost on the lawn lighting the way underneath our twilight sky. I made a turn left down Sixteen but half a block later I discovered it was actually Fallsdale.
       Occasionally a white mini-van would drive past me as I walked. The license plates were different on each one but the cars were identical. In the windows of one of the houses was a yellow banner reading:

                      THERE ARE NO WRONG TURNS, ONLY WRONG DIRECTIONS

       It made me feel uncomfortable for some reason. There was chirping coming from the sewer grates and streams of water along the branches of the thin trees. I quickened my pace and abruptly tripped over a bump in the sidewalk. On the ground was a penny, a dime and a nickel. As I was about to pick up the coins I remembered I didn't need bus fare: no bus runs on this street.
       I brushed myself off and slicked my hair with a pocket comb I keep in my jacket pocket. My appearance was important because I believed I was about to pass by '259 Fallsdale', where a pretty red-haired girl from my daydreams lives. I slowed my step as I came to the address, hoping covertly to sneak a peek in the window to see if she was there. The television was on full blast, bombarding the living room with flashing colours and static sounds of products. She was sitting there watching, her eyes hypnotized by the screen, her hair fading to white from red. I turned away and took a deep breath of fresh air, happy to be outside.
      A man jogging with a dog tapped my shoulder as he ran past me. The dog began barking and the sound faded as they disappeared into the distance down the street. Another white mini-van drove by and I heard the sound of barking approaching me. A man jogging with this dog tapped my shoulder as he ran past me. I heard the sound of barking fade as they went and then came the sputter of an engine igniting across the street. A white van drove past me and I crossed the street towards a silver car, where I thought the sound had come from. I knew this silver car and I knew these houses around it, but it was all unfamiliar to me.
      Along the sidewalk scurried a brown squirrel, rummaging the grass of the well kept lawns for anything of interest. It was pleasant but distracting, for my immediate task was finding a way out of here.
     
     

550 Words A Day Challenge (I) Beer Voyages

(I've decided as a writing exercise to write 550 words everyday for two weeks and see what I come up with. The subject matter and narrative will not be limited to anything, and I will only be allowed to edit what I write once)


Part I ---Beer Voyages


          I admit that, and to many of you that know me this comes as no surprise, I am a bit of a beer snob. My philosophy when it comes to beer is: life is simply too short to suffer through something that tastes like somebody urinated it into a bottle.
          Now, I do not subscribe to what I would like to call "Beer Classism", wherein beer is judged by price alone. Perhaps by law of averages, cheaper beers lack a quality that more expensive beers possess, but I can name countless exceptions to this theory ('Gosser' immediately comes to mind.)
         Back to my snobbery. When I first began drinking beer I gave it little thought and didn't discriminate much. All I learned was that you could get a 24 for under 30 bucks and that Laker was disgusting, unfortunately in that order. Moosehead and Keiths were luxuries to young, underage me, Heineken was what kings drank, and the two types of beer I knew were yellow and yellower.
         Then, something changed. I'm not exactly sure when or how or why: it could've been I tried an amazing beer and realized there was more out there, it could've been one too many Labatt Honeys one night, or it could've been Divine Hop-tervention. Whatever it was, I marched right to the bridge of the starship Enterprise to seek out new life and new civilizations.
         As I boldly went where many have gone before, I discovered some things. One, how certain beers taste better/worse on tap in different places. Creemore is an example of this, as I disliked it for years and years thinking it was supposed to taste skunky and flat. Second, the worse a beer tasted to me, the worse the hangover. Take this at what you will, since there is a big difference between drinking two Canadians and seven Tankhouses, but beers that agreed with me initially also seem to agree with me the next day. Third, there doesn't seem to be such a thing as a bad German beer. I'm sure there is, but I've never come across one. Fourth, not to judge a book by its cover (or a beer by its label.)
         I suppose what I'm attempting to say is trying different things gave me a new perspective on beer and how it could taste. It's not that now I dislike Keiths or Moosehead more than I did before, it's that I've found other beers that I personally enjoy more. If you're someone who's perfectly fine drinking Canadian or Labatt or (shudder) Laker, hey knock yourself out. I won't judge you for it. (I will however, judge the beer by thinking how glad I am by not drinking it.)
        So keep an open mind to try something new once in a while, and maybe you'll find it vile or maybe you'll find it delicious.

         BONUS!!!! Liam's Rules of Beer And Beer Drinking

          1.   Never look a gift beer in the mouth. Never.
          2.   Not all American beer is crap. Odds are if you've heard of it before though, it is.
          3.   Good wheat beers are delicious in any season.
          4.   Hoppy beers are dangerous, regardless of percentage.
          5.   There are no bad beers, only bad... erm... yeah there are bad beers.

An Uninformed Look at The Blue Jays-Marlins SuperMega Deal

THE TRADE


    Some quick, very initial impressions I got from this trade and the players involved. (Complete with varying levels of astuteness on my part)

    First and foremost, this deal declares is that the Blue Jays want to compete now. They believe these acquisitions, along with full healthy seasons from their key players (Bautista, Morrow, Lawrie, Romero?) will be enough to contend for a playoff spot. It's far from an absurd thought, afterall, what with the dramatic improvement of other AL teams last season and the addition of the second wildcard spot. Let's look closer at what the Blue Jays are actually getting.

    SP Josh Johnson

    Two concerns immediately come to mind with Johnson: can he stay on the mound, and will he want to re-sign with Toronto? At a distant glance, his health concerns appear real but perhaps exaggerated. He has been able to throw 180 innings three of the past four seasons, stopped only in 2011 by shoulder inflammation that ended that season prematurely. This injury also explains his elevated 3.81 ERA in 2012, as he struggled early in the year (A 4.83 ERA on May30th) but regained his form once the rust wore off. The 're-signing with Toronto' part is what I find much more pressing, for if he's here for only one season the trade does not look nearly as incredible for Toronto. In the meanwhile, the Blue Jays have acquired an absolutely superb young pitcher that any other team in baseball would gladly have.

    SS Jose Reyes

    I will admit to knowing very little about Jose Reyes outside of what the numbers tell me. He can steal bases? That's good. He's a .291 career hitter who can take a walk? That's good. He has at least an average defensive reputation? That's okay. He's a 29 year old shortstop who can do all these things? That's very good. Reyes, like Johnson, has those questions revolving around him about whether he can stay healthy, as he is moving onto a turf surface and tends to miss about 30 games a season anyway. This makes the Maicer Izturis signing look very clever now. If Reyes needs to miss a few games or weeks because of his wonky legs, the team has a very capable insurance plan in Izturis. That's an improvement from last season automatically.

    SP Mark Buehrle

    Looking over Mark Buehrle's career, I'm astonished how every season looks exactly the same. 13-16 wins, ERA around 3.50, 200 innings without fail. (Did you know that, excluding his rookie year, Buehrle has NEVER pitched a season with fewer than 200 innings?) People worry his low strikeout rate as he ages is provoking inevitable disaster, but I disagree:

    Buehrle 2001: 5.1 k/9
    Buehrle 2012: 5.6 k/9

    They don't get much more consistent than that. Also considering the enormous contracts free agent pitchers Greinke, Sanchez, Haren and Jackson are likely to receive, the Blue Jays have in essence 'signed' a pitcher of similar effectiveness to a similar (perhaps lower) annual price, but to a contract half as long. Also, pitchers of Buehrle's calibre defensively are seriously fun to watch.

    UT Emilio Bonifacio

    The forgotten man of this deal, (or at least, I've forgotten he's been a part of it several times) Bonifacio is a genuinely useful major league player. If he can't hit much (which is a strong possibility) he can still play almost any position for you on a ball diamond and swipe some bags for you while he does it. Sort of like if two Mike McCoys combined their hitting abilities into one man.   
   
    C John Buck

    It'll be curious to see how long he sticks with the team, if he does at all. Worth noting I think is how since leaving town Buck has descended into awfulness with the bat, despite a much better walk rate with the Marlins than he showed here. Make what you will with that tidbit.

    Let's be honest, the Blue Jays are getting a lot (a lot!) of talent in this trade, but are giving up a fair share of it also. Yunel Escobar, for all his shortcomings, is a superior defensive shortstop who with a good year with the bat, is one of the positions most valuable players. Adieny Hechavarria was born with a glove in his hand, and while hitting is his biggest uncertainty he has made strides in that direction and is young enough to stride further. Henderson Alvarez is 22 with a fastball that has absolutely evil movement. Justin Nicolino is the best 'pitcher' right now of the big Lansing Three. Jake Marisnick is a young, athletic outfielder, and Jeff Mathis is definitely a good go-to arm in blowouts.

    A lot of good young talent left the organization to make this trade happen, many of them prospects we all dream of Cy Youngs, Silver Sluggers and Gold Gloves being attached to their names some day. Yet it speaks to the strength of the minor league system built up over the past few years under Anthopolous that this much potential can depart but many exciting players still remain. We won't know if the deal was truly a good one for the talent level of the organization until the careers of Escobar, Hechavarria, Nicolino, Alvarez and Marisnick are clearer many years from now.

    Anyhow, does this make the Blue Jays a better team today? Uh, yeah. Most importantly, it brings some interest and excitement back to the team after a dreadful 2012 where anything seemed to go wrong. For that alone, it is an marvellous trade for Toronto.

    As for the Marlins? Well... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LHs9Rf7L8_U

(photo courtesy of metronews.ca)

Steckland Russ -- (Chapter II.v)

   
    (ix) --



      Quando leggemo il disiato riso
      esser baciato da cotanto amante,
    questi, che mai da me non fia diviso,
    la bocca mi bacio tutto tremante.
    Galeotto fu il libro e chi lo scrisse:
    Quel giorno piu non vi leggemmo avante
       
   
    'Do you mind if we share books? I forgot mine.'

    This was the intrigue: the instigation of my present situation. Since our first encounter in World History, Soraunen and I had not said a word to each other. So the surprise was mine when she asked for my torn, beaten second-hand copy of The Diviners. For a time we read together quietly, listening to the other students read passages aloud.

    'Soraunen, read the next passage please.' droned Mr. Calsuco, without even a book in front of him.

    She read the first sentence, and I discovered she was not speaking these words but carressing them. Her voice nurtured the language like a parent gently pushing it out into the world. I closed my eyes and there I was in rural Manitoba, revelling in a place I had no concept of while a sweet narration gave it all substance. Once she finished it took me several seconds to bring myself back. I didn't know anything could have such an effect on me, and it was obvious.

    'Steckland! Please read the next passage.' said Calsuco, likely repeating himself.

    I've never been superbly confident in my reading aloud abilities, but I was inspired to do my best by the elegance before me. There was the occasional description or word of dialogue I stumbled over, and I felt like the class was burning holes through me with their laser eyes. Still, my voice was clear and not once did I mispronounce anything. I know Soraunen glanced at me when I was done but I did not dare look back.
    The lesson went on uneventfully and at the end I thanked Calsuco for the escape route he had suggested some days before. He commented that often after teaching his Grade Nine class he would sneak to the top of that stairwell and read "The Waste Land" to restore his faith in the English language. I bid him a good weekend and set off down the hallway until someone cut in front of me.

    'You've a nice voice. Like, a British scholar or something.'
    'Oh uh, thanks! You were amazing, really amazing. I was totally mesmerized. You were great.'
   
    I realized I had come on too strong so I looked down at my shoes. Soraunen smiled, slightly embarrassed at the praise so lavished upon her. A bright light above the fire escape gave her black hair an irresistible shimmer.

    'So I'm guessing you like The Diviners a lot, eh?'
    'Yeah, sure. It's all right, I guess.' I answered.
    'Same. Don't you find there're a lot of sex scenes though?'

    My entire body became so warm that I figured somebody must've switched on a lamp inside me. I looked at my shoes again to hide my surely red face.

    'Sure, I, suppose so. I mean, I haven't noticed but, I bet that's the case, yeah certainly.'
    'Yeah.' nodded Soraunen. 'So what're you up to now? Just heading home?'
    'Yeah, looks that way.' I shrugged.
    'Well, do you want to hang out for a bit? I mean, if you want.'
    'Nah, my dad gets kinda annoyed if I'm not home in time for the news.'
    'Oh.'

    Everything happened so fast that it was only by the time I reached the stairwell I thought I might've made a mistake. By the time I was out the side exit I was certain of it. My father is not one to care if I were home by six or midnight: I had made up an excuse for no reason.

    'Do you dare eat a peach?'

    It was a man, balding, leaning his back against the yellow windowpanes of Highview. I turned to him, the escaping wind blowing into my hair.

    'Excuse me? Do I know you?' I asked.
    'Al. Or Alfie.' said he, shaking my hand.

    He was a young man in build and fashion, but visibly he had aged beyond that. His clothing was meticulous, most notably a pair of white flannel trousers which he rolled up even on this chilly October day.

    'Who are you?'
    'I am not Prince Hamlet, not that we were meant to be.'
    'I... don't follow you.' said I.
    'Oh but you do, so how shall we presume? I know these mornings, afternoons and evenings, know them all. I have seen them come and and I have seen them go, talking of Michelangelo. You do know, so we can go and make our visit without asking what is it?'

    This stranger understood me more than I cared to accept, but I did not care for a tedious argument.

    'Fine.' I admitted. 'So what could I have done?'
    That is the question on your plate. For after a hundred visions and revisions, after this time for you and time for me, there is still time yet for a hundred indecisions that rub their backs against the windowpanes.'
    'But that is not what I meant! Not it at all!' I protested.
    'It is impossible to just say what we mean. No, that is not it at all.'

    'In short, I was afraid.'

    I wandered home through some half-deserted streets, on my way noticing only the occasional restaurant and the smell of sawdust. A yellow fog grew thicker as my steps became shorter, until the evening spread out against the sky.

   
   
    (ix) --        The Girl and The Love Song