Tony Ruggiero

Cat With A Past

2007-04-14T08:12:00.000-04:00

Cat With A Past

The Cat
THE CAT LAY sprawled on the stainless steel table, its limbs strapped firmly to prevent it from moving. It wanted to lick its fur to clean off the scent of those that had been handling it and the smell of the antiseptic that covered everything. Its eyes nervously darted back and forth at the people in their white clothes as they moved around the room.
The doctor brought the large needle over to the table and unmercifully stabbed it into the cat. It screamed as he slowly depressed the plunger until it was empty. The cat lay silent, its eyes glazed, not understanding what was happening. Finally, drowsiness overcame it and sleep came.
The cat opened its eyes, still strapped to the stainless steel table. New perceptions overwhelmed the animal as thoughts taunted its mind. Where am I? What am I? These people, why have they strapped me down? They are bad people.
The doctor moved toward the cat again, another large needle protruding from his hands. He injected it into the cat's back and slowly squeezed the plunger once again. The cat didn't scream this time. Instead it thought about what was happening to it.
The cat, or what was left of its original genetic makeup, awoke. It was now something else...rather someone else. It found difficulty in hiding its newfound human thoughts from those who watched as it lay there. It knew that they expected some type of reaction.
I am a doctor, it thought. They probe and poke me looking for some result. They have injected what I was into this creature, some kind of experiment. I will not give them their results, for if they believe I am a failure, perhaps it will be an opportunity to escape. I will live again...

The Prospective Owners
"WHY DOES IT have to be a cat? I hate cats!" Milt argued.
"Well, I love cats! I want one and that's final," Rene said, folding her arms across her chest. Milt, recognizing the finality in her stance, knew he was in trouble. Trying to salvage this dispute, he changed his tact.
"What about the new breeds? Everyone has them now and—"
"Those aren't cats," she said disdainfully. "They're mixed with human DNA. It removes the entire real cat from them. I want a full bred cat!"
"But the new breeds have all the nasty cat traits removed. They are bred to be the perfect pets," he said, still not giving up. "Some of them have even been given speech capability. There's no tearing, chewing, scratching or..."
"I don't want one of those machines," she said in a scathing voice. "That's all they really are. I want a real cat."
Rene whirled and stomped out of the kitchen. As Milt exhaled and prepared to follow her, he heard the bedroom door slam and knew he was sofa-bound for the evening. After twenty years of marriage, after all the ups and downs, it had come to this...
"All over a damn cat," he snorted. "Why couldn't she like dogs or fish? The only things cats are good for are road ornaments, especially under the tires of my car." He walked over to the sofa and settled down for the night.
Milt dreamt of his childhood, his grandmother in particular because she had always been so kind to him. He smiled. Then he remembered her cat, and frowned. A big, fat, ugly cat named Jingles. It lived upstairs, usually sitting on the window ledge next to the entry door to the flat as if guarding it. Every time he would go by, it hissed at him and on more than one occasion it lashed out at him. He still wore many scars that reminded him of his trips upstairs. Oh...how he hated that cat.
In his dream, he was walking up the stairs at his grandmother's house, trying to be quiet so as to elude the cat. Stepping onto the main landing, he looked around carefully. The cat was nowhere in sight. The windowsill where Jingles usually resided was blessedly empty and the window was open. Joy suddenly filled him as he imagined the cat finally meeting its demise and falling off the windowsill. Young Milt smiled, conjuring the image of the cat backstroking in a pool of its own blood on the hard cement below.
Suddenly from a shelf above the storage cabinet, the cat leapt at him. The surprise and momentum of the cat drove him to the floor. Jingles sat on his chest, hissing and displaying its claws in a sign of supreme dominance, its eyes locked onto his as it began to rip out pieces of flesh from his chest. He screamed....
"Wake up, Milt, you're dreaming. Wake up," Rene said, shaking him.
"No...it's killing me!" he screamed, flailing his arms in front of him, warding off the attack.
"You were having a bad dream," she said in disgust. "Get up! It's time to get ready for work, anyway."
Her demeanor from the evening before was obviously still alive and well, he thought, as he tried to shake off the remnants of his nightmare. Few words passed between them as they prepared for work.
After work, Milt joined his good friend Tony for a beer. He finished explaining the previous evening's events to Tony.
"Talk about a rock and a hard spot." Tony chuckled. "It doesn't sound like you have a whole lot of maneuvering room."
"No, when Rene gets like this, she's like a boulder. Unmovable." Milt downed his remaining mouthful of beer. Tony sat quietly gazing out at the people passing by outside.
"A plain cat does not come with a cheap price tag either," Milt commented. "They're getting scarce and run about five grand." He looked at Tony's empty beer glass and asked, "another beer?" There was no answer. "Hey, Tony, do you want another beer?"
Tony returned his gaze to Milt. "Oh...ah...no thanks. I was just thinking. I know an old friend who works at one of the smaller labs that's involved with those new breeds of cats. He might be able to help."
"How so?"
"Well," Tony began, staring into his beer, "what if you told Rene you bought a real cat and not a new breed? Do you think she would know the difference?"
Milt thought for a moment. "I don't know. Why?"
"What if you were able to get a kind of new breed at a good price? Would you be interested?"
"Well, I suppose so, but what do you mean by 'a kind of' new breed?"
"This friend of mine," Tony said, lowering his voice, "he makes some money on the side by taking the rejected cats, the ones that don't take the DNA splicing well enough to qualify to be sold by the sanctioned dealers, and sells them on the side. Normally they're destroyed, but my friend has been known to...well...'misplace' a few of them and sell them fairly cheap."
"What kind of shape are they in?" Milt asked skeptically. "They don't have two heads or anything do they?"
"No. Of course not. But, I tell you what, let me make some calls tonight and see what I can find out. Okay?"
"Sure," Milt said, thinking of the nice comfy bed he wouldn't be sleeping in again tonight. "I really appreciate anything you can do for me, Tony."
"Not a problem." Tony smiled. "I think I will have another beer."
The Facility
"HEY, STAN," DOCTOR Olivetti called, "got one more for you tonight."
Stan turned to see Doctor Olivetti, the primary geneticist at the facility, wheeling in a cart with a sedated cat on it.
"Didn't make the grade?" Stan said gazing at the still feline.
"No, not even close. Bad DNA I suspect," the doctor said.
Stan scratched his head. "You know, it will probably be tomorrow before I..."
"Have a good night." The doctor said, ignoring Stan, as he turned back toward the corridor of the central lab facility.
"You too, Doc," Stan said sarcastically as he watched the departing figure.
Turning toward the cat he said, "And for you, little kitty, a reprieve. And for me...payday."
When the phone rang, Stan answered, "New World Laboratories, Stan Lawsom speaking."
"Hey, Stan. It's Tony. How the hell are yah?"
"Hey, Tony, pretty good. How about you?"
"Can't complain. Hey...ah...I have a friend looking for a cat, a cheap cat. You don't just happen to have any 'lying around' do you there, buddy? If so, you might be able to line your pockets a bit."
Stan gazed toward the cat in the cage; it was beginning to stir. "I might be able to help out your friend. You're...ah...sure he's legitimate?"
"Oh yeah, no doubt about it. Known the guy for years. Work together."
Stan looked around to make sure he was alone. "Let me give you a call tomorrow. See if I can scrounge something up."
"Sounds good."
Stan lowered his voice. "Oh, and, Tony, tell your friend the price is a grand, okay?"
"Got you. Look forward to hearing from you."
TWO DAYS LATER, Milt and Tony sat in a strange bar in an area of town they didn't frequent very often.
"Why did he pick this place?" Milt asked, carefully avoiding eye contact with anyone.
Tony answered in a low tone. "Stan said he could get in a lot of trouble for doing this. It's not just losing his job, but you've got health agencies and all kinds of Feds that get involved in something like this. Imagine what would happen if some crazy strain of DNA got lose in a cat or dog and they escaped and began to breed."
"I hadn't ever thought about it that way," Milt answered, his voice unsure.
"Well, you had better," Tony said seriously, "because, if you get caught in the act of buying the animal, you're in for a long haul also."
Their discussion was interrupted by Stan's arrival.
"Hey, Tony, old pal," Stan said, as he walked up. Tony turned and they shook hands.
"Stan, this is my friend Milt. He's the 'interested party' I mentioned to you on the phone."
"Pleased to meet you." Stan extended his hand to Milt, who reciprocated.
"I have the item," he said to Milt. "Do you have the money?"
"Yes, where is...the 'item?'" Milt nearly whispered.
"Out in my car." Stan jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. "I thought it would be better to conduct the transaction outside in the alley next to this place."
"Good thinking," Tony said. "We're parked a block down. We'll meet you in the alley in five."
A few minutes later they assembled in the alley. Stan removed the cat carrying container from his car. He opened it, removed the animal, and handed it to Milt.
Milt backed away, turned to Tony and spoke in a low voice. "Ah...Tony, can you check it out for me? You know me and cats...I wouldn't know a good one from a bad one."
"Sure. Hand it to me. We have to be sure, after all. It's a gift for the missus."
Stan shrugged, and handed the cat to Tony while looking at Milt with an expression that said, "Who cares if the guy doesn't like cats, as long as I get the money."
Tony ran his hands through the cat's fur, looking for any obvious deformities. Milt stared at it, realizing it has been quite a while since he'd been around a cat. This one was the color he thought people referred to as a "tabby," although he wasn't really sure. He still thought all cats should be under the tires of a fast moving car.
As if the cat had heard his comment, the animal turned toward Milt. Feeling the diamond shaped pupils staring at him, Milt shivered.
"Are you sure the animal is safe?" he asked Stan, backing a little farther away.
"Sure it is. It just failed the DNA assimilation tests. It seems kitty here possesses the traits it was injected with, but for some reason the animal fails to display them. Can't sell a damaged product you know. Regulatory agencies say it has to be destroyed."
"So, it will act like a regular cat, then?"
"More or less, I guess." Stan shrugged.
"What does that mean?" Milt still felt the feline's eyes on him.
"What do you want for a grand? A guarantee or something?" Stan said sarcastically. "It means just what I said. It's not one hundred percent cat anymore. There's some human DNA in there lurking about and I don't know what it will do. The doc says that if the traits don't show up within three days after introduction, chances are they never will, but to play it safe, they destroy them."
Milt turned to Tony. "Well, what do you think?"
"Looks like the genuine article and all. Up to you, buddy. I'm sure Rene will be pleased," Tony said, still stroking the cat.
Milt thought for a few seconds, then handed an envelope to Stan, who immediately opened it and counted the money within.
"If something should go wrong..."
"No refunds and don't call me," Stan said, already getting into his car. "Just take it out and shoot it or something. I've taken some hefty risks by doing this." Placing the envelope inside his jacket pocket, he smiled. "It's been a pleasure doing business with you, boys. And hey...you can even have the carrier for free. Adios..."
Stan left Tony, Milt, and the cat in the alley. Tony placed the cat into the carrier and put it on the back seat of the car. Milt sat in the front seat, still imagining the eyes of the cat continuing to bore into him.
At least Rene will be happy. She better damn well be for a thousand dollars and my sanity.
The Feds
AGENT MICHAEL CUMMINGS stood in the outer office of Assistant Director Sorelson of the FBI.
"You may go in now," the secretary said curtly.
He entered and was quickly directed to a seat by the motion of a hand.
"Agent Cummings," the Assistant Director said. "You are aware of the DNA to animal project?"
"Yes, sir, I am."
Sorelson gave a brief nod. "You are also aware of the program to dispose of potentially dangerous DNA, past and current?"
"Yes, sir, I am."
"Well, there has been some kind of screw up. One of the lab workers decided he wanted to get even with the world. Some of the worse DNA in the lot has gotten through and made its way into civilian laboratories."
Agent Cummings grimaced at the thought of what could happen if the DNA got loose and spread. The Assistant Director handed him a folder. The file tab read: DNA 375ABD. He opened it and quickly scanned its contents.
"This is your assignment." Sorelson tapped the folder. "Track it down and either return it or destroy it."
"This one may be difficult to capture if the process has already occurred," Agent Cummings said after reviewing the report.
"Use the special unit if you have to, but keep it quiet. If word were to get out about this..."
"I understand." He rose from the chair and left the office.
The Doctor
"YOU UNDERSTAND THE importance of the matter, Doctor?" Agent Cummings began, "and that this visit is not for discussion with anyone."
"I understand," Doctor Olivetti said in a low tone. "How could this have happened?"
"Whenever humans are involved, there is always a chance of something like this happening. The DNA was intentionally mishandled and sent to the wrong facility."
"Well, I can understand the concern, but why the federal interest?"
"It's not so much the DNA being mishandled," Agent Cummings said, pausing as if he gauged his next words. "It's who the DNA originally belonged to that has federal interest."
"So whose DNA is it?" the Doctor asked his interest piqued.
The agent's lips parted in a thin smile. "Let's just say that some DNA does not need to be reintroduced into the world as we know it. The bureau has its own project underway that is incorporating the DNA from people who have, or had, unique investigative techniques and talents. They incorporate them into dogs and cats. These animals can assist dramatically in the solving of crimes. On the other hand, we are also making sure that the wrong type of DNA does not get reintroduced. In this case, that is exactly the type of mishap that has occurred. Instead of being removed and destroyed, it was distributed by the one facility that is licensed as the only distribution point for the genetic material. Your lab was the destination of the material."
The doctor stared in amazement as the FBI agent finished his story. He returned his gaze to the log book that contained all DNA records.
"Here it is," the doctor said excitedly pointing to an entry. "The DNA number matches up. It says here, 'Number 375ABD. Animal destroyed.'"
The agent looked into the log, again smiling a thin smile, then looked back at the doctor. The agent raised his eyebrows. "Your assistant is in charge of destroying the animals?"
The doctor snorted. "He's not really my assistant. He's more of a handy man of sorts. The company couldn't afford an assistant with credentials, if you get my drift."
"Then perhaps we need to talk to your assistant," the agent said as he closed the book.
The Interview
"AIN'T I SUPPOSED to have a lawyer present or something?" Stan asked Special Agent Cummings.
"By the book, yes," Agent Cummings said, positioning himself behind Stan. "However, let me explain the situation to you. You see, Stan, this matter is so important that I will ensure you do not get prosecuted as long as you cooperate."
"Prosecute me for what? And how do I know you're telling the truth?" Stan asked, beads of sweat breaking out on his large forehead.
"You don't," Agent Cummings snapped. "You're going to have to trust me on this."
"Humph. Trust you? I want reassurance that..." Stan started to say, but stopped as he was lifted out of his chair by the agent and held against the wall. His feet dangled several inches off the ground. Special Agent Cummings was not even breathing hard.
"Trust me on this, Stan," Agent Cummings breathed into his face. "I don't have the time to mess with little petty reassurances. Tell me who you sold this cat to, DNA 375ABD, or else you will spend a very long time in a 'special' jail where they like to use the inmates as test subjects."
Stan hesitated as if his fear had stolen his tongue. Finally he spoke in a quavering voice.
"I don't know any cat by that number. Let me see the log and I can probably figure it out by the date."
Special Agent Cummings lowered him to the ground. Before removing his hands from Stan's clothing, the agent smoothed the rumpled fabric. He directed Stan to the seat he had previously occupied.
Trembling, Stan sat and flipped through the logbook. Once he found the number, he pointed to it. Agent Cummings studied the date across the column.
"That was only four days ago," Stan said, a puzzled look crossing his face. Then with apparent dawning relief, he said, "I remember! I sold the cat to a friend of a friend."
"Does your friend of a friend have a name?" Agent Cummings inched closer to Stan.
The Gift
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HONEY!" Milt placed a large wrapped box on the table.
"Oh thanks," she said, nonchalantly, staring at the package. She looked at him suspiciously. "Wait a minute, my birthday is not for another two months. What's up with this?"
"Let's call it an early present, okay? Now, come on and open it."
"All right," she said sighing, tearing the paper away from the box. "What's in here?"
"You'll find out soon enough." Milt imagined the feel of the lovely bedroom mattress. "Come on now, what's taking you so long?"
Finally, pulling the last piece of tape off, she opened the box. Her expression was emotionless as she looked inside the box.
"What's wrong, honey?" Milt asked, his breath catching in his throat. "I thought you said you wanted a cat?"
"Oh...I did. It's beautiful," she said, picking it up carefully. She cradled the cat like a baby in her arms. "It's...beautiful," she said again, as tears glimmered in her eyes. She stared at Milt, and suddenly suspicion crept back over her face. "It's not one of those new breed cats is it?"
"Nope, it's the real McCoy," Milt said, watching as the cat turned toward him and...smiled?
Home Sweet Home
RENE WAS EXTREMELY happy with the new addition of the cat to the family. She debated for days over what to name it.
"Don't you have any ideas, Milt?"
"Yes, plenty," he muttered, "but none you'd like."
"Come on now," she said, playfully swatting him, "be serious. I know you aren't fond of cats, but this fella is now part of the family. Aren't you?" She stroked the cat's back. It was playing with a string with a bell on the end. The cat ignored her and fiercely slapped at the bell with its paw.
"What was the name of the cat your grandmother had? Rene asked
"I don't remember," Milt lied.
The cat now found how to make the bell on his toy jingle.
"At least think about it," she pleaded.
Jingle...Jingle.
"It was a long time ago." The bell ringing was becoming unnerving as he relived those memories.
Jingle...Jingle. Jingle...Jingle.
"Are you really trying to remember?"
Jingle...Jingle.
"For God sakes, Rene, I'm thinking." Milt felt his anger growing. She never knew when to leave something alone. His attention was drawn to the incessant jingle of the bell.
Milt grumbled, "Why don't you ask the cat what its name should be?"
"Don't be silly, and stop calling him an 'it.' He's a 'he.'"
Jingle...Jingle...Jingle...Jingle.
"Well, maybe he wants to be called Jingles. He seems to have a knack for it," Rene said.
Milt's stomach soured. The thought of the cat having the same name as his grandmother's cat was revolting.
"Renee, I don't think..."
"Jingles it will be," she said picking up the cat.
Milt knew it was useless to argue. Rene would insist that it was providence or something that the cat was ringing the damn bell. It was all part of the big scheme of things in life. And one cannot go against providence.
He stared at the cat. It obviously loved it when Rene held it. It perched its head on her shoulder and peered at Milt.
It winked?
First Night
MILT WAS DRAGGED from sleep by the sound of the alarm clock. He felt miserable, his sleep having been continually disturbed by the cat. It wouldn't stay in one spot on the bed. It would come and go all hours of the night; at one point he heard it in the bathroom messing around.
He got out of bed and headed for the bathroom. After using the toilet, he groggily grabbed for his shaving stuff to begin his morning ritual. He applied the shave cream to his face and began the task of getting rid of the night's stubble.
"Ouch! What the hell?" he exclaimed as he dropped the razor and looked into the mirror.
There was a gash in his neck starting from his ear and running a good four inches along his neck. Blood was beginning to flow and he dabbed at it with a hand towel from the rack next to the sink. He picked up the razor and saw that the blade was unusually jagged; he thought it odd, having never seen a blade so gouged before.
"I could have slit my damn throat if I hadn't stopped," he said looking into the mirror at the wound. At that moment, Milt heard a tsk-tsk-tsk sound from the bed. He turned to look and saw Rene peacefully sleeping and the cat looking at him from beside her. He felt a cold chill, but immediately dismissed the thought that the cat had made the sound. But was the damn thing grinning at him?
Dismissing the look, he decided to forgo the shave this morning. He removed his pajamas and turned the shower on. As it warmed, he stepped in and slid the plastic curtain closed. The warm water stung the cut on his neck, causing him to wince from the pain. He heard the sound of the hair dryer click on. Rene must be up and doing her hair. He rinsed under the soothing warmth, reveling in its feeling. The sound of the hair dryer got louder.
When did Rene get a shower? She'd been sound asleep just a few moments ago? Suddenly the hair dryer was thrown into the shower, landing on the puddle-filled floor near the drain. Instinctively, without thinking, Milt lunged out of the shower pulling the plastic curtain, rings and the rod with him. He heard the arc and spark of electricity, the sound of the circuit breaker in the outlet popping and then the smoldering of wiring. Landing on the bathroom floor, wet and bruised, he found himself looking in the glimmering cat eyes just a few inches from of his face.
"I've got nine lives. How about you, Milty?" the cat said in a low whisper, smiling.
It turned and walked away.
The Morning After
RENE AWOKE FROM the noise in the bathroom and sat up in bed.
"Milt, what's going on?" she asked rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "I thought I heard something fall. Why are the lights off?"
He wanted to scream for Rene to run for her life. They had a crazy cat and it was trying to kill him, maybe both of them.
"I'm on the floor," Milt said to Rene in a low voice. "How about giving me a hand?"
Rene got out of bed, walked over to him.
"What the hell happened to you, Milt?" she asked, helping him to the bedroom.
"The hair dryer somehow found its way into the shower," he answered looking around the room for the cat. He didn't see it anywhere.
"What?" She was looking at him skeptically. "That's ridiculous. Are you sure it wasn't hanging on the towel holder next to the shower and it didn't just fall in?" She noticed the large cut on his neck. "How did you get the gash under your ear?"
"The razor blade...something wrong with it. Defective or something..." Milt muttered.
The cat suddenly jumped up on the bed. It had one of Milt's ties, playing with it. It looked up and stared at Milt. Milt stared back wondering if it really spoke to him or had he imagined it? Perhaps he had been knocked unconscious when he jumped from the shower, and dreamed the rest?
"You better take it easy there, honey," Rene said, concern in her eyes. "Too many bad omens for one day. I'll get you some coffee. You sit here and rest."
Rene headed for the kitchen. Milt grabbed a towel and began to dry himself. As he turned, he saw the cat had tied his necktie into a hangman's noose and was swinging it from its teeth, back and forth. It dropped the tie on the floor.
"Want to try it on, Milty? I'll make sure it fits nice and snug," the cat said. "Oh, and don't worry, I'll take care of Rene for you. She's the 'cat's meow,' no pun intended."
"What are you?" Milt asked, his voice a mere whisper, as he stared at the cat.
The cat stared back at him, then looked toward the door, as if checking to be sure they weren't overheard.
"Well...what do I look like there, Milty?" The cat had sarcastic grin on its face. "I guess I look like your average mouse chasing, garden variety cat. But no, I'm not just any cat. I am a brilliant cat. I have goals. One is that I will be the leader of all cats because my intellect is superior."
"Why are you trying to kill me?" Milt asked, still unable to believe he was carrying on a conversation with a cat.
"Nothing personal you understand, Milty," the cat said, "but, unfortunately, you're in the way. There's not room for two of us here. But...I will be a gentleman about it. I come from a very distinguished English background; highly educated you might say. In fact, in my former life, I was a doctor. I don't quite understand the process by which I have been transformed or placed into this feline body, but considering the options of death or this, I'll take this...for the meanwhile anyway."
"This can't be real," Milt said, shaking his head. "You're a damn cat!"
"You're not listening, Milty. I am, or was, a gentlemen of taste in my era. I remember the dark streets of London, the fog in the evening...the control and power of domination I exerted over most people. My point is, I do what I say no matter what it takes, or how long it takes. I have toyed with the most intelligent men from my time. Many thought they could best me...but there was only one that I had difficulty with. But that's another story for some other time. As for you, Milty, I want you gone. You can either leave or I will make you leave permanently."
"You little piece of crap." Milt's fear disappeared as anger took over. He lunged for the cat. The cat easily jumped away, bounded off the bed and stood in the doorway. Milt turned on the bed looking for the cat.
"I will be back for you, you fool," the cat spat at Milt from the doorway. "Rest assured, your death will be a painful one."
With those parting words, the cat took off down the hallway. Rene was walking toward the bedroom as the cat passed between her legs. It stopped in front of her and said, "I will return, my dear," and then dashed through the sliding glass door that was open. Milt came running out of the bedroom, almost toppling over Rene.
"What's going on here?" Rene asked, frozen in place. "The cat...it spoke to me."
"Where did it go? We have to kill it!" Milt screamed. "It's an abomination! Some kind of crazed doctor from London who was put into a cat's body or something!"
"Kill it? Doctor from London? What's going on, Milt?" Rene asked incredulous. "What's going on? Tell me everything and tell me right now!"
Milt told Rene all that had transpired, beginning with the purchase of the cat to what happened in the bathroom earlier that morning. She was disappointed in what he had done, but admitted that maybe she, too, was at fault for what was happening.
"I shouldn't have been so stubborn about it," she said, tears in her eyes.
"And I shouldn't have gone out and tried to be cheap." Milt hugged his wife. "I should have gotten the real thing. Now look at the mess I've gotten us into."
"It's all right, Milt. What's done is done," she said, hugging him back. "What do we do now? Do we report this...thing to the authorities?"
"We have to do something. It said it would be back."
The Visit
THE DOORBELL INTERRUPTED their conversation. When Milt opened the door, he immediately knew he was in trouble. Standing there was a tall man dressed in a poorly tailored black suit, the lump on the right side of his jacket clearly indicating a weapon...a combination which could only mean Fed.
"Mr. Capetti? Mr. Milt Capetti?" the man asked, flashing a badge.
"Yes, that's me. Can I help you?" His stomach lurched as his fear of his visitor's employment was confirmed.
"My name is Special Agent Cummings. I'm here to see you about a cat."
Milt, shocked by the comment, hesitated, not sure if he should deny or confirm what the agent said. At this point, he didn't know in whom he could trust.
"Please, come in Agent Cummings." Milt escorted the agent to the kitchen where he and Rene had been discussing the cat earlier.
"Agent Cummings, this is my wife Rene," Milt said, taking his wife's hand.
"Pleased to meet you ma'am." The agent took a seat at the table. "Obviously, I know you are in possession of a cat that you illegally purchased..."
"Was in possession, is more like it," Milt interjected, deciding to trust the man. "It high-tailed it out of here about ten minutes ago."
"That may complicate matters somewhat," the agent said with a furrowed brow. "Did it say it would be back?"
"Yes, it did," Milt answered, surprised at the agent's statement about the cat saying it would return.
"You sound like you know what it is...or was?" Rene asked the agent.
"More like 'who it was,' ma'am, would be more accurate."
"What's going on, Agent Cummings?" Milt asked. "A psycho talking cat is trying to kill me, federal agents in my home? What's the deal?"
Agent Cummings took a deep breath. "Sir, the less you know about what's going on the better. Basically, this is a classified operation, a possible matter of national security. Right now, if we can capture the cat, we will forget about all that has happened. Do you understand?"
Milt stared at him in confusion, thinking maybe it would be better if he didn't know. Finally he answered. "Yes, we understand. What do you want us to do?"
"You're sure it made threats to come back?"
"It most certainly did. It was quite convincing that it wanted me dead."
"Then it will be back, probably tonight," said Agent Cummings emotionlessly. "I will have to bring some help over to apprehend it. Of course I will need you both here as bait. Are you up to it?"
"Whatever it takes to end this nightmare," Rene said.
"Amen," Milt agreed.
The Trap
LATER THAT EVENING, Agent Cummings returned.
"We're all set. I have deployed our special unit outside. I need you to open the sliding glass door just a few inches."
"Won't that make it easier for the cat to get in?"
"Please, sir, just do as I ask," the agent said firmly.
Milt did as he was told.
"Okay, its late, why don't you two go to bed," Agent Cummings said.
Seeing their looks of distress, he added, "don't worry, I'll be inside if anything goes wrong."
Milt and Renee glanced at each other, then headed off to their bedroom.
OUTSIDE, THE TWO special agents shuffled quietly among the shrubbery.
"Are you sure he'll return so soon?" the gravelly voice of one of the agents asked.
"Yes. I am quite sure," the other responded with an undeniable air confidence.
"What's the plan?" the gravelly voice asked.
"It is a relatively simple plan. I have scouted the area thoroughly, examined all minute traces of evidence. Our feline friend has already been back and scouted the territory. I would guess it will try to enter through the glass door."
"Is that why you told Cummings to ensure it is left open?"
"Precisely not," the confident voice answered.
"I don't understand?" the gravelly voice said, obviously confused.
"Our friend will see that the door is left open, and for that exact reason, will not use it. It will be suspecting a trap in anticipation of its return."
"Then what?"
"Once it sees that a trap has been laid, the only obvious means of entry is through the crawl space access. It is there I instructed Cummings to rig the trap and then..."
"What's wrong?"
"Shhh! Our feline friend is here," the confident one whispered.

The Capture
MILT AND RENE were awakened from their light doze by the screeching of a cat mixed with yells of a man. They came running out of their room and were met by Agent Cummings.
"It's over, we have it," he said, simply. "The agents have it netted and are transporting it to the truck."
"How did they capture it so easily?" Rene asked.
"Well, according to the special team," the agent stated, "it was merely a matter of tricking it into thinking that the obvious was a trap, thereby causing it to look for another point of entry, which was indeed the true trap."
"It sounds like some kind of mind game," Milt said, relief flooding his body.
"In a way it was," the agent said, smiling cryptically. "You see, they have met before, a long time ago, but that is something you need not know. As I promised, all is as it was, and I will take my leave. And, Mr. Capetti, next time buy your cat from a reputable dealer, not in an alley."
Special Agents
OUTSIDE, AGENT CUMMINGS checked to ensure the cat was stowed away properly in the transportation van. Seeing the cat in the cage brought him satisfaction that the great ordeal was over. The cage bore a conspicuous, bright yellow tag that read: Dr. Moriarity.
Agent Cummings petted the heads of the two dogs that were lying in the back of the van.
"Good work, fellas," he said, then closed the van's doors.
The engine roared to life and the van was on its way.
The bloodhound seemed deep in retrospection as the English schnauzer stared at him.
"Really, Holmes, so dramatic?" the schnauzer said.
"No. No. Elementary, my dear Watson. Elementary."

The Purr-fect End

I hoped you enjoyed the story, Cat With A Past, from my short story collection, Aliens and Satanic Creatures Wanted: Humans Need Not Apply. Heck-if you liked it go out and buy a few copies:) (only kidding...well maybe:) Anyway if you would like to know you can get a copy from Amazon.com or order from your favorite bookstore.

And let us not forget...

If you like reading vampire stories, you might want to stop by my site and check out my latest work, Operation Immortal Servitude. I describe the book as Anne Rice and Tom Clancy rolled into one...

What would a collaboration of Anne Rice and Tom Clancy look like? Welcome to my vampire world!

Alien Deception
Nominated by ForeWord Magazine as Best Science Fiction from an independent publisher.
Nothing is as it appears. Nothing.
Your whole life you think you understand who and what you are, and then one day you learn that it is all a lie.
So what do you do? You have lunch with the leading candidate for President of the United States. You...and your alien friends.

Space opera with a Stanley Kubrick twist!
Learn more at www.tonyruggiero.com or click on the cover to go to the myspace webpage.

Next Story Preview

2007-04-14T08:07:00.000-04:00

The Story for Next Week Is...

Cat with a Past.

Here's a little teaser:
Rene wants a cat. Milt hates cats--especially because unaltered cats are very expensive. Today's cats are altered by the splicing of human DNA into theirs making them "more human." Rene insists that she must have a normal and unaltered cat. Giving in, Milt gets Rene the cat but from a back alley and from a man who sells at a significant cost savings those cats that have failed the DNA splicing, or at least that is what the man believes. The cat happens to have received the DNA from one of the most notorious criminals the world has ever known and is ready to begin again.
Cat and dog lovers will get a kick out of this one:)

Lucky Lucifer's Car Emporium

2007-04-14T08:05:00.000-04:00

LUCKY LUCIFER SMILED sardonically as the signature was placed on the contract.
Another one bites the proverbial dust.
It would only be a matter of time before another soul was added to his collection. His pool was getting quite large these days, with all the lost hope and despair going around. He loved it when the conditions came together just right for "business." His advertising gimmick for the nineties had paid off in dividends that even he couldn't have imagined. Creative Marketing was how he liked to think of it.
Tired of your life? Need a change? Drive on over to Lucky Lucifer's Car Emporium and step into a new car that will put the fire back into your life. Not only will you leave with the car of your dreams, you can even trade your tired old soul in on a new one. No down payment required. No credit check; bankruptcy not a problem. Everything is negotiable as long as you can sign on the dotted line.
Lucky Lucifer had just wrapped up a sweet deal with a business executive from the city. He was the typical, worn thin and burnt-out type who needed a little lift to keep him on the razor's edge. Lucky cajoled him into a hot red Ferrari and sweetened the deal by throwing in the degenerate soul he had taken on a trade in. The guy left burning rubber and couldn't wait to get back to work so he could put the screws to some poor unsuspecting bastard. Yes...Lucky felt quite fulfilled.

GABE DROVE DOWN the dark and dreary highway, not going anywhere in particular. He was frustrated and fed up with everyone and everything around him lately. He decided to go out for a long drive tonight to get out of the house. He was tired of the work thing, always in a rush going here or there. It seemed like everyone tried to beat out somebody for something. His job seemed full of disgruntled employees moaning and groaning because one person took an extra fifteen minutes for lunch one day, or because one employee had a nicer computer than someone else, or because someone needed to complain about something in order for the union to have something to do.
Gabe remembered a time when people were grateful just to have a job. It seemed funny that when people had less, they appreciated it a lot more. He shook his head, thinking that everyone today had so much, yet all they wanted was more.
His car continued to sputter on, running on only three of its four cylinders, making its way down the dark road. The radio squawked out yet another advertisement. Gabe didn't usually pay much attention to them, but this one had such a unique voice to it. He could almost swear he'd heard it before, a long time ago.
"Tired...feeling left behind?" the voice blared. "Just don't have that 'get-up-and-go' anymore? Well, come on down to Lucky Lucifer's Car Emporium. Lucky Lucifer has a car with 'soul.' It'll snap you right out of your mundane little life. He guarantees that you will leave his lot with revitalized enthusiasm and even a whole new outlook. Financing not a problem...Lucky is sure you have something for collateral. Come barter with us and get the best deal of your life. Everyone rides to-day at Lucky's and that's a promise burnt in stone! Located at the corner of Lost Souls Road. Remember our motto: After you've been to Lucky's Car Emporium, you can go straight to H-E-double L, and even they can't beat Lucky's prices!"
The distraction of the ad oddly pleased Gabe. He chuckled. "Lucky Lucifer sure sounds like the hokiest car salesman I've ever heard. Although it might be kind of amusing to see his 'show.' Might even take my mind off the other stuff for a while and it wouldn't hurt to shop around a little either. Old Betsy here is on her last leg."
Gabe happened to be near Lucky's anyway, so he turned in that general direction, still chuckling as he remembered the radio ad.
He read the street signs as he peered through the windshield, trying to get his bearing. Lost Souls Road. Damnation Alley. Purgatory Road. He smiled. "Wonder how he got them to do that? I mean how the heck did he get the city to name these streets? Well, however he did, Lucky Lucifer's Car Emporium seems to fit right into the scheme of things."
As he continued to drive, Gabe noticed that there really wasn't anything out in this area. It was pretty desolate and seemingly uninhabited, all in all. But soon, lights glowed out on the horizon. He drove toward them until, finally, there he saw it: Lucky Lucifer's Car Emporium. Bright lights, spotlights, balloons, the whole works.
The first sign screamed: FIRE AND BRIMSTONE SALE...GET 'EM WHILE THEY'RE HOT!" There were scads of people walking about everywhere. Apparently, Lucky's advertising scheme was working well, because he sure wasn't hurting for business.
Gabe parked his old car and got out as it continued to sputter and wheeze as if having the final seizure of a long illness. He stood and stared at the large, red neon sign that stood on top of the main building flashing LUCKY LUCIFER'S CAR EMPORIUM. It also included, of course, the standard emblem of Satan himself in red with the typical horns and pitchfork. But the face was superimposed with that of, Gabe assumed, Lucky Lucifer's. The caption below read: At the price I sell cars for, I'm going to end up you-know-where.
Gabe shook his head and made his way toward the new car section. This is going to be interesting.
Everywhere he looked, people were milling about, peering at the cars. Salesmen seemed to materialize, always right on the spot, helping those who had questions and doubts about affording a new vehicle. Gabe overheard one conversation between a young couple and a salesman.
"We really love the car, but the price is just too high, and you know, with a baby on the way and all..." the young husband said innocently.
The salesman replied smoothly, "Don't you kids worry about what that little piece of paper says on the window. Everything is negotiable here at Lucky Lucifer's." The salesman eyed the swollen stomach of the woman. "Everything. You kids just go on up to the office and ask to see Lucky. He'll be able to reach some kind of deal just for y-o-u."
The young couple walked enthusiastically up to the office, smiling at each other.
Gabe just shook his head and wondered how gullible could people be. He strode along inspecting the large selection of vehicles, noticing there were a lot of red ones in models to accommodate everyone. There were conservative vehicles for families, mid-range stuff for those "up and coming" executives and, of course, the racy-type power cars for those trying to prove something.
"Now, there's something I like," Gabe said as he honed in on a car. It was a mid-size vehicle, yet it offered some sports appeal for his ego. "Very nice." He nodded and ran his fingers over the shiny paint job. Then he circled the vehicle like a vulture quarrying its prey, as if he were performing some type of sacred male ritual.
The salesman must have caught a whiff of those male car buying hormones in the breeze. "That vehicle is made for y-o-u. Yes, sir...been waiting right here just for you."
Gabe turned toward the source of the voice. The man was tall, with a dark complexion, jet-black hair, and of course he was wearing a leisure suit. His chin was sharp, and his nose almost hawklike. Gabe glanced at the nametag, but he didn't need to. He already knew that this was none other than Lucky Lucifer himself, in the flesh.
The man stepped forward and extended his hand. "Pleased to meet you there, Gabe. I'm Lucky Lucifer. My friends call me 'Luce' for short."
Gabe returned the gesture and immediately noticed how warm Luce's hand was.
"Please to meet you, too, Luce. How do you know my name?" Gabe asked warily.
"It's my business to know these things, Gabe, and I am very good at my business." Lucky stared him directly in the eye. Gabe almost thought he saw a red light there for a minute. Must have been the reflection from the red neon.
"Well...uh...I was just...uh...in your neighborhood," Gabe stuttered. "I thought I would stop by to take a look around. Nice place you have here."
"Thank you. I'm so glad you could drop in and visit my humble establishment." Lucky grinned so wide that Gabe almost thought he could hear skin ripping. Lucky continued on. "I was quite serious about that little gem you were looking at. She's a beauty and was made just for you. You belong in it."
Gabe glanced longingly at the vehicle. What a sweet piece of machinery. It appeared even more enticing than it had earlier, almost like it was beckoning to him. He suddenly had the overwhelming desire to sit in it. Lucky Lucifer obviously anticipated this craving and moved to stand next to the car. He held the door open, inviting Gabe in.
Without hesitation, Gabe slid into the vehicle's seat. He sighed with pleasure. The black leather warmed immediately to his body and the seat conformed to his every move. He'd never felt such comfort before. He gripped the steering wheel and placed his other hand on the shifter, liking the feel. He closed his eyes and breathed in the new car aroma. The car seemed to have a personality all of its own.
"She likes you. I can tell." Lucky smiled charmingly.
Waking out of his dreamy daze, Gabe blinked and reluctantly got out of the car.
"She sure is a nice car." He stroked his chin as he walked around looking for the price sticker. Always wanted one of these babies.
Before he could reach the sticker, Lucky leapt in front of him like a mad magician.
"Now, hold on a minute there, Gabe!" Lucky held up a hand. "Let's think on this for a spell. How much does that number on the window really matter, anyway? I've seen so many read that number and get depressed, seen the want disappear from their eyes." Lucky put his hand on his sharp chin. "I tell you what, Gabe. I can tell that you are a man of your word. If you say 'yes,' everyone knows you mean business. You make me an offer without even looking at the sticker. Come on, now!"
Gabe just stood there watching Lucky in action, somewhat amused. Boy this guy is good. Good and fast, that is.
He decided to play the dufus car buyer for a little while longer. He wanted to see just how far Lucky was going to play his game.
"You want me to make an offer?" Gabe smiled innocently, placing a finger on his chest. "Hmmm," he said without waiting for Lucky's response. "Okay, let's say fifteen thousand dollars." He fully realized the offer was far below the dealer's price.
Lucky's eyes got big and he roared with laughter. "I said make me an offer...not tell me a joke, my young friend. This is a vehicle of distinction and style and is worth three times as much of that minuscule sum you just mentioned."
"What's the point, then? I can't afford it anyway, can I now?" Gabe shrugged and then said innocently, "Why dicker over money that I don't even have?" He turned, chuckling to himself, and began to walk away.
"Well, my new-found friend," Lucky began, clasping Gabe on the shoulder. "I guess I am a bit of a hothead when it comes to selling my cars. They are like my children. You know what I mean? I can't just let them go for a mere fraction of their worth."
Gabe thought he saw that red gleam in Lucky's eyes again as he continued. "I tell you what, Gabe, let's go on up to the office and have a cup of hot coffee. We can discuss terms. I'm a reasonable man. I'm sure that we can work something out."
Gabe turned around and looked at Lucky skeptically. "Sure, I'll entertain what you have to say. Just don't treat me like one of your sappy customers. I wasn't born yesterday, you know? I know that you're out to make a big buck just like the rest of us," he said, feeling like he was in control. "Let's be up front with each other, Lucky old boy. I may want the car but it's not like I am going to sell you my soul for it."
Lucky's disposition suddenly changed. His face became menacing.
Gabe continued on as he chuckled. "Hey, Lucky you get it? It's a joke. You know, Lucifer, Prince of Darkness. You know the soul thing? Get it?"
Lucky's face, however, had returned to its previous sardonic smile. "Ah, yes, a joke. I get it. Selling of the soul. Very funny. You're good with words, Gabe. Perhaps you missed your calling in life. Maybe you should have been the car salesman instead of me. How about that cup of coffee?"
The two men walked toward the office. Gabe was quite pleased with himself as he imagined sitting in the driver's seat of the new car. They walked into the building and passed through the showroom. Gabe noticed there were a lot of people in the little cubicle offices conducting business. He caught bits and pieces of their conversations as he walked by.
"Just sign right there on the line and you'll be out of here with that new car before the ink dries."
"Our financing arrangements are the easiest and simplest in this world. Don't worry about the small print, it's just standard stuff."
"Yes, we do all of our business in red ink."
"Exactly how long is eternity?" What a strange question. "Would you like another cup of coffee?"
"Death clause? Yes, that is common practice. Other places just keep that stuff buried."
"Just sign right here... Just sign right here... Just sign right here..."
Lucky ushered Gabe into his private office. Gabe had the feeling that only special customers made it this far. Lucky placed a cup of coffee in front of him and got another for himself. The cups were all the same design—black with red flames licking the sides. Lucky then reached into his lower desk drawer and retrieved a bottle of EL Diablo Whiskey.
"Would you like me to warm up that coffee for you there, Gabe?" Lucky said, waving the bottle in front of him.
"No thanks, unleaded is just fine." Gabe watched in amusement as Lucky filled half his cup with the liquor and quickly downed it one large gulp. The devil's brew they say.
After relinquishing a rather loud, "Ahhh," Lucky put down the cup and looked squarely at him.
"You know, Gabe," Lucky's swivel chair creaked like old bones as he leaned back, "we didn't really talk about options. I can sweeten this deal up even more for you. What do you say to a new outlook? Not just from the car. How about a fresh new soul? It's becoming the biggest rage you know."
"Cute, Lucky. Very amusing," Gabe said wryly. "How about we stick with the straight car thing and just cut to the chase."
"As you wish ," Lucky said seriously. "Let's get down under shall we?" His face almost seemed to glow as he continued. "I have a car that you desire. Yes?"
Gabe nodded in agreement.
"You can't really afford that car, though can you, Gabe?"
Gabe shook his head, sensing that the temperature in the office was getting a little warm. He loosened his collar as he felt the perspiration starting to ebb its way from his armpits.
"Okay, Gabe, I'm not exactly what you would call your down to earth car salesman. I can help you get into her, but you have to work with me on this. Are you willing?"
Gabe nodded, mesmerized by the gleam in the man's eyes. The longer he listened to Lucky, the more comfortable he felt.
"So, here's my best and final offer." Lucky put his fingers in church steeple fashion under his chin. "I will let you have the car for the fifteen thousand dollars that you offered me earlier. But, I will need a little additional collateral to make sure you don't change your mind or try to pull one over on old Lucky."
"Exactly what kind of additional collateral did you have in mind? I don't have a lot to offer," Gabe said skeptically as he thought, here it comes.
Lucky smiled. "You have just as much as anyone else who's sat in that chair. All I want from you is a promise that I get your mortal soul when you die. It's just that easy. You won't need it anymore, so what the hell? That's all I want."
Gabe tried his best to keep from laughing. "Okay, Lucky, aren't you taking this Lucifer thing just a little too far? Come on now...my soul? Let me guess, you just happen to have some type of contract that I have to sign in blood..."
"Not blood. Red ink will do." Lucky set a long document in front of Gabe. In bold letters across the top: STANDARD SOUL CONTRACT (FORM 666).
This time Gabe did laugh out loud. "Boy, I tell you what, you can sure play this Satan deal up right." He then continued in a serious tone. "Look, you have the car of my dreams and I'm willing to pay you a fair price. If you agree to that, I'll sign any damn thing you want. I don't believe in this 'devil gets your soul' mumbo-jumbo. So what's it going to be, Lucky?"
Lucky smiled smugly, sliding the paperwork in front of him again and offering him a pen.
"You sure drive a hard bargain. But, I guess you showed me, huh? You got exactly what you wanted," Lucky said, with the gleam still in his eye.
Gabe distractedly listened to Lucky as he looked over the paperwork. He made sure the bottom line price was the fifteen thousand he'd agreed to pay. He didn't really pay much attention to the rest of the fine print that dealt with the soul thing.
As soon as Gabe signed the contract, Lucky plucked it from his hands and handed him the keys, which were quite warm to the touch.
"Hey, Luce what's with the high body temp, there buddy? You really should have that looked at. Never know, you might just fall the hell over one day."
"It was nice doing business with you, Gabe. Enjoy the ride. I'll see you soon to collect the balance of what you owe," Lucky said waving a finger, his eyes shining.
"Jeez. Give it a rest already. You sold the car, and I'm on the hook for the Fifteen-K. What more could you ask for?" Gabe jingled the keys, recalling how the leather had felt. "I know—just my soul. I'm outta here, my friend."
LUCKY WATCHED AND snickered as Gabe sauntered toward his new car. "Think you know it all, don't you? Got a real sweet deal there buddy, didn't you? Taught old Lucky a thing or two. Well I'll be collecting in the end, Gabe, don't you forget that. Our contract is an old one."
GABE FELT LIKE he was in heaven driving his new vehicle home. She sure rode smooth, he thought as he snuggled down into the leather seat.
The radio blared, "Come on down to Lucky Lucifer's Car Emporium... We'll turn and burn to get you the best deal this side of eternity."
Gabe chuckled as he glanced at the bold print on his copy of his contract.
Payable in full upon death. No redemption allowed.
"Gotta love this stuff. One thing about old Lucky, he never learns." He balled up the contract in his hand and tossed it out the window into the evening air, laughing.
Moments later, the red and blue lights from a police car flickered into life behind Gabe's new car. Glancing at his speedometer, he realized he was traveling about ten miles over the speed limit. He pulled over to the shoulder and waited for the police officer.
"Not again," he muttered under his breath.
"Going a little fast there, sir, weren't we? And littering?" The officer said to Gabe, as he peered into the window.
"Uh, sorry officer. You know how it is. It's a new car and all. I must have gotten caught up in the moment." Gabe smiled.
"Can I please see your license and registration," the officer asked, obviously not impressed.
Gabe retrieved the documents from his wallet and handed them to the officer, who then walked back to the police cruiser.
After several minutes, the officer returned.
"Here you go, Mr. Gabriel. I'm going to let you off with a warning because you have no previous violations. Which is strange, because I could have sworn I've seen you somewhere before. But please, try to be more careful. And watch that littering."
"I shall, and thank you, officer."
"Mr. Gabriel, I do have a question about your driver's license, though." The officer's tone sounded somewhat perplexed. "I noticed that you only have the initials A.A. in front of your last name. That's unusual. DMV usually requires a full name and birth certificate."
"Well, my young friend, it just makes things somewhat easier," Gabe said with a saintly grin. "The initials aren't as conspicuous or intimidating as saying 'Arch Angel,' which is a little too obvious even in this day and age. Wouldn't you agree?"
"How's that?" the officer asked.
His eyes widened and Gabe knew the man saw the glowing white light around him.
"Er...yeah. I mean, I guess so," the officer said.
Gabe neatly folded his wings into the contour of the Corinthian leather seat. "Have a nice evening officer and God Bless."

*This story is from Aliens and Satanic Creatures Wanted: Humans Need Not Apply. Copyright Tony Ruggiero. For more information, please visit http://www.tonyruggiero.com/.

*The audio version of this book is also available for FREE via podcast at podiobooks.com and Itunes.

Also by Tony Ruggiero:
Operation Immortal Servitude--Vampires in the Military! Described as Anne Rice and Tom Clancy having a baby!

Alien Deception-Aliens in the White House! Space Opera with a Stanley Kubrick twist!

Coming July 2007:
Alien Revelation

Catching Up.

2007-04-14T07:59:00.000-04:00

Catching Up!

I've been spending too much time at my myspace site--so I am going to mirror the blog entries from myspace to here as well. So the next few messages are going to play catch up.

What's Too Come This Week!

From scary to funny to just bizzare...Welcome to ALIENS AND SATANIC CREATURES WANTED: HUMANS NEED NOT APPLY
Do you think its easy being an alien, a satanic creature or anything else not considered part of the Homo sapiens only club? They have tough days just like humans do and their frustration is growing. Don't believe it? Well, what about Lucifer, the prince of darkness, who runs a car dealership--what about his feelings when he is faced with that impossible sale and he can't get that signature on form 666, the standard soul contract? Or maybe you wondered about how an extremely vain alien copes with having a bad hair day as he tries to alter the future of Earth? Will his cosmetic problems be our problems in other ways? Perhaps you heard about the opposite vampire who loves to give blood, hates the darkness and has a fetish for garlic - how does he get through a bad relationship? How about a DNA altered cat that has been given the personality of one of the world's most fearsome criminals? Will its human owners understand or will it be a less then purr-fect arrangement? What's the common thread do all this discontent, you ask? What is it about most stories that stay the same? It's the human! These aliens and demonic creatures are sick and tired of being the second fiddle in the story. They want what everybody wants: to be the center of attention of the stories instead of the pesky humans for a change...and now they finally get their wish. In Aliens and Satanic Creatures Wanted: Humans Need Not Apply, they finally get top billing and they exploit it as far as they can.
What's Coming Up First--Lucky Lucifer's Car Emporium
Gabe's tired and frustrated with life's drudgery and now he needs to replace his car. He dreads the thought of dealing with those car salesmen from -- well you can imagine where. He hears an ad on the radio for a new place called 'Lucky Lucifer's Car Emporium' and decides the advertisement is so amusing he may as well check it out. Once there, he finds the car of his dreams and meets the colorful owner, Lucky Lucifer himself. They sit down to strike a deal that is a bit different from the usual sales contract you might find offered, but then again, does anyone or anything really appear to be who or what they really are?
Story begins this week!

On Top of Stromboli Part II

2007-03-01T21:52:00.000-05:00

PART I

There once was a man from Stromboli whose…well you know how the rest of it goes. A little rhyme children, teenagers, and perhaps even some adults have used illegitimately for years and years. Like the rhyme, it’s funny how we find comfort in that we believe all things go in a certain way, a preordained order if you wish. Call it induction or perhaps deduction, but just about everything falls into its own niche. Yet things are not always what you think they are. The island of Stromboli is one of these cases. I know. I was there when it happened...when my world changed.

Stromboli is one of the Aeolian Islands of Italy. The island is about 3 miles (2 km) in diameter and 2,900 feet (900 m) above sea level. It rises 10,000 feet (3,000 m) above the floor of the Tyrrhenian Sea. Stromboli is one of the most active volcanoes on Earth. It has been in nearly continuous eruption for about 2,000 years (some volcanologists suggest 5,000 years). Most of the present cone was well developed 15,000 years ago. Violent eruptions are rare at Stromboli. In 1919, four people were killed and twelve homes destroyed by blocks, some of which weighed 60 tons (50 metric tons). In 1930, during the largest eruption of Stromboli this century, three people were killed by pyroclastic flows. A fourth was scalded to death in the sea near the point the flows entered the ocean. The amount of ash erupted in the explosive eruptions in 1930 was equivalent to that produced during five years of normal, quiet activity. Most recently, in 1986, a biologist was killed by a block while on the crater rim. Information courtesy of website at http://volcano.und.nodak.edu/vwdocs/volc_images/img_stromboli.html

PART II

Sorry for the info dump but you needed to have that information to understand that there is a pattern here. It's been quiet for a while but now it is acting up again. But first, you have to understand that I did not know what was happening until it was too late. It was just too late…and I hope you will agree with me when I finish this story.

Did I say I was drawn to the island? Remember in that movie, E.T. when that guy was building a mountain out of just about everything? It was a sign that he had to go there. Pretty weird connection huh? Well that’s not what happened to me but it’s a good lead in I guess. I wasn't really drawn, but the price was so darn cheap and the guide said he could guarantee I got laid there so I couldn't’t pass it up. So I went. Did I mention the people there?

Have you ever met anyone from Stromboli? I doubt that you have and that is very relevant to the discussion that will follow. I have, because I was there. They are the strangest type of people. What’s so strange? Well let’s start with the way they talk. They never say anything that really means anything. It’s as if they purposely talk in circles. Of course many will say that it is just the Italian way…but that’s not it. I know all about the “relaxed” atmosphere in Italy and the Italian way of life, but this goes way beyond that. I’ll give you an example to make my point. One day when I was out for a stroll I met this young woman. One thing led to another and we stopped at a little cafe for coffee.

“So what do you do?” she asked
“I’m a writer,” I said.
“Ah… fascinating. So tell me, how do you get started on a story? Does it just come to you and that’s it?”
“No, not exactly,” I replied. “I get an idea for a story but it is only a small part, like the beginning or end. I have to develop the idea to turn it into a much longer story.”
“And how does that process work?”
“Well I use what they call prompts.”
“Prompts?”
“Yes. They are words or a sentence that get me started writing.”
“I’m not sure I follow.”
“Okay,” I said, “here’s an example. Let’s say that you tell me about something you heard on the radio or saw while out walking. That becomes the prompt and I take that and use my mind to make it into something greater which gets me going on the story. It’s like a writing exercise.”
“I see,” she said and giggled.
“What? Did I miss something here?”
“Well,” she began, “sorry I am not very prompt with prompts. You will have to prompt me promptly to get a prompt.”
“Ah…that’s interesting,” I said and before I could say anything else she continued.
“Peter Piper picked a prompt of prompted peppers;
A prompt of prompted peppers Peter Piper prompted;
If Peter Piper prompted a prompt of prompted peppers,
Where’s the prompt of prompted peppers Peter Piper prompted?”

“So…what’s the point to all of this?” I asked.
“I thought we were talking about prompts?”
“Well we were until you took it to the extreme,” I said with more than a usual payload of sarcasm but thought was appropriate given the situation.
“Well if that’s the way you feel,” she said as she rose from the table. “Find someone else to get your prompts from.” She then walked away.
“Huh?” I said.

And that was my first indication that something was very wrong with the people on the island of Stromboli. I just didn't know how wrong at the time...

On Top of Stromboli-Part 1

2007-02-28T07:47:00.000-05:00

Hey folks. Time to play around with another short story. I have no idea where it is going, which is a hint that input would be greatly appreciated. I have learned over time that the act of creation is a fun thing and I hope you will join me in this one. In fact, I would love a challenge in that you give me some sort of prompt that you want me to include into the story.

So come on and let’s have some fun!

On Top of Stromboli…

There once was a man from Stromboli whose…well you know how the rest of it goes. A little rhyme children, teenagers, and perhaps even some adults have used illegitimately for years and years. Like the rhyme, it’s funny how we find comfort in that we believe all things go in a certain way, a preordained order if you wish. Call it induction or perhaps deduction, but just about everything falls into its own niche. Yet things are not always what you think they are. The island of Stromboli is one of these cases. I know. I was there when it happened...when my world changed.

Stromboli is one of the Aeolian Islands of Italy. The island is about 3 miles (2 km) in diameter and 2,900 feet (900 m) above sea level. It rises 10,000 feet (3,000 m) above the floor of the Tyrrhenian Sea. Stromboli is one of the most active volcanoes on Earth. It has been in nearly continuous eruption for about 2,000 years (some volcanologists suggest 5,000 years). Most of the present cone was well developed 15,000 years ago. Violent eruptions are rare at Stromboli. In 1919, four people were killed and twelve homes destroyed by blocks, some of which weighed 60 tons (50 metric tons). In 1930, during the largest eruption of Stromboli this century, three people were killed by pyroclastic flows. A fourth was scalded to death in the sea near the point the flows entered the ocean. The amount of ash erupted in the explosive eruptions in 1930 was equivalent to that produced during five years of normal, quiet activity. Most recently, in 1986, a biologist was killed by a block while on the crater rim. Information courtesy of website at http://volcano.und.nodak.edu/vwdocs/volc_images/img_stromboli.html

And now it is acting up again…

Book of the Year

2007-02-23T12:23:00.000-05:00

Alien Deception

has been nominated for best science fiction novel by Foreword Magazine.

I'm quite surprised and pleased to get the nomination for the award.

Happy dancing!

Freddy Lives...

2007-02-13T12:14:00.000-05:00

I have knocked off the dust from an older manuscript and have started the rewrite process. It's tentatively called "Freddy." Here's the premise of the story:

Sitting atop the Fairfax hotel, there is a statue of a gargoyle. It preys on the personal wants and desires of humans for its own perverse gratification. Unaware of its sordid past of human sacrifice and murder, which it utilizes to open the way for those that fall under it's spell to achieve wealth, power, and success, Sam finds himself in the middle of a close-knit circle of deceit that involves the people that have entered into his life, and the mental pull from the creature and its promises. For Sam his life becomes not his own as he tries to survive the strong and tempting pull from the dark side of a medieval creature and from the humans who serve it.

For those of you that have read the short story of mine by the same title, that was where the idea came from.

Later.

Where I am Going...

2007-02-10T08:50:00.000-05:00

Yes it's been a while since I have posted but life has gotten in the way to the point of sapping all my time, but mostly all my energy or desire from writing a n y t h i n g...

Anyway, I have...well I haven't but someone else has been doing me a huge favor by developing me a page over at myspace to increase my visibility. It's coming along superbly so hopefully if you get a chance you can take a look at it. http://www.myspace.com/truggiero

Have fun.

Perspective-Final Installment

2007-01-11T20:34:00.000-05:00

Continued...

Commander Keefe turned in the direction and saw Commander Reese, the leader of the vampire unit. A hybrid: half human and half vampire, he appeared mostly human with the exception of the red pupils of his eyes and the pale skin. But unlike the men he led, he received no detrimental effect from sunlight—the benefit of the mixture of the two species.

“Commander Reese,” the captain said, “please join us.”

The commander strode over to where the CO and XO stood.

“Gentleman,” he said in greeting.

“Tell me, Commander,” Captain Priestly began, “seeing as how we are so close to the destination which even I was not informed of, where the hell are you taking us?”

The Commander hesitated, a look of confusion momentarily passing over the features of his face and then he spoke. “According to intelligence, this planet is at a stage of development that may pose a risk to our civilization due to their violent and destructive nature. Our mission is to infiltrate the native population to…” he paused as if he was carefully choosing his words, “to affect a change in their development.”

“You mean kill them, don’t you?” the Captain said. “It’s a little late to be mincing words, Commander, isn’t it?”

Commander Reese showed no emotion as he answered, “If that is what it takes to ensure survival, then yes, sir. But there are always possibilities.”

“Such a diplomat, Commander…your careful choice of words. And they call this war. Such bullshit—this is as dark ops as they come.”

“The preservation and the security of the United Planets is our main concern,” Commander Reese said plainly.

“That’s a rehearsed answer if I ever heard one,” Commander Keefe chimed in, “even from one of your kind.”

Commander Reese looked sternly at the XO. “You don’t approve of my kind.”

“No. No, I don’t, and with good reason,” Keefe said, wanting to blurt out what happened five years ago. Instead he took another approach. “I can understand the creatures you command for they are an alien race which existed on another world. They are what they are and they can’t help that. But I have issues with what you are; when we start altering the ways things are by using them in a way that perhaps they were not intended to be—or when we start playing the game of altering the species, I don’t feel comfortable about that.” His tone softened, “But at least you have some human inside of you, unlike your…men. They have no human in them. Hell, by all logic and legal standards, they are not even alive anymore.”

“Definition is not always the accurate way to approach some situations,” answered Reese.

Keefe ignored Reese’s comment and continued, “It’s such a wonderful ploy…they, these creatures, can’t be held accountable under law because a dead person cannot commit murder. Nor can anyone scream forced servitude because dead people can’t be slaves or used against their wills because simply stated they have no will to be concerned about. So the military gets off scott-free in terms of any liability. The lawyers have been and will be spinning for years over this one.”

“But I am one of them,” Reese said, his red pupils glowing strongly in the dim light of the bridge. “I possess characteristics of human and vampire. I accept what I have become because there was no choice.”

“That’s right,” Priestly began, “you were part of the reconnaissance team that discovered them—they tried to kill you but your body reacted in a different way.”

“One in a billion…they tell me,” Reese added. “The odds of this type of mutation happening. I have no choice but to accept this living death.”

“But you are still alive,” Keefe countered, “not completely dead like the rest.”

“Perhaps,” Commander Reese said and offered no further explanation on that subject.

Keefe continued, “I’m curious, Reese, your men—the vampires, they were found on the devastated world on the edge of the system?”
“Yes,” Reese agreed, his voice tentative sounding, as if he wished to avoid the subject.

“The chain of command had to be concerned about their destructive nature?” asked Keefe. “I mean after all—look what they had done to their own world.”

“From what we were able to ascertain,” Reese began, “after years of coexisting with the human colonists, there was a war of the vampire factions on the planet. Because vampires cannot reproduce in the normal sense, the only way to increase their numbers was to turn more and more of the human population into vampires so that they could fight each other. By this over-multiplication, the vampires destroyed their own food supply, which led them to the point of their own extinction. There was only a few hundred left out of thousands when the world was discovered.”

“Perhaps that would have been better,” Keefe said. “Maybe some other lives could have been spared.”

“The extinction of a race?” asked Reese. “That’s a bit cynical wouldn’t you say?”

“Not really,” Keefe snapped the defiance evident in his voice.
Reese continued, “Have not our own world and civilizations been on the brink of destruction several times? Have we not almost destroyed our race by war?”

“Not the same,” Keefe scoffed.

“Why?” Reese countered. “Just because you do not agree with the way in which my kind live or survive.”

“Like you said, Reese,” Keefe retorted, “they destroyed their own food supply, which included the human inhabitants. That’s murder.”

“Is it that different than what some of the animals on our own world do to survive? Is that not the law of natural selection that the stronger species survives and the weaker perish?”

“But not at the expense of the human race?” Captain Priestly interjected.

“Exceptions to the rule, sir, isn’t that a double standard?” asked Reese, “The picking and choosing of who shall live and who shall die?”

“So you side with them?” Keefe asked.

“I side with what I am,” Reese said casually. “Is that not what we all do? My race did not ask to be removed from the home world, as has been done. Maybe they would have perished and maybe not. The rules of evolution are never specific beyond the fact that the fittest part of a race will survive where the weakest shall perish. But by removing them from the planet—everything has changed. Perhaps for the worse. ”

Keefe thought about what Reese said and could not avoid the fact that there was some logic on his stance.

A beep emanated from the communications console, followed by the announcement, “Communication for the Captain’s Eyes Only,” the computer voice said, “orders clarification.”

“It’s about damn time,” Priestly said as he went over to the computer and retrieved the message.

Commanders Keefe and Reese stood together alone—the silence after the debated conversation seeming to haunt both of them, evident by their restless and fidgety movements.

Reese broke the silence, “It’s happening all over again.”

“What? What’s happening?” Keefe asked.

Reese looked intently at Keefe and spoke, “An element of society has decided what the proper requirements are for those who shall be first-rate citizens and who shall be the dredges of society, who shall be trusted and who shall be feared, and who shall live and who shall die.”

“What are you talking about?” Keefe asked. He stared at Reese quizzically as if not sure how to interpret the man’s ramblings.

“History, Commander Keefe,” Reese said as he smiled sardonically, “we never learn. We just keep repeating the same mistakes over and over.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Wait a minute,” the captain interjected as he stepped back toward Reese and Keefe with a piece of paper in his hands. “I’m to ensure that your landing craft is permanently disabled? This is a one way? You’re not…coming back…?”

“No Captain, we are not coming back,” Reese began. “Unfortunately, the rest of our so-called civilized world agrees with your position. We are a threat and an undesirable element. We are the last of our kind and we are to be deposited on this world and left to our own ends as to whether we live or die.”

“So what you said earlier…that the life on this planet was a threat to our civilization was all just bullshit?”

“Yes,” Reese agreed. “This planet is some backwater world with very little technical capability. I understand that the culture is still entrenched in myth and legends. We are to be deposited here and left to our own devices.”

“But you…you’re not like the others…Why you?” Keefe asked.

“I still require blood to survive, so I too am considered a risk. I am the only one of my race. And I also am a threat of polluting the human gene pool.”

“And what about the other vampires?” asked Keefe.

“They were all killed with the exception of me and my group. We are the last of our kind. We were spared by the fact that I was able to convince the Joint Chiefs of my argument of survival of the fittest. So we are being left on this planet where there is no chance of space travel for a very long time. The odds suggest that we will not survive that long but this way the conscience of mankind is not completely blemished by the destruction of another race.”

“Orbit established,” the computer said.

“View screen on,” Priestly said.

As the screen initialized, a planet loomed in the main viewing screen. They all stared at the blue oceans, the land masses of brown, gold, green and white which were accentuated by the assorted shapes of clouds that spotted the atmosphere.
After a few moments of silence Captain Priestly spoke, “Well let’s get to it then. Commander, join your…men in the shuttle launch and we’ll get you on your way.” The captain then turned his back on Commander Reese in a dismissive gesture.

“Good luck,” Keefe said, the words flowing across his lips before he had a chance to consider what he was saying.

“Thank you,” Reese said and departed the bridge.

Captain Priestly and Commander Keefe stood in silence as the computer counted off the time to shuttle departure. Finally Keefe spoke, “God help them.”

“Who?” Priestly asked, “The people on the planet or the vampires?”

Keefe smirked and said, “You know, I’m not sure anymore. Some of the things that Reese said made sense. He has some valid points.”
“I suppose,” Priestly added, “but it’s still hard to figure where it fits into the grand scheme of things.”

“Some say we evolved from apes,” Priestly said. “It sounds so foolish, doesn’t it?”

“Scientists, some days you don’t know who or what to believe,” Keefe added.

This last statement hung in the air as the two men remained silent. Minutes later they received confirmation of the landing and the destruction of the shuttle engines which would prevent escape from the planet.

“We’re done,” Keefe said.

“What the hell is the name of this place?” asked Priestly.

“The information blackout should be complete by now,” Keefe said. “Let’s see what information the computer has on it. Computer—state planet designation and location of shuttle launch.”
The computer responded: No formal designation in library. Intelligence reports only local designations.”

“They must really want to hide this place,” Keefe said, “they won’t even name it.”

“Apparently,” Priestly agreed. “Computer, what are the local designations and location of shuttle?”

“Planet is locally designated as Earth. Shuttle has landed in one of the major continents called Europe in a region known as Transylvania.”

“What was it that Reese said,” Keefe said aloud, “that the inhabitants of this world believed in myths and legends—well I guess they will have a new one to go on now.”

THE END

Perspective Part II

2006-12-23T09:45:00.000-05:00

***
Five Years Later

“I just want to drop the scum off and be rid of them,” Captain Priestly said to his executive officer. “I don’t like their kind—damn blood suckers—vampires in the military—what’s next!” He paced the bridge nervously as if by doing so his actions could somehow make the vampires go away.

The XO, Commander Keefe, wholeheartedly agreed with the Captain. He wanted to mention the operation which resulted in the destruction of the Excalibur years earlier, but it had been classified and the story altered, attributing the loss of the ship to enemy fire—it was better for morale.

Captain Priestly sighed deeply and continued pacing, ensuring that each footstep echoed loudly off of the steel deck plates. Keefe recognized the Captain's mood and knew it was best to stay out of his way. The Captain could be explosive when he was not in complete control—the standard type “A” personality. This was one of those moments when the bridge of the ship, the United Planets Ship Lexington, seemed extremely small.

Keefe gazed up at the chronometer to check the arrival time at the target; the display indicated less than two hours remained. The information regarding the mission was unknown to both him and the CO. The ship's computer had received the pre-programmed coordinates from the Joint Chiefs so they were truly flying blind on this one.

He looked at the Captain and shrugged his shoulders. “Who knows?” he said. “But the fact that we won’t have to send any of our men down to the planet has its benefits. It must be pretty messy if they are sending them in first.”

“I suppose,” Priestly agreed reluctantly. “But I still don’t like this. I feel like I’m carrying the black plague or something. And what if these creatures should get loose on my ship? I don’t like this—none of this. What the hell are the JCS thinking about this whole concept of starving them for the op?”

Keefe could understand Priestly’s concern all too well. The memory of these creatures relying on the blood of living beings, and the friends he had on the Excalibur mixed together like oil and water.

“In theory,” Priestly began, “well…in military theory that is, it’s probably a good concept to have them operate at peak performance, but from the rumors I’ve heard, the problem is that their hunger is not specifically predictable or controllable. If pushed too far, too fast, the creatures will attack anyone, including us.”

Keefe looked at him curiously. He wondered how much the CO actually knew in regard to these vampires. “What else have you heard?”

“The scuttlebutt is that this breaking point, controlling their hunger, has some problems. Supposedly, they once managed to escape their captivity and they slaughtered the crew on the ship that was transporting them.”

“Wonderful,” Keefe muttered and then said to himself, If only you knew it wasn’t a rumor but the truth.

“After that event, the control over the creatures was made supposedly foolproof,” Priestly continued. “Nevertheless, even with all these risks, the end result of the effectiveness of the vampire units warrants their continuance in service. They have brought a tumultuous peace to the galaxy.”

“Based upon fear,” Keefe added his voice full of sarcasm.

“True,” Priestly said nodding his head. . “I say send them all out of the airlock, jettison the whole bunch. If they aren’t human, then they shouldn’t be allowed to live.”

“As much as I might agree, skipper, I don’t think the Joint Chiefs would,” Keefe said. “I just think I would feel better—safer—if they were somewhere else.”

“Me too. But, the platoon is under extremely tight precautions with redundant security measures and perimeters maintained. Their commander assures us he has positive control of them.”

“I still don’t like it.” Keefe scoffed. “Taking risks with the crew and ship. If something should go wrong…it could get messy.”

“Well, they have been used successfully the past few years,” Priestly said, “and apparently with much success as a fighting force.”

“Yeah,” Keefe agreed. “What’s the buzz statement? A self-sustaining unit, as long as there is a warm-blooded enemy available. They’re good-to-go under any conditions, minus the few exceptions of daylight, being blown apart, or being staked through the heart.”

“And positive control,” Priestly added, “the human-vampire hybrid controller. More of an abomination—blending species—such bullshit. You know what they are trying to do—create the ultimate killing machine. Abominations, I say—playing with creationism is a dangerous game.”

The door to the bridge opened and a Navy Commander wearing black fatigues stepped onto the bridge.

“Speak of the devil,” Captain Priestly said. “Here’s their esteemed leader.”

END PART II

We Have A Cover!

2006-12-23T09:40:00.000-05:00

Well here it is, the cover to the revamped Team of Darkness novel. I'm quite impressed with it. Advance orders can be placed at Dragon Moon Press. Also I am planning on running a special promotion from my webpage in the next few days. Officially the release date will be early January.

Perspective Part I

2006-12-20T10:52:00.000-05:00

Perspective

“Why do you think they call them coffins?” Lieutenant Keefe couldn’t help smirking as the statement flowed across his lips to the new ensign who just joined the ship.

“But it’s not in the literal sense of the word…is it?” The ensign asked in an unsure voice.

“Of course it is,” Keefe said and then chuckled. “Well not exactly,” he admitted. “These coffin-shaped canisters are an older version of an ordnance carrier converted to transport the vampire to target, hence the new name of coffin.”

“Oh I get it,” the ensign chuckled hesitantly. “But sir, don’t you ever get nervous about…well having them around?”

“The vampires? Nah. They’re loaded into the containers in the safe area. Once inside the container it’s locked, then we shove them in the torpedo launch bay and shoot them out. Think of it like loading a cartridge or bullet into the breach of a weapon and then firing it."

The ensign appeared to struggle with the analogy but Keefe went on. “The container doesn’t open until it reaches the surface of the planet—hopefully intact—I hate to lose these containers they're such a pain in the ass to refit.”

“But how do they get back here to the ship?”

“When their mission is done—or when the sun comes up—whichever comes first, they have to return to the coffin.

“Why don’t they just escape?” asked the ensign.

“Ah…good question, Keefe said. “You see, each vampire has a little cylinder imbedded in their bodies. The cylinder contains a tracking device and a small amount of liquid which is poison to them. If they don’t follow orders, such as returning to their coffin, a signal is sent and releases the poison.”

“So they follow orders…or else.”

“Exactly. Later we send a pickup vehicle which magnetically latches on to them from several miles out. By using a strong magnetic field they are able to catapult the ships from the surface and back to the ship.”

“What if something happens and you can’t get them?” the ensign asked.

“Then they just sit there and wait. If they have to, they can go into an extended hibernation period until we can get to them. As long as their coffins stay sealed from the sunlight, they’re okay.”

“Must be one hell of a ride.”

“You bet. The G’s would cause sever damage to the body of a normal man, but the vampire body has amazing recuperative powers, plus the fact that the majority of the organs are no longer used anyway which makes them perfect. So any injury to organs still functioning, mainly the heart, repairs itself by the time they are back on board the main assault craft.”

“What about surface fire?”

“What about it?”

“It still might hit the pickup vehicle or some of the coffins on the way back.”

“Yeah—it might. But so what? The pickup vehicle is unmanned and it’s not like the vampires are alive or anything. They are just tools—another weapon, nothing more.”

The young ensign remained silent as he appeared to contemplate what he had just heard.

Keefe pointed and said, “The status board is completely green. That means that all the torpedo tubes are loaded. That’s 150 coffins ready to go. Call the bridge and report that we’re ready.”

The ensign did as instructed. A few moments later the order came to launch the coffins. Lieutenant Keefe pressed one button and the green indicators for each coffin went from green to black, indicating a successful launch. “Well that’s all for now,” Keefe said, “nothing left to do but wait for the pickup order.”

“Is that all of the vampires?”

“From this ship it is every single one. But don’t forget we have several transports in orbit, all carrying their own contingent of vampires—must be a big mission to send them all at once. Maybe even a complete annihilation of the planet populace.”

“Can they do that?”

“The brass can do anything they want.”

“No, I mean the vampires—can they kill an entire population?”

“I don’t want to know if they do,” Keefe quipped back. “I don’t want to dirty my hands that much. Whoever’s down there on the planet is the enemy anyway. Besides—”

Lieutenant Keefe was cut off by the communication system as an announcement began. “Attention all hands, this is the Captain speaking. There has been an…event on the United Planet Ship Excalibur. The cargo of vampires they are carrying have somehow managed to break free of their confinement area and have taken over the ship. It appears that either the crew was unable to activate the poison cylinders or there was some form of malfunction. It is our understanding that the majority of the human crew has been killed in the process. Our orders are to destroy the Excalibur before the vampires try and escape. I know that many of you have friends and shipmates on the Excalibur. I just want to assure you that if they are alive—killing them now will be for the best. I know if I was there, that is what I would want. Stand by all batteries.”

“Kill the bastards,” Lieutenant Keefe growled as he readied the batteries to fire. “I know many of the officers on the Excalibur.” Keefe switched on a video monitor which displayed the exterior view of space. He played with the controls until the image of the Excalibur filled the screen.

The Captain’s voice came over the announcing system, “Standby. Standby. FIRE!”

Lieutenant Keefe pressed the fire button and held it down as if the additional pressure would result in a more intensive burst of energy. On the screen, the fire from multiple ships came to bear on the Excalibur—in a few moments the ship was engulfed by the rays and exploded.

END PART I

A Note of Thanks

2006-12-19T13:25:00.000-05:00

Before the year ends and I forget, I just wanted to say thanks to everyone who followed my blog and took the time to drop by and read and even post. On a side note for those who followed the convention story, the plan is still to use it in the upcoming volume 2 of the Writers for Relief Anthology which I am excited about. I felt as if it was a shared project with many of you and I have to admit I had a lot of fun with it.

As I end the year, I have decided to post some excerpts of another short story called "Perspective, that I submitted for an anthology titled: "Into the Breach," so I hope you enjoy them over the nest few weeks.

Finally, to say the least, it has been an interesting year with many joyous and painful twists and turns. They say that sadness and joy make us who we are...at times one must wonder about that. Anyway, no matter how things work out--I hope to see many of you during 2007.

Thanks to all and to all--Happy Holidays!

The Half Century Report

2006-12-07T09:28:00.000-05:00

As I approach the good/bad half century number I suppose that I should feel a certain way. Yet, I find that I am slightly torn between the I don't know if I should be retrospective of the past or optimistic of the future--or maybe both. Well, now that I am seriously thinking about it, I think I kind of like the both idea. I surely cannot forget what I have done, what I am about to do now and what I plan to do in the future. I have never been one to not plan something for the future. So there it is...goals.

Goals are important. We all need things to strive for and simply saying that ones goal is to be happy...well I don't feel that is good enough because you have to figure out whatmakes you happy first. For some this could be the basic physical needs while for others they can be much more complicated. So you see that this can sometimes not be that easy of a task but it is something that I think we all must do in order to really understand what we want and what we need to do to get them.

One of the goals I had was that by the time I reached the half decade mark, I wanted to be published with a large publishing house and I would probably stop going to conventions. Well I didn't make the first one--ended up with a smaller publishing house instead--no complaints--just a statement of fact. As to the second one, the issue of going to conventions was primarily an age issue on the surface, let's face it, the median age is probably 25-35 or so for the average congoer. And I have to admit at times I kind of feel out of place. But that's part of the problem...saying what is the norm or accepted average can be a bad habit to begin because as soon as we do that, we start coming up with these magical lines that cannot be crossed and we stop doing things because of those lines. One must determine if lines are needed at all and if so, how thick they should be. Now the old philosophy of Occrams Razor: that when faced with two similar answers that the simplest one most often is the correct answer, hey why not go with the flow. However, this came about before the development of the disposable razors so even that is in question...okay I'm just goofing here...but I can do that because I am starting to refuse to draw lines...okay I guess I made my point.

Anyway when the question of lines (insert your own here)comes up maybe the best answer is:

Never Give Up...Never Surrender! (I can't believe I went there--don't ask-don't tell policy in effect)

My Hat Goes Off...Maybe Even My Pants

2006-11-22T21:33:00.000-05:00

It's going to take me a few minutes to get to the point of the title so just bear/bare with me.

I for one will be very glad when this semester is over. Talk about being on overload--geez...I feel like a machine that just grades papers and at that point the fun just isn't there to be able to enjoy the teaching experience. Well the forecast for next semester seems more favorable so far. I have three classes on M-W-F and two other night classes on T-TR which should make for a more manageable schedule and hopefully allow me to get my writing back on track--yeah--yeah--that's right--talk is cheap and I know it. The proof is in the actual writing and I need to get the routine back.

Getting the routine back is important as long as the routine serves you and not vice versa. I advise caution here as well as enthusiasm. What one must remember is that the routine cannot control your life--otherwise it becomes a compulsion or addiction and we spend most of our lives feeding the monkey. We all have them--the routine which we all become accustomed to and just merrily allow ourselves to be drawn into its clutches. Most of the time we go willingly, we let it cradle us and even rock us to sleep sometimes. If we don't allow ourselves to break free of these routines--and of course I am referring to the bad ones--we will never be willing or able to accept the fact that change is always inevitable as long as we are willing to accept the consequences of those actions and that is where the crap hits the fan.

This results in calling for the destruction of another routine that brings us a sense of comfort. The one that says that to have something is better than nothing. These come in many shapes and forms...I'm not smart enough, or I am not good at something or I'm too old or I'm too young, I'm the wrong height, I'm too skinny or fat...etc. We conveniently use these as a tool to sit back on our comforting laurels and wallow in the muck of complacency because we don't want to be one of those kind.

Yet we hear about "those people" that dare to make the leap to break the bonds of complacency and do what everyone whispers about in dark corners when they see one of "those people." You have heard it and possibly even said it before:

"Have you heard what so and so did? How scandalous is that!"
"What could have come over him/her? What were they thinking?"
"Oh--it'll never work of course!"

Now i am not condoning acts of the bizzare or perverted but rather those that are grounded in some form of a moral sense of right or wrong.

If life was a fairy tale then things would always go perfectly. But when we remove the haze of complacency that has resided at our address for so long that we get mail addressed to Mr. or Mrs. Complacent, we have accepted it as the norm. Then we must decide that if we take the big risk and rid ourselves of this routine, perhaps it is a real chance to attain what we really want or need, even if the odds are against it. These people who take the chance and remove the blanket of false security and bare their butts to the cold harsh world in which we live and risk freezing their butts off by the rest of the so-called proper society, are the true risk takers. They have recognized what holds them back and removed the obstacles. They go double or nothing and hope for the best.

Remember the scene from the Indiana Jones movie...I think it was the one with the search for the Holy Grail when Indy has to take that step off the cliff and he cannot see the stone bridge that is actually there..it's a leap of faith. Not much different is it--to risk it all with just one step.

So to the butt bearing community--and you know who you are--my hat goes off to you folks--and heck even my own pants. And just to clarify...it's just one foot in front of the other--right?

Come on down...

2006-11-18T22:08:00.000-05:00

Okay I was curious so I took the test...

You are The Wheel of Fortune

Good fortune and happiness but sometimes a species of
intoxication with success

The Wheel of Fortune is all about big things, luck, change, fortune. Almost always good fortune. You are lucky in all things that you do and happy with the things that come to you. Be careful that success does not go to your head however. Sometimes luck can change.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

So where do I get a cup of coffee?

1:27AM

2006-11-17T22:19:00.000-05:00

Not much to talk about right now except this strange occurrence of waking up at night at 1:27AM. It has been going on for several days now and I can't help but not address the foreboding thoughts that accompany this--is something going to happen at 1:27AM?

Hmm...interesting.

Still Here

2006-10-24T21:11:00.000-04:00

I'm starting to feel like Snake Blisken where everyone says..."I thought you were dead."

Yeah I have been insanely busy, in fact I am typing this as I sleep. Anyway as many of you know, I am always saying that there is a short and long explantion to most things, and those of you that I really like--I even tell you them sometimes. However due to fatigue and school burnout factor tonight you get the real abbreviated response: I'm obviously alive-still not smoking-learning things about myself and others that still surprise me and that change can be both wonderful and scary at the same time, but a neccessity as well.

Everyone be good...I'm trying

Bird of Steel

2006-10-16T21:11:00.000-04:00

I saw a steel ostrich this weekend. No..I haven't had a relapse in smoking, although there are times that I would...well you know. Anyway, I really did see a steel ostrich on the sidewalk.

Steel I say, tsk...tsk...tsk (that's three--anything less is just not right).I'm talking serious kick my ass kind of welding bird steel here. This ostrich was ready for the scorched earth scenario. I can only hope that this ostrich will be on my side...birds, like people, with a steel constitution are always a good thing when things get crazy:)

Life & Mapquest

2006-10-04T15:50:00.000-04:00

Rambling post...as we approach the end of 7 weeks nictoine free...

Have you ever gotten directions from mapquest that took you around your elbow to get your butt?--(you know what I mean)

I know I am directionally challenged...very directionally challenged. I can literally get lost going around the block--and do so quite often. But like the directions you sometimes get from mapquest, there are days when I feel like life is comprised of the most bizarre directions that mapquest has ever produced—with the same result--I’m going in circles, crazy turns, wrong directions and I end up just not getting anywhere..frustrating as all hell.

Is there an analogy here somehere? Well lets hope so otherwise I have a screwed up title huh? I picture it like this:just as we get step by step directions for the roads we drive along from mapquest—-one could imagine that we also get similar direction along our very own and personal routes of life. Just as in mapquest, if the physical signs/directions are wrong or unclear--wouldn't these lead to us getting lost? Should we have gone left when we should have gone right? If these are confusing then correspondingly would not our actions be the same? Or if they are misinterpreted in some way could they not lead us to the wrong place? Okay...now I have managed to get lost within my own conversation--now that's scary! And yes, its been that kind of day too.

I'm sure there was a point in there somewhere and if I find it I will let you know. I am very bad with iffy directions and I am bound to misinterpret just about everything—it's in my nature and maybe that’s why I am always getting lost. We all have our crosses to bear I guess. I also truly believe that mapquest is out to get us and part of a bigger conspiracy. One day they will send us to that alien spacecraft on the deserted road in the middle of nowhere.

Maybe I need to invest in one of those personal navigation systems and then I can get where I want to go--as soon as I can fgure out the directions to the store.:)

The Whatever Post

2006-09-27T20:14:00.000-04:00

Well I couldn't decide what to blog about...so this is just a hodgepodge of thoughts.

Coming up on the 7 week mark of no smoking. Quite pleased about that. Wish I could say that I have no craving at all but that's not the case yet. Hopefully it will be soon...

Writing: Fallen off on my writing a bit. Not doing as well as I would like to at the moment. Just haven't felt the urge much lately. I do owe a short story for an anthology which I have started but haven't finished. Waiting on the return of the witch story--Coven of Deceit, from a private editor so I can start the marketing process on that novel. I imagine that Operation Immortral Sevitude will be showing up to proof one last time before it goes to print. Also should be starting the editing process on book II of the Sf story-Alien Revelation. And I need to finish up my edits of book II of the vampire series which will be due in the Spring to the publisher. Plenty to do there:)

School is kicking my butt. I will never teach this many classes again. I have very little free time at all this semester which contributes to the writing scenario above.

Conventions coming up, Denver, CO. the end of October and Rochester, NY in November. Not 100% sure about attending them yet. Wil probably skip PHILCON this year. Be the first time in three years that I have not gone. Too much going on to fit it all in.

However even with all of the above, still hopefull. Surprised? Yeah me too. With some help, I have managed to keep some of the demons (not all by any means) at bay at least for a while. Still with several months remaining, 2006 has been a year of incredible highs and dreaded lows. As the half century mark nears, the canvas of my own Dorian Gray painting is beginning to form and even I haven't a clue what it will look like.

Sometimes you just hate surprises...

The Holy Grail of Coffee

2006-09-21T20:51:00.000-04:00

The cup of coffee became one with the universe…I don’t know how else to explain it except that it well…never gave up and certainly never surrendered (sorry—there’s a personal joke in there).

It was a day like any other day. There I was, minding my own business killing some time between classes, walking along in the mall sipping on a freshly purchased cup of coffee. It’s what I do—drink way too much coffee—but we’re working on one addiction at a time (42 days nicotine free I might add).

Anyway as I was saying, there I was walking along when suddenly this huge earthquake struck the state of Virginia…well maybe not the state but at least the city of Norfolk. Well maybe it was more localized then that and just the mall itself. Okay…okay so maybe it was just the area I was standing in. Oh—forget it, I was just clumsy and dropped my cup of coffee. But that was when things got weird.

Everything came to me in slow motion as I watched the cup of coffee (my precious—my precious) make its way toward the highly polished floor. This is going to be messy I thought and I will probably be splattered with coffee all over my pants—won’t that make for interesting conversation with my highly motivated students. But alas…that did not happen.

That cup of coffee landed on its bottom in a perfectly upright position. The lid came flying off and the coffee erupted from it in typical geyser-like fashion—a straight up torrent of hot liquid. This is where I get nailed with scorching hot coffee I think—but that was not the case.

Apparently the moon aligned with Jupiter or the Earth was in some form of spatial agreement with something, but about 9/10 of the coffee...are you ready for this...returned to that perfectly upright cup on the floor. Yes…you heard me correctly. Not even I am that crazy to make something like this up. Now if I said that the ostrich appeared and did something to make that happen—then you can call me crazy. But this time—there was no ostrich.

About 1/10 of the coffee, an ounce or two at the most, went elsewhere, I think I ended up with about three drops on me. I stared in fascination at that cup of coffee sitting on the floor. Perhaps not in fascination but maybe more in awe, I bent down and picked up that cup of precious liquid, (think in terms of the Holy Grail made out of a Starbucks paper cup) and raised it to my lips and drank from its glory in the hope that whatever spiritual or physical qualities it possessed would get passed on.

It tasted like a cup of coffee—but I guess they have to make things taste like normal stuff so that we think it hasn’t changed us or anything. Yet, the entire world appears differently to me now. There is a symmetry that holds the molecules of everything together and even the fabric of life itself. Now don’t be jealous—not everyone can have this type of fortune literally dumped in front of them. It’s just the way it is.

I guess there are those of us who were meant for greater things—or perhaps the chosen few is another way to look at it. Some get their start by seeing something in the sky or even in the landscape around us. For me, it just began with a cup of coffee.

Next time it will be a double cappuccino for me.

Batteries Not Included (Potential Short Story)

2006-09-19T22:31:00.000-04:00

Note: This is more of a short story concept rather than a social commentary before anyone throws anything at me.

I’m being completely hypothetical here…well as much as I can be anyway in my own world. So imagine if you can—a store where you can go to buy a person.

Yes I said person.

This could be a friend, a lover, a companion…whatever. What would it be like…would there be options like when you buy a car? Do you have to pay extra for a certain personality? Would they have blue light specials? Do they come with an extended warranty? Are there sporty and more conservative models? Can they be returned? Ohhhh….now there’s an interesting concept…don’t like what you have so then you return it…or maybe even sell it on ebay? This is getting a little too weird even for me.

But one of the most important questions is do they come with an operator’s manual?

An operator’s manual, if read, would enlighten the reader/purchaser of the capabilities of the purchased item would it not? Once read the user would completely understand what the purchased person can do and what it cannot. It would know what it likes and dislikes are. The owner would know how to please the purchased person and vice versa. There would be no petty bickering of not understanding or knowing someone. There would be no dirty laundry left hanging over the back of the sofa—no dirty dishes in the sink—no toilet seats left in the upright position and no bras hanging in the shower. We would understand the proper and correct deliverance of affection. Pet peeves would be avoided. Maintenance level factors would be understood before committing to any relationship. The examples go on and on.

Sound like a little Assimov here maybe?

So in this ideal world…all of the trouble of relationships would be eliminated and the perfect world would descend upon us. Or would it be a disaster? Would the joy of experiencing an individual and learning by trial and error be more of a loss rather than a gain? But a form of social order would be maintained would it not? Things would be...how would you say...less messier perhaps.

But where is the fun in that?

Some might suggest or ask:where are the little surprises that cause the slight chuckle or the pleasant thoughts when we are at work? The surprise note/card left on the table or perhaps the rose given when it was not a overcommercialized holiday? The voice mail left that...well is only for your ears only:)

So some days you just have to ask yourself: are you bringing the batteries or are they included?

Side note: 40 Days. I recounted.

Interesting Personal Ad

2006-09-18T21:51:00.000-04:00

MAFLV SEEKS LF - FOR COMPANIONSHIP

Middle Aged and Fun Loving Vampire seeks meaningful relationship with living female for undetermined length of time.

Physical description: Five foot eight inches in height. Weight: approximately eighty to one hundred sixty pounds dependent on available food supply. Skin tone: Dark olive to pale. Facial features range from European Slavic to animalistic. Has slight to extended protrusion of incisors when excited. Hair is black and long…always. Eyes: dark brown to a bright red.

(If item(s) above not agreeable, hypnotic capability helps alleviate)

Food tastes: Very specific.

Origin/Family History: European origin-descendent of aristocratic family. Anything else you don't want to know.

Dress: Generic dark clothes with cape on special occasions.

Activities/hobbies: Enjoys cultural events and has very prolific and deep historical bent in education and leisure activities. Enjoys nighttime walks in the moonlight, scaling walls, entering windows of women (when invited), visiting cemeteries and blood banks, and going to late night movies. Great conversationalist.

Habits: Sleeps very late not waking to dusk and hates being disturbed. Likes sleeping on hard slabs (supplies own bedding) and prefers funeral parlor décor. Enjoys Victorian era garb and red corsets. Has a nibbling disorder and requires continual manicures. Does not share well—very jealous type. Likes continual attention and is considered high maintenance.

Seeking woman who works during the daytime at home and can keep pesky religious fanatics away at all times. Women of Italian descent must be willing to forego garlic in all food preparation. Prefers home environments which lack religious artifacts, mirrors, windows without darkening capability and sky lights. Earthy décor a must. Has aversion to sharp wooden stakes and religious crosses. Dislikes snarky women, a.k.a. Veronica Mars types, however will accept a challenge but cannot guarantee living status will remain intact.

First date suggestion: Strolling through a rose garden late at night with woman who has not told anyione where she is going.

Favorite flower: Blood rose.

Favorite car: Buick (large trunk space)

Favorite Song: Meatloaf - You Took the Words Right Out of my Mouth...

Favorite/least favorite movie: Love at First Bite/Interview with a Vampire (turned down for lead role)

Preferences: All ethnic, racial, and blood types considered.

Photograph: Only picture available is from the early 1900’s.

Outlook: Not time concious and will try anything once.

Email to suckthelifeoutofyou@aol.com

Yeah...it was that kind of night...DAY 41.

Hope this brings a smile to all those who had a less than desirable evening:)

Need Ideas for Cover Art

2006-09-15T22:36:00.000-04:00

Need some help in developing the cover for Operation Immortal Servitude.

If anyone has any ideas that would be great. Examples would even be better. What we are trying to do is get a SF/Fantasy feel to the cover art. The story is basically about vampires being used by the military...the time is present day so tying in the SF element is a little diffcult. My webpage has the original cover from Team of Darkness but as much as I like the cover...it screams dark fantasy--or at least I think so.

So if you have any ideas...please let me know.

Thanks.

Just in Case....

2006-09-15T22:21:00.000-04:00

This is one of those just in case blogs...just in case I am never heard from again. I'm up in New Jersey and I am staying at a hotel that well...if Norman was here--he would feel right at home. Now before you ask--I did not book this hotel--its where a family relative is dong their wedding thingy...etc.

Anyway...I show up at the front desk to check in and the man does not even look up to see who has come in but just recites the litany..."fill out the white card." Okay so I do all that and hand him the card...and of course asks the question..."Hmmm...Ruggiero...is that Italian?" Then smiles and looks at me through a pair of very dirty glasses and laughs..."only kidding," he adds. Of course he says this while he is...you guessed it...painting by the numbers.

They do not have coffee pots in the room. I don't know about you but I have a hard time remembering staying in a hotel room that did not have a coffee pot in it. Maybe they just want you to go down to the office and visit with...well you know who.

Cell phones don't work in the room. As soon as you go out the door they work, but not in the room. Nope--Nada--(insert your favorite no word here).

I wonder if I will be able to sleep tonight? I would say that there is a short story here to be written, but I think I covered that one already. See if you can guess which one and you win a prize.

I should have brought the guard ostrich with me...I need my snark. Its like going into a fairy ring without iron...

Oh BTW...38 DAYS...

Part IV Monday at the Dragon

2006-09-11T20:08:00.000-04:00

The last day at DragonCon. I have never stayed the entire last day at the con so this was a first. Of course shopping was a must in search of those last deals to be had. Money flowed and many T-shirts were purchased along with a sundry of other knick nacks.

In addition to shopping there was also a reading which I performed of which there were actual warm bodies in attendance...yes and I have witnesses. I read two short stories, Operator and An Amuseing Tale both of which they appeared to enjoy...i.e nobody fell asleep.

Shopping completed and reading performed the traveling duo explored Atlanta in search of the underground...well we never made it...the navigator was directionally challenged, but we had a nice dinner. After which we walked into the main hotel for dessert. What a difference with the crowd thinned considerably. For the first time that weekend we could actually see the floor of the hotel:) Still, there were many folks not wanting the con to end as evidenced by their costumed apparel refusing to give up until the bitter end. The evening comes to a early end with the anticipation of the early morning flight and back to the world of the mundanes.

The Trip Home.
Amazingly enough the flight was on time and fairly smooth...thus leaving the armrests of the seat intact. Landing safely in Richmond, Dragon 2006 came to an end with a very memorable time had by all:)

Sidenote: for all those folks that were at DragonCon and we did not get a chance to meet up with, apologies and best wishes and hope to see you at another con in the future.

28 Days-Still Not Wanted For Murder

2006-09-07T22:05:00.000-04:00

Yes its been 28 days now and still smoke free. How I managed not to smoke over the long Labor Day Weekend due to tropical storms, airplanes, liquor, rude people, snarky ostriches, walking through clouds of cigarette smoke or the long hours of DragonCon will be one of those feats to go down in history as the prevention of World War III.

Personal note: no hard liquor...this seems to ramp up the craving for nicotine about tenfold.

Amazingly enough my trunk is not full of dead bodies of snarky individuals, although I could fit quite a few in there--consider yourself warned! I have even managed to watch many episodes of Veronica Mars...well you see I have to its one of those family things where a relative...well never mind that I'm not supposed to talk about that. Anyway, when I'm feeling really bad...I watch movies like Silent Running and everything looks so much better:)

Part III: Sunday at the Dragon…

2006-09-07T21:54:00.000-04:00

There was no rest to be had this day. Breakfast with friends, at the bakery across from the Hilton--highly recommended--and then off to the convention!

Dealers room, Exhibitors Hall, Exhibitor's Hall 2, and the Art show to be explored. Miles and miles are walked as our travelers ooh and ahh their way through various sundries of everything imaginable. The best thing is that the crowds are manageable in the earlier hours of the convention, prior to say 4PM or so. After that its gets very crowded and if you are a people phobic type person, this is not the con for you.

Very weary feet! After a rather scarce autographing session, although still fun chatting with some folks, naptime comes quickly as aching ankles are screaming. At DragonCon naptime is a fundamental rule of thumb regardless of how late you stay up or not, it's just a tiring convention due to the hiking required across three hotels to get anywhere and of course the one thing you do want to see always requires you to go across the hotels to get to which includes the dreadful and steep stairs of the Hilton.

Sleep time and weird dreams.
One of the travelers reported an unusual dream sequence involving glass elevators. Glass elevators abound in the DragonCon hotels which no doubt account for the formulation in the dream. Although the events which occurred in the dream were a bit bizarre even for DragonCon. Fortunately awoken by their own talking in their sleep before the rendition could go too far, the details are thankfully omitted from this report, however bribery I am told works wonders...

Anyway, Sunday evening meet up with friends, both old and new. Drinks and socializing while catching up on the latest events in the world of certain authors. Good dinner at one of the few places where the wait is less than one hour. Back to the con and more costume watching. From tuxedos and Victorian dresses to duct tape and school girls, to the apes from Planet of the Apes, the costumes never cease to amaze. Although there was much disappointment this year of not seeing the Victorian woman...everyone knows who we mean although nobody remebers her name, but her victorian outfits are works of beauty and were truly missed this year.

Addinmg to the bill of fare is a well deserved dessert and of course a cup of coffee and then a relaxing late evening back at the hotel in the courtyard sipping wine and enjoying good company of more friends and enduring conversation from spiders to ostriches. It doesn't get much better than that.

Sleep comes easy--no doubt thanks to the wine as the final day of Dragon approaches.

Part II Saturday at the Dragon…

2006-09-05T15:29:00.000-04:00

Continuing with our coverage of DragonCon...here is part 2. Part 1, Terrible Travel and Tropical Storms, can be found here.

Now the purpose of this tale is not to expound on the horrors of travel or the terrible things that can happen to the unwary. For that, read the Canterbury tales. But there is one more terrible thing to mention. Breakfast at a hotel can be REALLY scary. There were more scrambled eggs in the trash can than all other forms combined on Saturday morning. The hotel denizens fled in terror- no surprise if that even included the cooks. We later learned of the bakery right across the street from the Hilton, 1 of the 3 hotels used for the convention, which had must better fare and reasonable prices…

The day really started with registration and the parade. It’s great to be the guest or in the company of one. What took us less than 10 minutes to do must have taken any regular folks attending the convention well over an hour (conservative guess) which included a wait in the outside line BEFORE wrapping around the interior of the basement of one of the hotels.

So it’s on to the parade, passing the line moat of bodies (preregistration is HIGHLY recommended-Hint-Hint!)

Not enough can be said about the parade, according to our traveling sources. Legions of Stormtroopers, Klingons on choppers, Belly dancers, Harry Potter galore, the Darth Cooper, and to top it all off, Kolchak the Night Stalker and a slew of others that we weren't sure of. It was fabulous. More fabulous than the Queer Eye Guys. Utterly fan-TABulous and something for the entire family.

However, at this point, the wandering duo began to wonder, “What, exactly, does Mickey Rooney, one of the many guests, have to do with Science Fiction and Fantasy?” Dear readers, please inform us.

Seeking a distraction, our intrepid duo disappeared down the block, escaping to the alternate chaos of the Georgia Aquarium...when in Atlanta…and all that jazz. This was entirely worthwhile, despite the high price of tickets, simply for the taunt factor for a certain woman’s sibling. Peals of joy! Whale sharks!!

(Side Note 1 to traveling companion: Running commentary from traveling companion about evil has already been heard from numerous other sources. Your additions are unnecessary--so hush!)

(Side Note 2 from traveling companion: Who could live in the US and not know Calvin and Hobbes?? It’s just…un-American...like NOT driving a Buick!)

After a few hours of acquatic delight, it’s back to the convention. Wandering for a while through the Dealer’s Room. Keep in mind, this is not to be confused with the Exhibit Hall, or the Exhibit Hall 2, or the Walk of Fame, or the Art Show. This is the Dealer’s Room, and a more wretched basement of scum and villainy will be hard to find. Well not quite that harsh, but seriously, some of it was insane so hold onto your money...

Rounding out the day was a visit to a panel to see Lilith Saintcrow and the Ghost Hunters, and a short story panel boasting one of our travelers who had many things to say about nicotine withdraw symptoms which added some humor to the discussion. All in all—a good panel. No ostriches were reported.

Dinner and back to the convention for the costumes to be seen which in itself is reason enough to usually attend DragonCon. Description cannot do justice to the good and bad of the costume mayhem at DragonCon. Although the majority of the costumes are fantastic—there are still some that…well never mind. Still there seemed to be a slight gap in the costume uniqueness and creativity this year as compared to the past—so noted by many past attendees. Yet the usual creative uses of caution and duct tape were present as always.

All in all, a pleasant day--evening comes quickly in Atlanta and the bell tolls midnight to two weary travellers who seek shelter from the night. So it’s back to the hotel and safe haven from the con-mania of the Dragon.

Next time: Odd dreams and well other things…

Part III, Sunday, will be done soon.

21 Days

2006-08-31T16:00:00.000-04:00

It has been, or will be this evening 21 days since my last cigarette...sounds like the beginning of a confession-huh? That's 504 hours, 30,240 minutes, 907,200 seconds...etc. Well maybe it is a confession on the eve of my potential death.

Tomorrow I have to get on an airplane--I'm supposed to be heading to Atlanta for DragonCon and I hate flying. It will be hell for about 90 minutes or so of sheer freakin terror for me...on a good day. That in itself is enough to start smoking again but the weather is going to complicate matters with a little hurricane/tropical storm named Ernesto. So this is bound to be interesting. It always seems that when I do work up the gumption to fly--some form of crap like this always arises...must be my luck I guess.

This is why I usually take trains or drive. But every once in a while I have these little attacks of confidence that tell me...You can do it and its no big deal. And they always say...its so much safer to fly. But you know what--there aren't any breakdown lanes up there is there?

I can offer no explanation as to why I hate flying so much. I have flown...I don't know...maybe a hundred times and you would think I would be used to it. But no. I pretty much sit through the flight in terror, palms sweating and in complete control of the armrests. Word of advice-if you ever fly with me--don't touch MY armrests!

I really hate...and I mean REALLY HATE those people that sleep on flights. I know that's not nice but its sooooo true! I have stayed awake for days prior to a long flight so that I too might be able to sleep--but no. I just end up wired even worse.

It will probably take me a day to wind down from the flight but by then I am getting wound up for the return flight--go figure. Side note: Read my short story, Have a Nice Flight!

So I am thinking that I will pack a cigarette with me...if the damn plane goes down, I'll smoke the bastard on the way down...what are they going to do, arrest me? At least I'll die happy:)

Deja Vu or the invasion has begun...

2006-08-28T21:53:00.000-04:00

This morning about 530AM I let the dog out and I was standing outside the house sipping a cup of coffee. I glanced up toward the eastern part of the sky and saw this extremely bright green object flash across the sky. Now I have seen many a meteorite in my time and this was huge in comparison. The freaky thing about it was that it looked very similar to an image of have seen before as is seen below:

What's really strange is that image also appears here on the cover.
I know I was very awake at the time and I was chewing some of that lovely nicotine gum so I don't believe this was an hallucination. But if that is not the case--then what was it?
A coincidence then?
A cheap plug for my book?
Or maybe my fiction coming true?
All I know is what I saw and I guess I'll leave it at that.

By the way, the electronic version of the book became available as well today...Coincidence...perhaps. Maybe so but I never knew that the book was going to be released from Fictionwise.
Alien Deception at Fictionwise.

However, I am glad to report that there was no ostrich citing at the same time of this unusual event...that's Emrya...yes spelled it right this time. I saw her later that day...

2 Weeks Plus & Where did that ostrich come from?

2006-08-25T22:06:00.000-04:00

Type of blog post: Fun

Well as I mentioned in the last post, there was a rough patch that crept up and I’m glad to announce that it is behind me and hopefully stays that way. Tonight is 15 days smoke free. Feeling kind of good about that and even a little surprised, but of course I still remain cautious.

Now onto some more interesting stuff. Something that cropped up recently in several emails I have recieved is: where did that ostrich come from? It appears in several posts prior to my quitting smoking so it must have an origin rather than just being a product of my nicotine hallucinations.

So placing on my Sherlock Holmes hat(Jeremy Brett…you’re the man)I began the tracing the origin of this mysterious creature. Now I have never had any affiliation in any way shape or form with an ostrich which meant that it had to come from some outside influence. Checking my past readings I discovered what I believe is or I should say who is the culprit. The ostrich appears in a blog entry by Emyra where she makes some ridiculous claim about an ostrich breaking her ankle, which we all know was not true but rather a ruse at hiding the fact that she tripped over a curb in an inebriated state and…well that’s another story. So she started this whole ostrich thingy…so it’s all her fault.

Now of course there will be those that say…well I was the one who wrote about it, but that was after it was in the public domain...so its free game at that point. So just deal…

So in honor of the notoriety that the ostrich has attained, I suggest that as a point of honor, after all, I am a gentleman about these things, we name it Emyra after its creator. Now I know that Emyra will balk at such an honor, but it is the least I or we for that matter can do. After all, she could have picked a duck or something.

So Emyra here you go…this bird is for you! (sorry…couldn’t resist the fowl humor).

Addendum to post:
Further justifcation of the naming of the ostrich Emyra has recently come to light:

(1) Emyra is in possession of a stuffed ostrich
(2) Emyra communicates with ostriches...I have recently seen such acts and is even in possession of a video of said act.

What else can be said. I believe the evidence stands on its own two legs... This is killing me...he-he...

Withdrawal Symptoms and the Type A Personality

2006-08-24T11:31:00.000-04:00

Caution: There will be some whining in this post I apologize in advance.

After yesterday’s post on how well I was doing, (I even printed out a full scale copy of the ostrich and hung it up) I had a massive withdraw attack last night and today. Here I am on the crescendo of 2 weeks and WHAM…I get handed the slap in the face reminder that’s its far from over. Why?

Of course a majority of it is the physical addiction which includes some side issues that are also becoming quite nagging. Again I thought I was over these but apparently not—I guess I have always been a late bloomer. The newest one is the inability to sleep or at least sleep restfully. The past few days I have been up until 1-2AM and then wake up at 6 or so. This of course is adding to the irritability factor and the littlest thing sets me off. The headaches are worsening but are still manageable. And the answer that keeps plugging away is to have the smoke and everything will be okay. What is surprising though is the weight issue. Instead of gaining which is the traditional result, I keep on losing. I started out this summer at about 168 and weighed myself this AM and was surprised to see I am down to about 153. I don’t get that one unless it deals with the other issue to follow.

I suspect part of the problem is the Type A personality. By type A I refer to those that are control freaks…myself included. We are/want to be/or think that we are in control of everything in our lives. We run our lives in a certain way that reflects this. For example, for me it was spending time in the military which is of course the perfect location for the Type A personality especially if you are an officer. When I retired in 2001, I thought that that part of my life was behind me but it really wasn’t. I loaded myself down with new responsibilities and marched forward and I was still in control—no fate or predetermined destiny was going to intervene or change that—nope!

To the point, this type of personality is extremely volatile when they are not in control. I know that I cannot handle things that do not flow as they should…I need to tame or arrange them in a certain way to manage them. So now—when both the physical and mental aspects of my body are in revolt, I am completely without control and that frankly just sucks. When type A’s find themselves in these situations, and of course this applies to a wide variety of issues dealing with life beyond smoking or similar addictions, we tend to screw things up. I for one am an expert at this. I either clam up completely and just batten down the hatches and isolate (oh I could tell you stories) or I tend to not even bother putting a shoe on my right foot because it will undoubtedly spend most of its time in my mouth. I have mastered the first reaction and am now working on the second.

I have discovered one thing though…it is possible to change or at least keep the type A in check. It’s hard but possible. The mind and its configuration has to be rewired some which of course leads to a new outlook on things. And some of those are scary too—it’s a big leap and the fall is quite menacing. My daughter once said to me that she wishes that she could accomplish as much as I have in my life. My type A answer to that was that was what life was all about—the accomplishments and I would continue to do so until I died. I have begun to rethink that answer to…well maybe that philosophy is okay as long as you don’t ignore the important things that go along with those accomplishments—like living. I’m trying babe...

The Rambling Ostrich and Odds and Ends

2006-08-23T09:54:00.000-04:00

Special thanks to Bryan J. Prindiville, www.bassetville.net, for supplying the truly "appropriate" artwork seen here. Now I have proof that I was not hallucinating...either that or Bry and I are drinking out of the same bottle:)

Isn't she cute...hmmm...
I have a feeling that this image may become my new look rather than the usual dark and brooding image I am known for. Heck, I'm going to have to get a T-Shirt made.
Thanks Bry...much appreciated.

Well I am closing in on day 13 and seem to be adjusting to the nicotine deprived state--well sort of, I expect I will be doing the gum for another 10 weeks or so. But on the bright side, the death looks, verbal abuse, and the shaking hands are starting to ease off. My daughter is still alive along with the dog, the birds, the chinchilla and any snarky acquaintances. This last category is really surprising:)

Odds and Ends:

About the story: I must admit I am surprised at the number of responses from folks that like alternate ending number 4. In all honesty it was my least favorite...very interesting. I like to hear more why this ending was so well liked. Maybe even expand it some more.

What's next...well I don't know. I am back to teaching next week with a killer load of 6-7 classes for the semester which will be interesting. Maybe, with some encouragement, I can get another story going:)one with both a short and long answer this time:)

Conventions: DragonCon is the beginning of next month which should be interesting--it always is. Book'em in October, MileHiCon in October, Astronomicon in November and maybe Philcon as well.

On Writing: I am sure there will be one more go around of edits on Book I of the vampire series, Operation Immortal Servitude, which I hope to see this Fall. Then we switch back to the SF Book, Alien Revelations, which is due in the Spring and then I have to finish up second vampire book which is to be released toward the end of next year. So busy...busy...busy which may be a good thing as we wind down an interesting year...

That's it for now. A closing thought: Remember--it is always better to duck rather than to stick your head in the sand. You might miss something. Don't ask...

Alternate Ending 4

2006-08-21T00:49:00.000-04:00

Okay...yes there is another ending, isn't there always? But before that a brief update on my deteirorating mental (well status quo there) and physical condition. Still nictoine deprived, still without high speed internet, still on pain meds and now...I have a the semi-ability to do, whats the scientific term...to do the number 2. So for all of you out there who have always claimed that I am full of it...for this one instance you might actually be correct:)

Anyway...on with show:

Alternate Ending 4
(Original Story Lead In):

"So what about the bra?" I asked? "It is physical evidence that proves her existence?"
"It is much more probable," the shrink began, "that you went out and bought it subconsciously as part of your fantasy and somehow managed to block it from your mind. It's the only reasonable and plausible answer."
This seemed to be a sticking point so I thought it best to just agree with him and move along. Once I did, I was deemed fit to return to my meager existence of life as I knew it. I agreed readily with the shrink because he could not touch those dreams that were locked up in my head. Those were mine and I kept and cherished them.

Since that eventful weekend, I still go to conventions and I haven't changed my routine very much while there. I go to panels, talk with friends, and just hang out. I sit in the bar and have a drink. I will grab a table that has two chairs and make sure that the other chair is left unoccupied. I leave a rose at the front desk at each hotel for Trista. I don’t know if they are ever picked up or not but I leave them anyway.

It’s been a few years now and I still honor the ritual I started. I always tell myself…just one more convention and then I should stop, but there always seem to be one more convention and one more ritual of hope to go through. So I do it.

I was at another convention. There I was, sitting at the table sipping my drink as usual when there was the flash of light that blinded me as something settled into the empty chair next to me. In a few seconds my eyes cleared and then I blinked them several times not believing what I saw.

“Whoa…” I said. “You’re a damn ostrich!”

“Of course I am,” the large bird said non-chalently.

“And you talk as well,” I said as I reached into my pocket for my cigerettes but then realized I had quit smoking about ten days ago. So instead of the comforting feel of a pack of smokes, I came up with the little square pieces of nicorette gum. I quickly took one and stufed it into my mouth and chewed it until I could feel the nictoine.

“Correct again,” the ostrich said.

Not seeing to much of a choice of ignoring whatever it was that sat next to me, and of course not having any previous interaction with such a creature, I asked the obvious question. “So what do I call you?”

“My name is Nora.”

“Well by the way…er…Nora,” I began trying to keep my voice calm, “ostriches can’t talk. Which means you aren’t real. I don’t know what you are…maybe you are an hallucination of some kind brought on by my nictoine deprived state or a result of the pain killers I am taking for my…injury.”

The injury was a result of an intergalactical slide…well that will all become clear later.

“Like I was saying...Nora, ostriches can’t talk.”

“Is that what you r-e-a-l-l-y believe?” she asked in a very snarkisk manner.

Is it me or is this snarkish thing becoming a trend or something lately?

“Well there isn’t another rational explanation is there?” I asked. “I mean how often is it that an ostrich shows up in a bar for a bit of conversation?”

“I see,” she said and grinned as if she knew something about me but wanted to lure it out of me. “You talk of rationality,” she continued, “yet you sit here waiting for something that is not rational either—isn’t that so?”

“What?” I said acting as if I didn’t know what she meant.

“ You don’t lie well,” she said with a sly smile. “Your eyes give you away. I know you’re waiting for a fairy.”

“Now how do you know that?’ I asked trying to keep the surprise out of my voice.

“I know a lot about you,”she said. “I have the ability—”

“Wait a minute,” I protested, “if you know that, then that only proves my point about you being an halluciantion from my own thoughts.”

“Maybe,” she said in a very neutral tone. “And maybe not.”

“That’s not much of an answer,” I said.

“But does it really matter?” she said. “If I am a hallucination, then you are really just talking to yourself. No harm there because you do that already.”

“True,” I agreed.

“And if I am not an halluncination, and I am just an ostrich, well then you are just having a conversation and there is no harm in that is there?”

“Well I…,” I tried to come up with an answer but couldn’t.I hate it when delusions get so damned rational.

“But to make you feel better, we can just go along with your assumption that I am an hallucination brought on by your deprived state. Feel better?”

“I suppose,” I said but I really did feel better. I mean which is easier to explain—that I was talking to myslf via an hallucination or I was really having a conversation with an ostrich? Chances are the first one would get you some odd looks but the second one would get you thrown into a psych ward. So I decided what the heck and just went along.

“So what was her name?” the ostrich asked.

“Her name is...wait a minute…you should know her name.”

“Well I do, but I want to hear you say it.”

“Well…her name is Trista,” I said and felt the warmth well up inside me as the syllables crossed my lips.

“So..what would you do with her?” she asked. “If she showed up here right now?”

“Well there’s a short and a long answer to that question” I said.

“Which might be?”

“That’s a pretty personal question from an ostrich that I don’t really know,” I said.

“Are we going to go through that again,” she said as she cocked her head to one side.

“No,” I smiled. “But still that’s…”

“Oh…so its for her ears only—is that it?”

“Kind of,” I agreed.

“Well I think I know what it is,” she said and smiled what I assumed was a sly grin…for an ostrich. “And she thinks the same?”

“Well I…think so,” I said hesitantkly but then chanmged my mind and said, “no, I’m sure she feels the same way.”

“You have such faith—that is good,” she said. "I think they, whoever it is that is behind all of these kind of things, like for us to work through it on our own. Says something about the nature of faith right there."

“Sometimes its all we have,” I said.

“And sometimes it is enough,” she said. “Just enough…but now I must be going. I wish you luck in your search and what you are looking for.”

“Thanks and…”

There was a sudden flash of light and the ostrich was gone. I felt an emptiness at her departure. In the short time we conversed I felt as if I had known her in an odd sort of way. But of course if it was an halluncination—then I should know her because it was really myself. This gets kind of confusing…eh?

These thoughts about Trista made me really want a cigerette really badly. I knew the gum would no longer be enough so I got up, limping slightly, and made my way toward the doors which led out into the street. There was a little convienence store I remembered where I could get a pack of cigerettes and calm my nerves.

As I stepped out of the hotel and into the street. There was the sudden and violent transition as the vortex swept me back to my own world. My mind received the neural input that rearranged the other information that had been implanted in order for me to function in that past environment. Now the two information streams intermingled and the purpose of the trip became clear; the date was 200 years in the future of the period I had just come from.

“So how did it go?” the man standing at the the console asked.

“No joy this trip. But the other problem…it’s getting bad,” I said. “I’m seeing the ostrich more and more. It must be some form of interplanetary dimensia caused by vortex interference during the time travel. The feedback is getting quite convincing. But the summoning device to call me back, the need for a cigerette, worked fine.”

“Well you were in there for quite a while, a number of years according to their time so I racheted up the craving to draw you out. Did you see them?”

“No. Not this trip,” I said.

“Do you think they really exist?” he asked.

“Yeah I do,” I said. “The story we uncovered about them is one of the greatest stories our world knows. It gives us hope to go on in our lives and if we can find them, then we can regain what we have lost and save our planet from the mundane death that awaits it.”

“But don’t you ever wonder if it was just a fictional story? Maybe it was just something that was made up.”

“No…I don’t believe so. Besides with a title like that, The Importance of Undergarments—it has to be true. Why else would anyone write something as ridicloulous as that if not as a sign of hope of what is the greater good of life?”

“I suppose,” the operator agreed.

“Going back into time is the only way to find out for sure,” I said. “If I can duplicate the exact situation by doing what he did, I might get the chance to meet her or even both of them.”

"But you risk changing the course of history as well. It was this other man's dream or passion with this woman--not yours. Each trip makes it seem more like your reality to the point where you are him."

"I know. I feel myself being drawn into what he felt and experienced. It's damgerous I know but we have to risk it."

"You might even get stuck there...in the place of the man who..." a beeping alarm emanated from the console. "The vortex is becoming unstable. It’s time.”

“Close the gateway,” I said.

As I watched the time vortex close, I said softly, "I will find her..someday.” I smiled as I imagined her...

***

Back on Earth, a large clap on thunder disrupted the magnetic field over the house in the rural area of Suffolk, Virginia. The sleeping man rolled over on his side and smiled.

THE END

Just One More Day Maybe...

2006-08-18T22:23:00.000-04:00

Somehow I survived the turmoil of yesterday…not by much…the characteristic response of surviving by a hair would be an exaggeration—yeah it was that close. I know I tested the ties of a relationship or two by my selfish quest for need and attention and for that I apologize--the aches were bad on so many levels.

The closet door is still closed and the carton of cigarettes remains, yet the monsters still peer out at me. In fact they have been joined by a few more.

It’s been about 8 days now since my last cigarette and I have come to a realization…well several actually. The thought process, although still in a bit of disarray has enlightened me to some things while at the same time made some things more confusing. Yeah...it’s strange…and if I had the answers to share with you I would, but like many of you...I am still in the dark on much. At this point, I have rewritten this posting several times trying not to make it an airing of my life and the way I look at things kind of post. You all don’t need to hear that. Simply stated I need to change some things.

They say…things happen for a reason. What...is there some snarky angel or something with a twisted sense of humor who likes to play with us? I don't know about that but I do think that what we do with these things that happen for a reason makes all the difference to ourselves and others.

Note to the giver of things that happen for a reason: For those of us that are sometimes clueless...how about a little help? Maybe a sign or two or an occassional nudge would be appreciated. Things are tough enough as they are. I'm not asking for much here...by the way...do you have anything to do with that ostrich?

Not A Good One...

2006-08-17T21:24:00.000-04:00

Rough day...physically as well as emotionally--its amazing how closely the two work together. Seems like all the cards want to come down at once and I'm about ready to let them fall and just give in. Maybe its better to live with the addiction rather than be miserable without. Now there's a debate...but then what happens to the ostrich?

Delusions or Illusions

2006-08-16T22:16:00.000-04:00

What we see and what we want to see...they may rhyme but that’s as far as they go together.

Well another nicotine free day is winding down. The tough moments get tougher and I basically feel like…well like something the wolverine dragged in on a wet stormy night.

By the way, I am convinced that the world is against me…the onslaught of tests of my will continue…today they took away my high speed internet. Actually the storm last night that resided directly overhead at 4AM, which literally rocked my world is probably to blame somehow. But I know it wasn’t really a storm, but rather the opening of a gateway. But enough about that weird and unexplainable stuff, I think its time that we discussed more practical stuff…like the ostrich that has been hanging around.

So what is this ostrich fixation thingy? There can be several different meanings of course. The first and most obvious is the delusion factor; that I have gone off the deep edge…lord knows there was not a whole lot of maneuvering room to begin with and depriving me of my smokes may have been the last straw. And now I am seeing things that are a bit bizarre, or at least more bizarre then usual. Okay—you can’t all vote for that one yet so sit back down! At least you can hear the rest first.

Now there is another possibility which falls more into the illusion area. The ostrich may represent something other than what it appears to be. Uh-oh—I sense a lucid moment coming on—must be that nicotine gum kicking in…or is it the Vicodin? I guess it really doesn’t matter. Back to the ostrich, maybe there are things that we want or need and they appear in our thoughts in all different forms. Why you ask? Well my guess is that we don’t want to readily admit what they represent so we make them something silly. They pay psychiatrists big money to come up with this stuff. Maybe we do that because we are scared of the truth it represents or the change that it brings. Maybe I should stop using the “we” and just use the “I.” Hell why not—it’s my ostrich right? Maybe the ostrich represents a cigarette or maybe it represents something much more than that.

Sounds kind of serious huh? Well to lighten it back up, think of it this way, for Bram Stoker it was Dracula, for Mary Shelly it was Frankenstein…and for me…well it’s an ostrich. What can I say, I’m a simple kind of guy who has had their head in the sand and finally took it out and looked around. And what did I see…why another ostrich.

By the way, I still think she’s cute…

Random Mutterings

2006-08-15T21:50:00.000-04:00

Well I just couldn't seem to get on track with too much today but as I have been relaying the events of my current state, if nothing else for posterity sake, I thought I would keep going—anyway it passes the time.

No cigarettes—lots of drugs—a little pain on the side. This is one meal I wish I could skip. However being couch bound was semi-exciting but even that is wearing me out. I fidget after a couple of hours. I firmly believe couch sitting and movie watching is always better with company.

Started working on a syllabus for one of my classes and then realized I had the wrong course. Then after I got that part straightened out and got a rough draft together, I checked the roster and saw that there aren’t enough people signed up so the class might be cancelled anyway.

Watched the ostrich roam by a few times. I think she is trying to get my attention…

Worked on the revisions to the vampire novel—thank God they were pretty mechanical because that’s about all I could handle. Two hundred pages down and two hundred to go. Wish the love scene was in this book and not the second one—or is it the third book—anyway I could have used the excitement.

Flirted with that ostrich…I think it’s stalking me...

Watched Constantine—glad I didn’t pay anything for it. However I did watch a Cary Grant movie called I was a Male War Bride—great movie—with some really priceless lines I will have to try and use some day on some unexpecting female.

I replaced a band on my watch which took over an hour…and then saw that the watch has stopped so probably needs a battery. Threw said watch against the wall.

Had a serious moment ot two thinking about some of the personal changes I need to get working on…started making a list of things to do so I can procrastinate over the list rather than just the ideas.

Called for my surgery appointment and was told I would have to go for about a month which at this point seems ludicrous as it is painful to walk—military medicine. Also was scolded about my schedule of medication—I wrote it down this time so I won’t forget.

The ostrich has a pretty interesting personality although it does have a sharp edge at times. Still kind of cute…

Had a lengthy conversation with my dog about tennis balls; she reminded me that I got two with the mower last week and they need to be replaced.

Had a mental debate with myself: Have you ever wondered if bologna has a right side up? I mean is it the way it comes out of the package that it should be placed on the bread?

Looked in the paper randomly—you have to wonder why apartments don’t get cheaper. There is so much new construction of homes these days—you would think that they would be giving apartments away. Where do all these people come from?

Ate Cheerios from the box. It seemed the right thing to do at the time. Even shared with the ostrich; I think she liiiiiikkkkkes me…

In my head I counted the packs of cigarettes that I know are still in the closet. I avoid going into that closet for obvious reasons.

Does an ostrich age the same as a person? Just wondering, I mean you have to be aware of these things…

And finally, was pretty succesful in fighting off the pissiness disposition during conversation.

Well that was pretty much my day--a random collage of events.

Tommorrow I might make a move on the ostrich…

Something’s Gotta Give…

2006-08-14T19:46:00.000-04:00

Keep an eye on that ostrich…I hear they have a mean kick…

Well here we are…or more like here I am approaching the fourth day of no cigarettes. There have been no murders or aggravated assaults—so far. And that of course is the good news.

If you have noticed in the previous posts, there have been other events that have decorated the halls of my endeavor of quitting smoking. They in themselves have been enough to drive even the sanest person back to the nicotine wagon. Fortunately I lay no claim to being sane.

However, dramatic (yes—full of drama) developments have continued. The story goes as follows…one is suppose to increase their “physical” activity when they quit smoking to keep occupied and of course prevent the weight gain. So I have been doing that (don’t ask—don’t tell). Well I began to experience some pain in my leg; the obvious assumption is a strain. One puts smelly stuff on, takes pills and maybe slaps a heating pad on for good measure and life is good. Well almost.

However said leg shows no sign of improvement but rather the opposite. This AM movement is extremely painful. So I go to the see the doctor. His prognosis…after several coughing fits—by me as I am squeezed where…well you know where, is that I have a new addition—a hernia.

So something had to give…and apparently it did. So now I am fairly immobile for the time being. I have drugs for the pain. I have nicotine gum for my addiction. So now on top of the lack of physically smoking a cigerette induced hallucinations, I have drug induced hallucinations as well. Or I think they are…its getting awfully crowded around here.

The ostriches are running amuck...and now they’re smoking too. What’s worse is the female ostrich is looking pretty good…

Still with the living...

2006-08-13T13:18:00.000-04:00

Well I'm at the...hell, I don't know, somewhere between 2 and 3 day mark without smoking. Its hard to focus on the exact time or anything else for that matter. My apologies for not getting the next ending of the story out--but like I said, its kind of hard to focus.

Anyway I am still with the living...well sort of. I am running out of things to clean--I have tackled the garage and a good part of the shed and have only punched the walls out twice...so far. (I'm not counting the mutilated stuff animals--they don't really count--do they?)My daughter has been extremely helpful--she leaves the house so she doesn't get abused. Smart girl...

My mind keeps telling me how foolish this is...there is an entire carton of cigarettes in the closet. They're right there and the madness will be over. Temptation is very close...oh so very close.

How close? A very fine thread at best. I have never realized how much of an addiction I have with smoking. Hell I was shocked when I figured it out that I have been smoking for thirty years. One of those kind of things we try not to remember.

If it wasn't for the special friend whose calls are keeping me from making that mistake--I'd be right back there--there is no doubt in my mind about that. I don't know what I would do without you...well yeah I do, I'd be smoking...

Warm thanks and a very special hug for you:)

Somebody's Got Some Explaining to Do...

2006-08-11T21:49:00.000-04:00

Well as I approach the 24 hour smoke free period, yeah I’m counting because I am earning each and every one of them…the hallucinations have begun. Actually they have been going on for quite a while since...well never mind. That's another story...

I am not really seeing things, just an errant ostrich or two, but rather I am coming to an understanding so to speak. I wish I could blame it on the giving up smoking excuse, but to semi-quote a favorite line from My Cousin Vinnie…I don’t think its going to hold much water.

Now I am not going to bore you with the gory personal details but I experienced this form of epiphany today (or some other un-drugged produced state) that—well, lets call it the how could I be so blind syndrome.

What the heck does that mean? I think I can best explain it by saying that I think we wear many faces in our lives…some by choice and some by default. At times we hide behind them based upon commitment or something else rather than the right reason.

Then suddenly we are exposed…naked in front of everyone—and what’s worse is that everyone knows…in fact you’re like the last person to find out that everyone knows what you were trying to hide from them as well as yourself. But that’s not enough yet, then there is even the bigger shocker—they all agree with you.

It’s like some mass form of family heresy or something. It beings exhilaration, shame, relief, and even remorse all at the same time—talk about a mixed bag. I guess I have some explaining to do...to myself.

Picked a great day to stop smoking…where’s that damn tube of glue…(s-n-i-f-f-)I’ll fix that ostrich next time I see it!

Warning!

2006-08-11T13:38:00.000-04:00

Well this can be a really good thing or a really foolish thing but I have decided to try and quit smoking after 30 years. So...please accept my apologies now in the event that I try and tear your head off at some point during this endeavor. Hopefully it won't come to that but I have a feeling there will be some stressful moments. Any support out there will be greatly appreciated...

Last cigarette: approx 15 hours ago.

Thanks:)

Acting One’s Age

2006-08-09T20:34:00.000-04:00

A short interlude from the alternative endings...and yes there is at least one more in me yet so don't stop reading yet.

Acting Ones Age: this is an interesting topic and recently brought to the forefront of my thoughts by a conversation with my own daughter. Let’s get to the point: How many times have you heard or even said to someone to “act their age?” Probably quite a few I bet but most times it is meant in a joking manner. Now of course if there is a maturity issue here…such as a grownup acting as a child—or the act is irresponsible in some way—that is a whole other story which I do not want to get into. But for now, let’s just assume that the crowd is all grownups and acting, relatively speaking, as adults.

So what does this mean then? Are we all supposed to act or feel a certain way about things because of our age? Now granted, age reflects a certain statistical reference as to perhaps having experienced more by the default of time, but in my opinion that’s just a lot of bull-hockey. Time is just that—a statistical measurement. Don’t believe me—ask a tortoise and see what kind of answer you get. Because we are older or younger, does that mean that things we experience and our reactions to them are not still good and bad? Of course they are. Nothing really changes in that regard. The old laugh and the young cry and vice versa, there is no difference.

So should one act one’s age then? Well lets break out the age manual and look up our age and see what…oh wait a minute…there isn’t a manual is there? So how does one know how they should act then if they aren’t given instructions? Silly question which of course dictates a silly yet simplistic answer—you should act the way you feel is right based upon everything but a statistical fact. Its all about heart and soul and what you feel is right.

It’s amazing sometimes what our kids tell us especially when we actually listen for a change. They make us proud even with all the hell they have put us through and then they aren’t kids anymore as they climb their own statistical ladder.

Lessons come from both old and young—you just have to recognize them.

I still like the Buick...that's one thing we can't agree on:)

Alternate Ending 3

2006-08-08T23:57:00.000-04:00

Alternate Ending 3
(Original Story Lead In):

"So what about the bra?" I asked? "It is physical evidence that proves her existence?"
"It is much more probable," the shrink began, "that you went out and bought it subconsciously as part of your fantasy and somehow managed to block it from your mind. It's the only reasonable and plausible answer."
This seemed to be a sticking point so I thought it best to just agree with him and move along. Once I did, I was deemed fit to return to my meager existence of life as I knew it. I agreed readily with the shrink because he could not touch those dreams that were locked up in my head. Those were mine and I kept and cherished them.

I still go to conventions and I haven't changed my routine very much while there. I go to panels, talk with friends, and just hang out. I sit in the bar and have a drink. I will grab a table that has two chairs and make sure that the other chair is left unoccupied. I leave a rose at the front desk at each hotel for Trista. I don't know if they are ever picked up or not but I leave them anyway.

It's been a while, maybe a few years since that weekend and I was doing my usual routine at a convention and toasting the memory. I was sipping my third or fourth drink of the evening when suddenly there was a flash of light and the seat in front of me was filled with a shape. In a few moments the form stabilized and Trista was there.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey," I answered as I looked upon her image and then added, "I missed you too."

"And I have missed you," she said as she leaned closer and placed her hand upon mine. When her hand touched my own it was like someone had opened a floodgate and the warmth that it contained washed over me.

"Thanks for the roses," she said, "I have all of them."

"You're very welcome. I just wanted to do something nice for you."

"That's what I like about you, so honest and simple. Your heart is so open."

"For you it is always..." I allowed my words to trail off.

She let her hand trace the outline of my face. "So silly and yet so sweet."When her hand returned to mine she said, "I've watched you sit and have these drinks late at night."

"You have? Why didn't you come to me earlier then?"

"Rules. There are only certain things we faries are allowed to do. Actually I m breaking a quite a few right now by coming to you."

"TristaÂ, I don't want you to get in any--"

"Hush," she said and placed her fingers to my lips. "I am here because I want to be here. I wanted to see you."

"Well in that case then, I guess I won't argue," I said and felt my self satsifying grin stretch fromn ear to ear.

"Good, we never have argued and I don't want to start one now. Besides you would lose anyway. "

"I see we still have that snarkyness streak in your possession after all this time."

"You seem to bring it out in me," she countered and smiled that grin that drove me crazy--the one oh so innocent and yet oh so evil mixture that only she could do.

"Glad to know I'm good for something besides entertainment," I said.

"Entertainment? Where did that come from?" she asked.

"You know us mere mortals. We must be amusing with our daily lives as compared to you fairie folk."

"Ah I see," she said, " is that what you really think?"

Her question and serious tone of voice caught me off guard.

"Well I don't know."

"It's actually quite the reverse," she said emphatically. "We can't expeieirnce the same joy that you do. We have in a way beome immune to it after so long of a period of time."

"Trista I'm so sorry. I didn't know."

"Of course you didn't," she said sincerely. "But that's why I have been keeping my eye on you."

"Oh?"

"You see, ever since we were together. I have been grounded so to speak because I behaved abnormally when I left you the...ah...item."

"Item? Oh, you mean the bra."

"Yes. That is against the rules. You see why obviosuly."

"No," I said adamantly. "If it wasn't for the bra, I would have questioned the entire..." My voice trailed off as I saw what she meant now.

"That's exactly the reason," she said. "It can have an adverse affect on humans and cause emotional stress. It's not supposed to seem like it was real but rather just a dream of something that might have been."

"I see," I said. My voice reflected dissapointment.

"But I'm glad I did. And the way you have kept that time in your heart is what convinced me."

"Convinced you of what?" I asked.

"I'm staying this time--with you"

"What?"

"I'm staying," she repeated

"Trista, I'm so glad to hear that but...can you do that?"

"If I give up my immortality, I can."

"That's a lot to give up," I said.

"Well a woman has to do what she must," she said and smiled. "Beides, you're worth it
and I only have so many bras."

"I don't know what to say," I said.

"That's a good start to a relationship. Let me do all the talking and we'll get along just fine."

"Snarky," I said.

"Yes, it comes from years of expierince and of course genetics as well," she proudly stated.

"By the way," I began, "now that you brought it up, seeing as how you were immortal, how old are you anyway?"

"Don't you know you should never ask a womans age. Shame on you."

"Well I was just curious...it doesn't really matter."

"And you may keep that curiosity to yourself young man unless it deals with a more physical nature as to where I am concerned."

"Well then, shall we adjourn to the fourth floor?" I asked.

"We can't go there anymore honey," she said looking sadly at me. "We have to--"

"Trista this hotel has six floors."

"Well then," she said, "don't you need to work on that undergarment collection of yours? Hmmmmmmm....."

THE END

Alternate Ending 2

2006-08-08T07:44:00.000-04:00

There always seems to be more than just one ending to a story and in The Importance of Undergarments at a Science Fiction Convention, is no exception. So for a blog or two, I will explore some other endings that I toyed with.

Alternate Ending 2
(Original Story Lead In):

"So what about the bra?" I asked? "It is physical evidence that proves her existence?"

"It is much more probable," the shrink began, "that you went out and bought it subconsciously as part of your fantasy and somehow managed to block it from your mind. It's the only reasonable and plausible answer."

This seemed to be a sticking point so I thought it best to just agree with him and move along. Once I did, I was deemed fit to return to my meager existence of life as I knew it. I agreed readily with the shrink because he could not touch those dreams that were locked up in my head. Those were mine and I kept and cherished them.

I still go to conventions and I haven't changed my routine very much while there. I go to panels, talk with friends, and just hang out. I sit in the bar and have a drink. But there is one thing I do differently since all of this happened. But before I get to that I need to warn you that it might sound a little bizarre, but if you had experienced what I had, then perhaps you would feel somewhat differently about it. So let me go through this before you decide anything.

When I am at a convention, I carry my small carry bag with me. Inside of the bag wrapped up in tissue paper I carry the bra. When its late and most of the people have gone to bed and things are quiet, I take the bra out of the bag and place it on my head and snap the clasps under my chin so that the the cups face upward toward the ceiling. I figure Trista had to have left it for a reason other than just a sovenier, perhaps it is some kind of lightning rod that points upwards...perhaps even toward the fourth floor. That fabulous place that I can see only when I sleep and it comes to my dreams. It truly is a fantastical place where only the most wondrous things happen or have happened--not sure which really applies but I guess it doesn't really matter.

As I was saying, the cups point upward. I figure maybe...just maybe if all of this is true, then perhaps there is some way that Trista can tell I'm here and waiting for her to come back. Perhaps it even acts as some form of fairy GPS system or something. After all, with all the conventions that go on all around the world, even fairies are bound to get lost sometimes. It makes sense to me, heck, I get lost going around the block sometimes so its only fair to assume that fairies might have the same kind of challenges at times.

So if you are one of those folks that can't sleep and you wander down to the bar in the wee hours at a convention and you see someone in the bar sitting there quietly having a drink and wearing a bra on the top of their head, don't be so fast to judge. But rather if you have the time to stop and sit and have a drink, I will tell you the story of The Importance of Undergarments at a Science Fiction Convention. Getting the story in person is always better than in writing. You get to hear all those subtle nuances in the voice rather than supplying your own in your mind. And for those who do stop by and chat for a bit, maybe I can put in a a good word for you the next time I see Trista and maybe she can pull some strings for you and get you a con-fairy expierenence as well.

Now, I can imagine what you're thinking. Guys will read this story and think that if they come to the bar and place a bra on their head, they too can attempt to have their own con-fairy expierience. Then before you know it there will be a bunch of men sitting in the bar with bras on their heads and then the women will join in with their own assortment of men's undergarments such as briefs, boxers, and perhaps even the dreaded banana hammocks or something and it will look like the most ridiculous thing anyone has ever seen and there goes the whole con expierience thing. But if you think about it, it is a science fiction convention and you know what--probably no one will notice. And if any of the mundanes do notice we will just tell them that there is a Victoria Secrets or Fredericks or GQ or whatever gathering is going on and they will nodd in agreement and with complete understanding accompanied by a very sly grin on their faces from both men and women alike. And if they don't well that's okay too.

So after of all this you might ask yourself at some point if any of this makes any sense. Some will say no and others will just silently nodd their heads in agreement. As for me, I am off in my own little world and for all I know I may be the only person that has made it to the fourth floor...after all I have the bra to prove it. Oh and one other thing, did I mention the label inside the bra? The one that reads: "100% cotton mixed with magic fairy dust for enhanced lift." I guess I forgot to mention that.

Books and Birds Don't Mix

2006-08-07T07:57:00.000-04:00

It's funny how one event can leap frog or take precedence over another. I had a book released earlier in the year and of course with it came the usual celebratory associations with it. So out of curiosity sake I checked that date for other events and of course...there was a bizarre occurrence which completely obscures my book release but which is...well too bizarre to pass up without comment.

The story goes something like this. Man and Ostrich Get Drunk. Yes...you read correctly. Apparently the man had reason to celebrate so he gets some champagne. However, he decides to share said champagne with his pet ostrich. Okay...not to bad yet...but wait for it.

Man and ostrich get drunk and decide to go out to an outdoor concert. Now of course one would think this was a bit odd if seeing man and large bird...however no one really paid any attention until...the bird attacked woman. Did I mention the ostrich was a female? Keep that in mind...

So apparently the man showed some form of attention to said woman and the ostrich did not care for it in its apparent inebriated state. So ostrich attacks woman and knocks her down a curb. Woman breaks leg--police come--man and bird are arrested.

In court the man is charged with endangering of the public and of course charged all associated medical costs of woman injured. Fair enough. As for the bird...the court placed the ostrich in a zoo and gave the man visitation rights.

Okay, now at this point you think alls well that ends well...right? Well apparently not.

The woman that was injured wants to adopt the ostrich from the zoo! Apparently they have reconciled their differences. How so--you say? Well said woman during the incident--met bystander--fell in love and is now engaged to be married to bystander. Hence the ostrich is associated with the happy event and the woman wants to keep the bird around now as a reminder of said event. So a nasty custody battle is now in progress for the ostrich...

Had enough...me too.

Anyway, I think the next time I decide to have a book release event, I will pick the most obscure time that I can possibly imagine and hope for the best.

I hate to have anything get "fowled" up next time.

Lesson for the Day-Avoid Being Pissy

2006-08-03T21:28:00.000-04:00

Well I need to get something blogged today while we are taking a break from the next short story project. So today is about being pissy.

Now pissy can have numerous meanings, but in this case I will define it as being irritable or overly sensitive to words or actions which leads to not so nice results...Namely all parties getting pissed at each other.

Go ahead and ask...And were we pissy today?
The answer is yes we were and yes we feel bad about it and yes we apologized...

Now many people are just pissy from the get-go. No matter what you say or do to them, they are just that way. But there are others who are pissy for certain and more specific reasons. Some are even fairly legitiment within specific realms of reason.

Let me be clear about this--there is no excuse for being pissy with people--its wrong--no doubt about it.

So perhaps it is better to examine the causes of perceived pissiness. (I know its not a word--but it works at the moment).

Pissy Causes Top Three List:

These apply to both parties-the sender and receiver

(1) Miscommunication is a biggie. One might say words with a particular intent in mind, but they might be received in a different way. Understanding the meaning of words or phrases can be interpreted completely different especially if there is an age or cultural difference. Clarification should be sought.

(2) Doing something that is a known irritant to another party should be avoided if at all possible or perhaps refraining from the action itself which might lead to a pissy confrontation. If you know someone well enough and you know what their pet peeves are...try and understand them.

(3) Being in a bad frame of mind to start with...like mowing the lawn in a heat wave (with heat advisories) and not drinking water until far into the next day but instead consuming copious amounts of coffee instead.

Okay...I'm Guilty to that one....okay maybe all of them...

Like everything else in life--it's a give and take scenario. Being pissy is wrong, but understanding is always better--on both sides.

Me personally, I'm checking myself into pissy rehab...maybe my book sales will go up--it works for movie and sports stars...right?

The Importance of Undergarments & Science Fiction Conventions

2006-08-02T12:55:00.000-04:00

For ease of reading, you can access my webpage where you can download the complete short story in pdf format.

http://www.tonyruggiero.com/sampleaudiodatafiles.html

About the story: The Importance of Undergarments at Science Fiction Conventions

2006-07-31T09:21:00.000-04:00

Well the first draft of the story, The Importance of Undergarments at a Science Fiction Convention is completed. For those of you new to this, please start at Part 1 and work toward the conclusion-Part 11, you will better appreciate the story from the beginning. This is a first draft and I imagine there will be changes as there always is.

As many of you who have read my work know, I am one for quirky endings so I hoped I maintained that in this one. As you may have noticed I tried to mix humor with a bit of seriousness with the story. The humor about conventions is all meant in good fun. The romantic element I felt played a role in developing Mike's character and also to emphasize that those that go to conventions are just like everyone else. For those of you that need that all conclusive ending...well I didn't give you one. I left it for you to decide what is real and what is fantasy. And for those of you wondering about what is truth and what is not in the story--well that is left for you to wonder about.

If you have been following the story since its beginning, I thank you and if I made you giggle a little, I succeeded in what I attempted to do. Comments are always appreciated. Post to the blog or email me at aruggs@aol.com.

The Importance of Undergarments at a Science Fiction Convention-Part XI (11) The Conclusion

2006-07-30T11:19:00.000-04:00

Part XI (11) The Conclusion

Previously: “Well, I began in my best James Bond voice, “how about you come back to bed and—”
“We can’t honey, the fourth floor no longer exists,” she said matter of fact like.

“And it did last night?” I asked.

“Of course it did. Don’t you remember?”

“Trista I don’t remember anything passed the elevator,” I said as my frustration peaked to new heights. “I really want to understand all this—what happened last night—who the hell you are—and what is really going on here!”

“Oh, that’s right,” she said. “Sorry about that—it’s all part of the process honey.”

“The process?” I asked. “I thought it was about you and experiencing the con?”

“Well sort of Mike,” she started hesitantly. “I don’t think you quite understand what is happening here.”

“Well, that’s an understatement,” I agreed.

“You see Mike— I’m your con fairy.”

“My what?”

“I’m your convention fairy and I am here for your convention experience—not mine.”

“Whoa…back up Trista my head is spinning!”

And it really was spinning. The room felt as if it was going 80 miles per hour and the G-forces were pinning me to the walls but in this the case the walls weren’t just drywall and plaster but a new reality of some sort.

“How can I explain this,” she began. “You see Mike, this is a new program that was initiated by the Fairies Customer Service Branch for the Betterment of all Mankind FCSBM, to show our appreciation to those like you that go to conventions. You keep us alive and vivid in the imaginations of thousands. So to show our appreciation in a way for all that you people do, we thought it would be appropriate to thank you in a way by giving YOU a real life fantasy for a change.”

“This is a joke right? Someone at the convention is puting you up to this? Either that or one of us is suffering delusions from consuming too much Nth degree tea at the party which I also do not remember attending.”

“No Mike, no tea—no party—this is as real as it gets considering it still fantasy.”

“Okay,” I began, “then if that is the case, why can’t I remember anything from last night?”

“Well you will, but not yet.”

“Huh?”

“I am a fairy Mike. I live in your dreams—not in the real world. So when we were on the fourth floor, which is really the area between the fantasy world and real life, what we experienced there will come to you in your dreams.”

“But you are physically here. I remember your grip on me—that wasn’t fantasy.”

“You’re correct. This physical shape you see before you is real, but only a mere shell of life with a very limited span of time. My real essence lies in that realm…”

“On the fourth floor..." I said as my voice trailed off and my thoughts beckoned to the dream part of my mind for answers.

“Yes,” she agreed. “And it was very special Mike I assure you. As a fairy I can experience not only physically but also your emotional psyche. “You’re a very special guy Mike, in another world or dimension I think I could easily fall in love with you.”

“I wish I could…understand what happened,” I said.

She stepped to within a few feet of me and placed her hand upon my forehead.

“Close your eyes,” she said.

I closed them and within a few seconds I was overcome by a warmth and sensation that I could only describe as an emotional bliss. She was there and I could feel her touch on me which both comforted and excited me. I had never known such feeling or emotional contact with anyone else. Was this how love felt—I don’t now. All I knew was that it was a feeling I did not want to part from. I stroked her face with my hands and bathed in the luxurious feel of her flesh. I kissed her fingers and held them to my own face feeling their softness in such stark contrast to my own.

I felt her remove her hand from my forehead and the euphoria I experienced dissipated immediately leaving me feeling empty.

“In your dreams I will come to you…” she said.

“But I don’t know if that will be enough,” I answered. “This is too wonderful to just leave to my dreams. There must be something else that can be done.”

“There will be other conventions,” she said and then smiled that grin that was somewhere between evil and innocence. “You never know…”

“But…suppose…” I grappled to find the words to ask the right question to get the answer I wanted. “Suppose I want to give you a rose or something…(at this point for some reason I don’t think I will ever comprehend, the Meatloaf song of “You took the words right out of my mouth,” came into my thoughts and ever since has been imbedded there.) I continued my line of thought “…you know just for GP, that’s general purpose, how would I get it to you?”

“Just leave them where you will and I will find them,” she said. Then she kissed me and finished getting dressed.

I watched her dress, not out of any sexual gratification, but out of the sheer enjoyment of watching her every movement. We didn’t talk for those few moments, it was as if we had telepathically agreed to not talk as we sorted everything into its place—or at least some form of temporary holding cell for later contemplation.
When she had finished dressing she said: “I must be on my way and you must drive me,” she said.

“To where,” I asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, “my time is almost done,” and offered nothing more.

From the time we left the hotel and on the drive home, we talked about everything as if we had known each other for a long period of time. We held hands; we kissed and just simply enjoyed the moment. I felt like asking the clichéd question, “Is this heaven?” but the thought that someone would say, “No, and that it was Iowa,” encouraged me to leave well enough alone.

So this brings us back to the beginning of this story. As I said, I was driving down the road and she had placed her head in my lap. She had fallen asleep, as evidenced by the snoring that emanated from her. I have to admit that the fact that fairies snore was a little disturbing but it was also a fact that I think I could easily overlook in this instance.

As she slept, I looked at the souvenir she had given me earlier which hung from my rearview mirror, the black bra. I couldn’t help but snicker about the whole affair. As I did so, I actually experienced a dream flashback to what I had experienced earlier in the hotel when she had touched my forehead. The euphoria was momentary but oh so gratifying and any attempt to place into words would be meaningless. But emotions and feelings may be transformed into words and I heard her words clearly…as well as the words that softly crept across my lips…I love you too…

This euphoria was quickly replaced by the sound of a siren and the flashing of blue lights in my rearview mirror—a State Trooper. A quick glance at the speedometer confirmed I was going about ten miles over the speed limit. I began to decelerate and pull off onto the shoulder.

“Trista,” I said as I gently shook her, “Wake up.”

She looked up at me with those blue eyes. Her eyes were the brightest blue I had ever seen. As I looked at her they grew brighter and brighter until the front seat of the car was encompassed in a blue-white light. Then it suddenly went dark leaving my vision full of those white spots you see when a flash goes off directly in your line of sight.

“Sir, can I see your license and registration,” the officer’s voice boomed into my consciousness.

I ignored the voice as my eyes cleared and saw that Trista was no longer here with me. My eyes told me she was gone but my mind refused to accept the fact because it simply did not want to.

“Sir, can I see your license and registration,” the officer repeated.

“She’s gone,” I said.

“Who is gone sir?” the officer asked.

“Trista,” I answered. “She’s gone.”

The officer shined his light into the interior of my car. The beam stopped on the bra.

“Sir, can you step out of the vehicle,” the officer said in a more authoritative voice. “Do you want to tell me what “that” (referring to the bra) is about?”

In moments of despair or anguish, we take much comfort in strangers. I relayed the entire story to the police officer. After I had finished I was asked to sit in the police car and was later transported to the police station. After retelling the story again, I was evaluated by the police psychiatrist on duty. He placed me on an overnight hold due to possible suicidal tendencies due to an emotional breakdown. I was released the next day into the custody of my parents and court ordered to seek professional assistance in dealing with an undetermined trauma.

That was about nine months ago. Since that time I have had many sessions with a psychiatrist and have been deemed no risk to society. Talking with the shrink the goal was for me to rationalize what happened with Trista, the shrink’s answer was that it was all a fantasy that I had played out in my mind.

“So what about the bra?" I asked? "It is physical evidence that proves her existence?”

“It is much more probable,” the shrink began, “that you went out and bought it subconsciously as part of your fantasy and somehow managed to block it from your mind. It’s the only reasonable and plausible answer.”

This seemed to be a sticking point so I thought it best to just agree with him and move along. Once I did, I was deemed fit to return to my meager existence of life as I knew it. I agreed readily with the shrink because he could not touch those dreams that were locked up in my head. Those were mine and I kept and cherished them.

I still go to conventions and I haven’t changed my routine very much while there. I go to panels, talk with friends, and just hang out. I sit in the bar and have a drink. I will grab a table that has two chairs and make sure that the other chair is left unoccupied. I leave a rose at the front desk at each hotel for Trista. I don’t know if they are ever picked up or not but I leave them anyway. If the shrink knew I was doing this he probably bring me in for my counseling so let’s just keep this between us...okay?

As to my own theory as to what happened that weekend…I keep it in my heart and my dreams. As to what is real and what is not—well when it comes to a matter of the heart, those things are best left alone and you just follow them where they lead you in life.

As to the bra—well I still have it…and the assortment of colors it comes in.

THE END

I hope you have enjoyed the short story.

The Importance of Undergarments at A science Fiction Convention Part X (10)

2006-07-28T16:43:00.000-04:00

Part X (10)

Previously: “Trista, there are only three floors. There is no fourth floor. And what was that about back there when you said—”
“No fourth floor—is that what you think,” she said and grabbed me…well…let’s just leave it at that.

There comes a day in our lives when something both bizarre and wonderful happens. And I think that night in the elevator at that moment, it was my time. Call it fate, destiny, or whatever word works for you. The event changes us forever as it molds and shapes us into what we were meant to be. That was what happened to me that night that much I am sure of. My epiphany had finally arrived…

The only problem is that I don’t remember a damned thing!

I awoke in my hotel room on Sunday morning. I was naked and my body felt as if I had been run over by a tractor trailer…several times. The sound of the shower running indicated that I was not alone. A few minutes later Trista came out of the bathroom.

“Good morning,” I said.
“Good morning to you sweetie,” she said. “Sleep well,” she said and then winked at me.
“Ah…well I’m not sure,” I said because well…I wasn’t sure of much of anything at the moment.
“You should have,” she said with a very provocative edge to her voice. “You were very much on target last night.”
“Well that’s good,” I said without knowing what the hell she was talking about.

Of course one would associate that comment with the act of…well you know what. But at this point if I had not learned anything else, I had learned to not take anything at face value with Trista.

“Did we…ah—”
“Yes,” she continued, “you were quite helpful to a needy woman last night. You made my convention experience complete. I now understand it all.”
Trying to be subtle I asked, “So this on target was a good thing?”
“Oh yes,” she purred, “a very good thing and several times while we were on the 4th floor.”
“The fourth floor,” I said remembering the elevator and the button that only went to the three floors that the hotel claimed to have.
“Yes,” she answered.
“Ah…and because of what happened on the fourth floor, you now have a complete understanding of the convention experience?”
“Oh yes, and all thanks to you.”

Okay that was it. If this wasn’t a complete role reversal and the most bizarre occurrence I have ever had…or anyone else for that matter I don’t know what is. I had come to the con, scored with a beautiful woman, and couldn’t remember any of what I did on a floor that doesn’t exist. Yet here was Trista with this complete and utter look of contentment on her face and if she felt any more fulfilled she was going to need another room to fit her disposition in. Talk about not being fair—and yes I know what fair is—a place for cotton candy and rides. I wanted my due. I wanted a memory of the convention and I was going to have it.

“Well, I began in my best James Bond voice, “how about you come back to bed and—”
“We can’t honey, the fourth floor no longer exists,” she said matter of fact like.

To be continued…

The Importance of Undergarments & Conventions- A Continuing Story-Part IX (9)

2006-07-27T20:12:00.000-04:00

Part IX (9)
Previously: As she ushered me into the elevator she placed her arms around me and kissed me…deeply. I say again…deeply.

Did I mention that there were people on the elevator? And not just people but con-goers of all shapes and sizes. Of course you will ask: Well how did you know—didn't you have your eyes closed when you were kissing her. There could be several dignified answers to that question but I will just have to say no. No, I did not have my eyes closed. It was in an elevator for God sakes. Who closes their eyes when on an elevator? Besides, don’t you remember what happened in Fatal Attraction…never mind…

Anyway, there was someone dressed up as a Wookiee—and a darned good one too—it was so good I could feel the hairball forming in my throat. It just tilted its head in my direction and with its furry hands and gave me the proverbial thumbs up.

Then there was the woman who was dressed up as…well I guess it was as Blade or something (why would a woman dress up like a man…never mind). She wasn’t smiling though—she just stroked the sword that was encased on her back…which I hoped was not real.

Next there was a…you guessed it a pirate…dressed as none other than Captain Jack Sparrow, he winked at me showing me a full mouth of gold—more than I cared to see.

And for the coup de grace, there was the poor mundane couple. A plain ordinary middle aged couple who for sure had 2.5 kids and two cars of which one was an import—you can just tell these things sometimes as well as their candid reaction to unfortunately being at a hotel where there was a convention going on. They were wide eyed and slunk as far back in the elevator as they could get from all of us.

Well when I regained enough of my composure to try and communicate this fact to Trista she seemed to already sense my trepidation and she broke away from the kiss while still remaining in my arms. (No resistance from me either.) But as she backed away from me she looked different somehow. At first I couldn’t describe it but when she spoke it rocked my world…again.

She turned toward the Wookiee and said: “That must be hot as hell, huh?” And then without missing a beat she turned to the woman dressed as Blade and said, “You need to reexamine your feminine side,” and of course the pirate was not left unscathed as she fired a broadside at him, “I bet you don’t know any good pirate pick up lines—do you?”

That left only the normal mundane people to which I assumed would be left alone. Wrong. She looked at them and said, “I bet someone is going to get lucky tonight? Come on admit it, the costumes are kind of kinky aren’t they?”

Okay so at this point I figured that someone switched the girl I had been talking with earlier because this was certainly not the unsure and naïve girl I remembered. This girl was Miss SNARKY, circa 2006.

“Trista,” I said not sure if I was stating or asking it. “Are you alright?”
“Of course.” she said. “The update is working fine.”
“The what?” I asked.
“Never mind,” she said.

I could feel her winding up for a next assault on the poor people and tried to think of someway to not have her decimate them. So I did the first thing that came to my mind and placed a lip lock on her that left her unable to speak. I kept her that way as we hit the second and third floor.

On the second floor the mundane couple got off the elevator trying to seem very cool with the whole scenario they found themselves in, yet failing miserably. As con-goers you get used to this kind of thing and it really doesn’t faze you any more. On the third floor the rest of the people got off as well heading off to one of the con parties—a usual Saturday night.

I released Trista from my grasp and made a move to get off the elevator. But she pulled me back in.

“What?” I asked. “Are we going back down?”
“No,” she said calmly, “we have one more floor to go.”

Now I have to admit that I had been paying absolutely no attention to the elevator keypad and the circles of numbers. But at that moment something told me to look. When I finished my thorough examination I returned my attention to Trista.

“Trista, there are only three floors. There is no fourth floor. And what was that about back there when you said all that weird stuff?”

“No fourth floor—is that what you think,” she said in a purring sound that sent a complete armada of goosebumps into motion. Then she grabbed me and…well…let’s just leave it at that.

To be continued…

The Importance of Undergarments & Conventions- A Continuing Story-Part VIII (8)

2006-07-26T10:36:00.000-04:00

Part VIII (8)

Previously:
“Well there was this magazine I picked up, the title was a temperature reference or something, and I was reading a story about a man and woman that drove into a parking lot. She asked him to park in a dark area and—”

“Whoa…” I exclaimed, not wanting to go there…well at least not yet anyway. I needed a distraction. Then as if a miracle (insert heavenly music here) was beamed down from wherever they come from, I saw one. My miracle came in the simple version of a paper flyer which was posted on the wall.

“And the parties are a true con experience you don’t want to miss out on either,” I said.

“Party? A body of persons united for some common purpose...this is an important part of the ritual?”

“Important! Why of course. You see, there are the daytime activities and then there are the night time activities. Parties are a common theme at most conventions.”

“Describe them more,” she said.

I felt her hand tighten on mine—must be really into this touching thing I thought—will save that for later consideration.

“Well let’s see, there are a few that are regulars such as the bar-nymphs, pirates, other conventions promoting themselves,” I rambled off the top of my head quickly.

“Bar-nymphs? This terminology is very conflicting. A bar is a place of drink or similar social activity, but nymph may refer to maidens or the young of insects? Please explain,” she said as that perplexed look that I was becoming accustomed to come over her face…again.

“Well, it’s just a group of fun folks that get together and have a good time.”

“Specifics please—she said firmly as her grip on my hand squeezed tighter. “I need to understand the terminology.”

“Ah…let’s see,” I began, “I’m not really that sure about the connotation behind the name, perhaps they start off as the insect version of nymphs and end up as maidens? Alcohol can be a wonderful transformation tool if you know what I mean…”

“I do not,” she said, “how can insects turn into maidens?”

“You missed my attempt at humor,” I said.

“Apparently,” she agreed readily.

“Look, it’s just a group of people. They’re fun and entertaining—well most of them anyway.”

As I waited for her response, she tilted her head to one side and kind of looked off into that distant place she had a habit of going to. But this time it was different than before. Her face held a bemused look as if she was …I don’t know how to explain it—before she had that look…very vague and indistinct. Earlier I coined it as she was off somewhere having dinner with Elvis or something. But now it was as if she was communing with Elvis…or worse. She had this mischievous look on her face that well…both scared me and delighted me.

“Hello?” I said.

“What about the pirates?” she asked surprising me by coming out of her trance and changing the topic away from the bar-nymph issue. “What do pirates have to do with a science fiction convention?”

“Ah…good question. Never really thought about it before but I guess they play in the fantasy realm enough to qualify,” I answered. “Regardless they are still a very fun crowd and some of the wenches…well we’ll save that for another time.”

“As you wish,” she said simply.

At this point I am starting to wonder why she is agreeing with me and letting this stuff go by without any further explanation. Something had changed. But if she was going to be agreeable—this seems like an opportune time to suggest some extra curricular activity of my own. But I needed to ease into it somehow.

“Can I get you another drink?” I suggested.

“Do you want me to change like your bar-nymphs?” she asked.

Hmmm…I said to myself. Was that a touch of Snarkism I detect? That’s new. Maybe she has this alter personality going on or something. Maybe its time to ratchet this up a notch and—

“We shall go to the 4th floor,” she said. “Now! I am ready!”

“Ready for—” I began as she snatched me out of my chair and motioned me toward the elevator.

“In a hurry are we?” I asked.

“Yes,” she simply said with no explanation. “We must get to the 4th floor.”

As she ushered me into the elevator she placed her arms around me and kissed me…deeply. I say again…deeply.

To be continued…

The Importance of Undergarments & Conventions- A Continuing Story-Part VII (7)

2006-07-25T12:09:00.000-04:00

Part VII(7)

Suddenly she reached out and grabbed my wrist. I was shocked and yet at the same time I felt a surge of goose bumps envelop my entire body…I say again…my entire body! For a few seconds she didn’t say anything but just looked at me intently. I felt as if I couldn’t move, but then I didn’t want to anyway.

Maintaining that grip, she said, “I’m confused.”

“Well join the club darlin,” I answered. “Everyone here is confused in some way or another. That’s part of the con experience. We come to escape.”

Her stare seemed to become vacant for a few moments as if she was thinking about something completely distant or she was having dinner with Elvis. Yet she maintained her grip on me and I have to admit...I was pretty excited about it. My name is Bond...James Bond...

Finally she spoke, “I am sensing your elevated hormones which are focusing on the sexual aspect.”

"Say what?" I said aloud and then I muttered numerous and sundry silent curses. I too was feeling the elevation…so to speak. I felt very transparent and a wee bit embarrassed. I crossed my legs.

“Yet,” she continued, “I sense that there is much more you are not telling me. Where I am wrong in my information?”

Her hand slid from my wrist and down to my hand where she maintained a firm grip. Her hand was warm and very inviting. I was about to grasp it with my other free hand (Yes, I was still plying the sex angle--damn it!) when she spoke.

“Tell me,” she said again. “How is my information incorrect?”

“Well your information isn’t really wrong,” I said starting to back pedal quickly before I ruined an all too good to be true scenario. “Let's start from the beginning. Maybe you can tell me where you got your information from?” I asked.

“Well, I read about it the literature on the table in the hallway. The one where there are stacks of paper which are free.”

“The freebie table?”

“Yes,” she said and then acquired a puzzled look on her face. “The name is curious. In terms of slang, it constitutes an act between a man and woman—”

“Not exactly,” I said and then added quickly, “Look a Klingon,” I said pointing at someone at the bar. I needed a few moments to regroup and…reorganize. I was beginning to feel like I was on a game show: What’s Your Most Embarrassing Moment or How to Screw Up an Opportune Moment…where is she getting this stuff from!

“Interesting,” she said as she returned her glance back to me, “more of the experience as you say?”

“Of course,” I said and launched into a big sigh of relief. “Where did you say you were from again?”

“The fourth floor,” she said casually.

“But that’s just where you are— oh never mind,” I said not wanting to tempt fate any further. This conversation was becoming like the Abbott and Costello routine: Whose on First? (for you "younger folks" you haven’t lived until you have—go here for an audio sampler of it: http://www.phoenix5.org/humor/WhoOnFirst.html)

“So you were saying earlier?” I asked.

“You were explaining the true significance of the freebie table.”

“Right. Well you can’t believe everything you read over there…there’s a lot of stuff there that doesn’t have an ounce of truth to it.”

“Then why is it there if it contains incorrect information?”

“Well maybe incorrect is not the right word,” I said. “The table is a place for people that might be marketing either an event, like another convention, or there are things there from writers that are marketing their own work. There are magazines, buttons, pens and a whole bunch of stuff. But youhave to keep in mind, its allself serving so there might be some truth strectching going on.

“Ah I see now how I may have made the wrong assertion,” she said.

“I’m almost afraid to ask what else did you read from there?”

“Well there was this magazine I picked up, the title was a temperature reference or something, and I was reading a story about a man and woman that drove into a parking lot. She asked him to park in a dark area and—”

“Whoa…” I exclaimed.

To be continued…

Fun In The South

2006-07-24T09:15:00.000-04:00

A short break from the story. Attended TRINOC this weekend in Raleigh, NC--had a really great time catching up with friends and of course always more fodder for stories.

I was really impressed with the thoroughness of the vampire presentation complete with the special effects--thanks to all who assisted in the delivery and execution. Roses and messages were a really nice touch and if it was any more realistic--it wouldn't have been a fantasy. Maybe it was real?

Personal note: If driving in the area, beware of the parking lots that let you in...but don't let you out. They tend to keep coming back to haunt you:)

The Importance of Undergarments & Conventions- A Continuing Story-Part VI

2006-07-23T23:28:00.000-04:00

Part VI
“You wish to have sex first? This is part of the ritual? Is this where the naked chef comes in as well as the card game?”

Another Moment of Decision Time

Okay…now here I was sitting in the bar with this gorgeous woman who appeared to be lacking in the brain department but made up for it in the other sundry areas. You know what I mean; clueless doesn’t even come close to defining her mental capability. So one could tell her about the misconception she has or someone could take shameless advantage of it for their own personal gain.
I chose to do the right thing and point out her misconception. I really did. Honest and cross my heart and all that stuff (for about a millisecond).

Don’t shake your head or say tsk…tsk…tsk as you wag your finger at the computer screen. You would have done the same thing I did and you know it. At conventions there is an implied leeway to the rules of decorum…you check them at the lobby and that’s where they stay. You know the saying…what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. Well at conventions it’s sort of the same thing except it’s just a lot less glamorous or if you prefer…spiffy.

Okay, back to the conversation. After overcoming my shock at given any thought to refusing this offer, I found my voice and continued.

“Trista, I’m not sure about the naked chef thing or the card game, but the sex is a big YES in order to truly experience the convention and all its subtle nuances.”

“But the naked chef thing, I thought that was important to? If you lost the bet playing cards you had to cook dinner—naked?”

“Honey w-h-a-t-e-v-e-r. But you must have your wires crossed with the Food Network or a combination of those wacky reality shows. I don’t know about the naked chef thing or the card thing, but if that is a requirement for you—well then I’m all for it. I’m sure I could find an apron and a deck of cards…after all it is a convention and weirdness abounds in every corner and crevice. It’s just the way it is…”

To be continued…

The Importance of Undergarments & Conventions- A Continuing Story-Part V

2006-07-20T22:09:00.000-04:00

Note: I have not received very many comments about the story so far which is rather disappointing. If you don't want to respond to the blog...you can email me at aruggs@aol.com with your thoughts. Hint: I need some encouragement to keep going with this folks :()

Part V
“Ah…yes, well con virgin. Sorry, it’s just a term for people attending their first con and then there’s the other meaning…well we don’t need to go into that. You’re not from around here are you?
“Yes I am,” she countered.
“So you’re local then?”
“Well not at the moment. I like to think of it in relative terms. I’m from the 4th floor.”
“I’m confused,” I said lightheartedly but I really was confused.
“That’s not really important,” she said.
“Right, you want to observe the…ritual as you said.”
“Will you help me?”
“Sure. What do you want to know?”
“Everything. I want to be…how do you say…I want to be intimate with the ritual so that I have a complete understanding.”

“Intimate,” I said as my mind immediately went in the wrong direction with the word. Now here is another of those moments when you either say something really slick or you fall completely on your face in embarrassment by making a bad joke. Being me, I of course chose option number 2.

“Intimate,” I repeated, “shouldn’t we get to know one another a little first? My name is Mike and you are?”
“Trista,” she said and then appeared to think over what I had just said.

I felt the impending cloud of doom settle upon me as I waited for her to either slap me or pour the contents of her drink into my crotch. My self preservation instinct kicked in and I tried to change the subject so that I could try and cover my butt with that last remark I made.

“So Trista, that’s a pretty name. What is its origin?”

She didn’t answer. It was like she was communing with the silence or deciding how she was going to kill me. I could deal with option one but not two.

“Of course,” she finally said in a tone that flowed assuredly as if she had just discovered some exiting medical breakthrough or something. “Now I understand your earlier reference to virgin.”

“Huh?” I said totally confused. I removed my hands from my groin area where they had gone into the defensive mode. “What do you understand?”

“You wish to have sex first? This is part of the ritual? Is this where the naked chef comes in or is it the card game?”

To be continued…

The Importance of Undergarments & Science Fiction Conventions-Part IV

2006-07-19T22:22:00.000-04:00

Standard disclaimer: This is a work of FICTION. All persons, places, and events are FICTION. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Part IV

When my heart settled back into place, it was then that I realized that she was talking to me. So naturally I did the manly thing and ushered out in my most charismatic tone possible the first coolest words I could imagine at the moment.
"Excuse me, are you speaking to me?" I asked. ( I said it was at the moment, what did you expect.)
"Yes," she replied with a smile that fused the rubber soles of the Payless shoes I was wearing to the floor. "Yes, I was talking to you," she said again.

**Insert Moment of Decision Time**

Do I stay or do I go, (some song lyric which I can't remember the title to). I actually thought, for a very brief instance, of going off to a panel and giving the table to her. But then an epiphany of extraordinary proportion rocked my world!

(angelic quotes)Maybe just maybe she wants to sit here because I am here. (angelic quotes)

I almost choked on my own thought which is actually harder and more dangerous than choking on actual words. Try it sometime and you will see what I mean. Anyway I figured why not? I didn't have anything to lose considering that the panel selection of the hour mainly consisted of drum circles or a reading by John...somebody.

I quickly looked around the bar to see if anyone I knew was there to ensure that if I got dumped in vivid color they wouldn't see it and then have the details show up in somebody's blog or something. People that go to conventions will blog about anything (consider yourself warned)!

Finally when I realized that she was still standing there, (of course remember that all of these thoughts were a blur of mere seconds in my mind), I spoke.
"Sure," I said loudly so that anyone nearby could see what was happening in case I woke up the next day with no recollection of the event. Proof is always important in these situations as you will see as this story progresses.
She smiled and sat down. And there she remained not saying a word and just looking at me.
"So," I began, " you're obviously not here for the convention judging by your attire. Are you here for another event, a party or something?"
"No," she said, "I am here for the convention. I want to observe the rituals of the gathering."
"The what?" I stammered.
"The ritual," she repeated. "I've heard that these events are quite popular so I wanted to see what it was comprised of."
"Ah, okay," I said wondering what the heck she was talking about. I assumed she was a foreigner or something that came from a country where they didn't have any conventions. But she didn't have any accent that I could discern. Could she be pulling my leg? Maybe she was just one of those snarky women that go to cons and prey on innocent men like myself and watch dwarf mud wrestling competition for thrills---(sorry for ther image-but they are out there).
"Are they not popular?" she asked sounding disappointed and interuppting my most pessimistic thought of impending rejection of the absurd.
"They are, it's just that...well the way you are dressed, you kind of stand out at a convention. Is this your first one?"
"Yes it is."
"A con virgin," I said without even thinking and wished I could take it back. Not only did I insert foot in mouth--but numerous other anatomical parts as well.
"A virgin," she said, "a young woman who has never had sexual intercourse. I don't understand the correlation of the two? Can you please explain that comment?"

To be continued...

The Importance of Undergarments & Science Fiction Conventions-Part III

2006-07-18T21:29:00.000-04:00

Standard disclaimer: This is a work of FICTION. All persons, places, and events are FICTION. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

The Importance of Undergarments & Science Fiction Conventions-Part III

I probably need to go back to the beginning. I was at a science fiction convention. Now before you go into convulsions and start waving the Vulcan “V” symbol with your hand and everything, it’s not that kind of convention. While were on the subject, lets also dispel another nasty rumor that always comes up when someone says they go to science fiction conventions— I am not what I would call a geek—maybe you would but I don’t think so. I have a life outside of this activity as well—thank you very much and I do not live in my parent’s basement although I do know many that do fit into this category, but that’s another story (see the Panel from Hell blog that hasn’t been written yet). But even that is not going to compare with what happened to me that weekend.

The conventions I go to are more about the books and media. Anyway, I go to conventions because I like science fiction, fantasy, and horror stuff. I also go to hang out with my friends and have some fun talking about the latest trends and all that stuff. So like I was saying, there I was at the convention and it was a Saturday night. I was sitting in the bar relaxing and having a beer as I perused the programming schedule to see what I wanted to do next. People I know were passing by and saying hello—just the usual things that happen at a con. But then the unusual happened.

The voice came from somewhere but I wasn’t actually sure where. It was as if the voice surrounded me like some home theater system—the sound simply resonating all around me.

“May I join you?” a woman’s voice said.

I looked up and saw this woman standing next to my little table and looking at me. Now first impressions are usually important in terms of understanding events. Let me explain, she was wearing this very slinky black evening dress…you know the kind with the little straps that look like if you pull on them they will fall apart. The first thought that came into my mind was that she was not attending the convention—convention goers are usually not known for their dinner dress apparel.

The rest of her that was tucked into this little dress was quite interesting…okay she was freaking gorgeous! Long brown hair that tickled her shoulders and a face that not only could launch a thousand ships, but which could launch an entire universe for that matter. Blue eyes that glittered with the reflection of light that gave the impression of a flickering candle. Soft smooth cheeks that seemed to beckon to be touched…and often. That's whenI should have realized I was in trouble.

To be continued...

The Importance of Undergarments & Conventions- A Continuing Story-Part II

2006-07-17T20:58:00.001-04:00

See the title is starting to change already.

Standard disclaimer: This is a work of FICTION. All persons, places, and events are FICTION. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Part II

The Importance of Undergarments and Conventions

Like I was saying, I was driving that night. I was on the interstate on the way back from a science fiction convention. Trista, I still don't feel right using that name because I'm not really sure if that was her name, but I guess it's the only proper way to identify her rather than by saying she all the time.

So there I am driving and the next thing that happened was Trista leaned over my seat and rested her head on my thigh. This was after she had taken her bra off. It was hanging on my rear view mirror. I remember the part about the bra well because: (a) its such a rare occurrence and (b) she smiled that grin she seemed to always be able to summon on demand. I thought of it as an evil grin but never complained, why ruin a good thing right? She said it was a souvenir to remember her by. I thought the words were harmless at the time, you know, just having some fun and making a coy comment and all. Later I realized it wasn't.

So here I am driving with her head in my lap. Is the suspense killing you yet? Well it was killing me at the time this was happening. But that was one of the many strange things that kept on occurring. I say things because there are so many but right now I am just referring to this one particular instance.

So there I was and there she was. Well after a few minutes she stopped moving. I thought she had died or something but when she started snoring I realized that she had only fallen asleep. Some of you may be wondering what effect her falling asleep had on my male ego but after you hear the rest of the events, you will learn that this was the least of my concerns in comparison to the police, the psychiatrists, the dwarfs, the snarky women—a regular cast of thousands. But all that comes later.

(I may be pushing the envelope a little with the dwarfs but the rest is pretty solid.)

To be continued...

The Importance of Undergarments & Conventions- A Continuing Story-Part I

2006-07-17T10:29:00.000-04:00

Okay...as this blog is designed to have something to do with writing, I have decided to create a short story. As I mentioned in a previous post--the ideas have been fermenting for a short story and one dealing with conventions is well overdue.

How it will work. I will attempt to post daily portions of the story as I create it. I will probably only post a paragraph or two at a time until I feel more confident with the direction so please be patient. Any comments along the way will be greatly appreciated. The title is tentative so we will see as the story moves along if it stays the same.

Standard disclaimer: This is a work of FICTION. All persons, places, and events are FICTIONAL. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental unless you hang with dead people and that is an entirely new issue.

The Importance of Undergarments and Conventions (Part 1)

I have the bra to prove she was real. It is one of the few credible pieces of evidence that is keeping me from going insane.

The chain of events is a little convoluted in my mind but there are certain things I remember for sure. I am going to try and explain what happened using these specific instances that I can recall as markers so as to keep the timeline of events in order.

I remember I was in my car driving with a semi naked woman. I have her bra to prove it. I know I already mentioned that but I want to keep that in the forefront of your thoughts because it's very important. It is black in color, one of those types without the straps. Specifics are always important in any given setting however the fact that the bra was black and did not have straps is not really important unless you are taking personal preferences into consideration. But even in that consideration, this is not the most exciting or bizarre part of the story. That comes later.

To be continued...

The Joys of Short Story Fodder

2006-07-16T08:48:00.000-04:00

I really need to allow myself to sink back into the realm of writing short stories. I haven't really written any more since Aliens and Satanic Creatures Wanted: Humans Need Not Apply was published.

The joys about short story writing are many: they are much shorter in length so they are finished a lot quicker, they are easily launched from the mind--at least mine are anyway, and are quick to be formulated, and lastly...they are so much fun.

I have a habit, yes one of many,in that I tend to write them pointedly in that there is some underlying social comment in them. If you haven't seen that underlying tone, take a look at:

Invasion or Subversion
Lucky Lucifers Car Emporium
Reap What You Sow
the list goes on and on but these three are good starting points...

If you would be so kind...let me know what you think it is. And if you're correct...there might even be a prize for you.

But the real joy in short stories is the kick off point. By this I am referring to the actual moment when the thought behind the story kicks into high gear. It never ceases to amaze me how small the actual triggering event may be yet how quickly the story forms around this single point. Lately there have been quite a few and this probably has me thinking about this topic so much.

Maybe its time to go back to the short story...and have some fun (insert evil grin here).

Work--the Perfect Companion

2006-07-14T19:03:00.000-04:00

Shaking your head already are we? Well not so fast.

Work (and in this case I am referring to writing although it could be just about anything)is my/our good friend. It doesn't have reasons why they can't do whatever or something doesn't come up unexpectedly...heck it doesn't even have to wash its hair on a Friday night. It never argues with you and most of the time it is quite complacent to your desires. It doesn't even give you a dirty look when you use its toothbrush either. So therefore--there is no disappointment.

Someone get Mr. Freud there to sit back down--I'm not ready for him yet!

We all have our quirks, I tend to work more (write) when I am not in a good mood of sorts, bored, frustrated...whatever, maybe that is why I write some dark stuff. Yeah...I know dark and brooding. Sometimes it almost feels like a guilty pleasure to be light-hearted or humorous. Anyway I do write when I am in a good mood and of course it is probably in a more positive light which makes a nice balance if there is enough of it.

Not yet Mr. Freud...you'll get your chance--believe me!

Call it a form of escapism if you will, I would because that is what it is. Work allows us to channel energy, whether negative or positive into something that ultimately and hopefully will be a good thing if done correctly. Now of course, this may not be healthy and of course social interaction is probably the best, but sometimes we just can't get what we want and we have to settle for what is available.

Okay Mr. Freud...Take me away...I'm all yours.

Whose Deja Vu Is It?

2006-07-13T21:12:00.000-04:00

The term deja vu is defined as " a distortion of memory in which a new situation or experience is regarded as having happened before, or as already seen." (Websters Dictionary.

Recently, while in conversation, someone suggested an event that I would be involved in and went into great detail describing it. Well it didn't dawn on me at that moment, but while doing some editing work, I virtually came across an identical event that I had written in one of my forthcoming books.

So whose deja vu is it...theirs or mine? Is it my deja vu because I wrote it and then heard someone tell me about it later...or is it theirs because they relayed an event that they had no knowledge of me writing and then discovered it? Yet there is another possibility as well...what if I am writing about things that have yet to happen to me? Am I writing what will be my fate and more importantly do I have control of my own destiny through what I put on paper?

I don't know about you...but this is freaking me out some here. Granted this may not be as bizarre as Demon Ducks but it is in a way a bit more scary in that it is now--right now and not bones in the dirt of things from the past. This deja vu is now...or is that incorrect? Perhaps I have yet to experience the deja vu for this event.

Please leave comments or have you done that already and it just has not happened?

I'm all confused...

A Subtle but Important Rebuke of An Earlier Post

2006-07-12T22:47:00.000-04:00

A while back I posted a comment on how electrons and words don't mix. As I do subscribe to that philosophy, I have recently learned that there is room for exception and some hope.

I recently taught this play called "Sure Thing," in one of my classes. Basically it is about a man and a woman and they are having a conversation. As they move through the discussion, the conversation reaches a point where a bell will sound indicating that the conversation has ended because one of them has said the wrong thing and at the wrong time. The point is that timing is everything in conversations.

Recently I had a phone conversation with someone (one of my precious editors whom I adore for putting up with me) where it ended on a so-so note...okay call it a bell--maybe the timing was off or whatever but my/her point didn't get across. Well, surprisingly, a little later I received an email with further clarification of what I/She had tried to express in our conversation and it made it alright...well better than alright actually.

So electrons came through this day...and that's a good thing. So maybe there is hope if the timing is right and the context is clear:), or perhaps it is just a factor of how well you know someone. Anyway, it's all good at the moment.

Multitasking and Missing Out

2006-07-12T11:29:00.000-04:00

This is not about any one person, a group of people, or organization--but rather a social commentary of sorts...

I know in this day and age that we have to do things at the same time and all--busy-busy--busy. With the electronic wonders of the day, it becomes even easier to accomplish several things at once and I imagine that younger folks are probably better at this to some extent having grown up during the electronic revolution and it is part of their world moreso than the older folks. Yet, I do it as well, for instance as I sit here and type this I am burning CD's as well. But my point--yes there is one--it seems like there always is one lately--is that I am not interacting with some one at the same time.

Maybe I am just showing my age. But sharing actual moments with people whether its casually or of a more important nature, we owe it to each other to show attention to one another. I have this thing about attention. When two people are interacting, this surpasses anything else that is happening in the background. For instance, suppose you are walking down the street and meet someone you know and you start talking, do you partake in the conversation while you trim your nails, pick your nose, think about what you did last night, go through your calendar of events for the week...I hope not. If you do, you need to develop some personality skills.

So why is it so different when we are on line? Why do we hold multiple conversations at the same time while surfing the web looking for something that probably can wait to be looked for?

I feel slighted. Yes...slighted when this occurs.
If I am conversing with someone, I like to think that I am important enough to garner their attention--all of it. Is that so difficult to understand? Maybe it is...

The signs of impending doom: the long pauses in between the IM's or worse...over the telephone you hear the keyboard clicking away in the background. I have even had it happen when the person got the little conversation boxes mixed up--boy that did make me feel good when I suddenly had a different name and the conversation was about something I didn't really need to hear...nor wanted to. I can go on and on with this but what really is the point.

Some will say that I am being difficult or overthinking this kind of stuff. And maybe I am. But as people we all need to feel wanted--that we are important to others whether its work--pleasure--whatever.

Electrons and all that stuff is great. I love it. But when it replaces or changes our perception of what "real" is, then I am concerned. When I am no longer a real person, but just a name on the email list or instant messenger roster, I feel degraded. When I talk with people, I give them my attention...I put aside what can wait for a few moments and experience the voice or for that matter the electrons. I get a cup of coffee or smoke a cigarette as I imagine the real person on the other end. They deserve my attention and I want theirs in return--is that really so much to ask?

In the future...maybe we will be able to create a pseudo electronic person that memorizes your keystrokes so it can talk to people for you--that way you won't have to have that nasty personal interaction. Heck, maybe hand holding or touching will be translated into a series of bleeps--acronys--or maybe even a mouse that sends pulses or something to your hand to simulate the actual thing.

Fortunately IM's can't be sent to the grave...not yet anyway.

Why Write & The The Moral Responsibility

2006-07-12T07:32:00.000-04:00

Well the great debate was due to arise at some point so...why not. Some of the possible answers that I am aware of are:

(a) enjoyment/satisfaction
(b) to make a living
(c) notoriety/self esteem
(d) to escape their own lives
(e) none of your business
(f) all of the above
(g) other variations or combinations of above

Let's take a look at each one. First (a-enjoyment/satisfaction), this one makes sense to most folks. If writing is something you enjoy, whether you are making loads of money or not, (insert snicker here),then the satisfaction derived is common sense. There is also the satisfaction derived from receiving feedback from readers that they (hopefully) enjoyed your work. Although there are exceptions to every rule, this holds true in most cases. So, lets move on.

The second choice (b-to make a living)many wish to fit into this category although the actual number of writers that can honesty say they do (and not starve)is fairly small overall compared with the number that actually play in the field. I would guess maybe 10% or less. However, many hope to reach this level and consider it a major goal and like most things can either enjoy it or not if money is a primary driving force.

Our next category (c-notoriety/esteem)Some might consider this as strong a point as choice b-making a living. Receiving the acknowledgement or recognition of others in and out of your craft can be as rewarding as the financial aspect itself. For some, who do not need to worry about financial concerns, because they do not have to or they realize that their writing will reach only so far, may tend to reside within this category. Then there is the other side to this category that there are those who "command" this rather than earn it. You know who you are out there...get back in line!

Moving on brings us to a highly sensitive area(d-to escape their lives). Some need to escape their actual physical and mental world and use writing as a tool or therapy if you will to leave it all behind. (Freud is looking over my shoulder here so I need to be careful). This applies to both writers and readers. The main difference is that writers have the choice of creating their own "place" whereas readers have to pick from what the writers offer. Personally, I think that escape exists in many forms so if it isn't hurting anyone else--why not. Although with anything, a sense of concern exists as to not fall completely into the "escape" that has been created for we may not ever get out and back to the reality in which we must live.

There are those who will just say..."hey my reasons are my own and it's none of your business," and thats okay and we respect that but you have to wonder a little about that.

Finally, there are combinations of the choices above which can be mixed and matched to each individual. Some might even select each category and even this makes some sense. And I am sure that there are other areas as well that are possible choices for folks.

However, what I think needs to be kept in mind here though is a double edged sword.

HINT-sounds like the moral of the story coming folks.

There is an evil that lurks within these reasons that some people are not aware of and they subconsciously fall prey to it. There are also others that consciously use this evil to their advantage.

Evil I say--read on...

Write what you want and for the reason you want to is a great philosophy to live by--but--how you are perceived is something that should be considered as well. Whether you want to believe it or not, for whatever reason you chose above, once you place something out there for public consumption--you are now responsible for it.

There are many people out there that will hang on your every word and faithfully await your next work. YOU owe these people. They have adopted you to a certain extent and it is now your duty to not disappoint them by acting the arrogant and pompous fool. We see this with many sports figures and celebrities these days who use their position to espouse their feelings which range from politics to social criticism. This is not their job and it should not become yours whether you are with a major publisher with print runs in the thousands to small presses with print runs in the hundreds.

The bottom line is that no matter what reason you choose to write--your responsibility is to the people that read your work and to keep them happy. It should not be to delude them with your own personal biases.

A Bite from the Past for the Present

2006-07-10T21:49:00.000-04:00

Years ago I heard this song but then I was not writing and of course my mind was going in other directions. Anyway, re-hearing it again recently I couldn't help but snicker at the implications in terms of genre and other things that are fresh in my thoughts at the moment and potentially a new story. And yes...I do have it on my IPOD! The moral of the story is at the end.

(Courtesy of nomorelyrics.net)

BOY: On a hot summer night would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses?
GIRL: Will he offer me his mouth?
BOY: Yes
GIRL: Will he offer me his teeth?
BOY: Yes
GIRL: Will he offer me his jaws?
BOY: Yes
GIRL: Will he offer me his hunger?
BOY: Yes
GIRL: Again, will he offer me his hunger?
BOY: Yes!
GIRL: And will he starve without me?
BOY: Yes!
GIRL: And does he love me?
BOY: Yes
GIRL: Yes
BOY: On a hot summer night would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses?
GIRL: Yes
BOY: I bet you to say that to all the boys.

It was a hot summer night and the beach was burning
There was fog crawling over the sand
When I listened to your heart I hear the whole world turning
I see the shooting stars
Falling through your trembling hands
You were licking your lips and your lipstick shining
I was dying just to ask for a taste
We were lying together in a silver lining
By the light of the moon
You know there's not another moment
Not another moment
Not another moment to waste
When you hold me so close that my knees grow weak
And my soul is flying high above the ground
I'm trying to speak but no matter what I do
I just can't seem to make any sound
And then you took the words right out of my mouth
Oh it must have been while you were kissing me
You took the words right out of my mouth
And I swear it's true
I was just about to say I love you
And then you took the words right out of my mouth
Oh it must have been while you were kissing me
You took the words right out of my mouth
And I swear it's true
I was just about to say I love you
Now my body is shaking like a wave on the water
And I guess that I'm beginning to grin
Oooh, we're finally alone and we can do what we want to
The night is young
And ain't no one gonna know where you
No one gonna know where you
No one's gonna know where you've been
You were licking your lips and your lipstick shining
I was dying just to ask for a taste
We were lying together in a silver lining
By the light of the moon
You know there's not another moment
Not another moment
Not another moment to waste
And then you took the words right out of my mouth
Oh it must have been while you were kissing me

So the moral for all you guys & gals out there thinking about this kind of approach--I guess you need to invest in some scarves.

The Boston Curse Goes on Holiday

2006-07-10T08:43:00.000-04:00

I know for those of you who are reading this blog...you are dying to know (insert sarcasm here) what the results of the Boston Curse was this weekend that I mentioned in the previous posts.

Well--I survived. Actually I had a very pleasant trip. Most things stayed "on target" with the schedule of events, a few minor misdirection or skirmishes, but all in all it was an excellent weekend.

The hotel was much nicer than the downtown hotel I have stayed at for some of the other Boston cons. Note of caution: The Elevator...hold onto your stomach. It literally drops from floor to floor very quickly making the starts and stops quite unsettling for those that are sensitive to that kind of thing. People were very nice and special thanks to Patrick and company for inviting me to the local BBQ--(and of course the rides to and from the train station),I had a very nice time and the company and conversation were indeed a refreshing break from the convention. Insert note of envy here: I want one of those towers too--no home is complete without one. Anyway many thanks for company and help at the convention!

The convention was a different kind of convention, I think it was too small for the number of the guests which equaled limited participation. However, my vampire presentation went quite well--many thanks to Mary for running the computer for me on short notice. Did an excellent job and hardly missed a beat of the slide transition.

The train on the way up was okay except for the meat locker temperature maintained throughout the night. However,the return train trip on the high speed train was soooooooo cool! I only wished it ran all the way back to Richmond. It was quite a change switching over to the old train for the last leg of the trip.

So...the Boston Curse has gone on hiatus--for now (yeah--I gotta be me in terms of lurking future disasters. All the preconcieved notion of disasters did not materialize as I had feared--and there were many believe me, but this trip which I hope becomes the norm and one that I look forward to in the future with the same company of success and enjoyment.

What looms on the horizon--TRINOC in Raleigh, NC.
OUTLOOK: somewhat pessimistic on a few issues.

Until later...

Boston Curse Clarification

2006-07-04T08:26:00.000-04:00

Before anyone jumps on me about the "Boston Curse" mentioned in the previous post I thought I would clarify that I like Boston, it just seems that it doesn't like me for some reason. The folks I have met at the convention were really cool and even took us to some nice places to eat. The background behind this is that I have made two previous trips to Boston for conventions in January. The first time I was there I ate a meal in the con suite...hey it was lasagna so how could I pass it up. Anyway to spare all the gruesome details, lets just say that I was stopped up so to speak the "entire" weekend and then some. So I did not have a really good time at the convention--heck, I barely remember it I was so blah feeling.

The next year I went back--now I know what you are thinking...January and Boston is a dangerous combination. Well my traveling companion and I (Tee Morris)flew up...yes he talked me into flying,(flying is another story for another time-see short story: Have A Nice Flight). Anyway we get there and the blizzard of 2005 comes with us. We decided on Saturday to get out of town while the getting was good. So unable to get flights, we hopped the train. The weather conditions were so bad, that ice formed on the inside of the door to the train car. Sleeping on the overnight trip was next to impossible due to teeth clattering. Still though, getting out of Boston was still a good move. Most people had to stay 1-2 extra nights before the airport opened. There were even rumors of cannibalism at the hotel (only kidding--I think.)

Anyway, that is the story behind the "Boston Curse." I am hoping that this trip will be better.

They don't get blizzards in July there--do they?

On the road again...

2006-07-02T21:59:00.000-04:00

I didn't get any work done this weekend--but you know what--that's okay. Although I was on the "road" this weekend, I managed to kind of sit back and relax quite a bit more than usual and it was soooooo cool! Good company on the road trip was of course an asset, along with enjoyable mystery meals, conversation, some cards (I kicked butt!) and even finding time for squeaking in a movie. For once being on the road was not so tiring as it usually is...well except for the bottle of liquid soap that decided to open and spill all over my toiletry items and some clothing.

But even that incident did not manage to darken the nicest trip I have had in quite a while. I am sure that there is a moral of this story somewhere...perhaps it is sitting back a little more and chilling is better than sweating everything else--huh?

Next week..onto Boston. Wish me luck on breaking the "Boston Curse" which seems to wait for me to arrive in the fair city. From snow to bad food...I'll be ready this time!

Electrons and Words Don't Mix

2006-06-30T16:08:00.000-04:00

I love my gadgets--there is no doubt. I have my robots that vacuum and wash the floor. I have several computers and I can't imagine being away from them for very long. I have a cell phone and a bunch of other toys. I do love my toys, but these are things that I don't really have to communicate to...like people. When it comes to that, I like nothing better than face to face or on a phone. Why is that--because words and electrons don't mix well.

Electrons, whether via text msg, chat, IM...whatever, don't have the tone or emotion behind them. I have often shied away from electronic conversations because of this; it is so easy to misinterpret meaning or content behind the words because you can't hear or see the expression behind them. Or worse yet, interpreting the words in a completely different way then intended=disaster. I will mull over, or "overthink" as some of you like to call it, the possible meanings that the electronic words can mean. I guess I am one of those sensitive kind of people in that regard. Now you can say, well wasn't it the same with letters (for those of us that actually remember writing letters), and yes, I guess it was and all we have done is just speeded up that process with the electrons.

Now I have been told that perhaps I am just getting old and I don't understand the "new" wave of communication," and that might be so...but you know what, if that's the case, I think I will stick with my philosophy of actual verbal communication on the things that matter--so just bury me with my Roomba robot--no words--just tunes. :)

Some Days You Just Can't Help It...

2006-06-28T21:44:00.000-04:00

We all (and I say this fairly confidently) have those kind of moments when we sort of push aside those warm fuzzy feelings and well--just let those evil little gremlins take over. Well although I didn't realize it at the time, I had one of those moments the other day although I didn't know it at the time.

Anyway what's this all about? Well I was asked to provide some information for a promotional tool for an organization I am involved with. Well this organization had an event last year that went extremely well for 99% of the people that attended. But it was this 1% that not only stuck the hot poker in my gut, but also twisted it for extra pleasure to save their damaged pride.

Anyway, before the twisting of the poker got started, the individual praised the event wholeheartedly. Yet within hours, they decided to publish this very-very-very-very-very-very long and somewhat dull rant about how the world was out to get them not only at the event...but the entire state and hell...even the world for that matter. I was waiting for the aliens to come into the picture but they deprived me of even that satisfaction although there was something about religion and politics in there which I don't know what the heck they were...anyway moving along...

So...I took this individual's praising comment, which comprised about less than 1% of the complete rant and used it to pitch next years event. The funny part was that the irony of what I did didn't hit me for a while.

(Insert light bulb going off here)

So if people read this individuals rant (if there is enough No-Doz available) and then see the promotional advertisement for next year with their endorsement--well even I would have to wonder what the heck this person is doing which was the big question many of us had after the writing of the rant. Anyway it all works out for the good of the event which is really the important thing rather than a bruised ego of one individual.

Is there a moral to the story--well supply your own if you must. What I like to think is that there is a justice in the world that fits everyone--yes--one size fits all does come in handy at times. And in this case...not only does it fit good, but it feels good too.

The Good and Evil of Cell Phones

2006-06-27T08:06:00.000-04:00

Its a quiet moment as you sit and talk over a cup of coffee or a glass of wine, tenderly touching hands and generally just enjoying the moment after a long day of work. You're about to say to the significant other you are with the perfect sentence that you have been thinking about and practicing all day long. It has to be perfect. As the words flow across your trembling lips...then DADA--DADA--BOOM-DE-AY (insert utterly ridiculous tune here)plows across the air waves destroying the moment. And if that is not enough--the individual answers the phone speaking at least 20 decibels above normal speaking tones.

Where oh where have our manners gone?

Now, I have a cell phone--these days you would be hard pressed to find someone who doesn't. But that's not a reason to forget manners especially when in a public environment. Cell phones have these nifty settings that one can use...silent, vibrate, or low. These are wonderful settings and amazingly enough the cell phone still functions even without playing those God-awful tunes that people find. And low can still be heard even from the confines of the deepest and darkest purses or bags. And if you have to answer the call and discuss the all important grocery list or other strategic all topic, speak softly or better yet, excuse yourself and move off to the side somewhere else for your conversation. I certainly don't want to share in your conversation and you know what--you shouldn't want me to either.

There's a short story brewing here--yes there is, read "Operator" by yours truly. Phone cords may have been replaced by wireless but evil still lurks...Emyra

The Summer Perspective

2006-06-25T21:52:00.000-04:00

Well I have to start somewhere and the summer is as good as place as any. This summer has been different for me. I am only teaching one class so I have a bit more free time than usual. After a shoulder injury from last summers backyard project, I swore off any large endeavors for this summer. I had the best intentions on working on a new novel, but it seems that I am not quite in the mindset. Instead I have taken up with some editing work on the new vampire series and some other minor projects. I also have been promoting the release of Alien Deception. But I digress from the point. I mentioned that I was not in the mindset--the state of mind needed to indulge my imagination. Instead I have spent more time re-acquainting myself with people and making new friends. This indulging in humanity as I call it has been both exhilarating and frightening. I think sometimes as a writer, or anyone for that matter, we can get too obsessed in our day to day lives and forget what it is that makes a day or even a moment enjoyable.

Now I can imagine what all those pessimists are saying..."Come back Tony, we miss you," but for now, they can stay in the background...way in the background. Someone recently told me what the difference is between a cynic and pessimist, but lets face it, the common ground between the two is pretty close...doom and gloom, its just really a matter of time. But for now, this summer and for however long I can manage it, I am going to be an optimist or at least try my best to be.

Many thanks to Emyra, your conversation, outlook, and company has been... in terms of finding the words-priceless-as you can't assign a value, I cannot find the words and I guess I'll leave it at that. And yes, "It's all good!" (go ahead and add it to the tally again) But please keep an eye out for those curbs...this one time, it really wasn't my fault!

Humanity has been a pretty good companion so far and I am going to indulge in it--one addiction we can all use and need.

A beginning...

2006-06-25T12:38:00.000-04:00

Welcome to my blog page. I have no plans for anything particular for my blog...although I like to think of it as a place where ideas can be shared, have some good conversations, and just have some fun.

Tony Ruggiero

Cat With A Past

If you like reading vampire stories, you might want to stop by my site and check out my latest work, Operation Immortal Servitude. I describe the book as Anne Rice and Tom Clancy rolled into one...

Space opera with a Stanley Kubrick twist!Learn more at www.tonyruggiero.com or click on the cover to go to the myspace webpage.

Next Story Preview

Lucky Lucifer's Car Emporium

Catching Up.

On Top of Stromboli Part II

On Top of Stromboli-Part 1

Book of the Year

Freddy Lives...

Where I am Going...

Perspective-Final Installment

Perspective Part II

We Have A Cover!

Perspective Part I

A Note of Thanks

The Half Century Report

My Hat Goes Off...Maybe Even My Pants

Come on down...

You are The Wheel of Fortune

1:27AM

Still Here

Bird of Steel

Life & Mapquest

The Whatever Post

The Holy Grail of Coffee

Batteries Not Included (Potential Short Story)

Interesting Personal Ad

Need Ideas for Cover Art

Just in Case....

Part IV Monday at the Dragon

28 Days-Still Not Wanted For Murder

Part III: Sunday at the Dragon…

Part II Saturday at the Dragon…

21 Days

Deja Vu or the invasion has begun...

2 Weeks Plus & Where did that ostrich come from?

Withdrawal Symptoms and the Type A Personality

The Rambling Ostrich and Odds and Ends

Alternate Ending 4

Just One More Day Maybe...

Not A Good One...

Delusions or Illusions

Random Mutterings

Something’s Gotta Give…

Still with the living...

Somebody's Got Some Explaining to Do...

Warning!

Acting One’s Age

Alternate Ending 3

Alternate Ending 2

Books and Birds Don't Mix

Lesson for the Day-Avoid Being Pissy

The Importance of Undergarments & Science Fiction Conventions

About the story: The Importance of Undergarments at Science Fiction Conventions

The Importance of Undergarments at a Science Fiction Convention-Part XI (11) The Conclusion

The Importance of Undergarments at A science Fiction Convention Part X (10)

The Importance of Undergarments & Conventions- A Continuing Story-Part IX (9)

The Importance of Undergarments & Conventions- A Continuing Story-Part VIII (8)

The Importance of Undergarments & Conventions- A Continuing Story-Part VII (7)

Fun In The South

The Importance of Undergarments & Conventions- A Continuing Story-Part VI

The Importance of Undergarments & Conventions- A Continuing Story-Part V

The Importance of Undergarments & Science Fiction Conventions-Part IV

The Importance of Undergarments & Science Fiction Conventions-Part III

The Importance of Undergarments & Conventions- A Continuing Story-Part II

The Importance of Undergarments & Conventions- A Continuing Story-Part I

The Joys of Short Story Fodder

Work--the Perfect Companion

Whose Deja Vu Is It?

A Subtle but Important Rebuke of An Earlier Post

Multitasking and Missing Out

Why Write & The The Moral Responsibility

A Bite from the Past for the Present

The Boston Curse Goes on Holiday

Boston Curse Clarification

On the road again...

Electrons and Words Don't Mix

Some Days You Just Can't Help It...

Space opera with a Stanley Kubrick twist!
Learn more at www.tonyruggiero.com or click on the cover to go to the myspace webpage.