Archive for December, 2010
Apparently sake isn’t terrible. You just need to heat it first.
Melon Fanta? Why don’t we have this in the states?
I love how much more common thigh-highs are over here. Next time on Things That Turn Me On: detached sleeves.
I’m going to the atomic bomb museum in Hiroshima. There is something distinctly American about bombing the shit out of a country and then paying them to see the wreckage.
I don’t eat pork because I am Jewish and I don’t eat seafood because I am weird. Perhaps going to Japan, where those are two of the primary things that are eaten, was a mistake.
What is it with beers and drinkability? For that matter, what the hell is drinkability? As far as I’m concerned, something is drinkable if it is a liquid that doesn’t destroy your esophagus on the way down. Arsenic-spiked tea is drinkable. Lava is not. The beer companies are clearly using some other definition.
I like that there’s a guy by the train ticket gate machines whose job consists mostly of saying “thanks” every time somebody passes by.
English’s relative simplicity with respect to grammar (specifically, the minimal conjugation) makes it easier to work with in some ways, but the cost for this is a loss of subtlety. Contrast this with Hebrew; a good chunk of Biblical commentary is concerned with grammatical oddities, such as God using the plural form of “you” when talking specifically to Moses.
With His Knife
A moment’s consideration and the proper course of action revealed itself. He put down his knife and stood up. Self-consciously wiping the blood from his face, the man made his way to the door of the apartment. The peephole revealed nothing. Confused, he opened the door and looked out into the hall.
Crumpled in a heap at his doorstep was a girl.
Nicole opened her eyes. Her migraines had never been that bad before. Groaning, she put a hand to her face, sat up on the bed, and looked around.
She was in a small room. The smell of copper hung heavy in the air. The lights were off save for one small nightlight, and the two doors out were closed. Nicole stumbled over to the one that couldn’t be a closet and winced as she turned on the lights. The wallpaper had been designed by someone who clearly idolized Jackson Pollock but lacked his color palate. The light hurt, too. She quickly turned them back off and, hoping for a more modest source of illumination, opened the door. Her wish was not granted.
“Oh, you’re up,” said a figure, “I was starting to worry that I’d need to take you to the hospital. I hate hospitals,” it added.
Nicole blinked a few times as her eyes adjusted. It was a man talking to her, mildly handsome despite needing a shave. He was wearing an apron. In fact, this new room was a kitchen.
“Where am I?” she asked.
“You’re in my apartment. It seemed prudent to let you have my bed.” Sensing her wariness, the man continued, “You collapsed outside my front door. Don’t you remember?”
“Now that you mention it, yes. I had a migraine.” Her forehead pounded. “Have a migraine. Who are you?”
“Anthony Miller. I’m an actor. You?”
“I’m Nicole. I’m a rising senior.”
“Ah. High school.” Anthony’s expression darkened momentarily. An awkward pause followed. “So, Nicole,” he said, turning back to his cooking, “Why were you outside my door?”
- She lives in the same building.
- She ran away from home and a friend lives in the building.
- She was visiting a client in the building.
- She doesn’t remember how she got there.
The sky had never felt as far away as it did now that I had caught it. As far up as I was, I could see an eternity stretching out beyond me. I was all too aware that I had merely brushed against the surface of the skies.
And then, from above, I saw an angel descending. The Heavens parted for her passage and I knew that she was mine. But as she fell, I became afraid. Was she falling for my sake? When she dropped to my level, would she still be the pristine goddess I saw, or would her descent twist her into a shapeless, godless horror?
“Stop!” I yelled, “Go back!” I couldn’t let that happen. I needed her, but that didn’t matter.
She looked at me then and smiled, her beauty suddenly blinding, before turning and plunging into the depths.
“No!” I cried, falling after her. The clouds took me in, pulling me closer to my angel. Suddenly, everything pulled away, leaving us alone in the middle of an endless black emptiness.
“Help me,” my love said. I paused.
And then I
I’d like to do an experiment in writing with a deadline. Normally I write fairly slowly, and I want to see if I can change that. Therefore, I’ll be writing a Choose Your Own Adventure! I’ll try to post at least once a week. This first one will be short, but I’ll try to make future sections longer.
With His Knife
“I told you, didn’t I?” he shouted. “I told you to leave well enough alone!”
It was rhetorical at this point. Her blood splattered the walls, and her eyes stared the unblinking, uncomprehending stare of the dead.
“Why didn’t you listen to me?” It dripped off his face as he stabbed again and again, a macabre liquid mask. “Why? Why won’t you answer? Answer me!”
As if in response, a loud thump came from the hallway. He froze, unsure how to react.
What did he do?
- Ignore the sound and clean up.
- Go see what it was.
- Panic and escape through the window.
- Not have time to react; the police burst in immediately afterward.