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Color appeals to us both visually and emotionally.
by RMAF
So an architect in the densest section of Tokyo, Japan decided to be known for his hodge-podge, multi-level, multi-colored high rise. Each horizontal line was a different color. Some people called the building an "insane architect's nightmare." And some people called it a "challenging change from the norm." And I called it a fright for sore eyes!
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From inside my pocketbook
I took out my secret weapon.
By MD
It was difficult enough to
miniaturize a bicycle and make it small enough to fit inside the average sized
ladies’ purse. Miniaturizing the rider
was a task involving years of atomic experimentation, consultations with sports
celebrities and bike designers, and finally a seance and channeling of the
late, great Gene Rodenberry to mine his ideas about teleportation and human
molecular diffusion. But finally,
through a veil of great secrecy and patent attorneys protecting my intellectual
property, I succeeded.
It soon became obvious,
though, that I had put the cart before the horse. What, indeed, could be the practical
application of a miniature cycle and rider?
Professional cyclists shunned the idea -- there was too much danger of
being squashed by the conventional racers.
The IOC refused to consider it as a separate Olympic event due to the
chemical and molecular manipulations which so closely resembled a form of
“doping.” And the average, weekend
cycling athlete could not afford the time, expense, and inconvenience of that
form of recreation, not to mention the danger.
After a time, I gave up on
my invention. But not before I pulled
one final stunt. From inside my
pocketbook, I took out my secret weapon and steered it right under the front wheel
of the disgraced Lance Armstrong. The
mini-bike and avenging rider caught Lance’s front tire, and forced him to stumble off the bike.
(He wasn’t injured; that was not my intention.)
I photographed his stumble with
my Go Pro camera and published it online, where it quickly went viral. The satisfaction was worth all the trouble
and expense.
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Ada is the wife of a
retired university president
By RC
Ada is a very imaginative
soul, who always has some project under way—a project, I should say, that no
one else will undertake. Many of her projects have to do with renovations of
historic homes and out of the way sites that are run down. She has this unique
gift for getting people on her team. Until recently she was the founder and CEO
of Lift American Future through Easy Restoration Inc. (or LAFTER). Nowadays,
however, she prefers to do her thing in a more informal way, and she likes to
recruit unlikely candidates to help her.
Her most recent candidate
was her husband. Ada is the wife of a retired university president. He has been
going around the world on big safaris since retiring, traipsing through one
jungle after another, seemingly possessed of an indefatigable spirit of
conquest. That is, the conquest of one remote location after another. How Ada
talked Bernard into her latest project is unclear to me. She got the itch to
restore the famous South End House of Mystery. Well, that sounds exciting, and Bernard
will usually do anything for Ada, but even he had to admit that this was rather
a challenge and a half. It was especially hard for him to figure out how it was
going to be done.
Ada is no whiz with the
architectural or engineering aspects of a project, but Bernard understands such
things—that was his degree, before taking over the university. After a
particularly tough day trying to decide what to do with the site, Ada snapped
his encouraging expression as he leaned against the door frame of the house.
“I think that the mystery,
Ada,” he was heard to say, in a kind of grumbling voice, “is why this building
is still standing at all, just three miles from the San Andreas fault line, and
why anyone in their right mind would want to resurrect it!”
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She opened the box and said “That’s not what I ordered.”
By CC
Lin-Hua Yung stared at the flower display with focused
hatred. She had never seen anything so ugly. If she had not been worried about
the birds-nest flower hat that her auntie had spent hours fastening to her hair,
she would have flung her head around spewing curses.
The morning had started off much like any other, even though
Lin-Hua was excited about her costume party later in the day. The final
centerpiece had not yet been delivered, but an email from the company said it
would arrive before 10. That gave her plenty of time to arrange the table. She
had been dressed, hair done and makeup in place well before 10, as it was a
tedious process that she wanted to have done early. This assured she would not
have to do any work for the rest of the day, too. But that was OK since this
was the big day of her 13th birthday party.
The doorbell rang and she ran to answer it. It was the promised
delivery. She opened the box and said, “That’s not what I ordered.”
She set the flowers on an old stump and glared at them.
There wasn’t much time to fix things now.
She ran to her parent’s SUV, the only vehicle in the yard
that had sufficient headroom to clear her hat, but only due to her diminutive stature
in the seat. She fired up the vehicle and pulled back abruptly into traffic.
There would be a solution to this but she would have to hurry, even though she
had never driven before and could barely see over the windshield. Many passers
by only saw her birds nest hat behind the wheel and were very confused.
She managed to travel down the road for a half a mile before
running up on the sidewalk and knocking over a fire hydrant. The water gushed twenty
feet into the air and hammered down on the SUV roof. She climbed out, getting
soaking wet in the process. People were staring at her in amazement as her
traditional Chinese gown hung like heavy seaweed down her slight frame, and the
flowers on her hat drooped over her face. Things were not going well. It was
all the fault of the company who sent her the wrong order. She would sue them. Her
auntie said 13 was an unlucky number for sure. Maybe she would have an
interesting year.
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Their yard was littered with old furniture and car parts.
by TNT
There were strange people on the outskirts of town. Nobody knew how long they had been there or where they came from. Their yard was littered with old furniture and car parts. There was a sled and a rowboat, too. But most amazing of all was the Ferris wheel. No-one lived in the nuclear wasteland left after the terrible thing done by the Soviet military. No-one wanted to live there.
But suddenly there were several people living there, in tents and abandoned shelters that were almost demolished. Who were these people? Why did they go there and what were they doing? Strange beeping noises and rumbling sounds emitted from their luggage. They made fires and sat around in the evening to smoke something that smelled like rubber. People in Siberia don't like to ask questions or appear curious. It was not safe for many reasons. They ignored the place and the people - they never looked at them. But they were afraid to find out.
The mystery deepened as the Ferris wheel began going round and round without passengers or any seeming cause. A child (an orphan) wandered too close to the place and disappeared. The people in the area did not search for him. One day the Ferris wheel spun, flipped over and took off for whatever planet it came from.
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People keep things for many reasons.
by KC
The Keepsake
The co-pilot opened the cockpit door and spoke over his left shoulder. "I'll be serving lunch in ten minutes, highland salmon fresh from Scotland this morning."
Jen tipped her glass towards Hans. He smiled and winked. This was his first flight on a private jet.
Hans was an average guy from Denver until he met Jen. In two days he went from average to jet-setter.
His mind reeled as he sipped the champagne. What could Jen possibly see in him? Sure he was handsome and witty, but there had to be something else. Something he was not seeing. His heart, maybe.
The co-pilot pulled his headset off and left the cockpit, closing the door. In the tiny galley he pulled a steaming tray from the oven. The salmon smelled heavenly, Hans thought. He closed his eyes and smiled.
The co-pilot set the salmon plate in front of Jen. He set an empty plate, a long bladed fillet knife rested in the center.
"I noticed you put the bottle cork in your pocket," Jen said to Hans. "Why?"
"People keep things for many reasons," Hans said.
Jen lifted the knife from his plate and pressed it to Hans' chest. "Yes, yes they do."
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Joe made the sugar cookies, Susan decorated them.
by BG
Everything was perfect...almost. They had wonderful friends to be bridesmaids and groomsmen and the dresses and tuxes were not too much because each helped with the expenses. Susan made her own wedding gown, which was amazing, and Joe's brother helped him out with renting just the right suit. All of the flowers came from the little shop where Susan worked. Her bosses had gone all out and let Susan choose whatever she wanted. It was truly a blessing that they had been so generous. The venue they chose for the location of the wedding was a bit unorthodox but seemed to photograph well. It was the aluminum and glass breezeway between the office buildings of the company Joe worked at. They picnic grove where they'd have a reception was close by. They weren't going to have anything elaborate. They would have lemonade and some sandwiches and for dessert they hadn't been able to get a cake so Joe made the sugar cookies and Susan decorated them.
