My sons, William and Peter, are my heroes.
They amaze me daily with their ability to excel and grow and love and inspire and just be great people.
Today I want to talk about Peter. He has claimed that I have been his inspiration at times, but, I want the world to know that I am in awe of his big-heartedness, his keen intellect, and his courage.
So, in response to a conversation we had a few weeks ago, when he encouraged me to just get over my fears and be true to myself, I am restarting my blog (how ‘old-school’ can you get?).
I am going to publish 3-5 times a week and express my thoughts, reflections, and forays into writing. I may post things from others that have inspired me! I also plan on borrowing from some things I have written in the past if I think they are worth sharing again.
My thought for today is this:
“I know you are all stressed because of some of the political posturing going on around us. You are not alone. Reach out to one another and share support, not fear. Let’s come together and work together to make positive change in a changing world.”
For those of you who like Sci-Fi, here is a story I wrote a number of years ago. It’s cheezy, but fun to write:
The Getaway Car
Davon was convinced the world was against him.
Racing down streets in a domestic cruiser at 200 kph and trying to shake off two cars which seemed to want him dead was not his plan for the evening. All he had wanted to do was get even with some Gareelian punk who had made him look like a fool in front of his girlfriend. It was just a simple prank...
Davon pulls his cruiser into a tight turn just as another particle beam blows by him on the right. These guys are going to kill me. He frantically slips into the oncoming lane and tries weaving in and out of the oncoming traffic. Lights blaze by him at a combined 400 kph. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to deter his pursuers at all. They slip around above and below traffic with the efficiency of professionals. Shit! Who are these guys?
Slipping back into his own lane, Davon checks his current position on the cruiser’s NavCor computer (Standard on all Ford Sliders since 2222!). Hmmm, if I keep going this way I’ll end up on the Ozzy O. Memorial Freeway...that’ll get me killed for sure. He decides to try to make it to the busier streets of the downtown district instead. Maybe I can shake them there.... or at least attract some police attention. Banking hard left, the three cruisers weave through residential streets at suicidal speeds towards Metro-NeoToronto.
Wiping sweat from his forehead, Davon feels crusty pieces of Gareelian exoskeleton falling from his spiked blue hair. Damn that’s gross! He shakes his head furiously. Green flecks patter against the windows and control panel of the cruiser clashing horribly with the neon pink interior. If Blue’aqua hadn’t been so damn freaked about the whole soda thing....
...
Two days earlier Davon had been one anonymous university student among the thousands who attended NWU - “New World University” for those of you who are totally out of the loop. He was preparing mid-term papers for the second semester of his probationary first year in xenolinguistics (which he wasn’t worried about) and getting up the nerve to ask his girlfriend, Arissa, to marry him (which worried him plenty).
He and Arissa had been at the Sonic Metal concert on campus (Kardos Rules!!!). He had gotten the tickets from his and Arissa’s mutual friend, Dave, who seemed to have suddenly abandoned all modern sensibilities and was now into 1980's country music. The shirts he wore were bad, but the John Deere baseball caps?! I’ll have to talk to him about that, Davon mused as the first blasts of raw sound scorched the air of the arena.
His plan was to pop the question in the middle of their song, “Scream for Death.” Unfortunately, just as the slow moan of the electric band-saw started reverberating from the stage, this clumsy Gareelian accidentally hit Davon’s shoulder, causing him to waste his Killer X soda all over Arissa’s brand new transparent halter-top. Needless to say, the evening was shot. Arissa ripped off her halter, still smouldering from the acid that gave Killer X its ‘kick,’ and threw it at Davon, vowing to shred his throat into linguini if he ever talked to her again - a harsh response even for Arissa. At least she didn’t threaten by genitals again, Davon thought, relieved as he nonchalantly checked the existence of his remaining testicle. The big question that ran through Davon’s head for the rest of the evening however was, What the fuck was a Gareelian doing at a music concert anyway? They have no ears and no comprehension of sound at all!!!
The Gareelian, ‘Blue’aqua’ (or at least that’s the best translation Davon could make), kept flashing his eyes in a rainbow of apologies, but Davon was beyond caring. This light-flashing, green....BUG! (a rough description at best) had ruined what could have been the best night of his life. Now, instead of taking Arissa out for dinner to hold hands and talk about their future, he was sure they’d spend the whole night at his apartment engaged in ecstatic, drug-enhanced sex. One of them would probably need the portable defibrillator in the morning. Sure she’d get over it in a week or two, but... Damn, this sucks...
One thing Davon did take notice of was the ID number tattoo all xeno-students had to wear while attending NWU. Feeling in the mood for some payback, Davon checks out Blue’aqua’s file the next morning on his personal NetLink.
Hmmm...326 years old...just out of the larva...doing a degree in 20th century Soda ads...where do these xenos come up with these concentrations?...also on first year probation. Looking a little further down the file, Davon discovers, much to his delight, that the little bug plays defence on the college Chak-ter team (a game that’s a cross between American football and scrabble...don’t ask, it would take too long to explain). In either case, The New World Granta-Beasts (currently 12-0 with a good shot at the Pez-Cup) were due to make an appearance the next evening at Nuramour Mall, close to campus, in order to sign autographs. I’ll fix the little bastard.
Davon spends the rest of the morning re-colouring his body. Changing tattoos, switching his contacts from iridescent yellow to coal black, and dying his hair from mauve to a decidedly electric blue...all in between checking on Arissa’s IVs and vitals. She’ll be conscious again in a couple of days...I didn’t think she’d inject a whole vial of Liquid Hell...though, if she pulls through I might give it a...
A knock on the door brings Davon back to reality for a moment. Who the hell could that be?
It’s Dave, plaid shirt, cowboy boots and, yes ladies and gentlemen, a vintage green John Deere baseball hat (from E-bay of course). Davon decided to leave the hat for another day, there were more important things to talk about. Dave was a third years student in xenobiology and Davon hoped he might have some juicy tidbits to share about Gareelians. After offering Dave a quick shot of Agent X2, Davon launches into a description of the previous night’s fiasco and reveals his current plans at revenge.
“So, what are ya gonna do?” asks Dave, his left eye twitching madly in response to the drugs in his system.
“Well....shit, I don’t know. I just want to make the fucker pay!”
“Yeah, I get THAT,” Dave replies, his right eye now twitching in alternate pulses. “But how man? Nothing can hurt a Gareelian...no pain receptors, no real emotions, tough as hell....shit, is my nose bleeding?”
“Yeah,” says Davon, “It stops after a few minutes and that’s when this shit really kicks in!”
“Okay, cool....man, the only thing I ever heard of that even bothers these bugs is soda.”
“Soda? Like, does it poison them?”
“No man,” says Dave with some difficulty as his tongue starts to swell. “It jutht botherth them...it fuckth with their exthothkel...exothkel...their fucking green thkin!”
“Soda, huh?”
Davon can't make out Dave’s next response as he falls to the floor in seizure. ‘Have a good trip man,” he says as he heads out the dooo.
The plan was simple. Get close to Blue’aqua and throw a soda over him. Tit for tat. But it wasn’t that simple.
Blue’aqua wasn’t just pissed about the soda, he went nuts, running in circles like he was on fire. After just a few revolutions he recognized Davon despite his colour-change and started after him. Davon put up a good run, for a human, but Gareelians can fly...literally. Slipping out an emergency exit and doubling back through an alley didn’t fool Blue’aqua with his incomparable vision. Davan can see his car only metres away, but is hit from behind (and above) by the full 60 kilos of Blue’aqua’s body.
Davon was immediately flooded in a kaleidescope of colors, flashing from Blue’aqua’s multifaceted eyes. Shit, he thought to himself, what’s he trying to say? Cursing his limited grasp of the Gareelian ‘language’ Davon quickly decides to try to make another run for it and throws a handful of garbage from the alley into Blue’aqua’s face.
Before he can actually get to his feet Davon feels a hand grasping his ankle, lifting him into the air. With blood rushing to his head in a manner not unlike the ecstasy supreme he used to take as a kid, he realizes that the ‘gig’ is up...Blue’aqua is going to rearrange his limbs.
An interesting feature of Gareelian physiology is the ‘neck-stalk.’ Made up of thousands of tiny plates and ‘muscles,’ it has been described as both ‘telescopic’ and ‘infinitely posturable.’ You never know where a Gareelian head might be found.
In Davon’s case, though his head was mere inches from the ground and Blue’aqua was standing at his full two metre height (if his head were in a ‘normal position’) he found himself looking directly into two flashing eyes on a head that smelled strongly of soda and...well...garbage. Davon was glad to see that Blue’aqua had switched to trying to communicate in the simplified form reserved for the light-insensitive-water-sacs who referred to themselves as ‘human.’ The message was a simple one. “WHO ARE YOU???” (The question marks are required in this case as the Gareelian language has five levels of questions based on their relative importance; for example, level 1 - Where is the bus?; level 2 - Where is the bathroom??; level 3 - Where is my life jacket???; level 4 - Where is my left arm?????; level 5 - Where is my coffee????? [Gareelians LOVE their coffee!!!!!].)
Before Davon can answer, raised voices from the building to their left interrupt the tender moment (tender for Davon’s ankle at least).
“What do you mean, you got no credits for the Godfadder? You want me to make a less atta you?”
“No, man...c’mon...we can work sumptin’ out! Have a heart!”
Davon is transfixed by the conversation. Not by the content, but rather the cliches. Do people actually talk like that, he mused as shots erupted from the wall to his left. Blue’aqua’s head explodes in front of him. At least he can grow a new one, Davon thinks as he takes advantage of the Gareelian’s confusion to wriggle himself free and fall gracelessly to the ground.
“Hey! Wad’s dat?”
Davon decides not to introduce himself to ‘cliche-man’ and bolts for the end of the alley where he parked his car. Just as he opens the door, a huge man with too many chins steps into the alley behind him and shouts, “We got a witness...let’s clean it up!”
Not sure he wants to find out whether ‘Guido’ (his new name for 'cliche-man') is going to scrub behind his ears or tear them off, Davon gets into his car and starts the ignition. The proximity sensor politely lets him know that two other vehicles are powering up behind him.
“Why did I borrow Dad’s old car?” Davon queries no one in particular. ‘Even Dave’s clunker has more kick that this piece of...”
The last part of his commentary is cut off by the sound of a blaster disintegrating his passenger side mirror. Davon throws the acceleration into Max and prays for a miracle.
...
....and so now we again find Davon desperately trying to get to the downtown. But it’s not to be. Exactly two seconds after the idea entered his head a rather lucky shot takes out the car’s entire power system. Luckily for Davon, the vehicle’s restraint system is fitted with triplicate backup power systems (Now Standard on ALL 2243 models!!!!) and prevents him from being turned into so much goo. The car itself is unrecognizable when it comes to a stop after its 27th flip.
Shaking with adrenaline (a drug he hasn’t felt in a while) Davon tries to pull himself out of the wreck. To his horrer, his new friend ‘Guido’ lends him a hand, throwing him to the pavement.
“So...you tink you gonna outrun me? You lucky you didn’t get kilt! So I’m tinking...hey this guys got balls...you know!”
Davon starts to think that maybe this isn’t going to end in a fatality.
“So, I says to myself...I’ll give ‘im a chance...play a game...roll da dice..you know?”
Feeling his spirits rise a little, Davon is pretty sure this won’t be a game of Mother-May-I?
“I’m gonna ask you three questions. You figure ‘em out an you live...if not..ba’boom. Capiche?”
“Shit yeah! Anything mister! Anything at all?”
“Hokay. Question number one. Where were you tonight?”
Trying to remain calm, Davon replies, “Umm, I went to the Mall...
“Yeah...”
“You know...to root for the Grantas.”
“Hmm.”
“And after I pissed off this big Gareelian I took off for home and had....an accident?”
“Oooh, you’re a smart one! Hokay, try number two. Have you ever seen me or heard of me before?”
“Nope, never saw you before in my life. Nossir...and I don’t know your name. That’s the truth!”
“Good answer! I tink you might pass dis test. Number tree....”
Holding his breath, Davon hopes this will all soon be over.
“What is the xenolinguistic equivalent of a past pluperfect verb in the Hundo dialect of the southern continent of Gerent in the Paldu System?”
“Huh?”
“I said, What is the...”
“I know what you said, but...”
“But nuttin’. Answer me in 10 seconds or...” Guido points a blaster at Davon’s head. “Ten...nine...”
“Okay, okay let me think....” Shit, if I hadn’t skipped last week’s Hunto dialect class, I’d know this.....???? “Wait a minute!”
“Wrong answer,” says Guido as he pulls the trigger.
Everything goes black.
...
Davon can hear voices, familiar but faint, on the edge of consciousness.
“How long has he been out?”
God! that sounds like Arissa.
“Dunno. Rick says about two hours, but Blue’aqua said it had to be closer to three.”
Blue’aqua? What’s going on?
A rush of energy courses through his veins as Davon is revived with a shot of adrenaline. Woah! twice in the same night, he thinks as he becomes aware of the music and lights around him. Am I in a bar? Arissa steps in front of him and grabs him by the chin.
“Hey, you. Fuck-face! You ready to answer the final question?”
“Final question? What are you talking about?” Then he notices ‘Guido’ standing behind her. “Watch out!” he screams but is unable to move. He’s tied to the chair. ‘Guido’ smiles.
“Thanks Rick, I’ll take it from here,” Arissa says to ‘Guido’ who walks off to join the rest of the dance. Among the bodies gyrating on the dance-floor Davon can also make out Dave and Blue’aqua, who seems to be budding a new head already.
“I don’t understand...”
“You were always the fucking traditionalist,” smirks Arissa who pulls out a gun and places it to his ear. “You also talk in your sleep. I knew about the engagement plans a week ago, but I wanted it done my way, so...”
“You staged all this?”
“Don’t sound so surprised, nimrod. You always said you loved me for my intelligence and cruel-streak. So,” she says, pushing the gun firmly against his head, “will you marry me.”
Smiling, Davon replies, “Yes. And I will love you all the years of my life!”
Arissa pulls the trigger.
Click!
“Matching head studs. Good look!” says Dave on his way to the bar.
And they lived happily ever after.
