Imagine You are Standing on a Boat Deck--Write Something from that Perspective

It was noon before Scratch saw anything of interest. Most of the morning I felt hungry and a little sick, and I pinched my arm and cooled my face in the spray, beating off the sun and distracting myself so I wouldn’t eat another biscuit. I loved the biscuits. If there was any peace and comfort on the sea it was a biscuit.

There wasn’t much to do on a calm day. I leaned my torso over the railing, getting the spray, and I shrugged my shoulders up, as if the ocean would call my name if it saw a huskier man. One saw belts of blue.

What Scratch found was indeed interesting, a post of wood. It was so interesting, in fact, to a bunch of men lost at sea, that we took the effort of getting the boat down into the water to grab this post; and, having taken it up, we set ourselves around it as at a dining table, to touch it carefully and look into its grooves. It was more of a plank than a post actually, seeming to have been shattered at both ends. When bearded Jenkins mumbled that he had found something, I anticipated it with some trepidation; but it was just initials, two sets, encased in a rough heart, the blithe initials of lovers on some island a thousand miles away.

Write a Travelogue

Kelly, who was younger than Julie, who was younger than Eileen, was the first off the plane to Rome. I don’t begrudge her at all, being her father, but it seems like something that needs to be said. Anyway, when we got to Rome, we had five days before us, in which we could do whatever we wanted. I wanted to see the Pantheon, and to sit in the Piazza Navona, and Eileen agreed with me; Kelly, however, wanted to eat gelato, and Julie sided with her. Now, I wanted to eat gelato, too, but I figured that that was something we could do on the way about doing other things. Kelly, fortunately, understood my reasoning and agreed, and so on the first day we saw the Pantheon and sat in the Piazza Navona, where we ate gelato.

The weather was cold, but not too cold to eat gelato. You could eat gelato and get a coffee afterward, and that would warm you up a bit, although I have to say, I was surprised that the coffee was not that hot. That was good, though, because I didn’t burn my mouth.

On the second day, we went to St. Peter’s Basilica, and Ellen, my wife, had to trick the girls into wearing sleeves by telling them that it was going to be cold; we were lucky that it was cold, because they would have made a stink about it otherwise, and I would’ve had to sit outside the basilica lecturing at least one of them while their mother took the remainder inside. We also went to the Coliseum that day, had our picture taken with a gladiator, and ate more gelato.

On the third day it warmed up, and we decided that it was prudent to avoid the churches, at least the big ones. Ellen suggested that we walk from our hotel, which was near the Gesu, to the Spanish Steps, eat lunch near there, and then get gelato near the Trevi Fountain.

The fourth and fifth days were more of the same, making plans, meandering around, and eating gelato. I never really got the sense that I was experiencing real Roman life, but you really never can tell. I did have risotto one night for dinner. The kids seemed tired, although, honestly, the trip was rather romantic for Ellen and me, and the coffee was very good.

VR Software Not Working

For anyone reading today, my voice recognition software has gone haywire, and because I basically need it to write anything of length, there will probably be no blog today.

Write About a Pillowcase

“That can’t be good.”

“What?”

“Look.”

I looked. “Well, so, we burn it.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?”

“Didn’t you ever spend any time with mom?”

“Aw – why do you have to bring mom into this?”

“This is her favorite pillowcase.”

“Mom is dead.”

“Don’t say it so –“

“But she’s dead.”

“Well, I can’t have her looking down from heaven at me, praying for me, and my soul, and I’m burning her pillowcase.”

“Jesus God damn.”

“Hey – I’m not so slight with her memory!”

“Freddy – Freddy, you just killed grandma. You suffocated her! Who the hell cares about a pillow case?”

“It was mom’s favorite!”

“Freddy – we just whacked her mother!”

“Yeah, and don’t tell me the old bitch didn’t deserve it, too!”

“Jesus God damn.”

Write For a Parent

When Amanda started inserting “like” after every fourth word in her sentences, you can bet I wanted to send that word the primrose way to the everlasting bonfire. It took a lot of nagging on my part, but it didn’t take long – and now I am happy to say that she only uses “like” in its proper verbal form or to introduce a simile. I’m not too worried if she uses it around her friends; at least I know she’s capable, and I’m not looking to ostracize her from the group.

Here’s how we did it. First, I felt it was important to use a double tactic. Studies have shown that children between the ages of four and 11 make sharp leaps in language learning, almost daily. Why not learn two things rather than one? So I decided that if Amanda wanted to play with her friends in the evening, not only would she have to stop using “like”, but she would also have to think of a new verb to express to me what they were going to do.

Second, I knew that if I couldn’t be clear myself, then she wouldn’t listen to me. And I couldn’t say “like”.

Third, I sat her down and we discussed the problem. Here’s how it went:

“I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal.”

“Because articulate people are considered intelligent, and inarticulate people and people who use “like” are considered stupid; and you work too hard to be considered stupid.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Eventually, however, Amanda warmed up to the idea. She actually thought it was fun to express herself in new ways. She would come up to me and say, “Daddy, we are going to remind ourselves about the day, and then we are going to engage in a game of Barbies.” And eventually, the likes fell away, too.

So don’t be afraid of your child’s language, and be an exemplar yourself, and you will have success raising an eloquent, intelligent child.

Let the job interviews begin.

Write an Epic Composed of Three Haikus

Sing, goddess of truth,
how Adam left his kingdom
and returned in gold!

Hearing of marvels,
he traveled without weapon
to be well disposed.

Although still he slew
his enemies, for wisdom
is a sharper spear.

Write a Google Search

Type in “alliance for a smarter country.” Press Enter.

Sorry, no results were found that match your search criteria. Try entering your search again, but without quotes.

Type in alliance for a smarter country. Press Enter.

Search results: 1-3

Brainiacs
Making our children smarter in the 21st century… as a country we must pull together and form an alliance to help get our children back on track.
www.brainiacs.net

The Alliance for Economic Expansion
We at The Alliance for Economic Expansion believe in the United States economy… smarter workers are the key to success in this country.
www.afee.com

Going broke?
Get a jump start! Free credit counseling services. The smarter choice for getting you out of debt.
www.getoutofjailfree.com

Write a Parable

Maggie spoke to them in parables, saying, “Mr. Coleman had three employees. One was the administrator, one was the salesman, and one was the advertising executive. His wife, however, fell gravely ill, and he stopped working for six months in order to nurse her back to health. While he was away, he assigned the administrator, the salesman, and the advertising executive specific duties: the administrator he put in charge of hiring, the salesman he put in charge of product development, and the advertising executive he put in charge of the accounts and spending. When Mr. Coleman returned, his business was ruined (although his wife had returned to health). He demanded an account from each person. The administrator said that she had not hired anybody because there had been no demonstrated need. The salesman said that he had not created any products because there was no financial support. The advertising executive, however, insisted that the brand was strong – he had spent all the money on a smart campaign that would draw young customers. Mr. Coleman said that he had obviously been wrong, that there was nothing to advertise, and therefore nothing to buy. He fired all three of the employees, since there was no more money.”

Her friends asked her what it all meant, for they were confused. She answered them, “Like, so, I say to you, the administrator is God, the salesman is the priest, the advertising executive is the Pope, and Mr. Coleman is a human being. Sometimes, the Pope makes keeping things together difficult even for God.”

Write From the Perspective of the Floor

Men ask me, “Don’t you like being able to look up women’s skirts all the time?” First thing: I don’t understand why they’re talking to me; second thing: I’m a floor. Perhaps – perhaps – I’ll look at the ceiling once in a while, but I learned a long time ago not to put any hope in that relationship. This is an office building; I’m the lobby floor of an office building – these are, like, twenty-foot ceilings. For years I gave the ceiling the eye, and you know what it said? “Long-distance relationship.” I guess it was for the best. Maybe someday, when they demolish the building, we’ll spend some time together. I mean, I daydream about our cords and pipes getting tangled, but what else am I supposed to do? The only really good part of my day is when the janitorial staff mops, and I have to wait until the evening for that bit of romance.

And on a slightly related topic, the rug really pisses me off. There’s all kinds of things I can’t see in that spot, like executives tripping. Although if that ever happens on me just by myself, it makes me kind of dizzy.

Invent a Word That Rhymes with Orange And Analyze the Logic Behind It

Cornge 1.
(kornj) NOUN – Any not widely cultivated tall grass (Zea Citronensis) that resembles maize and has a sweet citrus flavor. 2. A tea made from the leaves of this plant.

The logic behind this choice of word seems to me somewhat self-explanatory; thus, I feel that this is a failure as far as the exercise goes, although I did have fun doing it, and I think that the word sounds funny.

Hence,

Cornge 2.
(kornj) NOUN – British English. Vulgar Slang. Jail, as in the phrase, "Throw him in the cornge."

Just sounds like a rough and nasty place to be.

Write Something Fantastical

“How many times do I have to tell you, I don’t eat robots for dinner?”

“I don’t understand you – you’ll eat anything, but you won’t eat robots. In all my life… and in this economy, too. Robots are lean, they don’t cost much, and they’re very nutritious.”

“I don’t like eating the eyes.”

“What do you mean you don’t like eating the eyes? Just last Tuesday you inhaled two dragon eyeballs, and you didn’t even so much as ask for a second helping of fairy wings for dessert.”

“I don’t like the way they crunch.”

“Which?”

“Which what?”

“The robot eyes, or the fairy wings?”

“Well I ate the fairy wings, didn’t I?”

“Well it’s robots for dinner or nothing.”

“Aye.”

Thus ran a typical evening in the household of the world’s only remaining wizard in the year 2409. His wife, Anna, had learned the hard way not to tell him to conjure his own meals, not because he had done anything bad, but because he was a bad cook. She decided that she would rather enjoy her own cooking, and she couldn’t understand how anyone could not like robots. She had been raised on robots; she suspected it was a matter of pride that he so refused them, as her mother-in-law had confided in her that he loved robots as a child, but developed a distaste for them the more he learned to conjure fire out of the air. It makes sense – you can’t cook a robot with fire; it’s a matter of patience.

Write In a Pattern (But Not a Metrical Poem)

Jared looked up; a flock of geese was flying overhead. They looked like the fork of a snake’s slithery tongue. There was a gray fleck of cloud in the sky. Suddenly, he felt a flick on his shoulder, his sister. She gave him more flak than even his nagging father. They were like a folk song, making words awkwardly beautiful. He couldn’t understand why Frank saw any merit in her. He was in a funk because of their row yesterday. It hadn’t been a freak thing, just another silly argument. It was about the frock his sister wore to school.

Write a (Short) Jeremiad

Righteousness, his head held high, has strewn his excrement behind him on the ground. He shows no remorse!; day falls upon day, as good men fall upon spears in the rush of battle, and new thoughts come to his mind from what he sees. If a woman scolds her child, a shrew scolds the sun; if he hears a man crying, he shuts the ears of his own children; if his daughter chips a shard from a rock, it is her idle and lonely future beside him.

But Righteousness, too, will bear his own stench on his deathbed – woe to you Righteousness! Your God will be your nurse, and she will hold a mirror above the bedpan that will be for your vomiting.

Write Something of Everyday Use

Regulate the surge
By carrying a flask.
But don’t take me to task
If you purge.

Instead, use tea tree oil.
One part to ten
Of water cleans like zen,
Small miracle.

Correction: Write a Square

Apologies--today's piece actually turned out to be "Write a Quadrilateral."

Write a Square

In an even once-male-dominated world, the battles are inevitable. Meteorology is no different on that score, and when Peter Starlite, the weatherman for the morning show, came into Dewey Snowcropp’s evening news room, Snowcropp glared at him like the sun coming over the horizon one minute later on the subsequent day.

“What do you want, Starlite?”

“I’m here to do your weather, Snowcropp.”

“We’ll see about that. Who sent you?”

“Pudge.”

“Your anchorman should keep his opinions where they belong, between the morning recipe and the birthday greetings.” Snowcropp came down the stairs like a cold front.

“Said I could forecast your guessing game into the ground.” There were only six inches between their faces.

“Yeah? What’s tomorrow’s high?”

“88.”

“92 – it’s heating up, and the next day’s going to be 94. A scorcher.”

“Going to cool way down, Snowcropp, once the salmon start swimming upstream in Alaska. I say 86. Ruffle that cool air up there.”

“I eat salmon for dinner, Stargazer.”

“And you look like an orange coward.”