Where are you, Cobra?

1
I have no control over ads like this...

I turned them on to observe advertising patterns. I am not making money off them (though they would make money with sufficient traffic). You undoubtedly see different adds than I do, and they change based on what I'm writing, who's visiting, and who's paying for them.

 

2
Overheard: "He's book smart but he's really dumb"

(This was not directed at me.)

Question: Why is that those who are not book smart are allowed to say this but those that are book smart are not allowed to say the reverse? Eg, "He's street smart but he's really dumb."

Answer:
A: Those that are not book smart are in the majority and it is more often acceptable for the majority to insult the minority.
B: A public expression of inadequacy is often embraced among others that share that inadequacy.
C: They don't know any better because they've never read a book on it.

BTW, there is of course a place for both types of smarts. I'm not suggesting one is always better than the other. I make my living as a writer, and you don't learn that in a book. You learn by writing and being read, and reading other writers who do the same.

[2012-08-03]

 

3
Story Idea: The Cobra

Aloysius writes product descriptions for super hero costumes. We see him in narrow and detailed slices, as if he lives in a movie or comic book.

Aloysius is pronounced "al'-oh-wish'-us."

Aloysius is balding with a thick horseshoe rim of black hair; he is slightly pudgy, always tired, and already stubbled by 10:00am; he perches reading glasses on his head until he needs them; he wears a wrinkled suit coat that he removes when he arrives at work and puts back on when he goes home; he hangs this coat on a cubicle wall that encloses a small desk in a corner near a dripping water fountain.

After a long day at the office, Aloysius goes home to a small inner-city apartment. It's nighttime. He picks up the morning newspaper left outside his doorstep. After entering his apartment, he tosses the newspaper on a bare kitchen table and hangs up his coat.

The apartment is small, dark, empty; stuffy daytime air is freshening with evening air slowly drifting through a single open window. Neon lights from a sign across the street alternately flash green and blue onto bare walls.

Aloysius microwaves a cup of of instant soup. He sits down and holds it to his lips, blowing on it while he lifts the newspaper. He scans the front page, pulls down his reading glasses and reads more intently.

Aloysius goes to a hall closet, opens the door and turns on an overhead light that casts a dim beam on dozens of superhero costumes.

He pulls a costume out, glances over at the newspaper on the table, and puts the costume back. He pulls another costume out. The hallway light goes out and in the green and blue neon flashes Aloysius is transformed into The Cobra; he holds out his hand and tests a device that projects a sharp, shiny, prong; it extends and retracts like a licking snake tongue with a forked tip exuding drops of glistening liquid.

Lithe, thin, agile - The Cobra flares the hood behind his neck and leaps between billowing curtains and through his apartment window.

The room is empty again.

A horn sounds in the distance.

A cup of soup steams over a newspaper; pages lightly lift and fall in the evening air blowing through the city.

The newspaper headline reads:

Murder rate sky-rockets in Metropolis
Where are you, Cobra?

That is the end of the story idea.

[2012-08-13]