Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Fried Flamingo in Detroit

I was assigned to write a story with these five words: flamingo/Detroit/fried/astrophysicist/quarrel. Here's what I came up with...

I was eating fried flamingo down in Detroit on 8 Mile Road when suddenly an astrophysicist came crashing down through the ceiling and on to my table. She began to raise a ruckus and quite a quarrel about why my table was in her way.

"Way to what?" I queried.

"The floor. I supposed to hit the floor."

"Um, am I being filmed? Is this on YouTube?"

"YouTube? Ah...no. Much more important than that. If things go well or as I envisioned then I may have solved the secret to the universe."

"The secret to the universe is going to be found in Detroit?"

"Sir, Detroit is the secret of the universe."

"Really. I woulda figured Kansas City."

"You're obviously not an astrophysicist."

"How'd you tell?"

"You don't have a moustache."

"Ma'am, you don't have one either."

"That's cause I wax."

"Then how do your peers tell you're an astro..."

"My white coat is a dead giveaway."

"And falling from ceilings in soul food restaraunts."

"Hazards of the job."

"So what, you were time traveling and got off track and ended up on my flamingo sandwhich?"

"The Delorean took a wrong turn."

"Detroit never liked Deloreans."

"That's why Detroit is stuck in the past."

Thursday, November 17, 2011

Reflections while reading F. Scott Fitzgerald

Dick Diver. Freakin' Dick Diver and his easy F. Scott Fitzgerald charm. The full evolution of his race? I knew Dick Diver in 7th grade. His name was Craig Palmer and he was a drummer who was too cool to play in the band. He went to school dances with 8th grade girls and played in a garage band called Public Interest. His band was a band of Rick Perry frat boys and could only cover cheesy 60's songs like Woolly Bully. His hair was never messed up and he had a Tom Cruise "grinning like an idiot" smile. He wore Izod and Polo golf shirts with the collar up and never wrinkled khakis. He looked like a yachting instructor or a Young Republican. Craig Freaking Palmer never spoke to me or hassled me or even knew I existed. He was too busy hanging Union Jack flags in his room thinking that made him edgy between golf lessons and lacrosse practice.