Category: My stories

The first ringtone was a bell ringing.
Here and there, people made special devices to plug into the line to make different sounds, but pretty much everyone had a bell in their phone.
Then came wireless home phones and fancy novelty phones which beeped, chirped, and made other simple sounds.
So did the first cellular phones.
They evolved through simple MIDI sequences to brief low-fidelity recordings to sound clips, and eventually songs you could download and set to each of your contacts.
But never pick a song you love with all your heart.
Eventually, you’ll get sick of hearing it.

I like to wear white New Balance 623 sneakers.
I use one pair to walk for exercise and one pair to wear for regular use.
When the regular use shoes lose their luster, I make those the exercise shoes and buy new regular use shoes.
And I throw out the old exercise shoes, because by then, the soles and padding are worn out.
I should get a subscription for Amazon for these shoes.
Every six months, new shoes.
There’s a knock on the door.
A kid selling newspaper subscriptions.
“Go away!” I shout. “Until you sell shoe subscriptions, not newspapers!”

Fred and his dad didn’t have much in common except for soccer.
When Fred was a kid, his dad was his coach.
His dad stopped coaching when the league needed referees.
After a few years, Fred joined his dad as a referee, and they officiated a few games together.
Fred went on to college, and played on some teams for fun, but nothing serious.
They’d go to games together when he’d visit, and then they’d watch the World Cup at the rest home.
When Fred’s dad died, Fred has his ashes stuffed into a soccer ball.
It didn’t bounce well.

Arthur opened the small wooden box, looked through the memory chips, selected one, and put it in the slot in his neck.
It takes a minute to download memories
The new generation chips are instant access, but these chips were only fifth-generation.
Prone to errors and data corruption.
Arthur had been meaning to upconvert and transfer, but never got around to it.
Chip after chip, he didn’t know how long it took.
Until the last memory has downloaded.
It’s downloading when you transfer to a chip, right?
Or is that uploading?
Arthur cleared his buffers, and closed the wooden box.

If I were a nurse, I’d put a WARRANTY VOID IF REMOVED stickers on all my patients while they sleep.
So, when they wake up, they’d see the sticker and freak out.
Some of the stickers, I’d put in places that might take them a while to find.
Maybe stick them on while giving them a sponge bath or something.
Then they’d really freak out over them.
Although they’d probably wonder if it’s the stickers that shouldn’t be removed or if it’s the parts the stickers are on that shouldn’t be removed.
As long as they freak out, who cares?

Frank bought a guitar from the pawn shop on the corner.
Its case had stickers from around the world on it.
People would ask him about those places, and he’d make up stories about the restaurants, the streets, the people, the bars, and the gigs.
He’d play gigs and fill the room.
Never made it big, but still, he made a decent living from it with session work and teaching.
When he died, the guitar made it back to the pawn shop.
And another kid ended up buying it.
But, no bullshit stories. He got a new case for it.

Do you fear what I fear?
What do I fear?
Read my journal.
My doctor told me to keep a journal of my fears.
So, I did.
When I filled the first one, I started another.
Filled all the shelves in my room.
I needed more shelves.
And a bigger room.
The basement was bigger.
So, I moved downstairs to the basement.
Filled it with shelves, and filled those shelves with my journals.
Writing more and more.
Write them in a computer?
Unlimited space to fill?
No. I’m afraid to lose it all.
I should add that to my journal.

Every time I go to the grocery store, I forget something.
I write lists on a magnetic notepad on the fridge.
But I forget a pen, and don’t mark things off as I get them, so I overlook things.
I tried a notepad app on my phone, but I’d forget to check my phone.
There was an icon-based grocery list program I used, adding and removing icons for things as I bought them.
Then, my sister-in-law distracted me with her constant talking, and I forgot things.
Now, I just get things through delivery services.
So someone else forgets for me.

Samuel Clemens had so many pseudonyms when he was young.
He wrote for his older brother’s paper under one.
And then, going down river to make a name for himself, made several on the bylines of his freelance writing.
They were all rather silly names.
But the one we all know the best is Mark Twain.
The call of the Mississippi riverboats to signal that the water was two fathoms deep.
“Two fathoms is twelve feet,” said Samuel. “And I am twelve feet tall.”
Yes, he was really that tall.
I mean, why else would they call them tall tales?

Doug is famous, and he has a big entourage.
He’s got family and childhood friends always hanging around.
Then there’s the bodyguards. They keep an eye on things.
His manager and publicist are there to deal with the press.
A photographer snapping photos of everything.
Social media influencers to boost the likes and shares.
Accountants are always around to handle the numbers.
Drivers to drive everyone around.
Maids and servants all around his houses.
Bartenders and cooks to keep everyone fed.
Know what’s missing?
Doug.
Nobody’s seen him for weeks.
And as long as the party keeps going, nobody cares.