The terraform ships searched the galaxy for the perfect conditions:
The right amount of gravity.
A reasonable level of atmospheric pressure.
Planetary rotation that would cause just a hint of Coriolis Force.
Biological support for grass, or a reasonable hybrid or facsimile of grass.
After that, the rest was just icing on the cake: wood for bats, animals or polymer substitutes for the gloves and balls.
Some said that it just wasn’t real baseball without the hot dogs and beer, but they were welcome to stay home on the charred-out cinder of a planet.
Green… blue… grass is grass, right?
Category: My stories
Vanish To Sleep
It’s late.
I’m tired. You’re tired.
And you say, “I’m going to bed. Goodnight.”
I say “Goodnight.”
And before you vanish, I want to say something, anything, but all I manage to say is “I” before you vanish.
I smile, and whisper the other two words, and tell myself “Maybe tomorrow.”
Like I told myself last night. And the night before. And every night before that.
But I never do.
“Goodnight.” I say to the empty air, and I breathe in slowly.
Maybe tomorrow. Or the day after that.
Just three words?
Tomorrow. Maybe.
“Goodnight.”
And I vanish to sleep.
Pills
I used to be afraid all the time.
The pills help with the fear.
Sometimes.
They cost a lot. And I need them to work.
But the insurance I have through work won’t pay for them.
So, I get pills and things that they will pay for, like birth control pills. or gum and patches that help smokers, and I sell them.
The money pays for the pills I need, and I don’t feel afraid all the time.
So I can work. To get the things I need to sell to get the pills.
I should just go on disability.
Aloe
We drove up to College Station to watch the Aggies play Rice.
The Aggies won, but I got to yell WE SCORED FIRST!
It was a hot day, like every season opener at Kyle Field, and the sunblock was just a way to feel slimy while my skin burned.
When I got home, I stripped everything off and sat in a tub full of sudsy water and aloe gel.
Ohhhhhhh how wonderful it feels.
Better than Jack Daniels, kittens, and porn.
I will soak in this tub for a week.
Until the next game, of course.
(I need more aloe.)
Grass
I have to go to a funeral today.
Most people get all dressed in black for funerals.
I’m no exception, but I do like to go barefoot.
The grass at the cemetery is amazingly soft. So much softer than the grass at the golf course or the city park.
Almost as soft as the grass at the dog park, but there’s dog turds all over the grass there. And dogs.
So, I go to funerals when I can. Barefoot.
The feel of the grass and dirt between my toes.
It feels so good when I dance on the bastard’s grave.
Distance
Growing up, I was close to my parents, but as I got older, I grew distant from them.
At first, it was a few yards… then a few miles.
Pretty soon, they were in the next county over.
By the time I was eighteen, there were several states in between us.
Over the years, it cost a fortune in long distance and postage to keep in touch when we did.
These days, it takes several hours for signals to pass back and forth.
Staring out at the stars, I hurtle through the void, and blink the frost from my eyes.
Games Of Thrones
Somebody tried to get me to read Game Of Thrones, but I’m not all that interested in games. Or thrones.
So games with thrones? Doubly-uninteresting.
Do they play Musical Thrones, where the nobles circle the thrones and all try to sit down when the minstrels stop playing? Last person sitting is the new king?
Or do they play checkers with them?
I don’t think they do. Those thrones on the posters look awfully heavy. And some of them have really sharp edges.
Although the nobles could have their servants pick them up and move them around the room.
How boring.
History Of Art
The East end of Main Street starts with a few yellow hand prints in the middle of the road.
The hand prints give way to hunting scenes, and then simple geometric designs.
As you travel West, the lines in the road progress through the history of painting… Babylonian… Persian… Greek… Roman… at Fulton Street, you get some Byzantine frescoes and mosaics.
A bit of the Dutch Masters and French Impressionists as you pass the Library, then Dadaist and Surrealist before the splattered mess reminiscent of Jackson Pollock.
(That’s not intentional. That’s where the road painter got hit by a bus.)
Bad Baseball
Eight years ago, the Houston Astros were swept by the Chicago White Sox in the World Series.
The once-mighty teams are currently two of the worst teams in baseball, and I am watching them stink up the field with their cheap rookie rosters, with the occasional discount washed-up veteran.
Even the on-air announcers are worse. They’re so bored with the game, they’re watching other games and doing play-by-play on them.
They’re doing a great job with that other game, too.
Maybe they’re doing it to get out of this market and call real games.
I don’t blame them one bit.
Summer Heat
In the winter, you need a bed warmer to warm your bed against the deep chill.
This can be an electric blanket, or an old-fashioned pile of sled dogs, or even a young woman from the village.
But how do you do chill a bed for those hot summer nights?
Some people strip down to the sheets, crank up the air conditioning, and drink plenty of ice water before going to sleep.
Or, if the young lass from the village is a cold-skinned vampire, well, that will work too. It’s like hugging an iceberg.
Mind the fangs and claws, though.