Maya plays the cello beautifully.
She started off in the orchestra, and for a while she played in a quartet.
Alone, up on stage, the height of a career… a soloist?
Where do you go from there?
So, she recorded herself, and performed with those recordings.
Good, but could be better.
A group of researchers in a media lab sampled the recordings, and built a virtual Maya that could adjust to her performances.
The effect was amazing, but something still wasn’t quite right.
One day, Maya walked into the lab, and she heard herselves performing perfectly, beautifully together.
Without her.
Category: My stories
Idiot Box
Some people call television “The Idiot Box.”
I find this to be a shallow and ignorant description of the televised media.
It’s also insulting to my own product: “Idiot In A Box.”
There’s not much to it. It’s just an idiot in a box.
I got the idea for it from my retarded little brother, Fred.
He liked to sit in boxes.
And watching him in there was highly entertaining.
Unlike television, with Idiot In A Box, you don’t need signal, cable, or Internet to get content.
Just the idiot. And a box. Maybe some oatmeal.
Oh, and diapers.
Enjoy!
My Unfair Lady
If the rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain, where does the rest of the rain in Spain fall?
My elocution tutor didn’t know. He just wanted me to repeat this phrase and didn’t want me getting off tangent, digging through the library for meteorological tables from the Iberian peninsula.
When I was done with Professor Higgins, I asked Doctor Odd about the rain in Spain.
He laughed. “When I am done with my Doomsday Cannon, it will rain fire and death upon Spain!”
I asked my parents if we could go to Paris instead of Madrid this year.
Voodotodo List
I have a lot of chores to do every day.
There was an app for To Do lists on my phone, but I’d have to stop playing Angry Birds long enough to check it.
So, I picked up a corkboard and pinned my to do list up there.
When I finish a task, I stick in a pin.
I call it my Voodoo To Do List.
I just have to be careful about putting names on it.
Like when I wrote “Get birthday present for Stan” and stuck a pin in it.
Poor Stan.
Hold on. Gotta add “Stan’s Funeral.”
Candy Corn
Here at Boone Farms, we’ve been bit by this ass-nasty drought just like everybody else.
But instead of just watching our corn and soybeans and other of our traditional crops burn in the fields, we went all-in with a different crop:
Candy corn.
What? You think that stuff gets made in candy factories?
Boy, do you got your shit wrong there, son!
Candy corn grows on stalks just like the normal stuff, but it don’t need rain and sun.
Just corn syrup and coloring.
Plus, those Easter Peeps love this shit.
(But I must admit, I miss the chicken eggs.)
A Tiger In Bed
Things didn’t work out.
We fought, we broke up, and she gave me a kitten her sister rescued.
Although it makes more sense to say “She gave me to the kitten.”
That little rat acted like she owned me.
So, one day, the girl comes back.
You know, to “check on the kitten.”
We wind up in bed.
She’s on top, yelling YES YES YES.. and then screaming.
Kitten was on her back, claws dug in deep.
The girl yelled at me, got dressed, and got the Hell out.
The cat cleaned her claws, curled up, and went to sleep.
Bacon Stockings
As a society, we’re obsessed with bacon.
If it isn’t bacon-flavored, it looks like bacon.
I’ve seen a bacon-patterned knit scarf. It’s like wrapping a slice of bacon around your neck.
And I know a fashion designer who is making photograph-sourced bacon stockings.
They have the all striations and marbelization of natural bacon, very lifelike.
And very creepy.
But, if you think about it, it’s a lot more sanitary than using real bacon on your legs.
Sure, the grease will help them stick, but once a stray dog catches the scent, you’re going to get chased all the way home.
Curse The Darkness
Someone once said that it’s better to light a candle than curse the darkness, but they didn’t have their house burn down because the candle set their drapes on fire.
Oh, sure, I tried to blow out the flames, but they spread too quickly.
Tear down the drapes and stomp them? They were on fire! What do I grab?
I did manage to blow out the candle, though. But then I needed it to find the fire extinguisher.
I tried to light it off of the drapes.
Nope.
So, my house burned down, and my hand’s got hot wax burns.
The Revolution
People are talking about a revolution with this Occupy Wall Street thing, but I’m not so sure about it.
I’m busy watching television, surfing porn, and eating Big Macs. The most I’ll do is Retweet or Like or Plus One the revolution.
The first man up against the wall when the revolution comes will be Banksy, because he’ll be tagging it with something insightful and cool and clever as the crowd starts lining up the crooked bankers and dirty lawyers and inside traders and economic traitors.
The problem with being famously anonymous is that you can’t prove who you are.
The Skye’s The Limit
He was a music prodigy. Played from the time he was three.
Guitar. Piano.
He could sing, too.
He loved to go out and perform, and folks said “You’re going places.”
It was a shame when he got sick and couldn’t gig anymore.
So, he played his music on the Internet.
Folks around the world got to enjoy him, and they posted YouTubes of his music, bringing in more fans.
When he got better and record labels came calling, he said “Thank you. I’ll never forget you.”
Neither did the lawyers, as the copyright takedown notices spread around the net.