It’s interesting to see people adjusting to ever-advancing technology.
From chalk and slate to Microsoft MindLink, teachers preparing kids for yesterday’s challenges, kids distracted by the newest gadgets.
Susie has a dataport on her arm, and she covers it with a long sleeve.
MindLink still has brainwipe issues, her parents say. A class in Chicago got zombied last week.
She pouts, runs to her room, crying.
Plugging in, she updates her journal, tagging it with all the unfairness, all the envy of her friends who got their way.
Just like her daughter will do.
(With the next generation of technology.)
Tag: society
The Creepy Silence
When you live in a world of light, the darkness is what you fear.
And when you live in a world of darkness, you grow to fear the light.
Creeping into the cave, the human bumps his head on a stalactite. “Damn it!”
Waiting for him is a dark elf, watching quietly.
The human hands over a sleeping baby, and the elf hands back a satchel full of gems.
“Princess Garamond wants to talk about alimony and visitation,” says the human.
The dark elf nods. “Less often and for longer, I hope.”
They both chuckle and return to their worlds.
The Hate Of Cake
I take the cake out to the grocery store parking lot, remove the lid, and start punching it.
Frosting splatters all over the ground and my clothes as my fists pummel the cake into a mushy pulp.
Then, I lick my fists and go back into the grocery store.
“I’d like another cake,” I say.
“You’ve bought four today,” says the manager. “And you’re covered with cake. What are you doing with them?”
“Punching them,” I say. “It’s cathartic.”
The manager looks around, sees his employees goofing off, and picks up 2 cakes.
“Mind if I join you?” he says.
Hallow’s Eve
Every holiday brings its special charms and annoying marketing blitz.
All throughout the store, you’ll see a lot more orange and black for Halloween.
We’re not just talking about the piles of candy for handing out to kids.
(Although I must admit, I ate my candy stockpile and need to go out and buy more.)
You’ll see all kinds of products decked out for the season, some of which don’t make much sense.
Small bottles of Summer’s Eve douche, rebranded “All Hallow’s Eve.”
I guess if you’re turning tricks while collecting treats, it’s essential, but I’ll just stick to candy.
Restoring Faith
The Sermonizer has been priest of Steamtown for a hundred years, presiding over weddings and funerals, delivering the Sunday sermon without fail.
Until today.
Pressure tank exploded overnight. Punchcards strewn everywhere.
Looking down from the equipment loft, I stare at Sermonizer’s marionette, slumped over the pulpit.
I climb down the stairs, and I lift it.
Not heavy at all, really.
I climb back up and tug at the support ropes.
Sermonizer wobbles to his feet.
“Dearly beloved,” I groan loudly.
Every child mimics Sermonizer in Steamtown, you know.
Clean up the cards, Deacon, and ring the bells.
Time for church.
The Book Of Life
All across the world, Apple and Google fanboys are clutching their chests and keeling over dead in the streets.
Why? Every year, The Lord writes our names in The Book Of Life.
He adds those who are born and scratches out those who died.
But this year, he’s catching the e-publishing bug and giving up on the ink and paper.
He’s worked up a file and sent it to Amazon for publishing on the Kindle.
He thought about making an app for Android and iPhone, but those smartphone owners are a bunch of annoying cocksuckers, so he’s left them out.
House Guest
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I watched the ragged homeless guy haul refrigerator boxes out to the weedpatch by the train tracks.
Then, it was shopping carts full of broken appliances.
Item after item, he hoarded into a pile until I got curious.
There, in the tall grass, was a magnificent palace, constructed of junk and litter.
I was buzzed through the gate and met him at the front door.
“This place is amazing,” I said, and he gave me the tour.
A pool.
A ballroom.
A movie theater.
He smiled. “Now that I’ve got the guest house done, I’ll work on my mansion next.”
Hard news to swallow
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The ringmaster took Luigi to his office.
“Sword-swallowing isn’t exciting,” he said. “You can’t see the action. It’s hidden inside.”
Luigi tried to argue, but failed.
“Report to Bobo.”
Luigi sighed and left for the clown tent.
Two hours later, he saw himself in the mirror, covered in bright, garish makeup.
“Not bad,” said Bobo putting a hand on Luigi’s shoulder. “Look, I know this is humiliating. We’ll work your swords into the act somehow.”
Luigi nodded.
“C’mon. Dinnertime. Let’s fill your stomach with food for once.”
That night, Luigi stabbed himself.
He could swallow swords, but not his pride.
Hercules
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In Greek mythology, Hercules is often credited with performing twelve labors. However, the original poem laying out these labors was lost to history. All we have are poems and stories inspired by the original poem.
Until now.
Reading these ceremonial urns, painstakingly pieced together by my team, it turns out that Hercules was the name of a town, not a single person.
It wasn’t a single individual performing these labors, but a community coming together to get these seemingly impossible tasks done.
So when you look around you, so many impossible problems, look around.
Perhaps, Hercules is already with you.
Octoberville
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Jenny and I leave the turn-of-the-century town for the woods, watching for signs of Octoberville’s return.
It fades into existence at September’s end, and returns to the void after thirty-one days.
The buildings are worn and run-down, but comfortable.
The residents are the same, shabby but content, shambling around the paths from shack to shack.
Merchants bring food from the harvest.
“What happens when you go away?” I ask the mayor.
“Go away?” he says. “Octoberville doesn’t go away. What are you talking about?”
To them, October is all there is.
Just as to us, the century is always turning.