120 Seconds of Lit: The Letter A

120 Seconds of Lit are creative exercises I post from time-to-time.  They're completely random, but the idea is that I write for 120 seconds and then I'm done.  Click on the "120" label to see other past posts.

Today, words that start with A.  Ready?  Let's go.  No spell check.  (Final note: Way too much backspacing... wasted time.)

able, apple, astronaut, argonaut, airplane, arrow, argh, acme, acrobat, alleviate, Alabama, Arkansas, August, autumn, author, Auckland, Arizona, alabaster, academia, academic, all, any, amateur, annul, abracadabra, ah, aol, America, application, automobile, Africa, after, are, Ariel, arial, awesome.

Odds and Ends 38

-1-

ENGADGET -- Blockbuster avoids bankruptcy for now, but not NYSE delisting

-2-

MSNBC -- Fla. fruit stand begun by boy celebrates 50 years

-3-

UNCLUTTER -- A Thing a Day Challenge Get rid of one thing every day. Interesting, but seems like it would take forever.

-4-

LIFEHACKER -- The Five-Second Rule Could Actually Apply, But Mostly Outdoors Not your kitchen. Where your toddler is eating everything he can find off the floor. Gross.

-5-

TODAY'S BEST THING -- 100 Greatest Movie Insults of All Time. Way too much strong language for me to post a link here, but there are some true gems in there if you feel like Googling it.

-6-

INSIDE YOUR SEARCH -- How Google Works - a behind-the-scenes look at what happens when you search on Google

-7-

SETH GODIN -- But Who Will Speak for the Trees? - why bailouts for newspapers is a bad idea.

-8-10- VIDEOS

After the break - 3D holographic images (getting there), a parrot who does 20 tricks in 120 seconds and Super Mario scored live by a violinist.

120 Seconds: Bad Mood

I'm feeling kinda cranky at the moment. I'm listening to Depeche Mode. It's not making me cranky, in fact, I'm finding it soothing. I just finished vacuuming most of the house. That should have put me in a better mood, but at the moment, it has failed to do so. I'm finding it too loud in the house and I really wish my mother-in-law wasn't here. She's in the way and it's to the point where even the sound of her voice grates on my nerves like fingernails on a chalkboard. I don't know when or if she'll ever leave before I die, but it will not be too soon. I know she's a help to Lori, but I really wish she'd stay out of sight when I was around. Only 10 seconds left. But I don't feel like being done. beep. Ok, guess I'll type some more. One of the things that utterly frustrates me is that she ends up getting far too much play on here which just further angers me because it points to how much of my waking time is spent wishing she weren't here. And so I just sit here shaking my head unable to even come up with words to describe my anger. It's almost like I'm shaking. It's like what my new son does when he tries to suck on someone's finger and realizes that he's not going to get fed, he just shakes his head back and forth very quickly as if to say "NoNoNoNoNo" Yeah, we had a son. I don't even know if I posted about it on the other blog yet. How sad is that? I do know I posted about the photos being available, but I don't think I've posted much about him besides that. He is very mellow and he eats a lot. He actually let us sleep all through the night last night. Lori should have woken him up after four hours and gotten him to eat, but she was so tired that didn't happen. She figures it's the first full night's sleep she's gotten in months. Literally. I've only seen my son for a few seconds tonight. He's either been eating or sleeping on Lori or in my mother-in-law's arms. She needs to go. Lori's promised to talk to her in six days if there's no obvious signs that she's preparing to move on. Lori talked to her last time and they said "end of April" but it came and went and Lori's mom seems to have completely forgotten about it. This time, Lori's promised to issue a declaration of a specific date, a finite point in time I can count down towards.

120: The Kitten

This was no "throw-the-ball-throw-the-ball-throw-the-ball" of a dog, this was the steely gaze that said "throw. the. ball. I. will. destroy it."

The little playful chirp was a red herring, the muscles were taught, the claws were out, this kitten was ready for the fuzzy blue ball with the pieces of shiny blue pieces of metallic-looking plastic thread sticking out of it.

You knew that when you threw it, there would be no "Why, hello.. what do we have here? Hello, Mr. Ball, I think I'd like to play with you."  No, this was going to be a massacre: throw the ball, pounce, sink teeth.

Someone might say "Awww, look at the little kitten play" but they were people who had not yet had the kitten declare war on their toes.

120 is a the umbrella under which I place my creative writing. It refers to one of the practices - writing for 120 seconds on a single topic with no chance to go back and edit. Click here to read more.

120: Tsunami

At first, it was a little water, creeping onto the pavement. And then a little more.  And soon water was sliding over the entire driveway, slowly rising up the wheels of the cars. The water kept coming, moving northward across the lot.  Before long, it was up to the tops of the wheels.  Larger and larger pieces of debris flowed with the water, first curving around the cars, but eventually smashing right into the cars.  The cars began to shudder from the force of the water, yielding and then pushing back. But the water, it just kept coming. One of the smaller cars gave up, allowing itself to be lifted on the wave and pushed down the aisle.  A large truck held its ground, getting beat mercilessly by the water and the debris.  A few more cars succumbed, sluggishly bobbing free of gravity, pushed away by the water.  A large plank slammed into a van, shattering the windows and sealing its fate.  It would not become a boat today, water rushing to fill the insides, it would remain on the ground, eventually rolled end over end, not that anyone would see it.  It was time to move up to the third floor.

"120" is the umbrella under which I place my creative writing (it's been a long time! Again!) - it refers to one of the practices: writing for 120 seconds on a single topic with no chance to go back and edit - there may be mistakes, typos, embarrassing spelling errors.  Such is the nature.  I might continue writing after the timer ends, but it's about sitting down and writing something. This particular effort was because I watched a video today from 2011 where the tsunami in Japan overran and airport. Click here to read more 120s.

120: Random Quote

starting from http://www.feath.com/idea/quote.htm. Standard rules: 120 seconds of writing, no editing, proofreading, thinking or correcting (except for typos).

"The key is to commit crimes so confusing that police feel too stupid to even write a crime report about them."

-- Randy K. Milholland

It was so brilliant. It just made such perfect sense. And the guy's name was Randy, just like his. In an instant, Randy fell in love with the idea of a confusing crime. Of course, Randy might have plenty of time to plan his crime because Randy wasn't a brilliant man. In retrospect, having six burritos before robbing this house was a really bad idea and now as he sat there, reading the homeowner's Reader's Digest, he just hoped he'd be able to escape the house before police arrived. But for now, he was going to be there awhile.

---

Ok, fine, not my best, but it's been too long since I did a 120.

120: Misdirect

"There he is again!" shouted one of my guests.

We turned to look as the guy ducked behind the bushes. But it was quite clear that he was looking in on our party from our neighbor's driveway.

I walked out the front door and shouted for someone to call security. I walked up to the man. He looked down at me, I looked up at him. I shouted "Tan pants, light blue windbreaker" as he started for me. As he got within range, he looked as if to say "Come at me." I continued to shout back descriptions to the guests spilling onto the front porch.

"5 foot 2 inches tall!" I shouted.

He looked puzzled, stopped and sputtered "Hey man, I aint no 5'2" - I'm at least six..."

And that was when I yelled "SWEEP THE LEG!" and kicked him hard in the shin. Sure, I didn't actually sweep the leg, but it knocked him off balance, I pushed him over and lept onto him, twisting his arm behind him as a few of my guests arrived to help subdue him.

---

"120" is the umbrella under which I place my creative writing (it's been a long time!) - it refers to one of the practices: writing for 120 seconds on a single topic with no chance to go back and edit. This particular effort was the attempt to retell a recent dream I had where I was pretty awesome. Click here to read more 120s.

120: Stuck

 The pocketwatch seemed to be stuck. I was holding it in my hand, but as soon as I pressed the button on the side, it became stuck. I couldn't move it. I slowly opened my hand and lowered it. The pocketwatch hung in midair where I'd left it. This shouldn't be possible. I stared at it. It was no longer ticking. In fact, it was quiet. Everything was quiet. I couldn't hear the traffic outside or my family downstairs shouting back and forth to one another. I listened, but there was nothing. I reached out to the watch again, prodding it. I wrapped my fingers around it and pulled. Very slowly, with much effort, I was able to bring it towards me. But as soon as I stopped, it was stuck again. I pressed the button on the side a second time and the watch dropped into my hand and I was knocked over by the sudden overwhelming sensation of sound - the cars, the kids, the ice cream truck, a plane overhead, my dad downstairs yelling to my mom. 

It couldn't be, right? I had read a book about a magic pocketwatch when I was a kid, but now here in my my grandfather's house, going through his old things, I had to be imagining things. Pocketwatches that could stop time were a thing of fantasy, right?

I dropped the pocketwatch into my pocket, climbed down the ladder from the attic and headed downstairs to where my mom was inventorying furniture and my dad was looking through my grandfather's file cabinet.  I ran past both, threw open the front door, reached into my pocket, pressed the button. 

and.
everything.
stopped.  

Well, this was going to be fun.

"120" is the umbrella under which I place my creative writing (it's been a long time! Again!) - it refers to one of the practices: writing for 120 seconds on a single topic with no chance to go back and edit - there may be mistakes, typos, embarrassing spelling errors.  Such is the nature.  I might continue writing after the timer ends, but it's about sitting down and writing something. (This one didn't go according to plan, I kept getting interrupted. Oh well, at least I wrote something.) Click here to read more 120s.

120 seconds of lit

The old dog shuffled along the path before coming to the clearing. His eyesight was failing and everything was just blurry shadows. The camp, just a memory. He whined slightly from hunger, but there was no one to hear him. He turned in a circle several times and laid down, weary, hungry and alone.

"Daddy, I found him!" cried the little girl in the bright orange life preserver what seemed like only seconds later as she burst into the clearing.

120: Behind The Musings

Ok, here's the rules. I'll pick a recent status update on Facebook from a friend. I'll paste it below, and then I'll set the timer for 120 seconds and expand on it.
---
[She] cleaned the apartment, did 3 loads of laundry, went to the post office, the grocery store, and now is thinking about her nice, soft bed!
---
It had been such a nice bed. It was such a surprise when early that morning, someone broke into the apartment, rushed into her bedroom, unceremoniously dumped her onto the floor and stole her bed. She knew it wasn't that great a neighborhood, but still. Sadly, the missing bed had not been at the post office, at the grocery store, or even at the laundromat. But, at least she had snagged three loads of laundry out of the deal. Mostly they were men's clothes, and not in her size, and not even the type that she could get away with wearing in that way that she could wear men's clothes and people would think she was being cute and playful. But, she wondered as she stared at the pile of laundry. Maybe, just maybe. Yes, that was it. If she spread it out, it would provide the warm place for her to sleep after that rotten day.

120: Time

The clock on the wall said 3 o'clock.  Last call for alcohol.  The night air was chilled with a slight breeze along which the smell of last call wafted. It was dark but for a small bit of moonlight filtered down through the fog between the taller buildings a few blocks over.  The streetlight overhead wasn't lit and few cars passed along on the street. There was raucous laughter as a party of three spilled out onto the street, only staying upright because of how tightly they were clinging to one another.  Wobbling down the street I hoped there was a bus or a cab in their future but they turned the corner before too long.  I pulled my coat tighter around me and tried to breathe without sucking in the cold air or the stench of the street - a mixture of dashed hopes, going home alone and desperation of various kinds.  Two police offers walked my way, but I set my face into a hard, stony look and nodded as if I knew I belonged here.  They looked carefully but proceeded on.  In the morning, they wouldn't remember me, I blended in.  If they remembered anyone at all, it would be a bouncer or private security, not that there would be need for the police to even consider this evening or this street.  Before too long, a shaft of light crept from the stoop onto the sidewalk and he stumbled out, a fat balding man in a cheap gray suit.  I stepped away from the lamppost and intercepted him just as he began to fall.  "Woah, buddy, you alright?"  I asked, softening my face into a compassionate smile.  "Thankrssshhh" he drawled, grabbing for my arm.   The non-descript blue or brown van pulled quickly to the curb, the door opened and I used his momentum to push him right in. Just as quickly the door closed and the van pulled quietly but quickly and I walked off trying to remember which side-street my motorcycle was parked on.

120s are my creative writing exercises.  Sometimes they are literally all I can fit into 120 seconds, other times I may spend longer on them.  I don't do these nearly frequently enough.

Week 6 (Final)

Sunday

Weight: 153.9 (05/08; 8.9 to go) // Lose-It! Today: 1,659 minus N/A (food) plus N/A (exercise) equals N/A under.
Jumping Jacks: 300; Pushups: 120; Situps: 120
Walks: 5 (1 for a meeting) - 10.7 miles
Email: 47 (1+46) // Feedly: 144 // TED Talks: 8

8:49 pm - I made a conscious decision this afternoon to stop doing chores and go play with my son outside.  I was going to take both children but Rachel was being disobedient so I didn't take her.  After we came back in I was still pretty tired so I didn't do a lot more after that either.  So I'm ending the week with a lot yet unfinished, but I'm still happy with the week, unless you count the poor diet Friday, Saturday and again today.  It's going to be awhile before I'm willing to weigh myself again, but I'm going to get back on track tomorrow.  No more birthday cake, apple crisp, cookies, doughnuts, bacon, french toast casserole, ice cream, etc., unless I can be certain of the portion and calories.

I think what I learned from this week is that I can get too focused on the day-to-day tasks.  I can get a lot of stuff done, but some of that will just be there again tomorrow, so missing a day isn't going to be the end of the world.  In a few cases, I did extend the length of time between recurrence, even on a few of the daily items, but there's probably even more I could do in the coming week.  So I did complete 437 items, but I'm carrying over 113 I didn't get to.  I also need to look at the week as a whole more, both in looking back and in looking forward, especially on those non-repeating tasks.  Also, I need to have some goals.  Not just track email, but have a goal of where I want it to be at the end of the week.  Stuff like that.

Completed:
Monday: 87; Tuesday: 73; Wednesday: 65; Thursday: 64; Friday: 30; Saturday: 68; Sunday: 49

Two Thousand Seven (Part 3 of 3)

Part III – The Look Ahead

What’s Next? Last year, I had some goals, but in some respects, I think I failed. I didn’t keep up with the list, I failed to post regularly. Part of it was my 15-minutes of fame with Federal Way Graffiti, part of it was the busy-ness of life, but part of it was a lack of clear goals and poor follow-through. So this year, clearer goals, intermediate goals, and scheduled review of my goals. So, what are my goals?

• A least 1 visit Vancouver/Portland
• At least 1 overnight stay somewhere (not in California or Yakima or Silverdale)
• Sponsor 1 more child through World Vision (we sponsor one already - we'll want to sponsor a child born in May, so we may have to wait until the following year if they don't have any children that young)
• At least 2 visits to Yakima
• A minimum of 2 visits to Longview
• 3 new restaurants in Seattle (1 really nice, 1 Cuban – can be same thing)
• 3 new restaurants (not in Seattle)
• At least 6 letters to our current sponsored child
• Visit 6 new parks
• At least 6 daddy/daughter days
• At least 12 "120 seconds of literature"
• Talk to Lori’s dad 12 times (monthly - or at least call and get answering machine)
• Talk to Lori’s brothers and families 12 times each (monthly - or answering machine)
• Talk to (or see) Jeff and Hillary 12 times (monthly)
• Talk to (or see) my parents 12 times (monthly)
• Talk to (or see) Lori’s mom at least 12 times (monthly - after she moves)
• Read at least 36 books
• 52 assessments of how I'm tracking towards my goal
• 52 legitimate posts about how I’m feeling on this blog
• Weigh 160 pounds on December 1, 2008
• Floss 200 times (I stink at this, hoping this will help make it a habit)
• Be in bed by 11 pm at least 260 days
• Exercise: walk 500 miles
• Exercise: 9,150 pushups
• Exercise: 9,150 situps
• Exercise: 16,470 minutes riding the exercise bike
• Exercise: 36,600 jumping jacks
• Send Christmas cards!
• Fix car window
• Spend time in Seattle with Allison
• Spend time with Lawver family
• Visit Dentist / get caught up
• Visit California in September (anyone want to host us?)
• Santa Train
• Spend more time with the cats
  
• Improve the basement
  
• Stop watching reruns (except of shows we purchase on DVD)
• Stop watching live TV (record/time-shift/delay everything)

How will I work towards these goals?

Some great websites:

• http://www.joesgoals.com/ - Create a goal and it helps you see how well you're sticking to it.
• http://www.rememberthemilk.com/ - An awesome to do list manager.
• http://www.gmap-pedometer.com/ - Find out how long any distance is.

And a tracking blog:

• http://theyearwas2008.blogspot.com/- The party starts Jan. 1 and ends Dec. 31.

120 Seconds of Lit: Right Now

The room is dark, lit only by the glowing monitor.  Between the tapping of the keys, I pause.  An open window lets in the magical, fantastic, pleasing sound of rain.  Splits and splats as it falls on plants with big broad leaves.  The murmur of cars passing by on rain slicked roads filter and then just as quickly fade.  The air... it's so clean, so fresh. On a night like this, so dark outside that nothing is visible beyond the white frame of the window, it's nice to be indoors, safe, dry, warm.  I breathe in deeply and sigh.

Road

A short burst of static burst from the speakers and snapped him back to the present.  He glanced down at the stereo, still furtively seeking yet finding no station.  There'd be no signal out here, but as soon as he got to where he'd find one, this was the easiest way to know.  He leaned towards the steering wheel to peer up towards the sky.  It was maybe noon or 1 pm.  Certainly no later than 2.  Could it be 3? He had no idea how long he'd been driving and the broken clock on the dash was absolutely no help.  The landscape to the right and left, well, there really wasn't any.  Flat, flat desert sand.  The occasional cactus.  Every so often, a dirt track would cut away to the left or the right, but he knew they wouldn't lead anywhere, to leave the road would be a one-way trip.  The road was cracked and uneven under his tires, but he pushed forward, heading north, he hoped.  At times, the dusty red sand cover the pavement, billowing around the car as he sailed through.  He hadn't seen any tracks, but even his wouldn't be visible for long, the dust settling back down after he passed in the still, windless air.  Plenty of gas in the car.   In the early morning he'd come across a deserted gas station and helped himself to gas, filling the car and the scavenged cans that filled the trunk.  But that was the last structure he'd come across.  A few hours ago, even the power lines had deserted him, veering off to the right disappearing beyond the horizon.  Since then, it had simply been him and the road.  Far in the distance, a slight ridge, and smoke beyond that. He leaned back in his seat, tapping his finger on the dash, humming to try to stay alert. He no longer remembered where this road led, but the more he drove, the further he'd be from where he'd been. 

(I cheated, this took longer then 120 seconds to write.  Any resemblance to anything you'd read is hopefully coincidental.)

120 Seconds of Lit

He wrapped his coat tighter around his body, pulling his arms close as he struggled against the rain and wind, hugging the metal railing to his chest. He peered into the darkness, seeing lights far off. The lights blinked on and off as the gusts of wind and rain blocked his view. He tried to breathe shallow breaths to keep the freezing air from burning his throat and lungs. But every so often his body refused to obey, sucking in large gasping breaths, the salt water, rain and air causing him to gag. The choking sensation was almost more than he could bear and the coughing grew worse, making it even more difficult to control his breathing. The waves pounded the little boat, each crash threatening to throw him from his perch on the bow. They were making headway against the storm, but he had lost all track of time. He hadn't spoken to anyone since the storm grew worse but every so often he'd hear something from the radio in his coat pocket, and they still seemed to be headed towards the light, so if it could just hold on -- and if they could continue to make forward progress, they would be alright. He leaned hard against the post, closed his eyes and and let his mind drift, just for a second, to the thought of soup, but then quickly snapping them back open. If he didn't keep them open and they hit the rocks, that would be the end of it.

Maybe I'm not creative

My creative writing is sad. Or at least my little "120 seconds of lit" concept is. I seem to always do the same thing -- try to hint at something and then tell you in the end what it is. I don't know if that's predictable or formulaic or what. I'm going to have to think about this...

120 Seconds of Lit 3

That was a funny place, he thought. That's not normally where you'd expect. He shrugged and shuffled off to get some coffee. He wondered if maybe he was just imagining it. He rubbed his eyes. Nope, it really was a cat. He measured out the coffee, poured it into the coffee maker, added water and pressed start. He cocked his head and stared at the cat. The coffee maker began to hiss as the coffee began brewing. He wondered if he should try to dislodge the cat or if at some point the cat would let go and fall from the ceiling where it hung, scared by who knows what.

(The words "cat" and "coffee" courtesy of Lori.)

Next Blog

I've been hitting the "Next Blog" button a lot lately. I guess it's because I know that there won't be anything new on MSNBC.com, News.com or Google Labs and there isn't really much else on the internet of interest. I could make some more videos of the little one to post on Google Video. Or I could fire up Google Earth, but I know I'll just stare at Seattle some more. You'd think that alone would be enough to get me fired up and get on track with the part of Project Restart that involves me going on the internet and telling more people about me. But so far, I haven't. I guess I've been more introspective about what I'm thinking and putting down on the blog, and curious about what others are writing about. (I'm not mentioning Google just because I'm trying to kiss up to them and get un-spam-blog-blocked, but honestly, they do have a majority of the only websites I regularly frequent on the internet.)

I have to say... I haven't found a lot that I've wanted to read on the "next blog" button. Like me, people type a lot in their posts... And lots of people don't even bother with punctuation and spelling and stuff and that makes it difficult to read.

But I have been cheered to find that others are writing to complain about not having enough time to actually write. And others are wondering if they complain about their lives on their blog, will others care? I'm happy to hear that I'm not alone in those ponderings.

Anyhow, I have sat at this computer in the darkened kitchen long enough. I think I'll go have some milk and see if there are any chores that I can quickly do before sitting down with Lori to unwind in front of the TV.

One of these days I'll do another "120 seconds of lit" or post another picture (new pictures of the little one posted yesterday on Flickr, e-me if you don't have an invite yet) or do something creative. I yearn to be creative beyond home renovation.

120 seconds of lit

He peeled back the door, opened the screen and squeezed his way out the door. It was a hot and muggy night, but there was a breeze. If he could just stand there on the porch doing nothing, the weather would be perfect. But, even the slightest movement and he knew instantly that he'd be soaked by the humid air and his own sweat. It was a peaceful and calm night. He wished he could linger there, but there was no time, he had to get moving. He slung his pack over his shoulder, pulled the cap down on his head and began to walk down the drive, it was time to go. The diner wouldn't rob itself.