Dear Slartibartfast3,
It has been many years since we’ve met but my memory of your visit lives on. I hope that you’ve arrived in your own time safe and sound. I remember, before you left, you mentioned that it would be a long and hard journey, full of great perils and many unknowns far beyond your control. If you did not make it back, then this letter is nothing more than words from a fool. But if you are reading this, then I am sure you are well.
I hope that you still remember who I was and that you recall the great times we had together during our youth. I still remember our travels through Europe, Asia and America. I remember the times spent at the great opera houses, the historic palaces and the ancient temples. I introduced you to my friends and we spent the holidays eating, drinking and being merry. They were great days of joy and laughter that I hold dear to my heart.
Please remember that when I first met you, you were disoriented, unorganized, and a miserable wreck. You did not know the time of day, nor day of the year. It was I who nursed you back to health. I let you sleep in my own bed and wear my own clothes. I gave you access to my bank account and credit cards when you were broke. I even helped you land a job and become integrated in the society that was “today” so that you could afford supplies for your journey forward in time. In short, it was I who got you to where you are now.
Now I am writing to ask for a favor in return. You are the only person who’s capable of telling my future and I want to know about it. Where will I live? What will I be doing? Who will I marry? How can I be happy? How do I become rich? Will life be fulfilling? Will I find peace? I gave you your life back. Are the answers to these questions too much to ask for?
Since I don’t know when you will receive this letter, nor if and when you will act upon it, consider this to be a constant reminder from a creditor that payment is eminently due. I do not know when you will pay in full, but I have full faith that you will. Time is a tricky mechanism, so please ignore this letter if you’ve already answered them. If not, I look forward to a speedy response.
I hope your journey was a good one. I hope you passed your trials and tribulations with little to show for them. And I hope, for my own sake, that you arrived safe and sound.
Truly Yours,
Slartibartfast3
April 2006
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
How to Chase Windmills
1) Locate a windmill. An old wooden one with four blades is ideal. A three bladed windmill used for generating electricity can be used if a wooden windmill is unavailable. Windmills with metalic turbines are also acceptable but they rust rather easily.
2) Find a horse. Although it is possible to chase windmills without utilizing a horse, it is commonly accepted that "giving chase" in the proper fashion will involve an equine. A steed is prefereable as it will give you the most amount of manuverability to dodge the windmill. If one is not readily available, any four-legged animal that will accept a saddle will suffice.
3) Obtain a lance. If one is not readily available, find a tree, chop it down and carve out a solid piece of wood. If you have a strong horse, your lance should be 12 to 15 feet long. If you have a weak horse, 6 to 10 feet will be enough. If you are on foot, you may want to use a broomstick or mop handle.
4) Imagine that the windmills are really giants ravaging the countryside. This is the hardest step and involves the most amount of concentration. Close your eyes and think hard. Furrow your eyebrows if necessary. Do not open your eyes until you see fearsome giants.
5) Charge. This is a straightforward step.
6) Get your lance caught in the spoke of the windmill. Depending on your strength, you can hold onto the lance and be dragged up into the air as the windmill turns or you may let go of your grip and fall face first into the ground. The choice is yours.
7) Wait for the medical team to arrive. Mumble something about giants turning into windmills so that they could escape your wrath. Be very insistent that the gods are having a joke at your expense.
8) Be deemed mentally unfit and be dragged off to the psychiatric ward. Be put into a straightjacket in solitary confinement. Most places will perform this only at last resort. Charging at windmills is an uncommon ailment and warrants drastic measures.
9) Imagine a windmill. This should not be too hard since you succeeded at step 4.
10) Imagine a horse.
11) Repeat.
2) Find a horse. Although it is possible to chase windmills without utilizing a horse, it is commonly accepted that "giving chase" in the proper fashion will involve an equine. A steed is prefereable as it will give you the most amount of manuverability to dodge the windmill. If one is not readily available, any four-legged animal that will accept a saddle will suffice.
3) Obtain a lance. If one is not readily available, find a tree, chop it down and carve out a solid piece of wood. If you have a strong horse, your lance should be 12 to 15 feet long. If you have a weak horse, 6 to 10 feet will be enough. If you are on foot, you may want to use a broomstick or mop handle.
4) Imagine that the windmills are really giants ravaging the countryside. This is the hardest step and involves the most amount of concentration. Close your eyes and think hard. Furrow your eyebrows if necessary. Do not open your eyes until you see fearsome giants.
5) Charge. This is a straightforward step.
6) Get your lance caught in the spoke of the windmill. Depending on your strength, you can hold onto the lance and be dragged up into the air as the windmill turns or you may let go of your grip and fall face first into the ground. The choice is yours.
7) Wait for the medical team to arrive. Mumble something about giants turning into windmills so that they could escape your wrath. Be very insistent that the gods are having a joke at your expense.
8) Be deemed mentally unfit and be dragged off to the psychiatric ward. Be put into a straightjacket in solitary confinement. Most places will perform this only at last resort. Charging at windmills is an uncommon ailment and warrants drastic measures.
9) Imagine a windmill. This should not be too hard since you succeeded at step 4.
10) Imagine a horse.
11) Repeat.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
How the Platypus got its Duckbill
Platypus busily worked on repairing his thatched roof. This evening’s forecast called for rain and Platypus needed to prepare for it. But he could not work too late. You see, tonight was also the night of Bear’s Annual Honey Party.
Bear’s Annual Honey Party ranked as the largest party in the forest. It was far bigger than Rabbit’s V8 Party with 45 varieties of carrot juice. It was much better attended than Stork’s Anchovies Party where only Pelican came and all the fish boycotted their invitations. The Honey Party was where any animals who was some animal came to be seen. Eagle changed her migration patterns in order to attend. Lion scheduled a speech for re-election. Even Rocky and Bullwinkle put off saving the world for a day in order to make an appearance.
So Platypus had to go. But there was a problem. He hated honey. Now, in most other cases, it would not make a difference. People never attended Vulture’s Roadkill Party for the food or Koala’s Bark Party for the eucalyptus cough drops. But everyone in the forest loved honey. Everyone but Platypus.
Last year, Platypus tried not eating the honey but everyone made fun of him. Two years ago, he tried to be allergic to honey. It worked for a short time until Doctor Frog came by and said that there was no such thing as a honey allergy. This year, he had a fool-proof plan. Old Duck, who happens to live next door to Platypus, had a pair of false bills. Since Old Duck was injured, he could not make the party but agreed to lend his false bills to Platypus. Platypus would pretend to eat the honey but instead store it in the bill so that he could dump it into the river when he got home. It was a fool-proof plan. Nothing could go wrong.
Platypus finished patching his roof with not a moment to spare so he donned his costume and left. Later that night, Platypus returned fully satisfied with himself. His plan worked like a charm. No one guessed that he was actually storing all the honey he ate in his false bills. In fact, he got so confident with himself, he ate more than anyone else at the party. Everyone commented on how much he loved honey this year after hating it for all previous years. Platypus went straight to bed, tired but happy, with the intention of cleaning out the bill first thing in the morning.
But as fate would have it, it not only rained that night, it snowed. The sudden drop in temperature froze the honey inside the bills and Platypus awoke to the bill firmly stuck in place. Platypus tried desperately to remove the bill to no avail. Doctor Frog came by to see what he could do but all he did was shake his head. The honey had frozen into Platypus’s fur and the attachment was permanent.
For all the years that Platypus lived, he never attended the honey party ever again.
And that is how the platypus got its duckbill.
Bear’s Annual Honey Party ranked as the largest party in the forest. It was far bigger than Rabbit’s V8 Party with 45 varieties of carrot juice. It was much better attended than Stork’s Anchovies Party where only Pelican came and all the fish boycotted their invitations. The Honey Party was where any animals who was some animal came to be seen. Eagle changed her migration patterns in order to attend. Lion scheduled a speech for re-election. Even Rocky and Bullwinkle put off saving the world for a day in order to make an appearance.
So Platypus had to go. But there was a problem. He hated honey. Now, in most other cases, it would not make a difference. People never attended Vulture’s Roadkill Party for the food or Koala’s Bark Party for the eucalyptus cough drops. But everyone in the forest loved honey. Everyone but Platypus.
Last year, Platypus tried not eating the honey but everyone made fun of him. Two years ago, he tried to be allergic to honey. It worked for a short time until Doctor Frog came by and said that there was no such thing as a honey allergy. This year, he had a fool-proof plan. Old Duck, who happens to live next door to Platypus, had a pair of false bills. Since Old Duck was injured, he could not make the party but agreed to lend his false bills to Platypus. Platypus would pretend to eat the honey but instead store it in the bill so that he could dump it into the river when he got home. It was a fool-proof plan. Nothing could go wrong.
Platypus finished patching his roof with not a moment to spare so he donned his costume and left. Later that night, Platypus returned fully satisfied with himself. His plan worked like a charm. No one guessed that he was actually storing all the honey he ate in his false bills. In fact, he got so confident with himself, he ate more than anyone else at the party. Everyone commented on how much he loved honey this year after hating it for all previous years. Platypus went straight to bed, tired but happy, with the intention of cleaning out the bill first thing in the morning.
But as fate would have it, it not only rained that night, it snowed. The sudden drop in temperature froze the honey inside the bills and Platypus awoke to the bill firmly stuck in place. Platypus tried desperately to remove the bill to no avail. Doctor Frog came by to see what he could do but all he did was shake his head. The honey had frozen into Platypus’s fur and the attachment was permanent.
For all the years that Platypus lived, he never attended the honey party ever again.
And that is how the platypus got its duckbill.
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
The Truly Great
Great cities are a rare find. History has but a handful and in the modern world, achieving Great status is just as difficult as maintaining it. Great cities must be artistic centers. Paris has the famous Opera House and the Louvre. They must be the center of trade and commerce. The Tokyo, Hong Kong and London stock exchanges control the world’s economy. Being a capitol city helps but does not guarantee Great status. Very few people would make a trip solely to visit Brasilia or Canberra instead of Rio de Janeiro or Sydney. Hosting an international event helps raise its global profile. Who paid attention to Seoul before they hosed the Olympic Games? Now it has an honor that few cities obtain.
Among all of the Great cities in the world, there is but one and only one that is Truly Great: New York. It has all the prerequisites, being the home to Picasso, Copland and John Steinbeck while performers flock to debut at Carnegie Hall or the MET. Its port is the nexus of commerce east of the Mississippi. It has hosted world fairs and is the permanent home of the UN while the New York Stock Exchange dwarfs the importance of all the other exchanges combined.
But there was one event that happened on a brisk February afternoon in Union Square that catapulted New York far above its peers to earn it the rank of Truly Great. It was a day when a crowd of people gathered nervously, some still in their pajamas. All came with armed with one weapon in common: a pillow. Yes, it was the day of the Great Pillowfight.
For an hour, pillows got tossed, swung, stabbed, parried, flung, jabbed, hurled, dodged, thrown and blocked. Every once and awhile a pillow would burst, sending a cloud of feathers up into the air that slowly dispersed through the neighborhood. From a distance they looked like flakes of snow, until they landed on a nice black fleece and you realized that the only way to remove it was with a lint roller.
One brave lady sat on the shoulders of a comrade that gave her an immense advantage in height. But that advantage was quickly subdued when she became the center of attention and all of those around began to attach her mercilessly. All she could do was but fend off the attack by fluffy objects. Her victory was short and in the end, her thoughts of conquest dashed, she joined the masses in their free-for-all.
During this entire time, four NYC policemen stood by and watched. They looked rather perturbed, as if they did not quite know how to handle the situation. I’m sure they were very well trained with their firearms, knives and nightsticks, but pillows are not included in standard policeman issue so they were unfortunately outclassed.
You may be saying to yourself at this point, “How silly! That never happened! You must be running out of ideas and have started inventing stories to write about!”
I will tell you this. Sometimes reality is the best imagination we will ever have.
Among all of the Great cities in the world, there is but one and only one that is Truly Great: New York. It has all the prerequisites, being the home to Picasso, Copland and John Steinbeck while performers flock to debut at Carnegie Hall or the MET. Its port is the nexus of commerce east of the Mississippi. It has hosted world fairs and is the permanent home of the UN while the New York Stock Exchange dwarfs the importance of all the other exchanges combined.
But there was one event that happened on a brisk February afternoon in Union Square that catapulted New York far above its peers to earn it the rank of Truly Great. It was a day when a crowd of people gathered nervously, some still in their pajamas. All came with armed with one weapon in common: a pillow. Yes, it was the day of the Great Pillowfight.
For an hour, pillows got tossed, swung, stabbed, parried, flung, jabbed, hurled, dodged, thrown and blocked. Every once and awhile a pillow would burst, sending a cloud of feathers up into the air that slowly dispersed through the neighborhood. From a distance they looked like flakes of snow, until they landed on a nice black fleece and you realized that the only way to remove it was with a lint roller.
One brave lady sat on the shoulders of a comrade that gave her an immense advantage in height. But that advantage was quickly subdued when she became the center of attention and all of those around began to attach her mercilessly. All she could do was but fend off the attack by fluffy objects. Her victory was short and in the end, her thoughts of conquest dashed, she joined the masses in their free-for-all.
During this entire time, four NYC policemen stood by and watched. They looked rather perturbed, as if they did not quite know how to handle the situation. I’m sure they were very well trained with their firearms, knives and nightsticks, but pillows are not included in standard policeman issue so they were unfortunately outclassed.
You may be saying to yourself at this point, “How silly! That never happened! You must be running out of ideas and have started inventing stories to write about!”
I will tell you this. Sometimes reality is the best imagination we will ever have.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)