Inspiration 2.0 - Page 8

Gemini Cricket · 05-23-2006, 11:00 AM

Quote:

Originally Posted by Cadaverous Pallor

Seriously though, I'm interested - "Wallmark", yet "Colonel Sanders". In light of what you've said in the movie thread, what made you decide to go not-exact-brand on one but exact on the other?

It's funny, now that I think about it, I don't think I mention brands often in my stuff, but I don't do fake brands either...

I think you bring up a good point. The answer is, I don't know. I wrote it in like five minutes this morning. Not only that, but I loathe Hallmark. (Hallmark is anti-gay when it comes to benefits for their employees and their lack of gay themed card bug me. But that's my own baggage.) I guess I could have made it an American Greetings card...
I also didn't want to have to explain out who the person on the bill was. I wanted the piece to be short and to the point.
I also don't put my work on the same level as a multi-million dollar film. My work is for fun and for art. Fed Ex in a film about something powerful makes it seem like the director sold out and sold his soul. (But again, that's just me.)
Thanks for the critique, CP!

Cadaverous Pallor · 05-23-2006, 11:17 AM

Quote:

Originally Posted by Gemini Cricket

Thanks for the critique, CP!

Ouch, you saw that as critique?

I didn't mean it that way, I was just intrigued by the cross-pollination of threads giving me a chance to understand your motivations.

I did enjoy the piece, it felt spontaneous and I always love the time travel concept.

wendybeth · 05-23-2006, 11:34 AM

The first thing I though of was that Wallmark was a merging of Hallmark and Walmart, both places worthy of disdain from many people. At any rate, I loved it! I'll apologise in advance for my personal contributions to the KFC takeover......

Gemini Cricket · 05-23-2006, 11:37 AM

Quote:

Originally Posted by Cadaverous Pallor

Ouch, you saw that as critique?

I didn't mean it that way, I was just intrigued by the cross-pollination of threads giving me a chance to understand your motivations.

I don't see critiquing as something bad. I don't think I could misinterpret anything you post as something notorious either. Not after 5 years, CP.

I also thought of another example of real versus not real in a film. Kahuna Burger in 'Pulp Fiction'. That's fake but then they talk about McDonalds in another scene...

Motorboat Cruiser · 05-23-2006, 11:59 AM

Loved it, GC!

Sooooo, CP...

Are we about ready for a new topic to be introduced?

Motorboat Cruiser · 05-23-2006, 03:07 PM

Well, until we have a new subject, here is another submission (in two parts).

Michael pulled ten dollars from his wallet and handed it to the clerk. In exchange, he received an orange slip of paper and wishes of good luck. He folded the paper carefully so that it would fit into the watch pocket of his jeans.

“This is my ticket out of here”, he proudly exclaimed.

“Wouldn’t that be something”, the clerk replied, smiling. “You could buy this store and I could retire early.”

Michael laughed as he exited the store. “Considering the frequency of my visits, I should already be a part-owner”.

Of course, deep down, both men knew that the odds of him winning were smaller than Zeus himself pitching a perfect strike of lightning and hitting Michael square between the eyes. Still, each ticket represented another chance, a chance at a better life to be exact. He looked towards the heavens, just to be sure that the bullpen hadn’t been called but the sky was clear as usual. Clouds were a rarity in the summer months of Los Angeles, as was a cool breeze.

“Damn this heat”, Michael muttered to nobody in particular. Waiting tables in this heat had not been particularly pleasant at the upscale outdoor café where he worked, one of the dozens that lined the street. It wasn’t the dream job by any means, just a stepping-stone. At least that is what he told himself. Some days though, he felt like it was his only future, a sad realization for someone approaching 30. Life moved far too quickly for his liking and it didn’t help that the acting jobs were starting to dry up. He felt older than his 28 years, old and exhausted.

He walked slowly down Melrose, past the rows of stores and boutiques that, like most of his fellow pedestrians, he could never justify patronizing, not with his humble earnings. Michael wondered why anyone would ever purchase a shirt that cost more than he made in a week. Still, he couldn’t help but be entertained by the colorful store names, places like “Retail Slut” that could only exist on a street such as this.

Finally, arriving at his bus stop, Michael eyed his watch. Ten minutes left until his bus would arrive. He hoped that there was a seat available today, unlike yesterday when he was forced to stand for the duration of his trip home. Winning lottery ticket or not, Michael could have afforded an automobile if he really wished. But, as he stared into the passing vehicles, the drivers all possessed a look of solitary disconnect, as if they were unaware that there was a thriving city around them. Michael preferred to be a part of the city, not just one of the zombies passing through, mindlessly listening to the latest pop crap or mundane talk show seeping through the car speakers, robbing them of whatever remaining intellect they possessed. He was sure that some of them were driving on autopilot, accumulating a puddle of drool in their lap. The only surroundings they were aware of were the ever-changing stoplights, hastening their trip home.

No, he refused to be a part of that scene. This city was a living, breathing entity and better observed from the bustling sidewalk than merely through a windshield. He usually preferred to walk the entire distance home but not when the heat was like this. A few minutes of air-conditioning would offer a safe haven from the heat stroke that seemed inevitable should he continue walking.

To pass the remaining minutes, he strolled over to the sidewalk vendor, selling a number of fragrances of incense, candles, and assorted holders.

The vendor, a recent immigrant from the Bahamas, looked up and smiled in recognition, “Another scorcher today, eh?”

“Man, I can’t believe this heat wave”, Michael said as he wiped the sweat from his face, “I’m surprised you aren’t standing in a pool of candle soup.”

“Only a matter of time, my friend”, the vendor laughed. “How about a box of incense today? I have new scents you will like. Mystical escapes, each one of them”.

Michael eyed the boxes, adorned with names like “Mandarin Dream”, “Indigo Breeze”, and “Rainstorm”. He picked up a box of “Rainstorm”.

“Nothing sounds quite as refreshing as the smell a good rainstorm right now. I suppose this is the closest I can get for another few months though.”

He was right. In the past few years, summer didn’t let up until the end of November. Grey skies wouldn’t rear their head anytime soon. He paid for the incense, patted the vendor on the back, and made his way to the bus stop, #88 just pulling up to the curb.

As Michael stepped up into the bus, he was immediately exposed to a gust of cold air, startling, yet indescribably refreshing. It was in this moment that he sincerely felt that the inventor or air conditioning should have been made a saint. Letting out a sigh of relief, he scanned the bus for an empty seat. A few rows back, he found his prize, an empty seat next to a young girl. Seeing him approach, she moved her backpack to the space by her feet and smiled. Michael thanked her and sat down.

The bus wouldn’t reach Michael’s stop for almost a half-hour. It wasn’t that it was a long distance, just the pitfalls of rush hour. Michael frowned moments later as he spotted the emergency vehicles passing him to the right and felt the bus come to a halt. “Crap” he sighed, “this is going to take forever”. It wasn’t that he was anxious to leave his semi-arctic environment. He just wanted to get home and start enjoying his next two days off. Resigned to the inevitable delay, he leaned back and closed his eyes, figuring that a little catnap never hurt anyone.

Motorboat Cruiser · 05-23-2006, 03:08 PM

He felt an elbow not so gently nudge his ribcage.

“Wake up, sleepyhead! You’re going to miss your stop.”

Eyes still closed, Michael wondered, “How does that little girl know which stop is mine?”

He opened his eyes, looked around, closed them, rubbed them, and opened them again.

“What the…???”

A chill moved swiftly through Michael and it wasn’t air-conditioning induced.

He tried his best to cope with the sensory overload he was experiencing. For one thing, he was wearing a jacket, which came in handy because the bus windows were streaked with raindrops. Breaking his stare at the wet glass, he looked towards the little girl and noticed that it wasn’t the same little girl from before. No, this girl he knew. They had lived on the same street and grown up together. He looked back out the window and realized that this was the street they were now traveling down, its edges lined with oak trees, their leaves yellow and orange. A rainy autumn day in Long Island, circa: who the hell knows.

As the bus came to a stop, the little girl, Kelley, grabbed her backpack and said “C’mon Michael, you want to stay on the bus or something?”

To be honest, Michael wasn’t sure what he should do. Still, he got up and walked to the front, exiting the school bus. Everywhere he looked, a flood of memories washed upon him, far more captivating than the cold rain that battered his face.

“See you tomorrow”, Kelley said as she turned and walked the opposite direction of Michael’s boyhood home.

“Uh, yeah, see you tomorrow”, Michael said, having no idea if it were true or not.

He slowly walked down the street, seeing the front doors of houses he had gone trick or treating to many years ago. He walked past the pine tree filled patch of woods that had once housed a mighty tree fort. He wondered if the fort was still there. He hadn’t the courage to go to his home just yet. He had some thinking to do. Walking into the woods, he spotted the fort and climbed the makeshift ladder. Pulling himself inside the shelter, he found himself hyperventilating, not from the climb, but from the events that had transpired in the last ten minutes.

“Surely, this is a dream”, Michael told himself. But, try as he might, he couldn’t wake himself from it. He reached into his pocket for the incense but it wasn’t there. “Rainstorm”, he remembered, “How odd”. Instead, he found a packet of baseball cards. Reaching into his watch pocket, he felt the lottery ticket. “Finally”, he thought, “a link to reality”. But again he was mistaken. Having replaced the lottery ticket was a slip of paper with two words and a four-digit number printed on it.

ANOTHER CHANCE - 1988

The implications hit him like a truck. If it was really 1988, he was 13 years old. Another chance at life, without all of the costly errors he had been responsible for. Another chance at being a kid, and this time, appreciating every moment. Another chance at love, this time without the insecurity of not knowing himself, without the insecurity of being rejected.

ANOTHER CHANCE

What if he actually had the chance to live his life all over again, yet this time around with every ounce of experience already gained? What might he do differently?

Assuming that he was, in fact, not dreaming, he realized that he was about to embark upon a journey of circumstances, in which, unlike before, he could now control. The thought was pleasing. Still, for all intensive purposes, he was a 35 year old in a child’s body. Folks were going to get mighty suspicious if they knew that he could fill out an income tax form or pass a driving test. He was going to need to utilize every acting skill he had ever learned to pull this role off. He was also going to need to exercise extreme caution. One slip and he would be branded a freak, a heretic. They would burn him at the stake.

He tried putting himself into the role, that of his former self. He was certain, for example, that at his age, his mother would be worried if he were to come home late without calling. “Oh my god!” he suddenly realized. He was going to see his mother, the woman whose funeral he had attended almost 5 years ago. Maybe this time he could get her to see a doctor sooner. Maybe they would catch the cancer before it metastasized throughout her body. Maybe she would grow old with him this time around.

He thought of all the good he could do in this rerun of a life. The lives he could save, the lives he could change. Of course, all of his thoughts weren’t quite so altruistic. Thinking back to life in 1988, he wondered if he could raise enough money in time to bet on the Dodgers before the World Series began. He wondered what Microsoft stock was selling for. He wondered if he would ever need to hold a real job.

He was reborn for all practical purposes. A new chance at life had risen from the ashes of his former self and he was ready to soar. He climbed down the tree and walked out of the woods, heading towards his mothers loving arms and a home-cooked meal, neither of which he would ever take for granted again.

wendybeth · 05-23-2006, 04:43 PM

I like this story. Very much. It makes you wonder lots of things- would knowing the future change it for the worse or better? How weird would it be to be that age but know what someone much older would know? Could you stand being bossed around by adults? It's 'Big' and 'Back to the Future' all mixed together.

, MBC!!!

Cadaverous Pallor · 05-23-2006, 08:38 PM

Quote:

Originally Posted by Motorboat Cruiser

Sooooo, CP...

Are we about ready for a new topic to be introduced?

LSPE said Tom wanted to participate, and she also said she has the next idea, so the ball is in her court

Gemini Cricket · 05-24-2006, 06:00 AM

Nice, MBC! I liked your story a great deal.

PS ~ So that's what that little pocket is called. A watch pocket. Cool! I always called it my change pocket...

05-23-2006, 11:34 AM	#73
wendybeth Nevermind Join Date: Jan 2005 Posts: 7,847	The first thing I though of was that Wallmark was a merging of Hallmark and Walmart, both places worthy of disdain from many people. At any rate, I loved it! I'll apologise in advance for my personal contributions to the KFC takeover...... __________________
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05-23-2006, 11:59 AM	#75
Motorboat Cruiser Cruiser of Motorboats Join Date: Jan 2005 Location: So Cal Posts: 3,665	Loved it, GC! Sooooo, CP... Are we about ready for a new topic to be introduced?
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05-23-2006, 03:07 PM	#76
Motorboat Cruiser Cruiser of Motorboats Join Date: Jan 2005 Location: So Cal Posts: 3,665	Well, until we have a new subject, here is another submission (in two parts). Michael pulled ten dollars from his wallet and handed it to the clerk. In exchange, he received an orange slip of paper and wishes of good luck. He folded the paper carefully so that it would fit into the watch pocket of his jeans. “This is my ticket out of here”, he proudly exclaimed. “Wouldn’t that be something”, the clerk replied, smiling. “You could buy this store and I could retire early.” Michael laughed as he exited the store. “Considering the frequency of my visits, I should already be a part-owner”. Of course, deep down, both men knew that the odds of him winning were smaller than Zeus himself pitching a perfect strike of lightning and hitting Michael square between the eyes. Still, each ticket represented another chance, a chance at a better life to be exact. He looked towards the heavens, just to be sure that the bullpen hadn’t been called but the sky was clear as usual. Clouds were a rarity in the summer months of Los Angeles, as was a cool breeze. “Damn this heat”, Michael muttered to nobody in particular. Waiting tables in this heat had not been particularly pleasant at the upscale outdoor café where he worked, one of the dozens that lined the street. It wasn’t the dream job by any means, just a stepping-stone. At least that is what he told himself. Some days though, he felt like it was his only future, a sad realization for someone approaching 30. Life moved far too quickly for his liking and it didn’t help that the acting jobs were starting to dry up. He felt older than his 28 years, old and exhausted. He walked slowly down Melrose, past the rows of stores and boutiques that, like most of his fellow pedestrians, he could never justify patronizing, not with his humble earnings. Michael wondered why anyone would ever purchase a shirt that cost more than he made in a week. Still, he couldn’t help but be entertained by the colorful store names, places like “Retail Slut” that could only exist on a street such as this. Finally, arriving at his bus stop, Michael eyed his watch. Ten minutes left until his bus would arrive. He hoped that there was a seat available today, unlike yesterday when he was forced to stand for the duration of his trip home. Winning lottery ticket or not, Michael could have afforded an automobile if he really wished. But, as he stared into the passing vehicles, the drivers all possessed a look of solitary disconnect, as if they were unaware that there was a thriving city around them. Michael preferred to be a part of the city, not just one of the zombies passing through, mindlessly listening to the latest pop crap or mundane talk show seeping through the car speakers, robbing them of whatever remaining intellect they possessed. He was sure that some of them were driving on autopilot, accumulating a puddle of drool in their lap. The only surroundings they were aware of were the ever-changing stoplights, hastening their trip home. No, he refused to be a part of that scene. This city was a living, breathing entity and better observed from the bustling sidewalk than merely through a windshield. He usually preferred to walk the entire distance home but not when the heat was like this. A few minutes of air-conditioning would offer a safe haven from the heat stroke that seemed inevitable should he continue walking. To pass the remaining minutes, he strolled over to the sidewalk vendor, selling a number of fragrances of incense, candles, and assorted holders. The vendor, a recent immigrant from the Bahamas, looked up and smiled in recognition, “Another scorcher today, eh?” “Man, I can’t believe this heat wave”, Michael said as he wiped the sweat from his face, “I’m surprised you aren’t standing in a pool of candle soup.” “Only a matter of time, my friend”, the vendor laughed. “How about a box of incense today? I have new scents you will like. Mystical escapes, each one of them”. Michael eyed the boxes, adorned with names like “Mandarin Dream”, “Indigo Breeze”, and “Rainstorm”. He picked up a box of “Rainstorm”. “Nothing sounds quite as refreshing as the smell a good rainstorm right now. I suppose this is the closest I can get for another few months though.” He was right. In the past few years, summer didn’t let up until the end of November. Grey skies wouldn’t rear their head anytime soon. He paid for the incense, patted the vendor on the back, and made his way to the bus stop, #88 just pulling up to the curb. As Michael stepped up into the bus, he was immediately exposed to a gust of cold air, startling, yet indescribably refreshing. It was in this moment that he sincerely felt that the inventor or air conditioning should have been made a saint. Letting out a sigh of relief, he scanned the bus for an empty seat. A few rows back, he found his prize, an empty seat next to a young girl. Seeing him approach, she moved her backpack to the space by her feet and smiled. Michael thanked her and sat down. The bus wouldn’t reach Michael’s stop for almost a half-hour. It wasn’t that it was a long distance, just the pitfalls of rush hour. Michael frowned moments later as he spotted the emergency vehicles passing him to the right and felt the bus come to a halt. “Crap” he sighed, “this is going to take forever”. It wasn’t that he was anxious to leave his semi-arctic environment. He just wanted to get home and start enjoying his next two days off. Resigned to the inevitable delay, he leaned back and closed his eyes, figuring that a little catnap never hurt anyone.
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05-23-2006, 03:08 PM	#77
Motorboat Cruiser Cruiser of Motorboats Join Date: Jan 2005 Location: So Cal Posts: 3,665	He felt an elbow not so gently nudge his ribcage. “Wake up, sleepyhead! You’re going to miss your stop.” Eyes still closed, Michael wondered, “How does that little girl know which stop is mine?” He opened his eyes, looked around, closed them, rubbed them, and opened them again. “What the…???” A chill moved swiftly through Michael and it wasn’t air-conditioning induced. He tried his best to cope with the sensory overload he was experiencing. For one thing, he was wearing a jacket, which came in handy because the bus windows were streaked with raindrops. Breaking his stare at the wet glass, he looked towards the little girl and noticed that it wasn’t the same little girl from before. No, this girl he knew. They had lived on the same street and grown up together. He looked back out the window and realized that this was the street they were now traveling down, its edges lined with oak trees, their leaves yellow and orange. A rainy autumn day in Long Island, circa: who the hell knows. As the bus came to a stop, the little girl, Kelley, grabbed her backpack and said “C’mon Michael, you want to stay on the bus or something?” To be honest, Michael wasn’t sure what he should do. Still, he got up and walked to the front, exiting the school bus. Everywhere he looked, a flood of memories washed upon him, far more captivating than the cold rain that battered his face. “See you tomorrow”, Kelley said as she turned and walked the opposite direction of Michael’s boyhood home. “Uh, yeah, see you tomorrow”, Michael said, having no idea if it were true or not. He slowly walked down the street, seeing the front doors of houses he had gone trick or treating to many years ago. He walked past the pine tree filled patch of woods that had once housed a mighty tree fort. He wondered if the fort was still there. He hadn’t the courage to go to his home just yet. He had some thinking to do. Walking into the woods, he spotted the fort and climbed the makeshift ladder. Pulling himself inside the shelter, he found himself hyperventilating, not from the climb, but from the events that had transpired in the last ten minutes. “Surely, this is a dream”, Michael told himself. But, try as he might, he couldn’t wake himself from it. He reached into his pocket for the incense but it wasn’t there. “Rainstorm”, he remembered, “How odd”. Instead, he found a packet of baseball cards. Reaching into his watch pocket, he felt the lottery ticket. “Finally”, he thought, “a link to reality”. But again he was mistaken. Having replaced the lottery ticket was a slip of paper with two words and a four-digit number printed on it. ANOTHER CHANCE - 1988 The implications hit him like a truck. If it was really 1988, he was 13 years old. Another chance at life, without all of the costly errors he had been responsible for. Another chance at being a kid, and this time, appreciating every moment. Another chance at love, this time without the insecurity of not knowing himself, without the insecurity of being rejected. ANOTHER CHANCE What if he actually had the chance to live his life all over again, yet this time around with every ounce of experience already gained? What might he do differently? Assuming that he was, in fact, not dreaming, he realized that he was about to embark upon a journey of circumstances, in which, unlike before, he could now control. The thought was pleasing. Still, for all intensive purposes, he was a 35 year old in a child’s body. Folks were going to get mighty suspicious if they knew that he could fill out an income tax form or pass a driving test. He was going to need to utilize every acting skill he had ever learned to pull this role off. He was also going to need to exercise extreme caution. One slip and he would be branded a freak, a heretic. They would burn him at the stake. He tried putting himself into the role, that of his former self. He was certain, for example, that at his age, his mother would be worried if he were to come home late without calling. “Oh my god!” he suddenly realized. He was going to see his mother, the woman whose funeral he had attended almost 5 years ago. Maybe this time he could get her to see a doctor sooner. Maybe they would catch the cancer before it metastasized throughout her body. Maybe she would grow old with him this time around. He thought of all the good he could do in this rerun of a life. The lives he could save, the lives he could change. Of course, all of his thoughts weren’t quite so altruistic. Thinking back to life in 1988, he wondered if he could raise enough money in time to bet on the Dodgers before the World Series began. He wondered what Microsoft stock was selling for. He wondered if he would ever need to hold a real job. He was reborn for all practical purposes. A new chance at life had risen from the ashes of his former self and he was ready to soar. He climbed down the tree and walked out of the woods, heading towards his mothers loving arms and a home-cooked meal, neither of which he would ever take for granted again. Last edited by Motorboat Cruiser : 05-23-2006 at 03:15 PM.
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05-23-2006, 04:43 PM	#78
wendybeth Nevermind Join Date: Jan 2005 Posts: 7,847	I like this story. Very much. It makes you wonder lots of things- would knowing the future change it for the worse or better? How weird would it be to be that age but know what someone much older would know? Could you stand being bossed around by adults? It's 'Big' and 'Back to the Future' all mixed together. , MBC!!! __________________
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05-24-2006, 06:00 AM	#80
Gemini Cricket ... Join Date: Jan 2005 Posts: 13,244	Nice, MBC! I liked your story a great deal. PS ~ So that's what that little pocket is called. A watch pocket. Cool! I always called it my change pocket...
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