Meanwhile, the hits just keep comin'! Story after story floats overhead at all times. And they're right there, ripe for the plucking. But I don't have protected time. Who has protected time? If only we could get properly paid, with all our little needs met, then we could focus all of our energies into releasing the story from the ether. You understand.
So I think the best thing to do is jot those ideas down before they get crowded out by new ones and subsequently forgotten. I'll make this post my storage place for these worthy notions. KRAZY KARTOONZ I've already posted. That's a worthy notion. So is THE LOOP. I've got some more, too.
You know those community calendars? They've got these little symbols that go next to names. A tiny bell indicates it's somebody's wedding anniversary. A tiny cross next to the name means it's somebody who died.
Well there's this guy. And he's always forgetting what he was supposed to do because he doesn't have a calendar. Soon after lamenting this, lo and behold, he finds a calendar on the kitchen table. It's one of those community calendars. He heard the day prior that it was Friday the 13th, so now he knows it's Saturday the 14th. Feeling on top of things, he writes down what he needs to remember to do on Monday.
Come Monday, he checks the calendar, which shows him what he needed to remember, and now he notices something. There's a name of somebody with the little cross next to it. That's odd, he thinks. He didn't know that person was dead. Then he goes into town to conduct his errand. While he's out and about, who does he happen to see but that person whose name on the calendar has a cross next to it. So he calls out to get the person's attention, wanting to mention the funny thing he saw on the calendar that morning, and the person turns...right when a car is coming.
The worst occurs.
When the guy gets back home, totally shaken, he checks the calendar. That's when he notices: there's no year on it. He asks his wife and son which of them had set the calendar on the kitchen table. Both deny having ever even seen it. He studies the rest of the calendar for more crosses and finds none. But then the next day, he sees one again...
On a beautiful anti-gravity city high above a desolate world, all the needs of the blissful residents are accounted for more than adequately. To look at the city's celebrated benefactors, you'd never dream their actual age. Life seems great until the central character realizes why it is that those shunted to the side in service positions always lack body parts...
ROBEO AND JULI-8
When products of competing corporations fall in love, anything can happen.
Capulets and Montagues of business each launch an artificial intelligence prototype.
A love story where only the androids are innocent.
See notes in THE ROUNDS.
THE THREE INVESTIGATORS
Three middle-aged men, who used to solve crimes in their teens, find themselves embroiled in a mystery stretching back to their adventurous past. Jupiter Jones (Jack Black), who used to be the team leader, never gave up on his dream of solving mysteries. He still wears Hawaiian shirts, and he still lives at the Jones Salvage Yard in Rocky Beach, California. Pete Crenshaw (Ryan Ryenolds), now a famous actor with a successful superhero franchise, requires frequent reminders from Bob Crenshaw (Edward Norton), now an accountant, of the many times that Jupe saved Pete's life.
The story starts with events from their youth: Inside a spooky house, bad guys with guns chase the boys, but the boys win before the opening credits are done. Mystery solved, there is a big article in the paper celebrating the stocky young real-life Sherlock Holmes, Rocky Beach's very own Jupiter Jones. We see this article framed and hanging on a wall. When the camera pulls back, we see that decades have passed. Jupiter is a lot older now, and looks the worse for wear...
The more lifelike the wooden sculpture of a man splitting wood becomes, the more wooden the man who modeled turns.
My putting up a heavy bag again means hitting it, which means Dad seeing that, which means Dad starting yet another damn sculpture.
Funny thing, the more he brings his vision to life, the less life I have. Already my legs are stiff. And he hasn't even started sculpting.
I tell him what's happening. That it hurts. But he just laughs and laughs.
CLYDE CASEY, NOTARY PUBLIC
Clyde Casey was a trim man, dark-haired and pale, with resolute eyes capable equally of mirth and gloom. The hint of a wry turn at the mouth seemed perpetually stamped upon his spare yet solid countenance. A tough, self-taught lawyer, Clyde was also an amateur detective sometimes beset by strange prophetic visions associated with the ancient Mississippian metropolis of Cahokia.
In the fall of 1925 Clyde explored enigmatic giant mounds constructed from some forgotten past prolific throughout the South...
The flexible transparent helmet worn by the backyard rocket's lone occupant audibly accommodated as she looked back over shoulder at the camera positioned behind her. "We're going to Mars!" said Cosmos Kid, palpably excited. "Get ready, hold on..."
Thought I'd include a couple more pics of Dad's sculptures. The Matador and the Downhill Skier are some particularly nice pieces. And even unfinished, I like Goliath. The head broke off while he was working on it, so sometimes I remove it so that he's headless. Just for special occasions.