digital pen, digital paper.

My breath fogs the helmet a bit. I speak then watch it disappear to pass the time.

I am an astronaut and I am drifting in space.

At least, I think I’m drifting. I can see the Earth, but its size is not changing. I can watch its rotation from where I am, but do not seem to be getting any closer nor further from it. I just sit here in space. No communications, but my life support system is at one-hundred percent. I have been out here for quite some time. A lifetime it feels. And it seems I may die here. No one seems to be aware that I’ve gone missing. Under the radar as they say. Or beyond it, I guess. I think about all of the people down there, going on with their everyday lives, bustling here and there. Things to do. People to see. Loved ones to eventually head home to. I’m not married. No significant relationship to speak of. I’ve got a lot of time to think about that out here. There’s not much else to do.

8 Rules for Writing a Short Story.

1. Use the time of a total stranger in such a way that he or she will not feel the time was wasted.
2. Give the reader at least one character he or she can root for.
3. Every character should want something, even if it is only a glass of water.
4. Every sentence must do one of two things—reveal character or advance the action.
5. Start as close to the end as possible.
6. Be a Sadist. No matter how sweet and innocent your leading characters, make awful things happen to them—in order that the reader may see what they are made of.
7. Write to please just one person. If you open a window and make love to the world, so to speak, your story will get pneumonia.
8. Give your readers as much information as possible as soon as possible. To hell with suspense. Readers should have such complete understanding of what is going on, where and why, that they could finish the story themselves, should cockroaches eat the last few pages.

— Kurt Vonnegut

(thanks for the email, jeff!)

Sour apples. Tasty experiment.

[Via an email to friends, edited and updated.]

I may have mentioned the crazy lady that I recently finished a house for. She is ridiculously germaphobic, obsessive compulsive to a fair extent, and certainly has an anxiety disorder. She spent hours wandering the jobsite making my life hell for the last four or so months of the project. By hours, I mean anywhere from three to five hours per day. Hell.

It was a huge relief to have mostly finished the house about two weeks ago. The number of phone calls dropped from a minimum three per day, to a modest few per week. However, I still generally refuse to answer the phone when she calls. I know she wants to complain about something, and she can leave me a voicemail rather than catch me off-guard. Yesterday’s voicemail was a bit different, however.

“Ya hi, Jon. I was wondering if you were in the neighborhood. Maybe you can stop by. Um. <hesitation> I <hesitation>. I just wanted to say hi. <small creepy laugh> Please call me back.”

To give you a better idea of who this woman is, think Mr. Burns. But as a middle-eastern woman in her late 50’s. Same posture and wringing of the hands.

My subsequent return call was pretty much the same. She said she could come by the construction trailer on the opposite side of the neighborhood, but I quickly made it clear that that would not be necessary. The last thing I need is for that shrew of a woman thinking it would be acceptable to drop in on me at the trailer whenever she needed to complain that the painter missed a wall. And, for the record, she has actually made this claim. Twice. He supposedly missed a bedroom wall, and an entire closet. She ‘knew’ this because the wall felt rougher there than in other areas which had clearly been painted. (CrAzy!)

Having arrived at her house, she answered the door with something in hand. I had a feeling of what to expect, but these people were so damn tight with their money (arguing over a $50 cost when building a two-million dollar house?!), and they complained and nit-picked about so much, I had a hard time believing I could be right in my suspicions. But there it was in hand. She presented me a gift bag, and thanked me for the work I put into the house.

The polo shirt was from the neighborhood’s golf apparel shop, expensive though ugly, and could be exchanged for a different size or color if needed. It was, and I did. There was also mention of something else in the bag, but I didn’t want to go riffling through whilst standing there and appear greedy. I simply thanked her and shoveled on a pile or two of bullshit to make it sound good. In actuality, a small part of me was a tiny bit upset that after everything this lady put me through, she turns around and acts all sweet and takes away my excuse to hate her. She is certainly not a bad person, she just has some MAJOR issues. But again, it was a sweet gesture.

Of course, it was not until I delved deeper into the gift bag before realizing just how much of a gesture it was. Inside was a second bag whose origins were instantly recognizable. A white bag with a gray apple on it. The small colorful image inside was, at first glance, a gift card. When extracted, I found myself holding a brand new, 16gb, touch-screen, iPod Nano.

I immediately contacted my brother. As you know, we hold the same job title, but run separate projects for our mostly-family business. He has been kept abreast of my ongoing misery throughout the project and heard every reason that I call this lady crazy. And yet, he was unsurprised by gift. You see, my dad’s Business Partner had also received a gift. He told my brother about it, but neglected to say anything to me. Why? Perhaps it would ruin the surprise of my gift? Or, more likely, he did not want me to know that they had given him an iPad 3G.

This Partner did next to nothing for this job, but he was friendly with the homeowners and was the one who got the contract originally. I imagine he didn’t want me to compare effort and reward between the two of us, and I think he also neglected to mention it to my father for the same reason. What I haven’t yet found out, is if my Cousin knows about the iPad. My Cousin being the third partner of the business. The one who put significant work in, but was not liked by the homeowner because he was the one constantly battling over money. He did not receive any gift.

My good feelings of amazement and wonder, soured into disgust and resentment, never would have done so had my Cousin been the one to receive the iPad. He certainly deserved it more. Really, the poor painter deserved it more than the other Partner.

Salting the wound further, the iPad gift was originally left in the neighborhood’s real estate office for the Business Partner to pick up, except it was stolen before he could. So the one he received was a second purchase. AND, unknown to the homeowner, he had purchased not one, but two iPads for himself and his wife about a month earlier! So now, he has three iPads, and I cannot help but to wonder how much use any of them get.

Now, I am not aiming to diminish the significance of my Nano, but the iPad just makes me angry. I don’t need the iPad for any reason, and I don’t even have a use for one, but it was received undeservedly. Truthfully, I don’t have any use for an iPod Nano either. I have an 80gb iPod that I rarely use anymore because my iPhone carries enough music to satisfy my ears.

Also, while I did want to comment back-handedly to the Business Partner to make him feel bad out of spite, I felt there was nothing that could have safely been said. And the impact of my words would have carried less weight than intended anyway. However, I did formulate an experiment.

During his next site visit, which are generally few and far between, I made certain to mention my new Nano to him. This gave him the opportunity to gloat, which he will always jump on, and I was able to deliver a prepared response.

“Wait, don’t you already have an iPad?”

That’s right. I played dumb. Like I had never spoken to my brother about it. That was when Business Partner told me it was destined to be re-gifted. The moral thing for him to do would have been to offer it to my Cousin or myself. This was the experiment, to cajole him into an act of kindness. But no. It was better to re-gift so that he could dawn the visage of a generous gift giver.

As we walked, I delivered a second prepared comment. I casually proposed a trade, seeing as I had little use for the Nano, and he had little use for the iPad. His reaction was no reaction at all. He made no comment, and did not even begin to glance back at me. He simply kept walking.

Realizing fruitlessness, I resorted to plan-c. I waited until just prior to his departure and made a inquiry. Could I possibly purchase the iPad at a discounted rate? Having hit road blocks, I opened another set of avenues. I have yet to find out which direction he will take. He was unable to ignore me twice, but dropped the ‘ask my wife’ line in order to avoid further discussion.

If he takes the moral high road, he could either give, trade, or sell at a significant price reduction. If he takes the low road, then he may knock only a small amount off value, seeing it as financial opportunity for gain even though he comes from money.

Then again, he may choose no road at all. He may simply keep walking.

Search for the unsigned.

Sadly, both Blognonymous.com and Inblognito.com are already taken.