World Economy In Disarray After Oprah Endorses Everything

Chicago.  In an unexpected–and unprecedented–move this past weekend, Oprah endorsed every product. The only African-American Billionaire, Miss Winfrey is making headlines around the world after her weekend decision, and doing so in every news category.

Simply put, people do not know what to do.

Since her rise to stardom, which began in 1984, Americans, and subsequently all humans, have looked to Oprah for guidance when undecided about how to spend their money. From books, to clothing, to boots, to coffee, to perfume, popcorn and more, consumers grew to love this new found ease of shopping in which they didn’t have to weigh the options themselves.

But now, in only the three hours since Captain’s Log learned of the story, virtual chaos has engulfed the world’s major cities. Every stock market has plunged, and some analysts are already predicting it will take more than twenty years to recover from this new great depression–if recovery is possible at all.

The Obama administration is the leading voice in the world’s governments call for people to remain calm. More difficult, however, has been these government’s task of asking their citizens to essentially think for themselves.

As for this American writer, the only hope is that Oprah’s thoughtless action has the unintended consequence of being the first cut in America’s citizens much needed Cesarean section. Stay tuned to Captain’s Log for further updates as this story develops.

Some Say It Was A Miracle

So there he was. Like the eleven preceding days, he woke up at 5:05am, drank some V8 and a protein shake, and ate a cup of oatmeal. Grabbing his salami sandwich, he headed from camp to the change shack where he put on a pair of coveralls, which even after washing strained the definition of clean. After a brief safety meeting he grabbed a pair of gloves and headed outside. Taking in one last moment of stillness, he rolled one ear plug at a time between his left forefinger and thumb and then placed them into his ears. Finally, he picked up a case of bottled water and began the climb up the three flights of stairs which led to the rig floor. It was his thirty-third birthday.

The day proceeded no differently from any other. That’s the beauty of the work. Suddenly, however, in an act which some might label a miracle, he looked down to the ground and saw a co-worker carrying three familiarly brown and orange cardboard pizza boxes. It seemed someone up above was smiling down on him.

The hot-n-ready’s made their way up to where he was, and he happily indulged in a slice the first moment he could. What the reader doesn’t know was that sitting on the same table, brought up to the rig floor only moments earlier, was a bag of McDoubles. Remember, now, that he had his salami sandwich waiting. So while everyone who knew him knew that the McDouble was his favorite fast food burger in the whole wide world, he had vowed that he’d stick with his sandwich that day. But now, on his birthday of all days, he was staring at his favorite burger and pizza–free for the taking. The packaging alone had him salivating like a French mastiff. And now that he had committed to the pizza, he said the hell with it. Though it remained seated fairly high on his bucket list despite its nominal price, he had never before eaten a slice of Little C’s followed by a McDouble. Unable to stand there and stare for forever, he quickly grabbed the burger and headed back outside. Within a minute he found himself gasping for air and wondering if he really was going to die choking on a McDouble. Lucky for all of us, he stayed calm, swallowed hard, and smiled a smile that rivaled the Pacific’s width. And to think he was getting paid.

I Cried At Work Yesterday

Dear H-,

I’ve been wanting to write to you directly for some time now, and finally an event at work caused me to put pen to paper. I don’t know how old you’ll be when you read this, but hopefully you’ll be old enough to understand it. If you don’t understand it, ask me or another adult about it.

The reason I decided to write to you today is that I wanted to tell you that I cried at work yesterday.

Now, I know you’ve seen me cry once, but you probably don’t remember it. And I’m sure you don’t remember why. I never saw my dad cry, but I have to believe that he did–at least once. Sometimes I think it would’ve been nice to have seen it with my own eyes as a boy. So in case you never see me cry again, I’m telling you now that I cry.

I cried yesterday because I found out that a guy who works for the same company as me was killed on the job, by the job. And in a separate incident, another guy was really badly injured and might die as well. As the group of us walked out of the noisily air conditioned trailer where we were handed this news and into the hot sun in order to get back to the dangerous work, I could only think of you. I could only think of how you look when you look at me, which is to say look up at me. Your chin sticks out; your eyes are at attention; your hair falls freely off the back of your head. You’re such a good listener. Well, it’s time to listen up again. Sad things happen in life. Really sad things. One of the appropriate responses to these sad things, even for dads, is to cry. But just because sad things happen doesn’t mean you stop living life. Sad things are a part of life–just like happy things and boring things. You have to move forward, move past them. Even though I was sad, I went back to work.

Okay. I think that’s it. I don’t have any big finale. I love you.

Pete

PS – I do have one more thing. You’re a beautiful girl H-, never doubt that.

A Jaw-Dropping Woman

“Welcome back George. How was it?” Pete asked, strictly observing the custom of not giving George time to settle in upon returning from his trip before beginning the questions.

George’s eyes had the look of a man searching for an appropriate opening to the story that he knows will be well worth telling. “It was good. Seattle has some good weather and good scenery,” he said.

“Yeah, but that’s just in the summer, right?” Pete asked.

“Right. The point is, I don’t think I could live there unless some company paid me a lot of money,” George said, repeating “a lot” for effect. “Oh, and Pete, I have to tell you about the girl,” he excitedly recalled.

“That’s right. You actually got to meet her. Though you had essentially made up your mind before the trip that she wasn’t the one for you, right?”

“Yeah, she’s definitely not for me. She was hot, but she kept reminding me of my ex-” said George.

“Probably never a good thing.”

“-and besides a bunch of little things, you should’ve seen the place she lived in!” George recalled, his animation for the story growing exponentially now. “I don’t know where they got the figure from, but it was a downtown apartment and everyone in it kept saying it cost six hundred thousand dollars,” George said, cutting himself off there with a stare that is usually followed by a stroke or heart attack. Thankfully a burst of laughter which most would categorize as the sound of a man going insane ended Pete’s concern and preceded, “Oh, and you won’t believe this. She had some nice bookshelves. So I took a look-”

“Bad books, right?” Pete guessed.

“-no,” George said, his eye-lids still completely out of sight. “No Pete. Not bad books, fake books.”

“Whaaat?!”

Now nodding, George continued, “Yeah, I saw a book that I didn’t recognize, so I pulled it off the shelf.” Then flipping the pages of an imaginary book, he said, “When I opened it, the pages were blank.”

“Get outta here!”

“She had decorative books Pete,” George concluded. “Pete, the woman had books on bookshelves purely for decoration.”

“I don’t even know what to say.”

“Of course, she did have a big TV though,” George said.

The two single men would have laughed themselves to death if it wasn’t for the eerie silence that accompanied each necessary breath. The silence that these two knew ought to be filled with the sound of crying babies, children’s laughter, lids rattling on a hot stove, the clothes dryer buzzing for the fourth time in as many hours, bad piano playing, lousy excuse giving, and sometimes–just sometimes–the sound of a loving wife’s voice as she mockingly whispers, “Isn’t this everything we hoped for and more?” with an inner strength and resolve that have, as of yet, avoided language’s shackle.

Review of Icarus and the Wing Builder, by Robert William Case

As a pilot, it’s difficult to give a fair review to a book about mankind’s first flying experience. As a friend to Icarus and the Wing Builder’s author, Robert Case, the task reaches impossible heights. Then again, I’m always up for a challenge, so here goes.

Icarus and the Wing Builder is a solid novel that resides in the historical fiction genre. In the prologue, Case mentions that the historical record, if it can be called that, of Icarus and Daedalus (the wing builder) is very lacking. In fact, it seems all we really know is that Daedalus built the wings, and then Icarus used what Charlie Hunnam’s arse-hole character in the film Cold Mountain aptly calls “the confidence of youth” to go and get himself killed. That’s it. (Of course that’s not it. Human flight is something that has always captivated the attention of nearly everyone. To prove this point, during pilot training, our instructors told the story of a few student pilots who crashed and died while having fun in a rental plane over a weekend, and then our instructors provided a home video that some random family took with an air of “look at that plane!” only moments before it slammed into the side of a cliff off camera. The lesson–there are old pilots and bold pilots, but no old and bold pilots. …Re-focusing then…)

Robert has a passion for Greece, a passion for history, and a passion for the plethora of imagery and lessons this unforgettable story has buried within it. As we all know, however, passion isn’t always enough. That’s what sets Case apart. He has already established himself as a credible speaker and storyteller, having been awarded as such by groups who award such things. Icarus and the Wing Builder (which is the first book of a trilogy he is calling The Minoan Trilogy) is the tasty treat created by this combination of passion and skill.

Sure, you could probably go your whole life without reading this book and not be too much the worse for it, but you would be worse. That’s because Case’s book is ultimately about hope. Hope, that pesky concept that just won’t go away no matter how hard we try to blot it out.

Why did Daedalus and Icarus want to fly? Robert would answer that question by asking, “Why did you first want to fly? Because you know you did.” And this fire that is so aptly illustrated by man’s dream to soar through the sky–this hope–needs constant tending.

Getting into specifics now, let’s bring ol’ Mark Twain into the picture. I am a big fan of James Fenimore Cooper’s Leatherstocking Tales, to include the last published prequel The Deerslayer. Mark Twain was not. In fact, Twain wrote a hilarious review of Cooper in which he says Cooper violates eighteen of the “nineteen rules governing literary art in the domain of romantic fiction.”* The first rule Cooper apparently violated, the one that is relevant to my eventual point here, is “that a tale shall accomplish something and arrive somewhere.”*  Ever since reading this criticism of Cooper I have kept an eye out for tales which neither accomplish anything, nor arrive anywhere. You can imagine as I was editing Icarus and the Wing Builder that I was anxious to discover how Robert’s story measured up. Let me be the first to say that Case’s tale definitely does not break this rule. The book is chocked full of action, and Case never strays too far from the main storyline. The storyline being, of course, Daedalus and Icarus find themselves paired together by a twist of fate and in need of an escape. Along the way they run into several great characters, to include Naucreta, a former courtesan to King Minos. Case uses this book to flex a variety of writing skills. He plays it safe over all, but clearly has a firm grasp on palpable settings and landscapes, authentic dialogues, and likable characters whose trials and tribulations reflect those each of us face to a lesser degree in our own lives.

In the end, Icarus and the Wing Builder is a page-turning account of the events that led up to and surrounded that first flight. It is entertaining, sometimes surprising, and always well-written. Read it. And then join me in waiting for the movie.

****

*Cooper, James F. The Deerslayer. New York: Barnes & Noble Classics, 2005. Print.

Teaser – Icarus and the Wing Builder, by Robert William Case

My mother (Djaynn-net) once read somewhere that you can tell within the first minute of a movie whether you’ll like the movie or not. Or maybe she just said that. In any case, thanks to her provocative idea, I am now unable to begin movies or read books without wondering if it will prove true–again. This is relevant because my friend, Robert Case, wrote a book. And I helped him edit it. We’re both very excited about it, and I told him I’d publish a bit of it, as a teaser of sorts, on here. He told me I could pick whatever section I wanted to. I’m going with the first minute of the book. Enjoy! Then click the link I provide below (and here) and buy it. My honest review will be tomorrow’s post.

Oh, and I guess for this to work, you need to have some idea of what you’re getting into to. So, as if a movie teaser, picture these images flash across the screen: a rocky beach landscape that can be nowhere other than Ancient Greece; an unfairly wronged man finding hope in a bird’s effortless flight against a cerulean sky; a young orphan boy answering, “Icarus,” when asked his name; a strong captain sailing a ship that’s carrying an unlikely pair across the Mediterranean; a tribal king leaning back on his over-sized throne with authority after having just pronounced a passionate, yet never uncontrolled, decree; willing courtesans listlessly walking by, hinting at nights filled with passionate love-making; the man concluding a fatherly wisdom spiel with a look which says, “Don’t you know I love you?”; the young man Icarus leaving on a walk-a-bout that he just might not return from; a back-lit image of the man standing on a cliff wearing giant clearly hand-made wings that somehow possess a they-just-might-work quality to them; the man wearing wings falling off a cliff out of sight then rising up as background music enhances his extraordinary success; then the words “Icarus and the Wing Builder” accompanied by a deep percussive sound and an authoritative voice saying, “Read it this weekend on your favorite couch.”  

Okay, that should do it–now read! 

Long ago, on a verdant island in the middle of an azure sea now called the Mediterranean, a man named Daedalus designed and built wings. Naturally, inevitably, he had to test them.

On that momentous sun-filled day he stood on a ledge of earth and stone beneath a cloudless sky, long cumbersome wings of his own design draped across his arms, shoulders, and back. The wind was steady and strong and blowing directly into his bearded face. It was a perfect day for flight. But he stood on the ledge of earth for a long while, anxious and uncertain, staring out at the distant gray fusion of water and sky.

The harness and wings carried an unnatural bulk and he constantly shifted his weight to compensate and keep his balance. If he slipped now or was knocked off his feet, the fall onto the rocks and dirt would likely damage the wings. He had labored too long, journeyed too far for that. So he leaned forward with bent knees, opposing the wind’s power and keeping his weight over his feet.

Far below and before him, as far as he could see, sparkling waves reflected the sun’s warmth and light. The majesty of the seascape called out its siren song, clear and serene. High on this remote perch he could not help but feel it. The attraction was irresistible, enticing him into the sky. As he stood on the shared boundary between the sea, sky, and land, it pulled on him as if his ears were at the center of his heart. But once again he was able to shake his head and look away, shifting his weight and keeping kept both feet firmly on the ground.

How long do I stand here, waiting?

In silence, Daedalus turned his gaze back toward the sea, compelled  to feel the power of the sky just one more time; that place where the wind  caught under the wings and the uplift began. He rotated his shoulders and held the wings fast. The steady breeze blew across the outstretched wings, its energy flowing through them into the muscles of his shoulders and back. It teased and taunted him, assuring him that now was the best of times–possibly the only time there would ever be–for making this essential leap of faith.

He leaned forward once again and braced against the force, testing the limits of his fragile equilibrium. Once more he opted for the safety of the rocky ledge. But this time, and before he could look back down to the earth beneath his sandaled feet, a burst of windblown sand struck his face and chest. Instantly he closed his eyes and shifted one foot back for balance, squaring his shoulders into the gust, the wings fully extended.

The wind did not relent. It tore across the surface of the wings. Uplift gripped at his shoulders and spine. And now, instead of struggling for balance the wingbuilder pushed hard against the earth, up and away from the rocky ledge. Heart pounding, he dove into the sky. At the apogee of the leap he hung suspended, balanced between time and the jagged rocks of the shoreline below. Gravity, it seemed, had released its hold. Filling his lungs with an intake of breath, he willed his chest forward into an awkward glide, arms and wings outstretched, reaching for the currents of air. Daedalus soared.

The moment was sublime, the splendor of flight on wings of his own design. The sky responded, greeting him with a mighty thermal, lifting him into its invisible spiral and carrying him into the cerulean heights far above the island. Sweat streaking down his face, he banked away like a great soaring bird. It was a dream realized. He felt so alive, his heart singing with joy, so loud and so strong. He never wanted it to end.

Okay, so it was more like three minutes. Sue me. If you like what you read, or you are simply up for something a little off the beaten path, purchase the book from Amazon by clicking here: Icarus and the Wing Builder

The Best Idea Fairy

“So R-, you’re officially a father now, how’s that going?” Pete asked R- as R- walked through the door to the trailer.

R- didn’t waste time setting down his cooler and slipping off his tennis shoes in favor of house shoes. The blue cooler with a white lid and handle was bigger than the lunch pails previous oil men likely brought to work, but, then again, so was the man.

“This place is a mess. Don’t worry, we’ll fix that,” R- noted. Then, ignoring Pete’s initial greeting and question in favor of following a just-launched pinball’s unexpected path, R- asked, “You get a girlfriend over days-off Pete?”

“Na,” said Pete with little effort. “I think I told you I was planning on bowling a lot. Well, one night there was a pretty good looking brunette, but she was with some guys. I couldn’t tell if one was her boyfriend. In any case, I was too much of a chicken to attempt to chat her up.”

“Bowling?” R- said, with no small confusion shaping his face. “You need to go to the clubs. There is nothing like chicks that want dick.”

“Man, that’s what I missed these last two weeks,” Pete began. “Hold that thought, let me get my phone. I need to write this down,” Pete said, smiling as he shuffled sideways past the deep freezer that took up most of the already narrow hallway that led to his room. Returning in a jiff, his movements were a little awkward as he attempted to walk and type on his phone. “Okay, I’m back. So how’d you say it? You said, ‘There’s nothing like chicks that want dick,’ is that right?”

“What? You’re going to blog this?” R- smirked.

“The people need to know. I don’t meet too many people who can surprise me every time they talk. You, my friend, are one of the lucky few,” Pete flattered.

“You know what your blog needs?” asked R-.

Despite his previous positive sentiment, Pete’s disdain for unsolicited advice regarding his blog, in addition to his being tired, caused his mood to take a turn for the worst. “No. What does my blog need?” he asked.

“Pictures,” R- pronounced.

“No. My blog is simply a writing blog. I think pictures are too easy,” Pete retorted.

“Like one of me holding heads–like Taliban style,” R- added, arms extended, hands clenching the imaginary hair of just beheaded infidels.

Shaking his head while attempting to look past R-‘s eyes and into his soul, Pete twisted his tongue between his teeth in a last ditch effort to resist the smile he knew would form no matter what. Fishing his phone out of his pocket once more, he could only say, “You are out of control.”

Slow To Anger

“Clap now H-!” he said, clapping his own hands in the process.

She began to clap and asked, “Why daddy, why?  What happened?”

“Our team did a good thing.  And you clap when that happens,” he explained.

“The purple team?” she asked.

“Yes, the purple team.  Remember, it’s like I said earlier.  Just watch the crowd.  When the people wearing purple clap, then you know it’s time to clap,” he reiterated, “but if you hear clapping and see people in red clapping–then don’t.  They are the enemy.”

“Clap when the purple people are clapping?” H- asked.

“That’s right.”

The father-daughter duo found themselves amidst an afternoon ballgame’s cheering crowd.  The team played in a city whose native residents prided themselves on their origins, and the nearly overwhelming amount of fans wearing red illustrated why.  Seated next to the pair was one such Cardinal fan who was unafraid to sport that day’s evil color.  And next to her sat a teenage daughter who was about to leave for college.  This was learned from the bits and pieces of their conversation that could be heard over the PA announcer, H-‘s incessant demand to know when there would be some shade and/or dessert, and the roar of the crowd.  This mother, then, was already nostalgic.

“How old is she-” she started to ask, addressing the man.  His face wore raised eyebrows and wide eyes which he hoped would express some mix of “Why are you asking me?’ and “She’s not deaf'”, so the woman turned to the little girl.  Re-starting, she asked, “How old are you?”

“Four,” H- answered politely.

“And what’s your name?”

“H-,” answered the girl who then had to clarify upon the mother needing help with the slightly uncommon name.  “What’s your name?” H- asked in kind.

“B-,” the woman answered.

“B-?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“What’s your last name?”  H- asked, never straying from the divinely ordained interrogation method.

“Watts,” B- answered.

As if used to having to repeat herself, or perhaps simply aware that it was a noisy environment, H- repeated herself calmy, saying, “I said, ‘What’s your last name?'”

B- chuckled at this unforeseen development while shrugging as she looked back at another similarly stationed mother who was seated one row up with her teen and was intently listening in on the interaction.  As B- answered H- again with “Watts”, her sunglasses did little to hide her sharpened determination to speak clearly.

It was only after the three of them–father, B-, and the mother from the row above–saw H-‘s perfect expression of almost-frustration as she was about to complete the question for the third time that the problem became clear to everyone but H-.

“H-,” the father asserted, now laughing and shaking his head.  (So focused was H- on learning B-‘s surname that this interrupting voice and calming touch on the shoulder could be seen to startle her.)  Nonetheless, the man continued, “She’s not asking ‘What?’  She’s saying her last name.  Her last name is the word ‘Watts’.  Watts.”

“Watts?” H- questioned.

“Yes.  Watts,” he answered.

“But we don’t clap when she claps, because she’s wearing red,” H- said.

“That’s right.  She’s the enemy,” he said, smiling proudly.

Another Break (2)

This will be a pattern, unfortunately.  Or fortunately.  But I’ve got to take another break while I earn my living for the next 14 days.  See you sometime around June 26th.