Generally I read during my lunch hour, and in shorter bursts at home. A fan of a variety of fiction genres, lately I’ve been dipping my toes in nonfiction. One of the books I almost put down after reading half of it, another is a collection of compelling short pieces, and the other is a unique look at a topic covered in innumerable previous works. Winding down to the end now at about the same time, they’re geeky, sporty, and historic, respectively.

I came across all of these by accident at a local library fundraiser sale and spent a total of $1.50. Below are my impressions of what my bargain hunting got me.

To Seek Out New Life: The Biology of Star Trek
by Athena Andreadis, Ph.D

A lifelong fan of “Star Trek” and most TV series and movies that it spawned, I hoped this book would be fun. At first, it was. The way Andreadis ties the show’s plots in with biology lessons kept my whole brain intrigued. She makes the case quite early on that one of Star Trek’s most-loved characters — Mr. Spock — could not exist, along with every other cross-bred character on the show. She also debunks transporter technology and all plots relying on the malfunction of same. At first the biology lessons are a fun refresher, but then they become pedantic and laborious, and too often she focuses on philosophy rather than fact. Andreadis, an accomplished neurobiologist and an associate professor of Cell Biology at University of Massachussetts Medical School, no doubt knows her science. Her preaching gets a bit old, however, so this one isn’t for me. Suggestion: It turns out maybe I should have gone for Life Signs: The Biology of Star Trek instead. Or that I’m just a casual ST fan, after all.

Battlefield: Farming a Civil War Battleground
by Peter Svenson

Nominated for a National Book Award, this work is by and about an artist who buys a farm that happened to be the site of the Battle of Cross Creek. It’s interesting to see how he works to make the farm operational again (hilarious groundhog eradication attempts, anyone?), and along the way learns about, and eventually gives impromptu tours of, the battle that took place there. My wife and I once lived in the Shenandoah Valley, so it is fun for me as I recognize the places Svenson mentions. Suggestion: I sometimes get a little bogged down in the battle strategy telegrams he quotes, because I’m more of a visual learner, but those and his efforts to become a farmer make it a good read.

The Best of Frank DeFord: I’m Just Getting Started
by Frank DeFord

I got to know DeFord’s work through several years of listening to National Public Radio’s (NPR) “Morning Edition.” First and most obviously, DeFord is a very good writer, and for that has won U.S. Sportswriter of the Year 10 times and twice was voted Magazine Writer of the Year by the Washington Journalism Review. His topic just happens to be one covered very little on NPR — sports.

Beyond the writing quality, it quickly becomes apparent that despite his devotion to his topic, DeFord is not an apologist. He is willing to express things he thinks are wrong with sports, and does so often. This book is a collection of transcripts from his radio commentaries and long articles from “Sports Illustrated.” Suggestion: Worth reading, even for those who don’t follow athletics at all.

http://outside.away.com/outside/culture/200708/hybrid-animals-1.html

For years I believed that the nectarine is a hybrid of the peach and the plum. The smooth skin came from the plum, while the rest was peach-like. Certainly, there are real hybrid fruits — Orangelo, Tangelo — but on this one, I was wrong.

Researching how long humans have cultivated hybrids, I stumbled across a thread featuring not-so-real fruit and vegetable hybrids. My favorites are the limenut and the pearkin. Find what you like here:
http://www.freakingnews.com/Hybrid-fruits-and-vegetables-Pictures–1079.asp

Just remember, you can lead a Zorse to water, but you Canta-banana.

I awake on Sunday to the sound of my son’s voice. “Here, Daddy. Here’s the card I made for you.”

He hands me a sheet of paper. Glued on it are several S-shaped packing peanuts, and glued on those is the cutout shape of what slightly resembles an elephant, painted brightly in thick globs of some sort of paint that surely must be safe for children. A pair of eyes — enveloped in black, green, and blue — peer out at me.

“It was his idea to make it 3D,” Shannon says. “He said he knew we had some S’s in the garage somewhere, and there was a whole bag of them.”

It hangs in my cubicle now, still slightly resembling an elephant.

The rest of the day went downhill, fast, so I’m skipping it here.

On Monday, Shannon declared I was getting a “Father’s Day Do-Over” because she had been in bed sick while the boy and I hung out.

(click any pic to enlarge)

The next large chunk of the day didn’t go nearly as well. In fact, it featured lots of uncharacteristic anger from Benjamin and much gnashing of teeth by us. We went to lunch, where he fussed and fought and then, without warning, lay his head on Shannon’s lap and fell sound asleep. He remained so for about two hours, including his car seat and the living room recliner.

Shannon, drained after her first official day of not being sick in several days, let us go on without her. We headed to Gattitown for fun and games and pizza inexplicably made with smoked provolone instead of mozarella.

Tip: if you go to a similar games place, go to one that sells tokens, not one that puts credits on a swipe card. It’s easier for young kids to understand how much they have left when they’re using tokens. Plus, there’s no $5 fee just to start getting tokens. And, don’t go to one that requires that everyone setting foot in the door buys a pizza buffet. Unless, of course, you want the buffet.

The bumper cars were our favorite ride and the best value. Benjamin’s face lit up when he stood next to the “You must be this tall to ride alone” sign and easily cleared the mark. Pretty much all the games were twice the price of Chuck E. Cheese’s — for exactly the same games.

After I recharged our card at least one too many times, we availed ourselves of the buffet and sat in one of three themed dining areas. The darkened room looked like a movie theater with two screens up front, and Kung Fu Panda was playing. After the big “Sk’doosh” scene, we left Gattitown with big smiles.

Shannon called to let me know she was going for a girls’ night out, and later I got a replay of the angry Ben act from earlier that day. He calmed down and was rapt as I read several pages of Runaway Ralph.

Overall, it was a good do-over.

We think Benjamin’s recent turn to the dark side is due in part to Kindergarten withdrawals and to a growth spurt. He suddenly was ripped from Monday through Friday with a room full of kids (or at least a table full that he could reach) to the same period at home with Mommy. And, he’s had other symptoms of growth spurts.

There are new occupants in the space made almost-famous by Blue Straw (and, later, Red Straw).

Some of you read the saga — including photos, video clips, and a letter to local government — culminating in a rescue mission that I’m still not sure was the right thing to do. Perhaps the letter was the real mistake, because it was what left me no choice.

The new residents have been there at least six months, through several downpours, and recently I noticed a visitor.

I don’t know what the vessel on the left was, and while I can discern the purpose of the one on the right, the photos don’t provide conclusive proof whether it’s glass or plastic.

What does this new, and long-lasting occupancy tell me? First, that this storm drain has a penchant for grabbing objects. I have been checking drains ever since Blue Straw started, and have noticed only one with anything lodged in it. That was a construction site hard hat, but it was gone within a day or two, so you were spared its chronicle.

A few other items have come and gone since December, but unless they last a week or more, they don’t make it in the permanent record.

Just this month, a visitor has come along that meets that requirement. Because it better fits the profile of the original occupants, I’m pulling for it. We’ll see.

Picture taken on June 16, 2009

Note the bite marks on the straw. Part of me wants to pull the straw out of that cup and have dental forensics experts identify the chewer. I could do an exclusive interview with the person who discarded the cup — backlighting and digitally disguised voice for anonymity, of course.

Or I could just pretend like I never saw any of this (like most readers probably will).

Yeah, sure.

 
Please type the story you think should (or at least could) accompany this photo. It can be one sentence, or a few paragraphs. It can contain dialogue or not. It can be funny, scary, mysterious, or something else. Nobody’s entry will appear until I’ve received all of them, to keep the originality flowing.*

Multiple entries per person allowed.

Suggestion: If you decide to write a long-ish story, use a text editor and then copy and paste it here, to make sure you don’t lose anything.

Enjoy.

* – Update: The “hold comments for moderation” feature is not working. I must have published this before adjusting that setting, or something. Just try to resist reading the comments before writing your own.

 
See other Wordless Wednesday participants here:
http://www.wordlesswednesday.com/

Sunday, May 31 – Second Verse

Woman sits in Dealey Plaza, reading aloud.

When it comes to John F. Kennedy’s assassination, it seems the only thing people agree on is that he was shot. Visiting the site doesn’t help one form a strong opinion one way or the other (not this one, anyway), and I had very little prior knowledge of the topic.

We leave Medieval Times’ wenches, knights and royalty behind us and head to the nearby Dealey Plaza, where the 35th President of the United States made his final public appearance.

With plenty of daylight left after the show, we get out of the van and walk toward the infamous grassy knoll. Before we get there, a somewhat unkempt man intercepts us and starts speaking like a tour guide. He throws out a few theories on what happened, claiming that Lee Harvey Oswald did, in fact, fire a gun from the book depository’s sixth floor, but that his shots were merely distractions while the real killer fired from behind a picket fence atop the grassy knoll. The one who really shot JFK, he says, never was found.

   

Taking in the whole scene, it is easy to believe his story based on the various X’s on the street marking the presidential convertible’s location at the time of each shot’s impact. He states unabashedly that the flyer he sells for $5 promotes the theory outlined in Oliver Stone’s JFK (which I still have not seen).

One by one, we hand our cameras over to this stranger and pose for pictures at various spots. Moonshot comments that it feels a bit strange smiling for a photo at such a somber site. Some of us voice agreement, but most of us smile anyway.

   

We politely decline his offer for a more extensive tour, despite his claim that the $35 price is discounted from what he usually charges a group. Instead, Shannon buys a flyer and tips him while we continue on for the self-guided tour.

Without any signs to lead us there, we stumble upon the JFK Memorial, a spare structure that supposedly strikes a more compelling figure in the dark hours, when it reportedly appears to hover. Perhaps then it would inspire me to snap a photo.

Old Red Museum, formerly the Old Red Courthouse, which lies along our route to and from the JFK Memorial, makes us stop and take notice. Built in 1892 of Pecos red sandstone (Pecos County, Texas) and Arkansas blue granite, it stands out among the much more boring buildings on and near Dealey Plaza. My longest zoom can’t get me close enough to the wyverns (not gargoyles) to do them justice.

We conclude our final full day together by going home and snacking while talking and playing Rock Band. Our parental sides admit that we miss our children.

The next day is fine. On the way to Grimaldi’s, a favorite pizza and salad place, I show them where I work and the infamous storm drain that received so much attention here in the past. Following a fine lunch on the restaurant’s back patio, we drive to the airport.

Once more we squeeze our friends we first met online and wish them a safe trip. We know we’ll keep in touch, as we always have.

Next time, Canada, here we come.

Sunday, May 31 – First Verse

When I wake up, it doesn’t even cross my mind that Simon will end up in a choke hold. And, believe it or not, it isn’t because of the picture he took of me. If you can’t whistle while you’re wearing Super Trooper sunglasses over your regular glasses, then when can you?

Breakfast is a casserole Shannon made from a recipe. With nothing on our agenda until late afternoon, we hang out at the house for the morning, and then snack on homemade salsa and sandwiches in anticipation of the large meal to come.

Shannon and Amy go shopping while the rest of us see Drag Me To Hell, the latest Sam Raimi film. It isn’t as much fun as the Evil Dead film series, and the well-done creepy scenes were almost completely ineffectual against talking moviegoers seemingly set on ruining the mood. No wonder people are choosing more and more to wait until they can rent a film.

It’s this kind of hanging out, just as we would with local friends we can see any time (but don’t nearly often enough) that stitches the weekend into a rich tapestry of… oh, boy, somebody stop me now, please.

Then comes the uncommon event we all have been anticipating — something I had consulted the guys about before they had booked their flights. We load up in Homer and head to Dallas.

I have been to a Renaissance Fair (one of the best in the country — Kansas City area). There were jousting, wenches, and royalty.

Medieval Times takes one part of that fun and cranks it up a notch, with grand horsemanship, battles (choreographed though they may be) and lots of eating without utensils.

We make great time to Dallas to the “castle,” which on the inside certainly sounds like a trip to the middle ages. As we and other attendees mill about looking at the various vendor booths — authentic wooden or metal sword, anyone? — hornblowers announce the appearance of the king on a small balcony to our left. He welcomes us and… then I lose track of what he’s saying because it’s very hard to understand, what with all the aforementioned milling.

Soon we are herded through the arena doors and make our way to our seats — amazing seats. In football terms, they’re on the 50-yard line, second row.

   
(dish photo by Amy)

Each section of the crowd is assigned a knight as its champion. Our serving wench tells us that while our guy is the Red and Yellow Knight, we can cheer for anybody except the Green Knight, whom we should boo.

Moksha and Moonshot ask about the vegetarian selections, which are not on the menus in front of us.

“Oh, vegetarians eat their meals in the torture chamber,” our serving wench says and motions to our right.

The illusion cracks a bit when she asks whether we want tea or Pepsi, but knowing tonight is all-out, I let that slide and go straight for the cola. I know, crazy, right? Our wench brings us food fit for, well, folks who paid for tickets.

The entertainment is the highlight, of course. In the story, the Prince has been kidnapped and the hooded stranger responsible wants power within the kingdom as his ransom. The King does not like this, and dispatches his bravest knights to battle the mysterious man and his henchmen.

   

The Red and Yellow Knight, despite displaying formidable skills in the joust, loses his ensuing hand-to-hand combat. Unlike many of the players, our guy manages to finish his battle without laughing at his own fake death throes. Nevertheless, we’re left only with jeering at the Green Knight.

   

After the show the ladies pose with our knight and Simon dares the Green Knight to fight him.

We leave Medieval Times with wide smiles and just a couple miles to our next stop. Next time, dear readers, next time.

(to be continued)

Saturday, May 30

Do you prefer real maple or the artificial pancake syrup?

To start our first full day as a complete unit, we watch Simon make breakfast. Using the ingredients Shannon had grabbed at the store based on the list he had sent, he whips up a batch of blueberry chocolate chip pancakes. I quickly finish mine and wish for more. For me that’s something, because I normally can’t get through a short stack without getting nauseated. Shannon had bought whole grain instead of just whole wheat flour, but they turn out great.

Sadly, Moonshot eats only one bite of her stack after slathering it in maple syrup. Of the six of us, the Canadians and I are the only ones who prefer the real stuff. They mention, however, that what I have (from Vermont) is much different from what they have back home.

On our somewhat loose itinerary, this is our stay in town day. No trips over major highways, no venturing into the city.

(click any of the many pics to enlarge)

We get downtown just in time for our next meal. The Pantry features an open layout, very old wood floors and a loft for those who prefer dining in the hottest part of the restaurant. We go there only when company comes to town, but it’s a reasonable place for lunch and everyone is happy with what they order.

A quick jaunt across the street to another spot we always take visitors — The MOM and POPCorn Store — proves more wildly successful than ever. Our friends spend at least 20 minutes marveling at, and picking out selections from the nostalgic candy bins. Candy cigarrettes, anyone? After that, we sample and buy some of the top-notch flavored popcorn and fudge.

We stroll around the square, stopping for Shannon to get a henna tattoo (lasts a couple weeks) and then to visit a gift store that used to be a bank — still complete with the old wood and marble of the original structure. The guys and I get a kick out of checking out the vault and its old doors.

The Art Walk, featuring artists local and not, provides a few interesting diversions as continue around the square in the sun and the mercifully dry air. I find it a shame that my favorite piece would disturb too many visitors to find a permanent place in our home. Despite my desire for pictures, I respectfully keep my camera in check. Perhaps mistakenly, I assume that artists typically do not like strangers photographing their work (especially in lieu of buying it).

       

Back at the hacienda we shift into a gear more like local buddies hanging out, rather than a grand visit from distant friends. Shannon and Amy run off to shop while Alvis joins the rest of to watch Shaun of the Dead. Moonshot’s cool like that.

Then it’s off to Petra, a local “street style” Mexican restaurant, where again we all clean our plates. The churros were amazing.

   

Rock Band again finishes out the night, this time with Alvis, Shannon and Amy joining in the fun for a little while. Moonshot, pregnant and a bit worn out by the walking that day and the night before, turns in first. I hope that my vocal stylings on the Beastie Boys’ “Sabotage” don’t wake her. To test that hope further, I belt out “Epic” by Faith No More, with Simon and Moksha showing the drums and guitar exactly who is boss. We stick with that lineup for most songs, but Alvis rocks the mic on a few numbers.

       

After that we go more geeky and build some bridges in Elefunk, a great game I downloaded for $6 from the PlayStation Store.

With all that modern technology at our fingertips, tomorrow we’re going back in time — to the dark ages. Just like Bruce Campbell in Army of Darkness, except without the chainsaw for an arm.

(to be continued)