Is Time Fleeting?

Has Madness Taken Its Toll?

Basically both questions can have multiple answers depending upon one’s point of view or accompanying cast of characters.  For example, time may be fleeting, or downright interminable, either of which depends upon who you are sitting next to.  Of course the ability to ‘bend’ time or at least our thoughts on time itself (along with reality) have been studied a great deal (see Inception), or even conceptualized in physical reality with the concept of traveling very, very fast.  Of course Uncle Rico was one of the first to take this concept one step further as he invested in the ‘time machine’ that came with a warranty and everything else needed to send him back in time.  Just one thing was missing and that was the correct crystals needed to transform the sine/cosine waves into the third dimension allowing for the transfer of light through mass at the speed of, well at the speed of light and this of course (every MIT grad knows) will place you in the fourth dimension allowing for migration to the place and time of your choosing. 

Well the bottom line was, it didn’t work.  He had the wrong crystals, but it didn’t stop Uncle Rico from trying again.  And while we think the time travel device only caused pain in the groin for him, and Napoleon, somehow he did transmigrate from Preston Idaho to an island LOST somewhere in the Pacific and once there he joined the Initiative (Dharma) all with the hope of getting back to 1977 and the big game.

Personally I do not have access to the crystals but I do have access to a very nice outfit that allows for drifting between the genders and this type of migration has hit the proverbial time machine right smack in the head.  Let me explain.  A long time ago, for me that is, but for a redwood tree in Muir woods it was just a blink of the eye, I was taken to see a movie, at midnight.  This movie was a tutorial of sorts based on an experimental approach toward stepping outside the box we sometimes refer to as the ‘human condition’.  All of this information allowed individuals, upon careful study, to expand their awareness of the horizons and…, time, using a type of warp drive.  More to the point it espoused the ability to migrate between physical appearances.  It also described the problems faced by those loaded with inventive ambitions, striving for new inventions so to speak, to get waylaid by interference from the established norms. 

Anyway, I went to the seminar/movie and like most good presentations it allowed for questions/answers/comments from the audience.  It also provided a basic floor plan for those dreaming of moving in this direction.  It is, after all, Just a Jump to the Left, and a step to the right, then you put your hands on your hips and…  I am not sure if it is best for me to describe the entire seminar here, but needless to say, I learned.  I also learned how to don the perfect outfit for migration, the same outfit worn by the Doctor giving the demonstration and then I told my parents what I was up to.  Instead of being supportive when they saw my first attempts to move to Transylvania as I spouted the code words:  Don’t get strung out by the way I look, don’t judge a book by its…  My father ran to the bar.  My mother smiled politely and then began closing the curtains.  Not everyone was up for learning how to warp with time or visit far off exotic locals like Transsexual Transylvania.  But there I was, ready to go.  The only being my father had taken the keys when he left for the bar and the ambulance that drove his stupefied, alcohol soaked body home then drove me to the ‘clinic’. 

My parents let me come home when I promised to return the special Transylvania attire back to the scientific display and specialty paraphernalia store in which I bought it and; I had to promise to never again wear stilettos.   So for years I had to hide, in the closet, never daring to peak out while in the Hot-Patottie like trance I would fall into darkness, Drinking those moments when….  Instead I had to pretend to be happy as I studied science according the three dimensional curriculum of the day. 

Then I got married.  The reception was held in the backyard of my fiancée’s parent’s house, and the music was DJ’d by an old friend named Mr. R. Raff, someone who had obviously done a little seminar/movie teaching way back when.  And just like that the TIME WARP was once again ringing in my ears.  Luckily I had managed to wear my Transylvanian outfit underneath that drab but classic wedding attire.  Of course this was going to be for later in the evening, after all, like the trained scientist I had become, I planned to embellish that special wedding evening with some ‘outside the box’ exposure.  Now, as the music played, I could control myself no longer and as I danced down to my transsexual undergarments…, the police came and closed the place down.  Apparently the neighbors were listening in, and watching with voyeuristic intension.

Years later the kids came, and grew up, and then the internet came, and grewup, and then information loads became information overloads and everything was moving into new, uncharted territories and so once again I got out my old outfit just to see if it would ‘fit in’, in the modern age.  And..., I came out of the closet again (first time since my wedding night) with my well worn symbolic gesture to the ideals of multi, multi-cultural sweet transgressions and what happens?  My teenage son runs away and my wife smiles as she closes the curtains.  Talk about being in the Time Warp.   Now, I did Skype my daughter who is away at college and very much into all the new music being thrown around and I asked for her opinion, but after I stood up and showed her the outfit the internet connection somehow gave out.

Luckily the dog still talked to me and she showed her appreciation for my efforts by retrieving the outfit when I tossed it aside and then proceeded to chew it up.  When she was finished she burped and went out of the room, wagging her tail.

Saverio Monachino's writing style has been termed by some as 'Kurt Vonnegut meets Mark Twain'.  Saverio describes it as 'comic fiction noir'. Regardless of the terms used, he is attempting is to use humor to open the door to serious discussion.  You can find Saverio Monachino on www.comicfictionnoir.com.

The Good Bye State

Government Regulations: Do not pass go, do not go to work!  
But Do collect your $200.

I grew up south of the Mason Dixon line and for years, behind closed doors we were taught History and that History usually had a local panache to it, like when we discussed when the King Will Return which was basically a coded euphemism for the South will Rise Again (I’ll fill you in on this one soon, and don’t worry there is a bunny hopping around here somewhere).  So while I thought I was well versed in the grand scheme of things (we still await his return) I found that I was a bit lacking in the local particulars.  For example, by some stroke of luck, which can only be interpreted as the gods playing an evil joke on the unsuspecting, I ended up in the Western Provinces of New Jersey and didn’t have a clue it was the first peach capital of the states (oh Georgia, don’t listen), before the blight set in.  Now, I’m pretty sure that the historic reference to the peach blight had more to do with a natural pest than a bureaucratic miasma, but I’ll have to check on that one.

This of course leads one to a history of New Jersey, from a contemporary point of view.  When I was very, very young my family would, twice a year, travel from Virginia to Long Island and, no matter how many times my father looked at the map, or no matter how many times he turned it around and looked at it from a different direction (he worked for the Federal Government), we had to travel through New Jersey and…, hold our noses.  Back then all of those very, very rich oil magnates had sent their dirty laundry to hang in spots that bordered interstate 95 just north of Perth Amboy and just south of, well of Canada, while they stayed home (read; up wind) in Manhattan, or even farther up wind like in Newport or Martha’s Vineyard (one of those island states).  It was my first exposure to the ‘garden state’ so I could only wonder what it would smell like if we ever passed during harvest season instead of the fertilizing period.  Many years later I would travel around this wonderful country of ours (more stories coming on this topic) and invariably I would run into transplants, from New Jersey.  The first ten or twelve times I ran into a displaced Jerseyian it didn’t really raise any flags, but now that I’ve been sitting here in the garden of all political tax brackets I am beginning to see the problem.  Most people cannot afford to live here once they have moved beyond those prime income years.  It is kind of like living in an amusement park.  After a while you cannot afford the popcorn anymore.

Don’t worry I am not digressing, yet.  Right now the countries attention is focusing on the run away Democrats in Wisconsin (or is that Demon-crats).  Just like that we get a birds eye view of the great American system in action.  The voters turned out, the voters picked what the VOTERS wanted and then what happens?  The Democrats run away like a bunch of spoiled children who won’t take their medicine.  AND THEY GET PAID FOR IT.  Sorry, I got emotional.  We’re in a recession, I have no work and I see how those in the government (is it still called a government in Wisconsin?) go on leave, with pay.   Now, I live in New Jersey near the home of the commissary general of George Washington.  That commissary general was Colonel Charles Stewart and his home can also be called Union Farm or Landsdown. 

There is another historic landmark nearby known as the Solitude house.  This house served as the homestead of five generations of the Taylor Iron and Steel Company president.  The iron works was one of the largest munitions factories during colonial days.  I had no idea, but when I do walk the dog up on the Columbia trail we pass the original damn which channeled (still does) the water for the original mill.  The house was so well known that John Penn, the last Royal Governor of Pennsylvania, as well as his Attorney General, Benjamin Chew, vacationed there, as prisoners of George Washington's Board of War under the watchful eye of patriot Robert Taylor (who also happened to be the president of the iron works at the time).  That lucky industrialist had access to business, pleasure and politics without having to leave the house. 

Now stick with me, there is a correlation coming and it runs something like this:  In the old days, to keep the governor from voting you put him under house arrest and sent him to the next state so he wouldn’t raise any rabble.  In the new age, to keep the governor from voting, the legislature packs their bags and travels to…, the next state.  Of course they still continue to raise that forsaken rabble stuff.

Now, don’t get me wrong, it is nice that the government buildings in Madison are now being used for flash mob parties by those a little two bored with the winter chill, but after a while one has to wonder what all this activity will do to the heating bill.  And who will pay for it, after all, those that work there are on holiday.

Saverio Monachino's writing style has been termed by some as 'Kurt Vonnegut meets Mark Twain'.  Saverio describes it as 'comic fiction noir'. Regardless of the terms used, he is attempting is to use humor to open the door to serious discussion.  You can find Saverio Monachino on www.comicfictionnoir.com.

Want something serious, follow Saverio on http://mytraumaticbraininjury.blogspot.com/

Back on the Meds

Doctor’s Orders

Yes, it’s true.  I’m back on the medications, and I’ve been spending a little time in anger management classes as well.  In fact once you’re in the institution, the management training comes at no extra charge.

But I got out, on one condition, well actually several conditions and the new Lindsay Lohan autographed electric anklet is one of them.  The other ‘conditions’ cover a few small problem areas I have like posting angry diatribes on the web, or sinking into remorse as I contemplate philosophical issues relating to spending money.  Not that these things are illegal, they just aren’t healthy for a person with my, delicate, condition.  So now I’ve sworn off ridiculing the overpriced field of higher education as it seems to have fallen into the televangelist realm of realism and….ohhhh!  That hurt.  The orderly with the electric switch has now sent the anklet into kill mode. 

I may have forgotten to mention, one of the conditions of release includes a stay at home orderly with a very big remote control switch that he uses to keep my electric current flowing when needed, or when not needed, his opinion.  So, I will no longer write about college education or the problem we have as a lemming society who buys what we are told to buy and…, ohhhh!!!!  It was the orderly again.  And the insurance company doesn’t cover this expense, can you believe it.  OHHHH!!!  Wow, I guess he enjoys his work, he’s smiling.

Okay, let me start over.  Today I will write about traveling, might as well, the orderly and I are now going to take the dog for a walk.  I like this, I have the dog on a leash, she has the leash in her mouth and so drags me where she wants to go, and the orderly follows behind with switch in hand, making sure, metaphorically, I go where he wants too.  Now I don’t know if the smile he is wearing means he is happy with my progress or he is about to… OHHHH!

I am a good, good boy.  I will not write about people with more money, power or influence than I have.  Lesson learned.  Now I will write about walking the dog in the neighborhood and communing with nature, even if the people driving by have thrown trash out their.. .  Ohhh that smarts.  And I like looking at all of the new cars as they drive by, and I wave and wish that I too could buy a new car, if I pass rehabilitation 101 (the orderly). 

The dog likes having company on our stroll and she has learned how to get the orderly to pull the switch whenever she is ready for another biscuit.  It was kind of like Pavlov in reverse.   She wants, he sends the electric current, I pull a dog biscuit out of my pocket.  It only took about three tries before I realized that I was not supposed to actually eat the biscuit, just pass it along to the dog.  The only problem with the entire training session was simple, we ran out of dog cookies very fast so I got to experience the current many times before the others would believe me.  Then I had to run home as fast as I could and get some more, and it basically became a repeatable process.  I ran home and collected some goodies, I ran back to the team and upon command distributed the catch (to both dog and orderly), then I ran home and found more items to bring to the feast.  When my wife got home, and the orderly passed the electric dispensing baton to her, well, then the current did flow when she found nothing left for dinner in the house.

Saverio Monachino's writing style has been termed by some as 'Kurt Vonnegut meets Mark Twain'.  Saverio describes it as 'comic fiction noir'. Regardless of the terms used, he is attempting is to use humor to open the door to serious discussion.  You can find Saverio Monachino on www.comicfictionnoir.com.

Addicted to Materialism

Is there a Difference between Objectivism and Materialism

Every morning I ponder some the ramifications of actions based upon the Objectivism of the day.  For example, man as a rational creature has reason to guide him as an individual and thus his means of survival.  This of course is the third principle of the philosophy of Ayn Rand.  But if man is rational, and reason depends upon an individual’s choice well…, there lies the rub as it leads into principle four, ethics.  And of course this brings one to the conundrum of Man being an end to himself and not a means to the end of others.

So why is it when I go to the store I find particular items no longer in stock, or with a particular label, always priced much more than the unlabeled item next to it?  As individual as the Rand philosophy is, it cannot hide from the fact that we, as a species are part of the whole.  So if Objectivism tells us that …, rather than depict the situation as one of man living for his own sake, not sacrificing himself to others…, with the achievement of his own happiness as the highest moral purpose of his life, we need to think of…, the lemmings. 

While materialism can make one happy in a short term physical embrace might arouse passion, does it also bring individuality into play?  The laws of philosophy must, at some point, bring the laws of nature into play.  We are always under the pressure of evolution.  To stay stagnant brings the species as a whole, not the individual of the day, to a standstill.  And once there, extinction is the next step.  And to help bring us to a standstill is to embrace individual happiness, and to be an end solely to oneself.  On a larger scale, groups tend to band together not knowing that it is the mixing of the gene pool which leads to selection of the positive traits needed in the evolutionary process. 

Diversity is important, as is individuality, yet when I go to a store it is easy to see how materialistic intents tend to group the species, and as the lemmings, push the group toward the cliff.  This concept is evident when moving off the tack of materialism and onto social partitioning as well, just ask all of those of ‘Noble’ bearing in Europe, who also bear the trait of hemophilia.  If Man is so individualistic why does he suffer from the inability to make a rational decision?  And this brings one to the question of Materialism.

We all must hold our breath and await the outcome of the changes in Tunisia and Egypt and all the possibilities underway in so many other non representative organizations, yet what do we see headlined in the news?  “The Price of GAS will….”

How can Man be individualistic if we, as a species, are constantly led to the trough on a leash? 

Perhaps Objectivism needs to be modified so that the different hierarchies of the species are each outlaid with a set of rules which better fit the reality of the situation.  For example, the external world exists, independent of man’s consciousness, independent of any observer’s knowledge, beliefs, feelings, desires or fears AND if you have a lot of money you can exist however you want within it.

There is definitely a big gap between the poor and the rich, but there is also a big gap between those that can think independently and those that need the group to show the way.  It is this rather large part of the species as a whole on which the small, wealthy part maintains in dominance.

If Objectivism preaches that man is living for his own sake, then who will help those in need?

Even though Saverio Monachino's writing style has been termed by some as 'Kurt Vonnegut meets Mark Twain' and Saverio describes it as 'comic fiction noir' there is no comic touch to this particular blog. But he is attempting is to open the door to serious discussion.  You can find Saverio Monachino on www.comicfictionnoir.com.

Educators came out of the closet and declared themselves…, Capitalists.

What exactly does ‘not-for-profit’ mean?

Another month goes by and alas, another check is sent to the University. 

“So what,” my neighbor who has no children says, “You have money in the bank.”

“Yes, that is true,"  I respond as my dog rolls in the snow at our fee, “I was saving it for retirement, and the vet bills.  The dog had her checkup last week and..., well it did set me back a ways.”

“Okay, I see your point but you have social security too you know”. 

“Well yes..., I do have that.”

“So, you see, you’re all set.”

And therein lies the rub.  “All set for what?

“For retirement.”

I do a quick calculation.  “Let’s see, I live in New Jersey and each month I have to pay a lot of property tax, plus I’ll never have paid off the house by the time I’m sixty five, so basically the rent will be due.  And then there is that bit with medical expenses.  How much do you think we will pay each month for that when we retire?”

“Oh, hell aren’t you on a company plan.”

“Well I might be…, if I worked,” the dog listened to this last remark and tilted her head to one side.

“Oh yeah that’s right you don’t.   So how are your medical expenses these days?”  I suppose he wanted to change the subject, and I went along with it.

“Well, not as bad as when I first got out of the hospital.”

“Good, means you’re getting better.”

"The accident was three years ago, the medical expenses are not so bad now because, well because I’m not in the hospital, and I weaned myself off the medications and stopped physical therapy."

“Off medication, and stopped therapy?"  The dog and the neighbor both looked at me with a similar, quizzical expression.
“Cannot afford either of them.”

“Don’t you have insurance?”

“My wife does, in a sense..., I think, but every time I go to the doctor, or the physical therapist I have to pay out of my pocket, and the medicine was over 300 dollars a month.  Haven’t worked in three years, I cannot afford that one.  And the insurance company, well they might chip in but I think I have to use up all of my life savings before they do.  Is this something new with the insurance coverage these days?   They wont pay any money until my life savings are gone."

“Oh, kind of like the University ′eh…,” I’m not sure if it was the dog or my neighbor who asked that as they were both now down on all fours rolling around in the snow.

And while they rolled we were back, back at square one. 

Doesn’t the government have a program or something to help pay for college?

Oh, yes they do, unfortunately for us my wife makes a smidgen more than minimum wage, so we don’t qualify.  And since the accident, and my not getting back to work, well, we subsist on her earnings, and spend our savings to make rent.  We do live in NJ and rent here is very, very bad.  And..., we are not connected to any well know, powerful figure like a Hillary or a Barack.

“If the University costs so much why don’t you ask them for help?”  Is a question everyone throws at me.

I did, in fact I begged them for help, basically down on my knees.

And

And they told me to fill out the paperwork

And

When they saw that I had saved some money they smiled…, and held out their hand.

"And so, why don’t you take your daughter out of school?" 
This is the really big question and it is also where they have you by the cajones.  They know you will send your children to college (or University, or Graduate School) and it becomes like going to the doctor.  You will pay, even if they overcharge because there is nothing else you can do.  There is no government regulation putting a limit on it, and there is no clever industrialist minded group of intellectuals who will open a qualified school, and ask for less money than they can swindle out of a family.  It takes a strong, strong politician to try to argue against these absurd pricing structures, but the only people with enough backbone to fight this encroachment into our financial liberties are all those capitalists..., who work in the University.

Oh yes, the system, via the federal government, has some money for very, very poor people.  But for those who are on the edge, who have no work, but who have at one point in their lives swore off credit card double dipping and saved some money but are now out of work, for those people there is no answer.  Oh yes, there is, I forgot, one can get a job flipping burgers at dairy queen, except I would have to stand in line behind the teenagers for a job interview, and TBI survivors have to stand at the end of the line. 

So, let us look at those Capitalists embedded in the ‘not-for-profit’ university.  How much money does each school have in its war chest, also known as the endowment fund?  Boy that money could be invested in low risk, municipal bonds, couldn't it? And that muni investment would help create jobs and work in the good ol’ USA.  But all I read is that the money is overseas, looking to capitalize, like capitalists do, on low wage employees building whatever the fashionista of the day wants, for pennies.  If they did invest locally, in tax free municpal bonds, then that tax free interest income could be used to…, pay the tuition costs of its students.  Many colleges have over 1 Billion in these endowments.  At a tax free five percent return they would bring in over 50,000,000 dollars.  This is enough money to cover the total overpriced tuition, room and board for over 10,000 students.  Not bad.

Then there is the salary thing.  For a person out of work, taking all of his accumulated money, the money NOT spent over the years on a moment by moment impulse, to pay for his children’s college education so that said children will not have a payment the size of a home mortgage when they leave those hallowed grounds, what does this out of work person think of the salary structure at these ‘public, not-for-profit’ organizations?  Before answering that..., let’s take a look at the issue.

At a public university in one of the smallest states in the union the president of the school makes over 800,000 dollars.  Not bad, if you are a capitalist wealth-at-all-costs monger working in a for-profit organization geared to make money at the expense of the common man.  Hey…, wait a minute.  This sounds just like…, and this is why there is no difference between for-profits and not-for- profits.  The item du jour, whether it be handbags or diplomas, have no guarantees.  Oh sorry, the handbags do have a money back guarantee, the diplomas don’t.

Simple solution number one, which is coming from a conservative, value conscious proletariat who is a meddling in the middle-of-the-road sort of opinionated, poor louse: Cut the damn salary in half.  Even if you just take the president’s salary of the afore mentioned university and cut it in half, say down to a meager 400,000 dollars a year without reducing all the damn benefits that go with it, like his children’s tuition for free (another 200,000 or so per child) and without stealing support from the federal government, one could reduce the service-charge (read: yearly college costs) by 25% for over 40 students.  Wow! And what if you managed to get a few of those VP salaries cut down a bit too, hell you might be able to reduce college tuition dramatically for quite a few people, non?

            The comedian Jim Gaffigan says, “Don’t worry, there is a bunny.”  But in this case, there isn’t a bunny.  There are only greedy people, tied to a greedy organization called colleges who, like those in the medical field, will bring about the slow death of any semblance of a middle class in the USA.

Saverio Monachino's writing style has been termed by some as 'Kurt Vonnegut meets Mark Twain'.  Saverio describes it as 'comic fiction noir'. Regardless of the terms used, he is attempting is to use humor to open the door to serious discussion.  You can find Saverio Monachino on www.comicfictionnoir.com.

A little plagiarism in the night

When the mentally aggravated tell bedtime stories

More snow.  This is almost as much fun as living in Montreal.  BUT, and here is the big butt;  When I lived in Montreal the family could afford a snow removal service.  Now I live in New Jersey, a state more socialist than Canada in general and Quebec in particular.  In other words we pay more taxes here than there and so I cannot afford life’s little pleasures, like snow removal or cable TV, and with the amount paid in taxes we get no services.  So it is off to shovel the white powdery stuff once again.  And then there is that dog walking thing too.  The colder the better, which is her take on the situation, and the more snow, well that is like heaven, again, that is her take.

So, instead of writing a convoluted blog using my incompetent take on the daily news I shall leave you with a section from one of my earlier books.  This chapter, called ‘A Little Plagiarism n the Night’,  contains a bedtime story that a rather stressed, anxiety ridden father is providing to his three children, hoping that it will help them get to sleep.  Lord knows, in his condition, he isn’t going to embrace that realm of consciousness for a long, long time.

A little plagiarism in the night.

Emma stood quietly in front of her father, softly probing his face with her large, round, beautiful brown eyes.  He sat on the edge of the bed slightly hunched over, almost at eye level with her.  He was in no hurry to move on.  He had his three children all to himself, right where he wanted them.  His wife was out for the evening and they were all worn out from a very busy day.  His oldest stood in front of him, trying to maintain eye contact while keeping her disheveled hair off her face.  Paul, the middle child, was sprawled on top of the bed, drawing animal images in the air with his forefinger and Sarah, the youngest, was hiding somewhere nearby.

“Dad?”

“Yes sweetie-pie wonder girl, and love of my life?”

Emma rolled her eyes upward in response to the string of superlatives as she made the first request of the evening, “tonight, no gross stuff, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Promise?”

“Yes, I promise.”  How could he say otherwise to his daughter when she asked so sweetly, or at least while she stood so close?

Having obtained the general ground rules she desired, Emma switched to specifics.  “And tonight you have to add some magic characters and make it funny and no mushy, big-time, gross-out stuff like worms coming out of anyone’s mouth, and…, and lots of animals.”  After dictating those terms, she thought for a moment.  “And make it your own story tonight.”

“You mean no plagiarizing?” 

“Right no plager... whatever you…”

Before Emma could finish the sentence, her brother chimed in.  “Can you put a dragon in the story tonight?  Not a mean dragon, just a nice one who flies all over the world helping children?”

“Yes, of course I can my love.”

“But dad, dragons are animals and magical,” Emma interrupted, turning to her brother.  “And Paul, you should know that!”  To her father, she continued, “and since I already asked for animals and magic characters, that covers dragons, right?”

From deep under the comforter another voice was heard.  “And a princess.  Don’t forget a princess.”  The request came with a series of under-the-cover kicks to her father’s rear.

            “Yes, of course special angel girlfriend,” her father lovingly replied.  He scrunched up his face into what he hoped would be a stern visage before continuing.  “Now, any more instructions or can I begin?  Don’t forget we have to save some of the story for me to tell.”  At that the children stopped chattering, and waited for their father to begin.

            Francesco sat quietly for a few moments, to assimilate the various requests before he dove in.

            “A long time ago in a galaxy far, far, away…”

            “Dad!”  Emma interrupted with a disapproving voice.

            “What?” Came her father’s innocent reply.

            “Original, remember?”

            “What are you getting at, girlfriend?”

            “Dad, you know that’s ‘Star Wars’.”

            “No it isn’t.  It just sounds that way…, honest.”

            Emma eyed her father suspiciously, having been here before, and glanced at her brother and sister in silent consultation.  After getting go-ahead nods, she prompted him to continue.

            “So, where was I?  Oh, yes, a long time ago in a galaxy far, far, away, on a planet that looked, smelled and tasted a lot like our earth, there was an old English manor in the country at least two hours away from the town of London, on a small rise overlooking a beautiful lake.  What do you think one would find in a house such as that?”

            “A Dragon?” Paul asked.

            “Well maybe, buddy boy, but only if the house was made of stone.  I think this house is made of stone and wood.”

            “A princess?”  A squeaky voice from under the covers suggested.

            “No I’m afraid not, angel child.  If I had said a castle, then yes, there would definitely be a princess.  But this is only a manor house.  Emma, do you have a guess?”

            Emma looked at her father, rolled her eyes heavenward again and replied, “Duh, maybe a wardrobe?”

            “Yes indeed, a wardrobe!  Was that a lucky guess on your part or have you heard this one before?”  Without waiting for his daughter to answer, he continued, “An old manor house, on the hill with plenty of lawn, a wardrobe and a limousine turning into its driveway.  And do you know who’s in that car?  There’s a driver and four children, Peter, Edmund, Lucy and Princess Leah.”

“Daaaad!”  Emma again.

“What now, honey?  That’s not Star Wars.  I spelled her name different.  In Star Wars its Princess Leia, L. E. I. A.  In my story the princess spells her name L.E.A.H.  Isn’t that different?”

“Dad, I’m not talking about Star Wars.  Your story is sounding a lot like ‘The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe’ with Edmund, Peter and Lucy.”

“But there’s no Princess Leah in that story is there?”

“When do we get to the dragon part?”  Paul yawned deeply.

“Soon, I promise.”

“And can you change the name of the princess to mine?” Francesco’s youngest asked.

“Hmm, perhaps,” Francesco stroked his chin. “Yes, Princess Sarah has a nice ring to it.”  He returned to his mock-stern voice.  “Now, that’s enough interruptions, I can’t think with ya’ll badgering me.  You two get under the covers with your heads on the pillow where I can keep an eye on you.  And Emma, you sit on the end of the bed and listen quietly.”

“Now, the train pulled into the station and came to a complete stop.  Out stepped the four children, Edmund, Peter, Lucy and Sarah.”

Emma looked at Paul behind her father’s back, shrugged her shoulders, but said nothing.  Paul raised his hand, but his father took no notice.  Sarah wiggled from under the blankets and rested her head on a pillow.

“On the platform, a rather large man wearing an extra large, heavily insulated, all-weather overcoat, which hung to his shins, greeted them politely, then ushered them along a narrow path through trees and tall shrubs until they emerged at the shores of a small lake.  They walked onto a floating dock where two small boats were awaiting them.  The large man helped them aboard and before they could thank him, he was gone, leaving behind only a large wet footprint and eerie silence.

“The boats glided across the smooth lake and the children sat upright daring not to breathe or break the silence until they pulled alongside a dock under a tall cliff.  ‘I guess this is where we get off,’ Edmund offered.  They disembarked.

“They saw a handwritten sign pointing to a set of stairs, and path leading upward.  Looking back across the water, the children were unnerved to see a dark fog obscuring the far shore. 

“‘It looks like the fog’s coming this way,’ Lucy blurted out what they were all thinking.  ‘We better get out of here.’

“But, there was only one way to go and when they reached the top of the stairs they were out of breath and frightened.  The thick mist behind them had swallowed their boats and began to follow them up the stairs.  It was just then that they realized that a car was supposed to have met them at the station.”

“ ‘Wasn’t there supposed…’  The question hung in the air, Then Lucy added, ‘Something’s missing.’

“ ‘What, Lucy?  What’s missing?’  asked Sarah.

“ ‘I’m not sure, but I feel that something isn’t right here,’ she answered.

“ ‘Luce, I’m with you on this one, something’s definitely wrong.’  Peter intoned as he slowly turned in all directions.  ‘I think I know what it is!’ He nearly shouted, ‘our luggage!  We do not have our luggage!’

            … let me know if you want to hear the ‘rest of the story’.

“Don’t worry,” says Jim Gaffigan, “there is a bunny.”

Saverio Monachino's writing style has been termed by some as 'Kurt Vonnegut meets Mark Twain'.  Saverio describes it as 'comic fiction noir'. Regardless of the terms used, he is attempting is to use humor to open the door to serious discussion.  You can find Saverio Monachino on www.comicfictionnoir.com.

The Lay Press

Is laying the press good?

            Okay, so now we are still in 2011 and I’ve written 2011 posts for my blog.  The problem is, most are in the circular filing cabinet.  I mean how many more editorials can the lay press throw out to the public at large before they understand?  We are overweight, we smoke too much, we fart in public, not enough exercise, and we have very poor manners?  Oh, yes, we don’t pay attention.   I write an article which I think should be front page material, hey wait a second, does the internet press have a front page?  And I look up and see how swine flu survivors develop super flu antibodies. 

So one more article is filed and I move on in search of the next potential blockbuster, story that is, not pharmaceutical.  Let’s see, the autism study was defective, so now not only does the definition of the word contain a defective adjective (or is that the adjective defective) but the study linking autism to vaccines is defective too.  Well we will have to wait for the study to study the study come out before passing judgment on that. 

Next up, it has been found that people who spend at least four hours per day watching TV, playing video games, or using a computer for fun were more than twice as likely as those who kept their recreational "screen time" under two hours to experience a heart attack, stroke, or other serious cardiovascular problem. Couch potatoes were also about 50 percent more likely to die of any cause during the four-year study.  Sorry, I have to take a break now and go out and walk the dog…

I’m back, and I tell you what… When it is -5ºC outside, with a brisk wind blowing, and the ground is covered in snow and ice…, the dog loves it.  We didn’t pass a single neighbor today.  Funny, I wonder if they have all left for Florida? 

The dog knew where she wanted to go and she set the pace.  Kind of like the wife in a mall, only stops to sniff something she likes.  We reached the fields where she knows I’ll let her off the lease, about a mile or two out and with her running free I no longer had to keep up.  Oh, I probably could if I wanted to, but I let her do some sniffing and eating on her own and I found my way into a copse of trees where the wind wasn’t quite so biting.

In this sanctuary I took out my phone and began tagging all my contacts to see if there was a story in the making I could get my hands on.  No one seemed to be home.  Most, it seems, were stuck on the beach, or playing golf, in Florida.  I did get through to my agent and after going over a chapter I had recently sent over she told me, in no uncertain terms, that I needed help with my grammar and punctuation.  Her exact words were, more or less, like this:

“How many f’in times do I have to tell you to get this S. H. I., if I have to spell the rest it only solidifies my position, to an editor… First.”

“Anything else?” I had to ask as I wondered how solid her spelt position was.

“Yes, where the H. E. double L is all this body hair coming from, are you shedding as you write?

“What color is it?” Once again, I had to ask.

 She didn’t answer that but did pass along a phone number for me to call, “I cannot pass this K. R. A. P.  on to a publisher.”

What the H. E. double L. can I say, she’s Germanic and from where she comes from Krupp. Krup, Crup and crap are basically the same.

Speaking of Krap, the dog had pretty much finished what could only, out in the wild, be termed a smorgasbord.  She was very happy, and moving a bit slower so we trudged on home with the wind, thankfully, pushing us from behind.  I did rub her back with my gloved hand to try to get an idea of the source of literary hair, and then when I got a good count I brushed hers off and ran the same glove up and over my scalp.  Hard to say who the winner was on that one.

When we got close to home the dog was in no hurry to go inside and again the neighborhood was quiet.  So when she sat down for a few minutes enjoying the feeling of fresh snow on her skin in the neighbors yard I thought back to my experience in the sauna in Kuopio Finland…

A few days later I took the plunge and with great verisimilitude I gave a call to Mr. Language.  An interesting conversation ensued and I found that if I bought the entire set of disks which contained enough information to make the Encyclopedia Britannica blush, for a mere $19.95 down and $19.95 a month for 19.95 months the whole series would be mine.  And, at no extra charge, I would learn to grasp the subtle difference between the words your and you’re.  Top scientists in the field (here we go, a story the Lay Press can sink their proverbial teeth into) are often confused by these two words, which are technically known as bivalves.  You’re being the contraction, used during childbirth and whale watching; "you're baby looks like...".  'Your' though is different, 'your' is, grammatically, a prosthetic infarction.  This word is often used to help describe someone, from afar, as in:  Your a looser.  

Of course I have to thank Dave Barry for that last bit on grammar, punctuation, and body hair.

Happy New Year.

“Don’t worry,” says Jim Gaffigan, “there is a bunny.”

Saverio Monachino's writing style has been termed by some as 'Kurt Vonnegut meets Mark Twain'.  Saverio describes it as 'comic fiction noir'. Regardless of the terms used, he is attempting is to use humor to open the door to serious discussion.  You can find Saverio Monachino on www.comicfictionnoir.com.

New Year’s Resolutions in Three Easy Step

Or How I Learned to Procrastinate, Without Really Trying

Okay, so now we are in 2011.  I ate my feast of fish, and had some for lunch the day after Christmas, and the day after that.  Then my wife made me throw the rest out (down the drain) as the smell was becoming an issue.  I also ate about ten thousand other items that were above and beyond the call of duty (read: acceptable calorie count) and so now I sit and ponder, weak, and weary, over many a quaint and curious leftover of forgotten lore …

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, 

Which had given way to more, cold and wet and dreary that is as so I continue to ponder…

But suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

Always wondered how to best describe an idea, and so with stolen verse in hand I had an idea.  I shall make a resolution, or two.  After all it is the New Year.  And, according to some deeply imbued mythological calendar cycle it is officially the year of the procrastinator.  I am in luck.

This is why on January 4, 2011 I will make my resolution(s). 

First, I promise to add interesting insights into the world around us each and every day on my comic fiction noir blog.   Well I guess we can through that one right out the window, on so many levels.

Second, I will get a job.  Funny, that was last year’s resolution, and the year before that, oh hell…, I’ll just throw that one out too.

Third, I will stop stealing from other writers.  Forget that one.

Next, I will not curse my team when they loose.  Merde!  Well that’s a nice resolution except I won’t be able to watch those a…holes play anymore, when the h. e. double L will they ever win again. 

Next, walk the dog on a regular basis.  Hey, I already do that, yeah I found a New Year’s Resolution that I can stick to, since the dog lets me know when it is time.  This should be no problem, unless it is cold outside, or it rains, or my favorite soap is on.

Happy New Year.

“Don’t worry,” says Jim Gaffigan, “there is a bunny.”

Saverio Monachino's writing style has been termed by some as 'Kurt Vonnegut meets Mark Twain'.  Saverio describes it as 'comic fiction noir'. Regardless of the terms used, he is  attempting is to use humor to open the door to serious discussion.  You can find Saverio Monachino on www.comicfictionnoir.com.

University Costs 101

Too Much News, Too Little Time

Too much news, too little time.  What to do.  What to do. What to do.  Await the coffee is always accounted for in my daily schedule, can’t really do anything without that, but then with cup in hand, which page do I start on?

Of course the Wikileaky guy is in the news, always is these days, he and the Kardashians make the headlines all the time.  Which one was it on the red carpet again telling the world their wedding cake had dangerous stones on it, and which one is hiding in a bunker in Switzerland?  Hell, I had stones in my kidneys and only the doctors took my picture, and no, I do not have a Swiss army knife.  I digress….  

There is a new virus running around that some fear will be the end of all computer traffic known to man, or just delay the nuclear development in Iran, whichever comes first.  Oh heaven forbid, back to the dark ages we go? 

And then there is that interesting bit about college football.  No, it is not the selection of teams to play in holiday bowl games.  It is that preposterous idea making the rounds that someone in college sports is being paid to make money for the ‘not for profit’ group to which he/she is under contract (or is that enrolled?).

While I ponder all of these extremely important issues of the day the dog sits nearby with her leash in her mouth, staring at me in a manner similar to the wife whenever I have neglected my household chores.

So off we go on this rather brisk morning (read: cold enough to make me put on two pairs of pants) for a jaunt through the neighborhood and as we walk past the intersection separating our cloister from the rest of the world one thing comes to mind.  I forgot “my proper cup of coffee made in a proper copper coffee pot.”  Merde!

For the dog, the colder the better, after all she is a Labrador Retriever.  For me, all I can do is curse the wife for leaving me behind with the animal while she is off at work earning money to keep me fed.  What nerve!

After a half mile or so of vetching to myself I turn to the dog, once her nose is up out of the pile of deer excrement, and ask, “What do you want to talk about?”  The dog chews on that for a while as she finishes her mouthful and as I drag her along to greener pastures I get the idea that she, like most, wants to discuss the Kardashians. 

“Again,” I shout?  “PLEASE!  Of all the headlines that is the one I do not have a twitter on, (I forget if it is Cim or Kloe who doesn't like me) so how the heck can I be up to date?  I mean if Kourtney Kardashian is wearing an outfit bought at the mall I've got to know.  Like, can you believe a Kardash shops at a mall (or is that 'like a Moll')?  But if no one in the paparazzi is there to photograph her, well; did the bear shit or not?  Hard to tell when the question rings philosophical, eh?”

The dog raises her head and sniffs the air around us, letting me know that to air is divine, and to critique, well..., that is common now isn’t it.  Then she licks her lips letting me know that I should have had my cuppa joe.

So to appease her I got off of the Kardash subject and looked around hoping to find a neighbor, or two, outside on such a frigid day who would be happy enough to pet the dog while I stomped my feet, but alas, no one seemed to want to be out on such a morning and this brought me back to wondering how my daughter was doing at college and this of course led to the issues with paying those who play football in college (minor league anyone) and then on to the more important issue; how can an average Joe without his cuppa Joe pay for college itself.  (One sentence, can you believe it?).

If colleges want to work in a ‘non profit’ environment how is it that their rates go up every year even in a down economy where recession is rampant?  How is it that they have placed their product outside the realm of middle class citizens and yet demand payment?  How is it that those who purport themselves to be bastions of intellect and the advancement of the human condition allow for the collapse of the middle class at a rate that exceeds any other threat?  If they are a non profit why is it those who run each and every institution are making, on average, 15 to twenty times the salary of the parents they are driving to the poor house.  That is right, college presidents are making 1MM plus..., are you?  Don’t worry they say, there are loans.  Of course the entire country’s recession is based upon people borrowing money at a rate that exceeds their income potential, but the intelligent ones in the Ivory towers tell you to borrow, borrow, borrow!  We saved money to send our kids to school.  We saved a lot of money for our kids education, roughly twenty times what it took to send us to college way back when.  The totals we saved, saved per child, is more than a years' salary for us.  So it is not like we did not try, but all of this money pays for less than one half of a four year college tuition. 

Now, a large number of universities have rather large endowments.  Why cannot the money in those endowments be placed in the proper investment vehicles that will return a sum of money each year (not for profit) that can be used to cut the tuition rate to allow people to enter college?  Who wants to end their time in college with the stigma of 100,000 dollar plus in loans that will be due.  Of course those wonderful Universities also have that side industry known as college football right? How much money is made each year from the college football program?  Answer that, then tell us you are 'not for profit'.  Oh, by the way, Go Auburn, your guys are above that mess, right?

Isn’t it time for the U.S. to get off the money laundering habit of University tuition and redirect our institutions of higher learning to be more along the lines of those found in Canada and Europe.  Then the government can afford to step back in and help the middle class.

Sometimes its funny and sometimes it hits home too hard to be funny.

In this case, no matter what Jim Gaffigan says, there is no bunny.

Saverio Monachino's writing style has been termed by some as 'Kurt Vonnegut meets Mark Twain'.  Saverio describes it as 'comic fiction noir'. Regardless of the terms used, his attempt is to use humor to open the door to serious discussion about very important human issues.  You can find Saverio Monachino on www.comicfictionnoir.com.

More from Getting Even…Almost

The WikiLeak guy is spraying his scent around again.  Now we all have to do some reading on how government officials don’t tell their fans exactly how business is conducted.  Really, no one knew this?  I threw down the gauntlet to the Widileaky guy already and he has ignored me.  Well what can I do?  It seems that the guy has never, ever worked for a living. 

What he is ‘divulging’ is basically how every business is run, closed door session or not.  So, am I surprised that Hilary is a shrew?  No, not really.  We all knew this.  But if anyone had a modicum of intelligence they read between the lines and know that when an unbalanced state procures nuclear technology everyone had better hide.  Ask the neighbors of N. Korea that. 

Anyway, he set out a load of stuff (read s. h. i….) and well, someone besides the newspaper gang has got to read it.  This will put me in a very select group of individuals…, those who actually read the Wikileaky stuff.  I think the number is up to about ten or so…, worldwide.

Yes I’m a junkie and now I just gotta go check in and read the Leaky Wikis. 

So again, I will just leave you with a page or two of the first book I wrote a few years back.  It is not yet published, but let me know what you think.

The title of the book (this can change) is ‘Getting Even… Almost’ and I’ve pasted in the first few pages Chapter 9.   Remember I pasted a few pages from the first chapter way back in early November.

Have fun.

Saverio

All I want for breakfast is a proper cup of coffee.

Inside the Rubicon on a kitchen countertop a drip-coffee pot, improperly assembled for the morning task, was gamely trying to fulfill its mission.  Francesco, dressed in his bunny slippers and robe, was in dire need of caffeine, but the machine was working too damn slow this morning for his liking.  He had crouched low so that his face was directly in front of the pot itself and watched as a steady but slow stream of light brown liquid dripped, one drop after another, into the waiting pot but the the pre-warmed mug in his hand was already starting to cool off and his back, well that had begun to ache.  He was not happy, and as the heated liquid continued to slowly find its way through the filter into the waiting pot, Francesco descended into morning purgatory, neither fully awake nor asleep.  For an unknown reason he began to hum a song that he hated, but couldn’t get out of his head.

“All I want is a proper cup of coffee, made in a proper copper coffee pot.

I may be off my dot, but I want a …”

“Enough of this shit” he muttered and straightened up.  As he did so, several out-of-alignment vertebrae in his lower back cracked and with nothing to do but wait, Francesco paced up and down the tiled floor.  He occasionally traced a loop around the island counter for variation while the aroma of the coffee that was not yet ready agitated the hell out of him. 

“We have to get a new one of these things.  This one’s too damn slow,” he said as he walked once again to the window and back while looking at his slippers. 

As he circumnavigated the kitchen to keep his mind off his immediate need, Francesco catalogued all of the additions, one by one.  The windows, tile floor, cabinets, countertops, fresh paint, baseboards, trim, refrigerator (not that theirs needed replacing, but he figured a bigger unit would be handy for the business.  After all, a bigger unit is always better, especially when it comes time to brag) and soon maybe the coffee maker.  In rhythm to the cataloging, he practiced deep breathing exercises trying to stay calm.  Unfortunately for Francesco, he was fighting a losing battle, for there was merely one week until the first guests arrived.  Consequently, his insides had really been turning over of late.  “Why the hell did I ever invite those people?  I hate them all, or at least the ones I know!”  His slippers refused to comment. 

The whole house had needed major repairs and they started with the kitchen.  He remembered what a chore it had been getting all the workmen lined up- the plumber, electrician, inspectors and carpenters.  Francesco had had the whole plan in his head and while difficult to explain to others, he thought he’d succeeded laying out the big picture for Rachel.  The strokes of the paintbrush had been layered onto the canvas and then, as a magnanimous gesture of collaboration and teamwork, he stepped aside to let her handle the details.  He was the thinker and she was operations.  It worked well for him that way.  Besides, he needed time to find the extra accoutrements needed to give the business its flair.  There the Internet had been his friend. 

He liked the way the kitchen turned out.  The deep windowsills, in the kitchen and throughout the house were particularly attractive to him.  Here in the kitchen, potted plants occupied the sills.  He moved some of these over and sat for a moment, feeling the sun on his shoulders.  The Mennonites added beautiful cabinetwork that enhanced the incoming light, drawing one’s attention upward, as in a great Cathedral.  They also added built-in shelves and extra cabinets along the wall and in the pantry, which gave the house sufficient storage space, he hoped, for serious entertaining.  The new appliances were set into designated spaces and blended with the counters, giving the room a sense of serenity.  Francesco liked to sit here in the early morning until the sun moved around to the southern face of the house and admire the work.  “If it wasn’t for the need to make a living, I’d be content to sit here and drink coffee all day,” he noted as he rose from the window sill and made his way to the hearth.  Then he added, “that is if I ever get coffee this morning.” 

The original fireplace, with its four-foot hearth, was the centerpiece of the room.  Francesco and Rachel attended many local auctions to find the right iron work for it.  Eventually they found what they were looking for on eBay.  Francesco opened the flue.  Soot fell out, covering his arm and contaminating his coffee mug.  “Damn.”

The property was a dump when they bought it.  “That was why it was so affordable,” Francesco reminded his slippers.  Now, looking back six months, he was pleased with how fast everything came together.  “Did you ever think we’d end up living in Pennsylvania, doing this?”

Francesco tried to remember the exact sequence of events that culminated in their current situation, but that was not easy.  He always assumed a defining event had changed the course of his life, but as he searched for a reason for this moment, each memory linked itself to an earlier event that took him farther and farther back to his earliest childhood.  But that didn’t make sense.  His current condition had to have originated in Canada.  That was when the shit hit the fan.  There was the insomnia, then the stomachaches and then nervousness that kept getting worse and worse until he made the mistake of his life.  He told his supervisor.  All he really wanted were tips on how to manage stress.  When he had asked his boss what the company could do to help him and was told to visit the Human Resources Director.  He did.

“Don’t worry,” says Jim Gaffigan, “there is a bunny.”

Saverio Monachino's writing style has been termed by some as 'Kurt Vonnegut meets Mark Twain'.  Saverio describes it as 'comic fiction noir'. Regardless of the terms used, his attempt is to use humor to open the door to serious discussion about very important human issues.  You can find Saverio Monachino on www.comicfictionnoir.com.