FourLegged

I imagine a couple of game developers, despondent after completely failing to create the Next Big Outdoor Game, sitting around their local pub.

Bill: "I can't believe that Bob's project was such a big success. I mean really, who could have predicted that throwing horseshoes would be an international hit? When my grandfather's horse threw a shoe, Grandpa took him out back of the barn and shot him."

Jerry: "Forget Bob. What we need is an outdoor game that has all the excitement of darts."

Bill: "How about lawn bowling?"

Jerry: "Bowling on grass? It'll never work. Besides, it would be too difficult to keep the pins from falling over."

Bill: "Fine, fine. What about this? What if we took the dart board outside? We could make the darts longer. And hey, if we include some form of delivery system, like a modified slingshot, there would be more equipment to sell."

Jerry: "No. That's just archery. We need something original. I like the bigger dart idea though."

Bill: "Actually I said longer but if you like bigger..."

Jerry: "What did you say?"

Bill: "Oh what? I didn’t say anything. Bigger darts, right."

Jerry: "But if you make the darts bigger, wouldn't they knock the board down?"

Bill: "Right, I didn't think of that. What if we placed the board on the ground to begin with?

Or better yet, Take a few of those samba rings and use them to make targets in the grass."

Jerry: "Samba rings?"

Bill: "Yeah, those plastic rings that kids spin around their waists."

Jerry: "Moron. It's called a hula hoop. And what is your thing with lawns?"

Bill: "Most of Middle America has lawns and if we include the word lawn in the product name, it might sell better."

Jerry: "But wouldn’t it be dangerous? Children and drunken adults throwing large pointy darts in the air sounds like trouble. Kids could put their eyes out, people could skewer their feet, out their pets!"

Jerry: "I don’t care. I’m drunk, it’s late, and besides, it’ll all be fixed in testing."

The rest is history. Several years later, the game is pulled from the shelves.




Unfortunately, no idea truly dies.


A few weeks ago, I found a product and I flashed back to Bill and Jerry in the pub.

Bill: "I can’t believe that we're retiring."

Jerry: "Don’t you normally get a gold watch when you retire instead of these pink slips?"

Bill: "Shut up Jerry."

Jerry: "I’m just saying…"

Bill: "The Board gave us one last chance to save our legacy. We need to come up with a way to make Lawn Darts popular again."

Jerry: "But they’ve been banned. Not just pulled from the shelves. Banned!"

Bill: "We just need to rethink the nature of the game. The targets are safe we just need to make the darts safer."

Jerry: "Do the darts need to be made of metal? How about dense foam?"

Bill: "Foam?

Jerry: "Yeah foam, like those pool toys. Here, I’ll draw you what it would look like."



Bill: "But doesn’t look very heavy. How could you throw it with any accuracy?"

Jerry: "You could weight one end."



Bill: "Ummm… it looks… well…"

Jerry: "And we could add stripes down the sides or better yet, fins!"



Bill: "...

Jerry: "And put a rubber band in its tip so that children can shoot them towards the targets!"



Bill: "Is it getting warm in here?"

Jerry: "What do you think?"

Bill: "Do you want to go back to my place?"

Jerry: "I thought you’d never ask."

Once again the rest is history.

A few weeks ago, I found the product of Bill and Jerry’s endeavors. I kid you not.

There are three basic groups of people who buy the 75% discount holiday cards: the thrifty folk who know a good bargain when they see one; the anal-retentive people who start planning for the next year's holiday season before the Christmas tree lights have been taken down; and then there are those lonely individuals who buy the cards in the hopes that maybe by next year, they will have someone special to share the romance, love, and togetherness that the cards seem to offer. This is about a member of that third little group.

Charlie worked the graveyard-shift at a gas station. His job was to sit in a little bullet-proof glass enclosed booth all night. Most nights dragged by slowly, and Charlie would bring books with him to work. Little pieces of escapist fiction; science-fiction stories of high adventure on distant worlds, mystery novels where the investigator is seduced by sexy femme fatales, or fantasy stories where the princess is saved from the rampaging monster by the dashing hero. Occasionally, when people would roll up in their automobiles and push their money through a slot in the booth, Charlie would activate their car's gas pump, or sell them cigarettes and candy. They would inevitably get back into their cars and roll away, and Charlie would go back to his books. This would go on all night, five (sometimes six) nights a week. After work, just as the sun has crested the horizon, Charlie would go home, after stopping at a fast food restaurant to buy some greasy little "value meal," eat, feed the cat, and go to bed.

When Charlie wasn't working, he would sit at home in front of his computer and pretend to be someone else. On the internet, Charlie was Thordan, a powerful and virile man who exuded charm, charisma, and self-confidence. Charlie was none of these things. He was a sad, nervous little dumpling of a man, who had, on one occasion, actually vomited on a woman's shoe when she had the poor sense to say hello to him.

This is how Charlie lived his life. He put his head down, went to work, ate, slept, got up, and went to work again. Throughout this soul-grinding cycle, Charlie dreamt of something better. He fantasized about a woman who could take him away from his life of lonely torment: someone who would care about him, someone to love. But Charlie had long since been beaten down by grim reality. Intellectually, he knew that true love and a perfect mate were pipe-dreams created by movie studios and romance novel publishers.

And so Charlie's existence continued in this fashion, day after day, month after month, and year after year. The only time Charlie would openly acknowledge his loneliness was around the holidays. He would start to become depressed around Halloween. "Why does all of this Christmas junk have to come out so early?" By the time Thanksgiving rolled around, Charlie's depression had become a dull throb just behind his sternum. "This holiday music is driving me blinking nuts!" By the time Christmas hit, Charlie's misery and alcohol induced madness had become so overwhelming that he was forced to retreat even further from the world. Charlie would snarl at the happy shiny people wishing him a "Merry Christmas!" He would wince at the sound of bells. He would, upon hearing the canned Christmas music in a store, turn around and walk out.

The one holiday that Charlie actually looked forward to was New Year's Day. New Year's Day was officially the last day of the holiday season. His two months of hell were finished until next year. Not long after, of course, Charlie would be ambushed by the most painful holiday of them all, Valentine's Day. A day designed especially to celebrate your love for your chosen soul mate. That is, of course, unless you were some kind of freak who had no one with whom to celebrate.

One day in June, after a particularly painful Valentine's Day heartbreak, Charlie found himself standing in front of the discount holiday card bin. The front of the bin held a little placard that read: Special! 75% off all holiday cards (in this box only)

Charlie didn't know what drew him to look in that box. Maybe it was the thought of saving money, or possibly it was the idea that he might actually remember to send his parents a card next Christmas. Whatever the reason, Charlie distractedly thumbed through the box.

The cards were cute in a shabby sort of way. Nothing worth sending to anyone… But eventually Charlie found one that struck his interest. It was a simple card, basic but strangely elegant. Charlie imagined himself giving this card to "her" and through that simple act, sweeping her off of her feet. Charlie still didn't know who she was, or when he might meet her, but with this card, he could win her heart.

With feelings of fear mixed with glimmerings of hope, Charlie quietly went to the register and placed the prized card on the counter. The cashier, barely glancing at the card, rang it up and stuck it in a little paper bag. Charlie paid for the card, reverently took the bag from the cashier, and went home.

Once home, Charlie took the card out of the bag, sadly smiled at it, "I'll never find her, but if I do, I'll have this card to give to her," and put it in the bottom drawer of his desk.

Time passes, the card is forgotten, and the cycle continues.

At the request of kimananda, I have compiled a list of 43 things that I would like to do before I die. Some are realistic, some not so, and some seem more that a bit silly.

1. Attend at least one ballgame in every major league baseball ballpark (I've been to Candlestick, Pacific Bell, Oakland Coliseum, and Yankee Stadium)
2. See the Earth from high orbit
3. Have my short stories published in respected science-fiction publications
4. Write a science fiction novel
5. Write a series of mystery novels
6. Host a radio program
7. Follow Phineas Fogg's route around the world
8. Be debt free
9. Be a home owner
10. Have a satisfying career that would allow me to pay my bills and have the flexibility to have a life outside of work
11. Learn to create Flash animation
12. Make an animated movie (and have it viewed at Spike and Mikes Festival)
13. Build and maintain a relevant and somewhat popular website
14. Live unselfconsciously
15. Find someone to share my life with, who would appreciate me as much as I would her
16. Learn yoga
17. Be comfortable in my own skin
18. Have patience with others
19. Learn to meditate
20. Overcome my fears
21. Live in another country for at least one year
22. Learn to fly a helicopter
23. Learn another language
24. Become organized
25. Procrastinate less (I'll do it eventually…)
26. Do something heroic
27. Find time to do something new everyday and do it
28. Find and meet my father's family in France
29. Sail across the Pacific
30. Live in the Louvre for a month
31. Pop Mickey Mouse in the nose
32. Visit the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown
33. Sunbathe on a nude beach
34. Have a lively debate with a world leader
35. Visit every continent, including Antarctica
36. Spend time in a sensory deprivation tank
37. Step foot on the moon and on Mars
38. Explore undiscovered places
39. Do things that, as of this writing, have never even been thought of
40. See kimananda accomplish her life goals
41. Age gracefully
42. Live long enough for a much longer list than this
43. Die with no regrets

I know that he has already been tagged by kimananda, but I'd really like to see what he would list.

When someone creates a weBlog, but before they post for the first time, a message like this one appears. For the newbie Blogger, this message could be pretty daunting and even a little scary. Would anyone read what I will have to say? Will they comment? (Will they make nasty comments?)

With these questions swirling around in my mind, I found that I'd have things to say, but would any of them be worthy of a first post? This line of thought leads to Blogging Performance Anxiety, (also known as BPA.)

I can almost hear the comments now. ("Don't worry, it happens to everyone", "Maybe if you relax for a while, it will be easier", and "Nobody expects perfection your first time.")

A few of days ago, kimananda linked to my unfound Blog. The moment I learned of this, I knew that I couldn't procrastinate a moment further, so I immediately, (give or take three days,) set to work. What sits on your screen is the product of this labor.

To butcher a quote contributed to Confucius, "A Blog of a thousand pages begins with a single post."