Forbidden Basement

(Forbidden Basement – You are renting a room in someone’s house as you transition to living in a new city. The owner tells you that basement is absolutely, 100% off limits. You don’t bat an eye at this request, until you start hearing noises from the basement at night. After several weeks of this, you sneak downstairs to see what’s going on. Finish the scene.)

My boss had asked my if I was interested in taking a temporary assignment out of town to bring some new staff up to speed. It would be in Richmond, Virginia, probably lasting six months or so. With the project's per diem and having nothing better to do, I said OK. My girlfriend hooked me up with AirBnB and she found me an attractive house in Richmond, not too far away from the university and the job site.

I flew down to Richmond and Uber-ed my way to the house. I met up with Edgar, apparently the owner, and we went over the ground rules. He had to be away for a while but I would have the run of the house, except for the basement. Given the cost of the place and my per diem, I said that would be fine. I might even make some money.

The work was pretty straight-forward. The company had done pretty well recently and hired a bunch of new staff in the shipping group. I was training them. I've done it tons of times, but it takes a while. After a few months or so, however, I realized that my classes weren't running as smoothly as they had. I was distracted; I was tired. I was sleeping poorly. I was waking up in the middle of the night to some sort of weird rhythm. Everyone was learning what they needed, but as the training progressed, I didn't have that pep to present the way I used to have.

One night, right before a double espresso and right after bedtime, I was wide awake. I heard a sound. And it clicked. The sound didn't “click” but it made sense now. When I was trying to go to sleep each night, there was this Thub! Thub!! Thub!!! distracting me, coming from the basement. That was messing up my sleep.

Ping! Now that I knew, I had to explore. Edgar was an excellent host, but still I needed to get into the basement... I heard the sound again.

It was coming from in the basement. This Thub! Thub!! Thub!!! was coming from behind the basement door. And now it was getting Louder! Louder! Louder! I knew this was the distraction. I knew I had to find the source of the thub. I knew, also, I wasn't allowed down in the basement. I knew also, also, that Edgar wasn't home. I turned the knob.

I got to the bottom of the stairs. Now, the noise was deafening. It seemed like it knew I was looking.

Thub! Thub!! Thub!!! It was coming from the main part of the cellar - not in the corner workshop or over by the coal bin. But it was loud. I couldn't quite place it.

Thub! Thub!! Thub!!! I looked around. Under the snow tires. Behind the beer fridge. Near the washer and drier. Nothing. As I looked around, I saw a spot on the ceiling where the sound seemed to be coming from.

Curious, I found a chair in the corner of the basement and dragged in under the thumping under the ceiling. It was getting louder. I got off the chair and went back to the shop area and found a screwdriver.

Louder! Louder! Louder! I went back to the chair and climbed on.

Louder! Louder! Louder! Locating the source of the deafening sound, I pried the ceiling planks down. Years of dust coated my face.

And plop into my hands. There, there, still beating, was the hideous heart.

There’s a note on the windshield of your car

WRITING CHALLENGE #2

There’s a note on the windshield of your car. The note says, “I’ve taken your most prized possession. If you want to see it again, in tact, meet me tonight at baseball field around the corner of the local high school. And bring your glove.” What makes this note so curious is that you’ve never played baseball, though you take no chances because your most prized possession is extremely valuable to you. Write this scene.

“Glove? What glove,” I thought. I haven't had a baseball glove in years. I suck at baseball. My dad gave me a glove when I was little. It fit very nicely on my left hand. Except that I was left handed. Do the math. I never got into baseball after that.

“Glove? What glove,” again I thought.

I had just gotten home from school and was surprised by the note. The Firebird was up on blocks in the driveway and had been forever. A work in progress, much to my parents' dismay. Still, I checked “my oldest baby” every time I walked up the driveway coming home from school.

But as I walked up the drive, I noticed something different. It was quiet. I wasn't welcomed home the way I usually was. I didn't mind not getting the bruises, but I did miss the routine. Then it hit me that something was wrong. Maybe not wrong, just different. Missing. I went inside.

While I had a sleeve of Oreos and a glass of milk, I tried to remember where I put it. Thinking...

It took a little digging, but I found it. I had put it in the “special” box where I kept my complete set of baseball cards, my soccer team letter, and my old retainer. It was still in the zip-lock bag I found it in.

I put it in my knapsack and walked over to the high school. It was late. It was dark. I was a little nervous. But I determined to get this done.

Not surprisingly, the parking lot is relatively empty at this time of night. Not totally, empty. Maybe the Travel Team hasn't come back yet. Anyway, I find a spot under one of the parking lot lights and wait. And wait. I had my iPhone with me so I know it was 17 minutes later when a black Cadillac limousine pulls into the lot. Over by the edge, in the shadows.

After a short time, the driver's side door opens and a large man gets out. He looks at me and says, “Jeremy, would you come over here? We would like to see you.”

“I'm sorry. Wait. We would like to see me?” I gulp and say to myself. There was no response from myself.
I
got up off the ground under the street light and slowly walk towards the black car. I could hear the sirens and whistles and soundtrack music in my head. This was not good, Mav. But still...

When I get near the car, the passenger's door opens and a well-dressed gentleman gets out. Well dressed but more ostentatious than I would expect. An electric fan blowing his hair from inside the car. A sequined fedora. Shiny Suit. With a strange but smooth gait, he moves backwards to the trunk of his car.

Taking his hat off and spinning around, he then snaps his fingers and the trunk of the car opens. Slowly. We both choke and cough a little on the dry ice fog.

“Do you have it?” he asks.

“Yes,” I reply. “I only have the right one, though.”

“Yes, I know,” he sighed. “That's the one I want.”

I took off my backpack and reached into the big pocket in the back. I pulled out the ziplock bag and handed it to him.

Opening the bag, he removed the sequined glove. He slipped it on his right hand and it fit perfectly. As I expected it would.

Michael smiled at me.

Very carefully, he and his driver reached into the trunk and removed my emu. As they placed him on the ground, the driver handed me the leash.

We watched Michael and the driver get back in the car and drive off.

The emu and I looked at each other and I think we both thought “We still have the left glove.”

freshman/sophomore dance

Eliz off to the dance tonight with Ben. It's a freshman/sophomore dance; Ben is a friend of Chas. Nice guy - "Hi Mr. Purdy. Nice to meet you." We like that. E looked fabulous. Probably 50 students staging at the friend's house before the dance. And 50 parents.

AN IMPOVERISHED CHEF REPLIES TO A COOKING MAGAZINE QUESTION

Grab the book, magazine, or newspaper nearest you and open up to a random page. Start your story with the first line at the top of the page and end your story with the last line at the bottom of the page.

[http://www.writersdigest.com/prompts/from-random-page-to-story]

My source: The Pasta Machine Cookbook (Donna Rathmell German, 2005, pg. 18)

AN IMPOVERISHED CHEF REPLIES TO A COOKING MAGAZINE QUESTION:

Well, I use a mortar and pestle, but they could also be crushed in a zip lock bag with a rolling pin.

The biggest problem, I found, was to get them to hold still long enough to catch them. Well, once you turn the lights on. Then it's a mad scramble. You're running around the kitchen with the bucket or coffee cup or even a shoe, if that's all you have (I've seen it done).

At the same time, though, they are scampering to and fro. Quick little buggers. Trying to get back under the refrigerator or behind the cabinets or under the sink. They are usually successful. The key to your success is to anticipate their escape and block it off. Sometimes you can funnel them to where you want them using newspapers or hockey sticks or laundry. Every now and then you get lucky. A dust pan makes a good transport vehicle

I keep them in a Tupperware container with a couple of holes poked in the top. (I keep it separate from my other Tupperware.) For a good batch, I try to get a large handful. I typically eyeball it because the squirming in your hand takes some time to get used to. And you don't want to lose any. I've also found that while the bigger ones have more “chew,” the little ones are sweeter. I would recommend a 50:50 mix. Though, you can always adjust for your preferences. Don't keep them for more than a week or so.

So, the worst part is this next one. Unlike lobsters, the best meat is not in the legs. In fact, I'm not sure there is any meat in the legs. Truth be told though, the legs need to be removed. Take a swig, take a deep breath and get to it. Ugh, I don't like it either but it goes pretty quickly.

Now you have to homogenize them. If you are using the mortal and pestle, you'll need to give them a little “bop” or they will crawl out. This isn't an issue with the ziplock bags because you can ziplock the bag. Take another swig and get to work.

So once they in a nice, fine paste (whether mortar/pestled or ziplock/rolling-pinned), you can add the rest of the ingredients.

Ideally, you'd use semolina flour, to be authentic, but all-purpose will do. Mix it in thoroughly - probably 50:50, until you have a nice dough. Add a little salt (there will be salt in the water so don't overdo it) and some pepper. You don't need eggs because you have the binder already.

Let the dough rest under a damp towel for 30 minutes. Then roll it out, or use your machine, to get the desired thickness. I prefer a fettuccine style (with an Alfredo sauce), but it's up to you. Tagliatelle would also be good. Fusilli and farfalle are probably not worth the effort.

For cooking, the water should already be at a rolling boil and well-salted (like seawater). I don't subscribe to the “oil in the pasta water” school. Cook until al dente.

Like any project, the proper equipment is the key. If you don't have one, you can probably borrow a mortar and pestle from your neighbor. Get ziplock bags at any grocery store.

There are pots available at kitchen shops or department stores that are designed specifically for pasta cooking.

The 2015 Oscars

I didn't see any of the movies up for Best Pictures. But I might have seen these:

AMERICAN SNIPER/Snipe Hunter (the military's best sharpshooter futilely tries to take out every summer camper's nemesis)

BIRDMAN/of Alcatraz (an aging superhero actor tries to regain his former glory but ends up in jail on an island in San Francisco Bay)

BOYHOOD/Hoodsie (Twelve years in the telling, a divorced father lets his son have ice cream treats although his ex-wife does not)

THE GRAND BUDAPEST HOTEL/Motel 6 (a charmingly quirky story about inexpensive European travel lodging where they leave the light on, but it  runs on 220V and needs a adapter plug)

THE IMITATION GAME/Meat (Set during WWII, a brilliant, closeted homosexual food enthusiast and his team solve the enigmatic riddle that is Spam)

SELMA/Hayek (an inspirational story focusing on America's cultural and civil rights groundswell supporting the E! Network)

THE THEORY OF EVERYTHING/Some Things (a pretty smart guy develops a peanut allergy and figures how to scam airlines into getting better snacks from First Class)

WHIPLASH/It Good (A promising young drummer enrolls at a new wave music conservatory where his dreams are shattered because it's all Roland 808s now and he has to wear goofy hats)

Seen but not nominated:
CITIZENFOUR/Fore (a golf reporter receives encrypted emails concerning what's really up with Tiger Woods)

RE: Comcast vs. Winter

So I get an email from Comcast this morning, confirming my requested changes. It'll only cost me $180.
Problem is, I didn't request any changes.
I called Comcast and spoke with Larry.
My first car was named Larry. I adored Larry. I took him through three girlfriends, two jobs, and a cross-country road trip. Then I totaled him...
Actually he was very nice.
What he did do was cancel that charge, add 65 channels to my service and cut my bill by $35 per month.
So yes, I went there.
And...it's snowing. Big flakes this time.
XOXOXO!!