Posts tagged ‘concoctions’

How is the new so

Another DP challenge:

Click over to your favorite blog, and pick out the 4th and 14th words (that aren’t “the” or “an”). Drop them into this phrase:

“_____ is the new _____.”

There’s your post title. Now write!

I had  open, and I picked up ‘How’ and ‘so’. So the post’s new working title was ‘How is the new so’. Which doesn’t make a lot of sense.  So in an attempt to inject some sense, I came up with the following post.


“How is the new so-fa?”


“Deep like the sea?”

“Deeper. It’s a black hole, only very visible. Keep things at your own risk. They go in, and never come out. Only yesterday we lost the TV remote, Sue’s tiny clutch doll, Miriam’s penny purse and Jake’s plastic horse figure. And that was its 2nd day in the house.”

“Hahahaha. Well, what happened next?”

“You can’t imagine. Miriam started bawling because her pennies were in the purse. Jake acted all heroic and jumped up on the sofa to punch it and make it return his horse. He also told Miriam not to worry and he would tell his horse to pick up the purse on its way out.”

“And Sue?”

“And Sue being ever practical, watched her siblings and lay down on the sofa. And before we realized it, she fed her arm to the sofa, right upto the shoulder. And then came out clutching her doll, hair mussed up for being in such an adventure.”

“Sure is an adventure. What happened to the TV remote? Did she get that too?”

“No, we told her to leave it in. Now whoever cries about not getting to watch their favourite show gets to walk down to the TV and switch the channels.”

The Glass

Daily Prompt: Is the glass half-full, or half-empty?

2 beers. Comin’ right up.

Pour, slosh, tap tap drip. Some beer ends up on the polished and drunk wood. Hell, with the amount of alcohol it imbibes in one night, it wouldn’t be allowed to be in the passenger seat even.

Sip, glug, drink drink drink. Wait, the beer is now at that mark. Half. Now let the debate start.


Half empty fellas. I could use some more. Pour. See? It took in more, it was half empty.

Half full, I say. I am still drinkin’ outta it. Ain’t I? Couldna do that if it was empty.

Half empty Jed, half empty.

Yea, is the same. Empty by full or empty by half, I’ll have none of it. It has beer enough for me to drink, so half full it is.

And so the debate goes on into the night.

All right guys, I gotta close up now. Can’t have y’all sitting here thru’ the night, the missus will have ma head.

Everyone filters out.


Wipe glasses clean, upend them on shelves. Switch off the lights and close shop.

“Y’know, I never got that debate.”

“Aah, not you too!”

“Well why not, they are talking about us anyway.”

“You figure? It’s life, idiot. They talk about life.”

“I know. And I prefer empty, the day’s end, rest. Not the constant wet wet work. We have a life too, y’know.”


“Life has passed you by”, he said.

“What?? When? Do you mean now? How is that so?”, she said.

“When you were asking all the questions.”, he said.

Inspired by Rick Mallery’s power shorts.

The family picture

Written for the daily post challenge ( . A bit longish.

I always end up writing for it after the week’s ended. Oh well, it was fun anyway.



I remember that day with brilliant clarity. Like people remember what they were doing on the day of John F Kennedy’s murder.

There was nothing in the day itself to say how it would turn out. An uncertain sort of day it was, would lend itself to either happiness or drudgery it seemed without being too choosy about it. Bright and sunshiny it was that time, the sort that made people want to sit in the shade and sip cool drinks and do nothing else. Not for me, however. I was up and about, wanting to make the most of the sun and soak it up in my bones before the snow started.

 I was walking around to the next block but one, and there they were. Getting ready for the shot. Their first time, I thought. Heck, no one in that area ever invited the picture man over to take a picture. I had only ever seen him set up his equipment far away in the city block for the office type people. These were probably the first family pictures he was taking. I looked at them all dolled up, the little girl as pretty as a princess. She flashed a chubby smile at me most mornings, and asked me nicely how de’do? Her brother, he was the silent one. Never greeted me, or anyone, just stood by as his sister made friends with and charmed the whole world. Took on his dad I think, who mostly had a grunt or a hi for people. His wife; now that lady she passed on her charm to her daughter.

 Today she smiled at me while readying her daughter, while the little miss chattered away on how they were going to ‘make a pikkchur’ and ‘show it to eberybone in sshkool’ and how all her friends ‘aregonna wantto make a pikkchur also and aregonna askme bout my pink dress that nana gimme on krishtmash’.

 Finally the miss was ready. Her dad called her over and she skipped to him, clutched his hand, pulled her little black purse higher with the other, and gave one of those sunny smiles to her mother. The brother looked on impassively for one so young. No joy in him. He was a bit older than the girl, I’d think, but not so much so to be left joyless by the world. The mama stood up and came to my side. When I see’d her, she said the first one was just for them three, and she would go in the next one for a family picture. There is no occasion she says, they were just always wanting to get pictures made and the daddy had finally agreed.

 Well, then what else is there you are wanting to know? The picture man lined them up while the mama stood near me. He ducked behind his machine and called out to smile. Not that he needed to have bothered for who listened? The miss was already smiling, and no amount of ‘Smile Please’ would make the other two do so. Then his light bulb went off with the sound.

 Before he even straightened his posture, there was another flash and a sound like another bulb going off, only much louder. Then there were two more.

Before we could reach them, they were all down. The mama next to me keened very high and crumpled down where she was. The picture man ran for a neighbour, I ran to the little miss. She was still smiling chubbily and her pretty pink dress had a red red spot. Guess the day finally made up its mind not to go well.

 I finally git why the boy was always unhappy, why he stood away from his father in the picture. What I never git was why the daddy excluded the mama, why he wanted her to see and not be part of it. We all guessed a lot after that, but who knows a dead man’s mind?

 And that is why I can never forget that day. I can remember it as clearly as other people remember what they were doing on the day of John Kennedy’s murder.

Wodehouse on the brain

Reading Wodehouse for long continuous stretches results in the following. Beware, it is a very very long post.


A discreet cough announced the reappearance of Jeeves.

B.W.: “Pretty frightful looking coves those, eh Jeeves? They looked all broken over in tweeds and glasses. And sported hefty books. Not quite the fashion.”

J.:”Yes sir.”

I folded a meditative paper. Read more…

The life and death of a chocolate bar

Do you ever wonder about how the chocolate bar comes into existence? Its birth is a revelation for the adorers, the transformation of an obscure bean in some remote forest of the world to a smooth – or chunky, depending on which side you follow – slab of deliciousness in your hands. Bar upon bar of lovely temptingness on the shelves of the supermarket all clamouring aloud to the worshipper within you. You hover, you wait, you pick, you choose. 

You take it home, handling it carefully lest it melt, its virtue fading away without having blessed you. When the need hits you, when you want to turn to a force with the power to wipe out your blues, when you want the world and its dog to drift away into oblivion, you find a quiet corner, unwrap the shiny coverings and bite into the oozy goodness, never mind the sticky fingers and the messy prints on your face – what God after all would not want to leave His trace on you? You see someone coming and you hide; they can pray and do penance on their own time, for this piece of heaven is too personal to share.

And then you return, regularly, unerringly, to the fold of the God you have chosen. Converts made in a day, after all, need more than just a fiery speech. They have to be wooed and wheedled each time.

The naysayers and the nonbelievers will scoff at your imagery.  They see only an edible product going into a whizzing, shining, steel machine and coming out a liquid mess, brown or white or any shade in between, to be molded and shaped and eaten at will.

Let them scoff. If you had a life so short, wouldn’t you want it to be as sweet?


P.S. Inspired by

Thinking about the Bourneville tagline and the Dairy Milk adverts helped this along.