Modern W1z4rd5

Two coworkers shared a red-and-white checkered blanket in Franklin Square, enjoying a well-deserved springtime lunch break on the grass.

Like the rest of DC, this small green space baked into the middle of the city had once been a swamp, home to countless gators, birds, and insects. And, like the rest of DC, each of these had found themselves displaced by tourists, buses, and brightly colored food trucks with names like Cap Mac, Dangerously Delicious, and Lily Pad.

It was a definitive improvement.

The coworkers chatted idly between bites, pausing to watch groups of Segway-mounted tourists struggle to keep up with their tour guide like so many scattered ducklings. The trees rustled, and a faint breeze caused the pattern of sunlight and shadows to dance across the ground.

“I’ve got a question for you, Sam,” one of the coworkers said to the other.

“Yeah?” She grinned and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Let’s hear it.”

“What is your reaction to this statement,” he continued, splaying his fingers as though picturing the words floating in the air between them. “Hackers are to the modern world what wizards are to the realm of fantasy. That is, hacking is wizardry — the study of complexities manipulated to create wondrous things that break the rules of what should be possible.”

Sam cocked her head to the side for a moment, pondering the implications.

“I don’t know about that,” she said at last. “But maybe you and I have different definitions of wizards.”

“Well, take Harry Potter wizards, for example,” he replied hastily. “They can cast spells, but only if they have a mind for it. They have to study hard to learn how to do it, but that’s the only limitation to their power. That’s a lot like programming, right?”

Sam shook her head.

“But not everyone who studies magic can do it,” she said. “You have to have an aptitude for magic in the Harry Potter world or it doesn’t work.”

“Ok, fair point,” he nodded absently. “But in our world, anybody could ‘cast a spell’ to ‘conjure up immense wealth’. We’d just call it ‘writing a program’ to ‘hack into a bank account’.”

“Coding viruses doesn’t sound much like casting spells to me,” Sam countered with a smile. “Am I supposed to equate hacking with being able to fly and teleport and summon owls? Laaaaame.”

The man shrugged helplessly.

“Look, I’m not saying our ‘magic’ is better than, like, magic,” he conceded. “I’m just saying that we spend a lot of time dreaming about how much better life would be if we had superpowers. But I think we only like the idea of those things. And I think we only want them if they’re easy. It’s like…I want to be thinner and stronger, but since I don’t want those things enough to spend more time at the gym, do I really want them? Or do I just like the idea of them?”

Sam took another bite of her sandwich, chewing quietly before responding.

“No, I want magic. Real magic,” she said, flicking him a mischievous grin, “Because no amount of hacking is going to let me play a real-life game of quidditch. Figure out a way to code that, and we’ll talk.”

The man laughed, leaning back on both hands and looking up at the swaying tree branches.

“Maybe somebody will,”  he replied, raising his bottle of water to her in a halfhearted salute, “But I’ve gotta admit, you make an excellent point.”

Shooting the Moon

End of Hiatus
It’s been a long time since my last post, which continued the proud tradition of creating completely unreliable predictions about the NCAA tournament. In the months since that time, I have spent my time buried in the world of working for an internet start-up company — with some extra time thrown in to get re-acclimated to the DC climate.

Even still, I regret the lapse of updates, and there’s no better time than the present to put things right.

Moving on.

Today, I was struck by an article going around on Slate.com dealing with the recent death of Neil Armstrong and NASA’s past glory. It’s a fantastic read that goes far beyond the petty controversy alluded to by its title, and it’s worth your time. Seriously.

Fascination
I’ve always loved NASA. As a child, I was enthralled by outer space in a way most kids are absorbed with Tonka trucks, dinosaurs, and Legos. I liked those things too, of course, but I could never learn enough about the solar system to satisfy my curiosity. What were the other planets like? What might lay hidden upon them? Could we ever make the journey there ourselves?

Lots of kids say they want to grow up to be firefighters, police officers, famous athletes, paleontologists, or astronauts. As for me? I wanted to be an astronomer.

I held no illusions about the astronaut thing — I never wanted to visit an unexplored planet on an untested craft in an experimental spacesuit. No, I wanted to visit our neighboring planets only after they’d been safely inhabited with futuristic space stations, and until then I’d be happy to simply read about them and learn what I could from good ol’ terra firma.

Early in high school, I realized several important things that changed my plans completely: First, that astronomers used an enormous amount of physics to do their work, and second, that I was very bad at advanced math. With main strengths skewed toward language, music, and the arts, I resigned myself to learning more about the fascinating universe around us by reading about it, and to leaving the science-y stuff to those who were better equipped to make discoveries.

My parents, both of whom are chemical engineers, weren’t super thrilled about my decision to tackle journalism as a trade, but hey — you’ve got to play to your strengths, and even they had to admit I wasn’t likely to figure out how light bent by a distant black hole translated into the presence of clustered heavenly bodies that even our most powerful telescopes can barely discern.

I’ve always been bothered by how little the average person knows about our solar system and its surroundings. There are dozens and dozens of fascinating moons, asteroids, planetoids, and more floating around out there, many of which contain the ingredients necessary for life as we know it — though in their extreme states. It’s an amazing universe out there, for anyone wondering.

What Else Awaits Us?
It’s not that we’ve lost our drive to explore since landing on the moon, either. We continue to pepper Mars with exploratory rovers, and we have satellites actively firing past the known reaches of our galaxy. Any day now, we expect to complete the first truly intergalactic transmission thanks to these latter explorers. Big things continue to happen, even as NASA hemorrhages funding and people lose their patience for projects measured in years instead of hours.

These achievements would be very inspiring, if only people could parse the daily chatter about inane celebrity antics and political bluster to hear about it.

I still think we’ll reach Mars someday, perhaps even in my lifetime. In doing so, I hope we can renew our tenacity toward expanding into the unknown, in peeling back the void.

We can be so much more than the bickering squabble media outlets would have you believe is the best humanity has to offer. The question is: Will we?

There and Back Again

Over the last 6 months, I have driven from coast to coast and back again in my trusty 2003 Ford Focus. After 6000 miles on the road, I now find myself safely back where I began: Washington, DC.

Since I puttered across the southern reaches of America my first time across, hitting New Orleans and Flagstaff en route to Los Angeles, I thought it might be fun to try out the northern passage on the way back. My desire to avoid spending another thousand miles staring at the same desert sands a second time was such that I forgot what the alternative entailed: crossing the Rocky Mountains in late October.

Living (even briefly) in Hollywood, it’s easy to forget most of the country enjoys a new season every three months or so. While temperatures change in LA, they do so based on daily timeframes rather than monthly patterns — you need a jacket in the morning and at night, but during the day, shorts will suffice.

Given this background, when I packed what would become my mobile home for the foreseeable future, I didn’t give a second thought to the complete absence of long-sleeved clothing or a decent ice scraper among my possessions. My mind moved instead toward other details, such as the proximity of the trip to Halloween and how little I wanted to spend my favorite holiday cramped up in a coupé.

I would come to regret this lack of vision.

Day 1: Rules of the Road
CD Selection: The entire soundtrack from Wicked four times in a row

The first leg of the journey began in the early afternoon and took me out of California, through Las Vegas, and well into Utah before I had to stop for the night. The air had already become more chilly than I was comfortable with, and as I puffed increasingly visible breathes into the air at each gas station I encountered, it became clear that things were only going to get worse.

Day 2: Headin’ Down the Highway
CD Selection: The Divine Comedy audio book (Inferno and part of Purgatorio completed)

I set out from Utah refreshed and ready to tackle the mountain roads to Denver, a simple quest which became a daunting challenge as the roads became progressively paved with ice and snow. On the plus side, Utah (and, later, Colorado) proved surprisingly scenic, and I stopped many times to admire the mountains, valleys, and hills that dotted the landscape. I judge without hesitation that it surpassed Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas in rugged beauty, and I could almost see the settlers of old pushing westward along these very paths in their pixelated wagons.

Dressed as I was in the warmest thing I owned — a leather jacket typically worn only while driving my motorcycle — I alternated between feeling like a complete idiot and a total stud every time I got out of my car to take in the sights or refuel. Still I pressed on, knowing my salvation would be at hand once I reached Denver; Laura would be waiting there to aid me for the remainder of the journey.

It was nearly midnight when my trusty steed rattled into the Mile-High City, but the way became far less harrowing once city limits were reached. Laura was added to the party without further incident, and with the 40% of the trip completed for me (0% for her), we drifted off to sleep.

Day 3: Caped Crusaders
CD Selection: The contents of Laura’s iPod in alphabetical order by Song Title (it died around the M’s), then random CDs

In the morning, I woke to find that Laura had provided costumes for our journey — a Raphael costume for me, and a Supergirl costume for her — along with brimming bags of candy. The justification? She knew how much I loathed missing Halloween for the trip, so she decided we could bring it with us.

I donned my costume and assumed that would be the extent of things, but upon entering the car I found that the interior had been strewn with orange, pumpkin-themed garland, glow-in-the-dark bats, stuffed animals in costumed regalia, and plastic spiders.

“Laura,” I said, somewhere between amusement and confusion, “Thanks… I… Um… There’s no way we can drive like this. This is the girliest thing you’ve ever done.”

She smiled mischievously. “I know. We can take it down if you want, but I want you to recognize that the girliest thing I’ve ever done for you involves spiders.”

In the end, the garland had to go, but the bats and spiders were strategically placed throughout the car for maximum exposure and continued to plow (at times, literally) through Colorado, Kansas, and Missouri.

We stopped for gas in rural Kansas around noon, despite the fact that the only food option listed on the exit signs was “Arthur’s Pizza & Mexican Food”. We wrinkled our noses, deciding that while lunch could wait, we did need to feed the Focus. We met a man parked at the gas station pump across from us who was doing his best to muffle the ceaseless wailing of his child, still within the vehicle. He turned an appraising eye toward us as we approached (in full costume, naturally).

“You want a baby?” the man asked hopefully, thumbing toward his van.

We gave him our unanimous response (“NO.”), and asked for a recommendation for local fare.

“Well, there’s a McDonald’s twenty miles that way,” he said, motioning toward the freeway. “Or, you could go to Arthur’s Pizza & Mexican Food down yonder. It’s pretty good.”

“Most places can’t do both of those things,” I chuckled. “Which do you recommend?”

“Oh, the pizza,” the man grinned. “Yeah, just pretend they only serve pizza.”

Arthur’s ended up being quite pleasant, and the rest of the day was spent counting the billboards declaring Jesus’s love and stealing each other’s hypothetical cows.

Day 4: Into the Maw
CD Selection: The contents of Laura’s iPod in alphabetical order by Song Title (it died around the T’s), then blissful silence

We left our hotel in Columbia, Missouri, with the goal of making it to Laura’s brother’s place in Columbus, OH, by dinnertime. Imagine my surprise when we managed to do just that without incident or delay! After enjoying a delicious home-cooked meal, we spent the evening wandering the cold city streets looking for people besides ourselves who had deigned dress up on the Saturday before Halloween.

“I don’t understand it,” Laura’s brother kept repeating as we searched for signs of life. “These streets were packed last night. PACKED.”

We did eventually find a costume-friendly bar, and while the experience was low key, it was also quite enjoyable. We explored parts of Columbia’s most haunted neighborhood by foot, and in the end we ran uphill toward home in an impromptu race while singing the theme from Rocky.

It was a good night.

Day 5: Homeward Bound
CD Selection: The rest of Laura’s iPod, then Jon Stewart’s Earth: The Audiobook

The final leg of our journey was from Columbus to DC, and we kicked off in high spirits despite the omnipresent chill (warmed, in part, by a hearty breakfast and tempered by delicious ice cream) and the fact that we were now wearing the same costumes for the third consecutive day. Traffic was kind, as far as I can recall, because everything from the final day blurs together in my memory under the categories of “nearly there” and “Jon Stewart is hilarious”. Suffice it to say that we arrived in DC safe, tired, and hungry — and happy to finally be home.

If you’ve never driven across the United States before, take my advice: DO IT. But don’t do it alone; you’ll want a friend to share the magic, the joy, the sights, the sounds, and (most importantly) the driving with. There’s always magic tucked along the nooks and crannies along the road — check ’em out for yourself.

The Hollywood Chick-fil-A

Crowded lines overflowing into the streets during a promotional event or other media blitz are a common sight in Los Angeles, and today found Aaron and Ivan caught up in the rush. Each wore a huge smile and were overjoyed to be part of the madness associated with Opening Day at Hollywood’s first Chick-fil-A.

Aaron, who grew up in eastern North Carolina, had always known the wonder of a Chick-fil-A sandwich. The beauty lies in its simplicity, and while he generally preferred the fare of his local Bojangles there were times when all he wanted was the basic, delicious chicken with waffle fries that Chick-fil-A never failed to deliver.

Communities lacking a Chick-fil-A are stuck with the second-rate clone known as McDonald’s Southern Style Chicken Sandwich, which only avoided being called the McChick-fil-A due to the insistence of lawyers. But I digress.

Judging by their reaction, Los Angeles locals consider Chick-fil-A to be a rare and beautiful thing, and to make things more exciting the day’s festivities happened to occur on September 22. This meant two very important things: first, that Aaron could consider the entire restaurant an elaborate birthday present, and second, that his birthday dinner was going to be extremely inexpensive.

The two were not so foolish as to be among the early morning crowd, where people had camped out in the parking lot for a shot at being one of the first hundred customers and thus earning a year of free food. Instead, they waited until late in the evening, after the sun had set but before the bars and clubs let out, for a shot at long-awaited chickeny goodness.

This strategy did little to mitigate the crowds, as people of all ages were already lined up at the bustling business when they arrived. Since it lacked an indoor dining space, three distinct lines had formed which snaked through the outdoor picnic area to weave a tangled mass of people between the adjoining sidewalk and the parking lot.

Everyone was talking, laughing, and smiling as employees scurried around handing out coupons, shaking hands, and greeting customers. Two of the Eat Mor Chikin cows were also in attendance, taking pictures with elated patrons, dancing maniacally, and gently hugging nearby children.

“I wonder if that’s a guy or a girl in those costumes,” Ivan said, idly scratching his elbow while waiting in line.

Aaron shrugged. “Girls, I’d guess. The job is to hug people and be nice to kids. Guys are less likely to want to do those things.”

“Yeah,” Ivan nodded. “Probably. Hey, cow?!”

The nearest cow turned its comically-large head toward the pair and waved.

“You know your friend over there?” Ivan asked, pointing toward another mascot.

The cow nodded.

“Do you like them very much?”

The cow glanced at their partner, then back at Ivan, and shrugged.

“Well, I’ll give you $10 to go fight them.”

The cow put its hands on its hips and shook its head firmly.

“$20?”

The cow paused, pondering the offer, before heaving a deep breath and shaking its head.

“Well, thanks anyway,” Ivan grinned. He turned to Aaron with a shrug. “I just wanted dinner and a show! Plus, if it was a guy, he would have totally taken me up on that.”

“There’s plenty of spectacle already without resorting to battle cows,” Aaron said. “Besides…”

He was cut off by an abrupt crackle of static, which was followed by a loud, cheerful voice booming, “JULIE, step up to the window and claim your prize! JULIE! Step right up!”

The announcement had come from the pick-up window, and an excited woman bounded over to it before walking away with an armload of food, squealing.

“There’s a raffle?!” a girl standing behind them asked. “How can we sign up for that?!”

“I think it’s just their way of telling you to pick up your food,” Aaron said, craning his neck to get a better look. “I mean, he’s announced thousands of names today. That’s got to get old quick.”

They waited in silence as the line crept forward, and soon they were standing off to the side listening for the announcer to beckon them forth. An eternity later, the magical phrase was finally uttered: “Aaron, you’ve won a delicious bag of food! That’s right, Aaron, step right up!”

Ivan’s order followed, and as they walked toward the picnic area Ivan tore into his first sandwich and took a bite. He had never eaten at a Chick-fil-A before, and this was a big moment for him. He closed his eyes as he chewed, his mouth twisting into a slow, satisfied smile. Looking up, he turned to Aaron and laughed.

“Now that,” he said, “is what a chicken sandwich is supposed to taste like.”

Aaron merely nodded. “That’s why they’re allowed to say that,” he said, pointing at a nearby sign.

“We didn’t invent the chicken. Just the chicken sandwich,” Ivan read aloud, laughing and taking another bite of his food. “You know what? I believe it.”

Futurama: A Look Behind the Scenes

He smiled nervously at the parking attendant, placing his driver’s license into the man’s outstretched hand. A few minutes later, the card was returned along with two thick squares of paper.

“Here’s your visitor’s pass, plus one for your vehicle. Welcome to FOX!”

Aaron drove carefully through the crowded parking garage and checked his watch; he didn’t want to be late. The Galaxy Lot was an enormous facility which housed the vehicles of all current visitors to the FOX studio headquarters as well as those of many staff members. Row after row of spaces marked RESERVED ticked by, and it wasn’t until reaching the bowels of the structure that an open space was finally procured.

He hurried out of the garage and followed the omnipresent signs through the twisted labyrinth of buildings which encompassed the Lot. Elaborate topiary masterpieces depicting penguins, elephants, and other improbable creatures dotted the landscape, standing in stark contrast to the roadways which were cluttered with vehicles and plywood. While there were plenty of pathways and sidewalks, it was difficult to distinguish them from the clusters of divergent trails leading off to dead ends or secret alleyways. Even with the help of his maps, Aaron was convinced he was going to wrong way until he saw a bright orange sign taped to a dowel.

FUTURAMA TABLE READ –>

Perfect! he thought, hurrying in the indicated direction. The arrows pointed directly down a long alley which was lined on either side with half-constructed sets, studio buildings, and moving trucks. Parking spaces had been carved into the edges wherever they would fit, all of them marked RESERVED. Men and women in matching uniforms were hauling equipment to and from the trucks, but none bothered him as he walked purposefully through the crowded carnage toward his destination.

He finally found the appropriate building, marked with another orange sign for clarity, and walked in. Several dozen people were milling around a breakfast bar, filling plates with chicken, donuts, fruit, and eggs while chatting about various industry happenings. A man walked up and handed Aaron a clipboard.

“Fill this out,” he smiled. “Have you done this before?”

Aaron shook his head, skimming the legal document and scribbling his name and date in the appropriate spaces.

“Well, you’re gonna love it!” the man said, still beaming unnaturally as he collected the clipboard and handed Aaron a thick packet of paper. “Here’s today’s script. Help yourself to the food and drinks, and take a seat somewhere in the adjoining room whenever you’re ready.”

“Should I…” Aaron began, but the man had already moved on to brandish his clipboard at another visitor.

He filled his plate with fruit and wandered into the other room, where he stopped cold. There was a large conference table dominating most of the space, while rows of couches lined every wall. Name plates were affixed to the table in varying colors, designating where different members of the staff would sit, but the outer rim seemed like fair game. Aaron found a seat away from the crowd – everyone else seemed to know people there – and quietly picked at his food.

Come on, Jake, he thought. Where are you?

Aaron had the privilege of attending this table read due to the kind invitation of a friend from college who now works on the show, and it was just beginning to occur to him that he wasn’t sure Jake was actually going to be coming. He finished his plate, and was just contemplating a refill when a familiar voice startled him.

“Good! You made it!”

Aaron glanced up at Jake and laughed, “I could say the same for you!”

“Come on, we’re sitting over there – better view of the cast.”

Twenty minutes ticked by as guests situated themselves around the room’s borders while the cast, writers, animators, and other dignitaries trickled in and took their seats one by one at the table. Eventually, a larger man seated at the center stood up and cupped his hands to his mouth like a megaphone.

“Alllllllright! Let’s get started!”

The room immediately went silent, and all eyes swooped toward the speaker: Matt Groening.

“Thank you all for coming today,” he said, obviously pleased. “I’d like to thank the Century 21 staff for the amazing breakfast.”

He paused as the room filled with applause, then cleared his throat. “And I’d like to welcome the writer of today’s script, a legend of our time, David X. Cohen!”

A smaller man with round glasses seated directly across from Matt stood up and waved before taking his seat again.

“I have only one announcement of my own to make,” David said, grinning. “And it’s THIS!”

Reaching under the table, David pulled forth the Emmy for Outstanding Animated Program they had just been awarded. The room dissolved into thunderous applause, which only quieted somewhat after David tucked the award back into its secret compartment under the table.

“Good work on that, everyone,” David continued. “I also wanted to recognize our very own Maurice LaMarche for the Emmy he received for Outstanding Voice-Over Performance.”

Applause once more filled the chamber, and a large man seated on the cast’s side of the table stood up and grinned.

“Like I said in my speech before, that award is for every single one of us…”

The rest of his sentence was drowned out by the other cast members, who interrupted with a chorus of “Yeah, yeah!” and “Brown noser!” using voices from the show. Maurice shrugged and sat back down, still grinning broadly.

“Now then, let’s get started,” David said, holding up his script packet. “At the risk of being accused of nepotism, I must disclose that today’s script was written entirely by my wife’s husband.” He paused just a beat for the snickers to die down, then flipped the packet open to the first page. “Act One…”

The process for a table read is remarkably straight-forward; if you’ve been to an English class, you’ve probably experienced something quite similar. A narrator reads all of the script, including stage directions, while various voice actors fill in the dialogue as it comes up. None of the readers had seen the script before, so the run-through had quite a few hilarious bumps and charming missteps.

While I cannot actually discuss the content of the script, I will say that John DiMaggio (Bender) was rendered helpless with laughter during one of his scenes, and kept repeating “A new low…a new low for Bender…” while fighting for breath and banging a fist upon the table. It was a good episode.

The room rapidly emptied after the table read ended. Visitors were allowed to keep the cover sheet of the script, but the actual packet had to be returned to the cheerful man with the clipboard who provided it earlier. A few of Jake’s other guests were going to visit the Futurama office, and Aaron decided to tag along to see a little more of the magic for himself.

They took a brief tour of the trailer which housed the writing and editing operations for the show and learned a few neat facts (the animation process takes 2-4 months per episode, voices are recorded at least 3 different times, and episodes on FOX are longer than ones on Comedy Central, for example) but one of the most interesting things there had nothing to do with animation. Two of the staff members had, over the course of many lunch breaks, constructed a 3D printer which could carve anything you told it to out of plastic. Of course, the process of “telling it” to carve something involved creating a complicated program for the printer, so its current library was limited to making small whistles. Still, if you don’t think it’s impressive to watch an ordinary desktop printer physically fabricate an object for you, I don’t think you appreciate good things.

All too soon, Aaron found himself driving out of the Galaxy Lot and heading for home. He smiled as he hummed the Futurama theme song and glanced down at the script’s cover sheet, now signed by Matt and David. Thanks again, Jake, he grinned. That was a pretty cool birthday present.

I’m No Doctor, But I Play One on TV

Saturday morning dawned bright and sunny, resplendent with a flawlessly blue sky which showcased the iconic Hollywood sign clearly above their grassy field.

The area was ostensibly reserved for dogs and their owners, a point hammered home by the large “No Futbol” signs scattered throughout the park among the picnic tables and trees. Since no other sports were barred, each week two dozen young adults gathered for a game or ten of pick-up disc-slinging.

“Throw it here! I’m open!” a white-shirted man yelled, hurtling down the field as quickly as possible.

The two men in dark jerseys shadowing him made his claim a dubious one, but his teammate sized the shot up anyway. He was called Snatch, and he’d earned this title by having the stickiest fingers to ever hold a disc; the man was worth the benefit of the doubt.

Will, playing for the dark team, watched helplessly from the center of the field as the handler made an optimistic long-shot toward the endzone.

“HAMMER!” he screamed, as if the sonic reverberations from his voice could somehow disrupt the flying disc.

The world moved in slow motion as Snatch wove a delicate tapestry of evasive maneuvers around his double-team, leaping into the air and extending his arms fully to trap the Frisbee mere moments before it struck the ground. The two men covering him looked at each other and shrugged; there was nothing more they could have done.

Another point for white.

As the dark team jogged back toward the far end of the field, a crowd began to gather in the middle. After a brief commotion, Elya emerged carrying Nay cradled in his arms. He walked over to one of the shaded picnic areas and laid her on the wooden table, stepping aside as the various players currently out of the game huddled over to see what they could do to help.

“It’s fine, I’m fine, everything’s fine!” Nay said, grabbing a handful of duffel bags at random and propping one of her legs onto the mound to elevate her rapidly-swelling ankle.

Elya nodded and returned to the field, where the others were waiting to continue the game.

“Don’t you think it’s weird that your boyfriend didn’t carry you off the field, or even bother to come check on you?” someone asked.

Nay laughed, shaking her head. “Elya was closer, and there’s nothing Dev could have done to help. He’s no doctor, and there’s the game to finish. Plus, he needs to avenge me!”

The group broke into a nervous cuckle, releasing some of the built-up tension as people walked up to poke and prod at the damaged joint while nodding thoughtfully and offering helpful advice such as “Wow, it’s really swollen!” and “Does this hurt?”. The closest thing on the field to a doctor was a former medical journalist and a current personal trainer, neither of whom had any idea what to do next, and it was soon decided that a wait-and-see approach would be best for this situation.

The gorgeous morning faded into a beautiful afternoon, and after a couple more hours the battered, exhausted group called it a day.

“It always sucks when something like that happens,” Aaron said to Will as they headed to their car, glancing over to where Dev was helping Nay carefully hobble to their own nearby vehicle.

Will nodded and unlocked the doors. “Yeah, but it’ll be ok. Nay’s tough, and Dev’ll take care of her.”

“Some of the guys were giving him crap for not hurrying off the field immediately to fawn over her,” Aaron said. He frowned, unscrewing the cap to his water bottle absently. “I’m not sure what I think about that.”

“I noticed that too, but Nay knows Dev cares. Elya was closer and willing to help, and thus Nay didn’t need Dev to leave the game and become another member of the fake doctor swarm assaulting her on the sidelines.”

Aaron laughed, shaking his head at the memory. “Why do people do that, anyway? It can’t possibly help. Doctors might figure out exactly what’s wrong, but if you or I do it we’re not actually troubleshooting for solutions – we’re just causing pain.”

“Why do people do anything?” Will grinned. “It makes them feel good. In this case, it makes them feel like they’re helping.”

“I don’t often say this, Will,” Aaron said, pausing to take a swig of water and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “But you’re probably right.”

The Gallon Challenge

“Today we’re doing Staff Sergeants,” Aaron said, stretching an arm back over his head and carefully applying pressure to his elbow.

“Those sound intimidating,” Will frowned, following suit by shaking his arms to loosen them. “What are they?”

“It’s something I learned when I worked for the Marines that should kick your butt.”

The pair were standing in a large, sandy area of Plummer Park, a popular haunt frequented by sunbathers, tennis players, and puppy parents. This section of the park was dotted with pull-up bars of varying heights, monkey bars, and parallel bars, which made it a favorite of unemployed gymnasts, athletes, and others who could ill afford an actual gym membership.

The air was dry and hot without being overly unpleasant, and the sun was shining brightly through a scattered veil of clouds; it was perfect weather for a workout.

Aaron walked over the a small brick wall which separated the sandy workout area from the sidewalk and counted 10 bricks across. Setting his keys on top of the tenth brick, he turned back to Will and cracked his knuckles.

“Ok, here’s how it works,” he said, motioning to the pull-up bars. “You’re going to alternate between pull-ups and push-ups, and you’re going to alternate between a pyramid and an endurance test.”

Will nodded slowly, glancing at the bar with a mixture of confidence and trepidation.

“However many pull-ups you can do in one go is your starting number, minimum 10. Let’s assume you’re starting at 10 for simplicity’s sake. You’ll do 10 pull-ups and 20 push-ups immediately. Then you’ll move the keys down a brick to keep track of the count and wait 30 seconds, after which you’ll do 9 pull-ups and 20 push-ups, then 8 and 20, and so on. Got it?”

“What happens at after the last one?” Will asked, absently pulling an ankle toward his back to stretch the leg. “We’re done?”

Aaron grinned. “Halfway. After you finish 1 and 20, you’ll do 1 and 20 again and work your way back up to 10 and 20.”

“Why do I get the feeling this will be harder than it sounds?”

“If it’s not, you’re doing it wrong,” Aaron laughed. “At the bare minimum, you’re doing 110 pull-ups and 400 push-ups in about 10 minutes. If you start at 15 or so, it gets even higher. Just remember that you don’t necessarily go down to 1; you go down 10 times and then back up 10 times, so starting at 15 means your bottom rung will be 5.”

“Well, what’re we waiting for? Let’s do it!”

As the two began their aggressive workout, they couldn’t help but notice a group of high school kids gathering around the nearby tennis courts with a video camera. It was difficult to see what was happening in the 30 seconds between sets, but it looked for all the world like the group was recording some sort of feat of strength.

“What do you think they’re doing over there?” Will panted, stretching his arms against the brick wall, acutely aware that precious seconds of resting time were rapidly dissolving into nothingness.

Aaron shrugged, wiping sweat out of his eyes and squinting for a better look.

“Two of them have jugs of milk,” he ventured. “Could they be doing the Gallon Challenge?”

“They ARE!” Will exclaimed, laughing. “It’s physically impossible. Let’s finish this up so we can watch them fail!”

For the uninitiated, the Gallon Challenge is as simple as it is daunting: you must drink an entire gallon of whole milk within an hour. You lose if you run out of time or if you fail to keep the milk down during the challenge; popular opinion holds that a human stomach simply cannot contain that much milk all at once, nor can it digest it quickly enough to make the necessary room within an hour.

Still, the stakes are typically on the order of “$20 plus bragging rights”, which is about all it takes to make something popular with teenagers and college students.

From the snippets of conversation heard from their workout arena, they learned there were two challengers in the group, both of whom had about a fifth of their milk to go and less than 10 minutes left on the clock.

The cameraman was doing his best to heckle them into chugging what remained of their beverages, while off to one side a guitarist who had previously been relaxing on a park bench and seemed to have no relation to the group at all had begun to play Eye of the Tiger to set the appropriate mood.

Despite their best efforts, the challengers found themselves with quite a bit of milk left as they entered the final minute. Looking at each other with expressions of terror and resignation, they clanked their jugs together and began a desperate race to the finish line.

At first it looked as if both would succeed, but soon one and then the other sputtered, gasped, and choked on the thick liquid, spitting it out and dropping their containers to the ground.

Failure.

Laughing to themselves and remembering similar attempts their own friends had made in the past, Aaron and Will were caught off-guard when a camera swung into their faces.

“You’ve just witnessed the heroic attempt – and colossal failure – of the Gallon Challenge,” the cameraman announced with excitement. “Care to share your comments?”

“Well, it looks like you your boys were drinking 1%,” Will said, raising an eyebrow toward him.

This was clearly not what the cameraman expected, and his expression did nothing to hide his confusion.

“Um…yeah. So?”

“So it wouldn’t have counted even if they’d done it. The Gallon Challenge requires whole milk.”

The two contenders’ eyes widened as they looked at each other, then at Will, and then down at the remnants of their milk seeping into the grass. One turned to the camera, looking stern.

“Mikey, when you put this on YouTube, I want you to do something for me.”

“Yeah?” the teen asked, looking puzzled. “What do you want me to do?”

“Leave that part out.”

Lord of the Chinese Theater

Darth Vader stood outside a crowded theater, shaking his massive, black-gloved fist impassively at the passers-by.

“See to it those rebels do not escape!” he snarled in a deep voice, stabbing a finger toward a nearby group of people.

The twin stormtroopers flanking the Sith Lord on each side saluted and raised their blaster rifles, marching onward to carry out their new directive. In short order, a small family had been cordoned off and brought trembling before the masked visage of their master.

“Today marks the end of the Alliance,” Vader crowded.

He deftly removed the lightsaber clipped to his utility belt and flipped it on, muscles tensing as the crimson blade extended from its sheath. Pausing only a moment, he lunged toward them swiftly. “For the Empire!”

*FLASH*

A brilliant white light illuminated Vader, his stormtroopers, and the family, followed by a mechanical CLICK.

One of the family members – a little boy – ran up to Vader and hugged his armored knees.

“Thank you Mr. Vader,” he beamed.

“I do this, as all things, in the name of the Emperor,” he replied, ruffling his hair and turning to face the boy’s approaching father.

“The picture came out great – you’re all awesome,” the father said. “How much do we owe you?”

One of the stormtroopers lowered his blaster rifle and shrugged. “We work on tips, so it’s up to you.”

The father nodded, fishing around in his wallet for a moment before handing each of them a collection of bills.

“The Empire appreciates your contribution,” Vader said with an audible smile. “We trust you’ll enjoy the rest of your time in Hollywood!”

The 3rd Dimension of Hollywood

A small group of young adults wandered down Hollywood Boulevard carrying an assortment of pies, drinks, meats, and other offerings appropriate for sharing at weekend barbecues. The sun had only just settled beneath the majestic northern hills, and as the sky darkened to a deep velvet hue the desert air was happy to relinquish its lingering heat in exchange for a cooling evening breeze.

“So, how do you like it so far?” Will asked, hitting the yellow button of a nearby traffic light and glancing impatiently at the glowing red hand barring their path.

Laura shook her head and looked at him. “How do I like what?”

“LA!” he said, raising an eyebrow. “The city you’re currently exploring with your boyfriend?”

“Oh, right! So far, so good?” she shrugged, grinning innocently and zipping up her jacket to ward off the growing evening chill.

Will frowned, turning to Aaron. “What have you shown her so far?”

“Oh, the usual stuff,” Aaron laughed, squeezing Laura’s hand gently. “Took her through the Walk of Fame, the Chinese Theater, the Kodak Theater, saw the sign…all the normal Hollywood stuff.”

“I got a picture of Big Bird’s star,” she nodded. “And we watched Beauty and the Beast in 3D!”

Will stopped short, turned an incredulous glare toward her.

“Why did you do that to him?” he asked, carefully emphasizing each word. “What did he do to deserve such a fate?”

Laura giggled, “For starters, it was his idea.”

“WHAT?!”

“Hey now,” Aaron raised his hands to defend himself. “It’s a fun movie!”

Will stared at him uncomprehendingly, and was about to voice further objections when Ivan cut him off.

“Where did you see it?” he asked excitedly. “That sounds awesome!”

“El Capitan,” Aaron replied. “And they’re showing The Lion King in 3D starting next week!”

Ivan’s eyes widened and he flashed an enormous smile. “Really!? I’ve GOT to see that!”

Will stood slack-jawed, looking from Ivan to Aaron and back again while shaking his head.

“You’ll love it!” Laura chimed in, nudging Ivan’s shoulder. “They even have Belle come out on stage before the movie starts to dance and chat with the crowd!”

“Definitely have to go!” Ivan whispered, eyes glassy as he pictured the image in his mind.

“What is WRONG with you people?!” Will finally exclaimed, leading the group across the street in accordance with the now-flashing walk sign.

Annie walked up to him and smiled. “It’s not your fault, Will. These are fun people who like good things. It’s not something you would understand.”

“That’s fair,” he responded, somewhat placated.

The group fell silent as they rounded a final corner and headed up the street toward their destination, and though no one brought it up, all could hear a soft sound surrounding them.

It was barely audible over the buzz of traffic and the clatter of their own footsteps kicking loose chunks of gravel into the curb; it was a familiar sequence of notes and a whispered voice which sung: Tale as old as time / Song as old as rhyme / Beauty and the Beast.

Struggles

It was nearly ten on a beautiful Wednesday morning when Amy walked up to his window cubical and tapped on the dividing fabric.

“Hey, Aaron! Got a second?”

“Good morning,” he said, looking up from his screen and nodding toward her somewhat disheveled state. “Looks like you had a rough night after our post-kickball celebration ended.”

She scowled good-naturedly and set the McDonald’s bag she had been clutching on the edge of his desk. “Rough morning more than anything. At the moment I’m freaking out trying to find my credit card.”

“Oh,” Aaron frowned and brought a hand absently to his chin. “Did you maybe leave it at the bar last night?”

“No way of knowing,” Amy shrugged, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I can’t call until they’re open. Lame.”

Aaron winced sympathetically. “If they don’t end up having it, you should cancel the card to avoid any trouble.”

“Which is a pain,” Amy sighed. “Anyway, I have a story for you. Busy?”

Aaron stared at her. “Am I ever too busy for awesome stories?”

“Just being polite,” she grinned, launching into her tale. “Ok, so we did happy hour yesterday and then won another game of kickball for our awesomely undefeated team, right?”

Aaron shrugged. “Yeah. It’s our Tuesday routine.”

“And you know we hit the bars afterward, staying far too late and far too long for a Tuesday night.”

“Yep. Another part of the routine,” Aaron laughed.

“Yeah – we’re SO STUPID,” Amy chuckled. “Anyway, after the post-game I went back to my boyfriend’s place since he lives way closer to work than I do and it was already really late.”

“Yeah, we know,” Aaron said. “He hung out with us for a bit when he came to pick you up. You were even talking about how you packed extra clothes just in case.”

Amy nodded, “Exactly. Except this morning I learned that I forgot to pack my pants.”

Aaron instinctively looked at her clothing, furrowing his brow in confusion. “But you’re totally wearing…”

“I know, hold on!” she interrupted. “Yesterday I wore a skirt, so all I had to choose from this morning were sweatpants and jeans.”

“So I’m sitting there, barely awake and partially hungover, teetering on late for work, and I have no pants to wear! I panicked and raced outside in my gym shorts to call a cab. I’m pretty sure the conversation with the cab driver went like this: ‘Where to?’ ‘TAKE ME HOME I NEED SOME PANTS!'”

Aaron laughed despite himself, amused. “And how did that go over?”

“There was some confusion,” Amy admitted, blushing, “but he did eventually take me home, where I said something like ‘JUST NEED PANTS STAY RIGHT THERE!’. Must’ve been a slow morning because he did wait for me; that’s how I got to work today.”

Amy sighed, shaking her head.

“So now I’m the story of the day for all of that guy’s customers and coworkers, the crazy pants lady doing what they’ll assume was the Walk of Shame cab-style. Hang on, I just got a text.”

Aaron nodded, turning back to his work while she dealt with her phone. Moments later, she burst into laughter.

“Apparently my boyfriend found my credit card in the pocket of my sweatpants while doing laundry,” she said, putting a hand to her stomach. “What a relief!”

Aaron reached up from his chair to give her a high five. “So, everything’s good now? Pants securely fashioned about your waist, credit card location secured, and the next happy hour at least two meals away?”

“Yes! And the day’s barely started! Wish me luck on the rest of it, would you?”

As she grabbed her McDonald’s bag and headed off toward her desk, Aaron gave her a slight wave.

“Sure thing,” he said, grinning and turning his full attention back to his computer. “On days like today, a little luck can go a long way.”