When You're "Up There..."

A while back my girlfriend and I went to see David Sedaris. If you don't know who he is, he's a writer of short stories and essays. He's been published in The New Yorker as well as numerous other magazines, has several collections of short stories, and has a very unique sense of humor and style. We loved seeing and hearing him.

The reason I mention him today is because, back when we saw him, as he was reading a piece to the audience, we noticed that he was making marks on it based on how the audience was reacting. He was marking it up AS he was performing it... revision on the fly.

 Flash forward to last night.

There's an open mike night, called "Musings," at the local bookstore, Books At Sunset, a half mile from my house. I was up in front reading a story I had written about typography class and one day in particular. As I was up there in front of maybe 35 people, I was able to read and feel their reactions as I read from my story. I sensed certain parts were slow and not as interesting, as well as the parts that they enjoyed. It was like my mind was in high speed because I thought in two completely separate streams. One was reading and saying the words, while simultaneously one was thinking, "Okay.. that part needs to be cut. It just didn't work. Hmmm.. I could change that to this. And that part was way too long before getting to the point. Why did I even think this story was funny? I should have used that other story I wrote last week. Why do I do this to myself anyway? I practically read a first draft in front of a crowd. That's just asking for disappontment. Never ever do that again. Dang. I hope they like the end. That's probably the best part."

And it was. The last paragraph was the funniest part. But I bet I could have shortened the piece by half and made the whole experience better for all of us.

Wow. What a lesson.

Spiders in the Night...

Biker Dude's girlfriend looked at him like he had just said he just saw a UFO.

"You're crazy."

"No. Really, I can hear spiders."

"That's it. I'm dating a lunatic," she said. "What... you're telling me spiders can talk?"

"Yeah.. I mean, no... that's not what I mean. Last night, I woke up around two o'clock and I heard this noise."

"I don't think I want to hear this."

"What, it's not a big thing. It's just that I heard a little scritchy sound coming from the far corner of the room. And every maybe twenty seconds I'd hear it again, except closer. Like a mouse was crawling along the baseboard."

"And this is when the spider talked?"

"No. Will you just wait?"

His girlfriend shook her head. "You're nuts."

"Fine, I'm nuts, just listen."

She took a deep breath and looked up at the time. "Fine, you have one minute."

"Fine. Anyway, the sound got closer and closer until it sounded like it was coming from the corner right by the bed. So I sat up real slow and clicked on the light. But there was no mouse."

"Yay! No mouse, just a spider who said, 'hi, can I use your bathroom?'"

"Ha Ha.. you're a regular comedian. Listen, so I got up and looked behind the trash can, and there's this spider sitting there. A big one."

"Why do you tell me this? I don't want to know these things."

"It's all right, I killed it."

"I don't care if you nuked it. Spiders are... Eeeeeew."

"But the thing is, it HAD to be the spider that was making the noise along the baseboard. Which means.... I can hear spiders."

"Well, yay for you. Maybe you could join the circus."

"No. This is a good thing. Imagine, you'll never have to see another spider again. If I hear them, I can track them down and get rid of them before they scare you."

"IF you get rid of them."

He kept going as if she hadn't said anything. "You know, I think this is a huge plus on my 'marriageability' resume.

She stifled a laugh and looked at him over her glasses. "There's three things I have to say about that. One, Nice try, two,I think you're a lunatic, and three, there is no such thing."

He looked puzzled. "No such thing as what?"

She put a skillet on the stove and poured some olive oil into it. "Huh?"

"What is there no such thing as?"

She hummed to herself and lit the burner.

"Hello?"

She picked a carrot up of the counter top and started peeling it. She looked over at him, "Oh, I'm sorry, were you talking?"

"Yeah, didn't you hear what I just said?"

"I heard."

"And...?"

"A marriageability resume. HA! That's even crazier than hearing spiders."

Biker Dude's Taxi Service...

When Biker Dude got to the office in the morning, he had an idea on how to make a little extra cash. He just needed to make a small investment in some equipment. He logged onto the internet and went to craigs list and composed a want ad.

"Taxi Meter wanted, cheap. Must be lightweight, titanium preferred.
Needs to be small, aerodynamic shape a plus.
Also, must be able to calculate cents per foot.
Any mounting hardware you can throw in would be appreciated.
Big plus if squirrel proof."

He gave a phone number and times he would be available and published the ad.

He figured he'd offer rides to weary, or in a rush, or just plain lazy, animals along the trail; sort of like a bicycle taxi. He would do all the pedaling; all the hard work of pushing up hills and against the wind, and the animals could just sit back and enjoy the ride.

For a small fee of course.

He got the idea after what happened that morning on the way to work.



It was between Saint Charles and Geneva. South of Island Park, where, after a 100 yards of open trail that used to skirt the outer perimeter of a retention pond, the trail dipped into thick forest preserve.

Ahead, just across a wooden footbridge, by the side of the trail, a squirrel crouched.

Now Biker Dude has seen many squirrels before. He's seen all manner of animals during is travels. Each one has its own set of reactions and behaviors when a rider approaches.

His intuition told him that this squirrel, as innocent and inconspicuous as it seemed at the time, had a plan.

It was almost like whenever he saw a chipmunk. Biker Dude just knew what it was going to do. Chipmunks were strange little critters. At least Biker Dude thought so. They'd crouch by the sides of the trail and wait. They would pretend to forage for nuts and seeds. Then, at the last second, when Biker Dude and his bike was upon them, right when the risk of being killed was the greatest, they would dart under the bike to the other side of the trail; Almost like they played a game of chicken with the bike wheels.

From the second he saw it, Biker Dude had a good hunch that this squirrel was going to do the same thing.

He noticed that this little dude had a gleam in his eye. He was no ordinary squirrel. He perched there like an Olympic sprinter in starting blocks before a 100 meter dash.

But he didn't dart under the bike tires. No. Not this one. This guy had to outdo every squirrel, or chipmunk, that came before.

When Biker Dude was ten feet away, the squirrel started running in the same direction as Biker Dude; parallel to him at the edge of the grass. Like he was getting up speed to take the baton from another guy in a relay race.

Right when Biker Dude pulled alongside, the squirrel took a flying leap and grabbed on to Biker Dude's right leg. He wrapped his arms around it. Biker Dude stopped pedaling and looked down.
He thought, "What the...?" The squirrel just looked up at him. Then looked ahead down the trail. His ears twitched in the wind and his fur blew back. He blinked his eyes.

After about thirty feet, when it had apparently gone far enough, or else realized the ride wasn't as much fun as he thought it would be, the squirrel jumped off. He ran off into the weeds and bushes on the side of the trail.

Biker Dude shook his head and thought, "Now I've seen it all. Either that or I've finally gone crazy."

He rode on. Feeling a little used. Not even a thank you. No thumbs up. No 'See you tomorrow...'

And no tip.

He thought, "Unless he pays by the foot, I'm not giving that guy a ride anymore."