Jim Archives

January 29, 2007

Jim: Dave's Not Here, Man

Did you ever have one of those days?

I just went out to fix the antenna. Pretty simple, huh? But one thing led to another and the repairs took a lot longer than I’d anticipated.

Then, when I finally get the antenna adjusted and pointed in the right direction, I discover I can’t get back inside.

I’m locked out!

I suppose I could just relax and admire the scenery but I have a lot of work to do inside. Plus, all my stuff is in there.

“I’ll ask one more time,” I sigh. “Please unlock the pod bay doors, HAL.”

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January 31, 2007

Jim: Saigon

Almond eyes, like pools of night reflecting her desperation, set on a delicate, porcelain face framed by straight, indigo-sheened, onyx hair.

I see her tiny form pushing against the back of a crowd that mindlessly repels her efforts. Even though I cannot hear her amidst the din, I know she is yelling my name.

As giant rotors increase their tempo, I’m pushed to the back of the cabin and held in place by bodies and the joint stinks of fear and sweat.

We take off, leaving the rooftop behind.

I still see her eyes.

God! Please help me to forget!

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February 1, 2007

Jim: Hotep-Ra

Despite both our clever ruses and concealed acts of sabotage, the archeologists pulled back the sands and found the tomb.

They gasped at the ornate frescoes and intricate hieroglyphs, then spent weeks photographing and noting the details. After that, they itemized the sarcophagus’ measly baubles and carted them off with the mummified cadaver.

And then they left.

That night, with ancient parchment in hand, we entered the tomb and pressed the concealed levers on the inscribed wall.

In a cloud of fine sand, it swayed open to reveal the true royal treasures beyond.

We had just become very rich men.

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February 7, 2007

Jim: Making Do

Pa tramped into the cabin. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“We just got the new Sears and Roebuck catalog,” Ma replied from the huddle around the table.

Justin pointed down at the open book. “I want me some of them lace-up shoes.”

Ma nodded and flipped the pages. “Oh look! A rocking chair!”

“Look at these pretty dresses,” Opal sighed. “I just love catalogs.”

“Me, too,” Pa declared. “The Sears and Roebuck sure is a handy item.” Then he scooped up the book and stomped away to the outhouse. It had been a long time since they’d had any paper.

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February 9, 2007

Jim: That Was Then

The email was entirely innocent. Hello, it said. I was just wondering what you’ve been up to.

And it was signed: Lisa.

While I stare at the monitor, my thoughts wander back and the old feelings return. Bright days at the beach rubbing each other with coconut oil. Damp bayou nights with fogged windows and sweaty, clumsy lovemaking in the back of my Camaro.

I remember so many promises made, broken and forgotten. We had our youth, our passion, and each other.

“Hi, Daddy!” The words snap me out of my reverie.

“Hi, Honey,” I grin. And delete the email.

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February 13, 2007

Jim: The Servants of Asgard

The legends foretell of many epic battles that will occur between the Gods and the Giants during Gotterdammerung, or Ragnarok in the Norse tongue.

The traitor Loki, commander of the dead, will slay Heimdall Hornblower and, in turn, be slain. Likewise, one-handed Tyr and the monstrous hound Garm will kill in each other in horrible combat.

Thor will engage Jormungand, the Midgard Serpent, in a colossal struggle that will ravage the world. But to win this fight, Thor will need to use the power of the mighty hammer, Mjölnir.

So we keep the hammer hidden until Thor calls for it.

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February 14, 2007

Jim: Way Before Match.com

Appearances matter, especially when you’re trying to make a good impression.

Gorgg knew this instinctively. This was fortunate because Gorgg’s brain was really not large enough to wrap around such multi-syllabic concepts as ‘appearance’ or ‘impression’ or even ‘especially’.

So Gorgg spent most of the morning working on his looks. Many rats died, some drained so that his tusks would be that special dried-blood brown that matched his eyes so well.

He assembled the remaining rats into a loose bunch and stood ready to present them for whenever the new ogress finally decided to come out of her fetid cave.

The word was 'ogres' from the Dragonlance book, The Gates Of Thorbardin by Dan Parkinson. (Don't be surprised that my dad was one of my favorite authors).

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February 16, 2007

Jim: Eating Bullets and Veal Parmesan

In one graceful motion, the dame handed me a photo and the strangest case of my career.

My name’s Saim Dacotti. That’s pronounced ‘Sam’ – the ‘I’ is private. Like me. I dish out justice, bad jokes, and a pretty mean linguini.

The mark was the dame’s husband. His name was Mark. Mark Trigatta. He was the guy who single-handedly killed three bottles of Scotch and the Don’s son. Don.

The picture showed a hulking thug playing a friendly game of cards. The dame said she suspected he was cheating. It was my job to tail him and his new tail.

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February 19, 2007

Jim: A Bridge Too Far

If you want to kill yourself in San Francisco, there’s no place more enticing than the Golden Gate Bridge. Hitting the icy bay water at 75 miles per hour ensures an almost instant death.

So I snuck over the pedestrian gate at O-dark-thirty Sunday morning and loped out to a center lamppost. A couple of words to a God I never really believed in and then I leapt over the side.

That was when my ankle became hopelessly entangled in some wire cabling.

I’ve been dangling here for five days so far. And now I think I want to live.

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February 20, 2007

Jim: An Ode To A Lump Of Putty

The electronic Sub-Etha Auto-Hitching Device had gone through an especially hard day and needed time to recharge. So Jeltz found a quiet spot in a passing ship behind some pipes with the words “Hot Steam” written in large and very convincing letters.

It is quite common for boys his age to be told “Get Out” by their fathers. Most boys, though, simply left the house, some for only a couple of minutes. Very few left the planet. And, as far as Jeltz knew, none left without the required paperwork.

It’s not easy being a Vogon with poetry in your soul.

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