The exercise:
Write about something that is: too fancy.
That was the general consensus on our rental minivan in Calgary. Keyless ignition (which was quite nice once I had it figured out, but I would've gotten us out of the airport much quicker if I'd simply had a dang key), automatic shutoff at red lights, automatic sliding doors, a knob on the dash for gear changes instead of a stick (that took a while to get used to), a monitor on the dash that showed what was going on behind me whenever I was in reverse (I still prefer actually turning my head and seeing for myself, though it was nice to see how close I was getting to other vehicles getting out of parking spots), and on and on.
It was kinda nice to drive home from the Penticton airport in our regular, boring old minivan. Though Max has decided he prefers the 'Calgary van'.
3 comments:
Your minivan does sound too fancy, but I don't drive so I'm not really qualified to give a good opinion. The gear-stick sounds awkward as a knob though, and I'd struggle with keyless ignition too I think. Still, at least one of you liked the van a lot :)
For today, as I'm pressed for time and feeling a little weary, we're returning to this guy as he's relaxing to write.
Too fancy
Efficiency is important. People think that if you're willing to kill then you must be a murderer, and that anyone who kills once will kill again and again. It's not like that, at least not for me. I wouldn't want to speak for a serial killer. Hell, I wouldn't want to meet a serial killer. The important thing is not to let things get in the way of your plans, and if sometimes the neat and tidy thing to do is make sure that there are no witnesses, then you do so. With maximum efficiency and least effort.
So I put the middle-aged fat guy on the bed in the first room at the top of the stairs and checked the dresser -- a battered thing of cheap wood with splintered legs where some animal had chewed on it. There was underwear in the top drawer, neatly-folded shirts in the second, and ties and belts in the bottom drawer. I stuffed his mouth with a pair of lacy pants I could only hope weren't his and hog-tied him with the belts. That left him on his stomach on the bed; now if he woke up he wouldn't attract attention unless he fell off, and I'd hear the noise. I could work out what to do with him later if it was really necessary.
The rest of the house was too fancy. Everything was almost normal, but then glitzed up and glittered on like some wannabe-fairy-godmother lived here. The bathroom on the first floor was done in some deep green colour that reminded me of my grandmother's house, but then the bath-surround was jade, ridiculously expensive and unnecessary. The mirror in the hall was well positioned to reflect light and chase away dark corners, but it was set in a solid-silver frame so ornate that touching it broke off bits of wire and left sharp edges. The ground floor was similar: the kitchen was well-equipped but then the knobs for the gas burners on the stove were polished brass, the taps at the sink were encrusted with semi-precious stones(!) and the floor tiles were Italian stone and must have cost a fortune to import. There was money here, but it was tacky.
I almost missed the staircase up to what I thought would be an attic: it was concealed by a door that looked like it would be a laundry cupboard. The stairs were narrow, and there was another door at the top. It was locked, but there was a key in the lock so it wasn't an obstacle. I turned it, and found a short corridor with three rooms off it.
The first one was a sensible bedroom with an en-suite bathroom with none of the ostentation of the lower floors. The only odd thing here was a photo-frame by the bed. It had my picture in it.
I looked at carefully for some time, in the light from the window. Maybe it was a doppelganger, but it convinced me. I tore it out of the frame.
The next room was a much bigger shock.
Welcome Engvarta, to Marc's blog! I totes agrees, like, right, writing, like, with a pen, or a crayon (I know, it's cray-cray right!) just makes it, like, so easy, fam, for the words just to spill out, right, across the paper, all loquacious-like. I've totes got loads of output. And I'm totes put out as well, but that's a cray-cray fable for fam, right, fam?
But like, it's totes right to be right like you're, like, right, right? And we write, right? Like right, fam, right?
But, like, right, like right, right, I tried that smartphone on fleek, right, and can I write right on it right? Like right fam? Qtna, amirite? Fam? And I'm just, like, not liking it like, like, right, right? Doesn't seem right, not on fleek, damned by the night, right, like fam? Don't work like it should, fam. Not fleek, not sleek, not even right, right, right? And we write, right?
Yeah, so thanks fam, for the writing advice, right? I think it's helped me with my writing, amirite, right?
[:) Delete away, Marc, delete away :)]
Greg - sometimes I wish I didn't drive, but it's rather a necessity around here.
I was also surprised by the photo in the frame. Looking forward to finding out what awaits us in the next room!
Oh, I'll delete the spam. But I cannot delete this magnificent reply to the spam :)
Post a Comment