Quest for Cool

 

I wasn't in Miami when I took that photo; Don Ameche and Betty Grable were no where in sight. I've never seen the movie, but I plan to do so.

Spent my first week in Byzantium. Is the incumbent's withdrawal from the race inexplicably tied to my change of residence? It doesn't seem likely as he probably isn't aware of either circumstance. The real adventure here was the quest for cool. I know what you're thinking: Aren't I the High Prince of Cool? (what with Dean Martin being the King of Cool). You're not wrong. Nevertheless, we discovered that the new digs can best be described as an oven stuck on broil. After multiple sweaty and sleepless nights, we determined to bag a window unit.

A questing we did go to the land of Octsoc where the AC herds are known to roam. We stalked the aisles in camouflage specially designed to blend in with wandering denizens of the place, yet the quarry eluded us. We at last learned that the big herds that once darkened the aisles with their passing had been hunted to extinction. However, there remained a few great monsters of a related species gathered in a formidable pack upon the plain. I wasn't sure that my wallet was of sufficient caliber to bring down one of the beasts, but after carefully examining the ammunition on hand and sneaking in close to examine the prey in every respect allowed, I pulled the trigger. The monster nearly crushed me with its bulk, but I succeeded it dragging it through the ranger station checkpoint to hoist it into the transport. Upon our return, we lugged the beast up the stairs and proceeded to remove the boxy skin and disembowel the interior packages for assembly. 

Our pool of cool rolls from room to room on wheels of rigid steel plastic. It joins us in the bedroom at night and inhabits the living room by day, its chilling breath invigorating all in the vicinity.

Finally, the wyrd western short story is complete. Although the stars in their courses and the hand of man combined against giving me time to finish it, I managed to write the ending on Saturday--chiseling the final touches of the climactic clash and sanding down the denouement. Time also allowed me to review and edit another short story that I may submit elsewhere. I'll write at least one more short before I turn to a novella in the Tomahawks and Dragon Fire series to catch up on the adventure of Rip and Antonio in search of the stolen prize with Johnny Coyne and Catalina.

Driving to Byzantium

 

Blog post for July 14, 2024

Is Byzantium a place or is it a state of mind?

If you ask that question of those who study poetry seriously, they’re apt to inform you that Byzantium in the poem, “Sailing to Byzantium” is indeed a state of mind, a place of spiritual rebirth for a scarecrow of a man, “a tattered coat upon a stick,” who begs the sages of that city to be the singing-masters of his soul, to gather him “into the artifice of eternity.” I’m sure there’s more, but that’s the nutshell version.

Byzantium, for my purposes, may be a state of mind, but it’s also a place. The place to which I have arrove arriven, arrived. I nailed my 95 theses to the wall, in the form of a polite notice that my days over there in that "no country for old men" had reached an ending point. I had already received the invitation from the sages at Byzantium bidding me welcome to that holy city.

We loaded the four-wheeled transport ‘neath the blaze of western sunshine and slipped the moorings for the open road. The trip, in accordance with my preference, proved entirely uneventful. The drone of the tires, the efforts of the big engine, the forced breeze from the AC, and the euphonious tones of the radio accompanied me. I noticed that I had a tail but I wasn’t alarmed. I was expecting that brown-eyed girl in the family car.

On our arrival, no one greeted us except for the key to the front door. We unloaded as twilight crawled into the darkness of night, and we kept unloading even after our desire to do so had long gone the way of the twilight. We would not have completed the job had not the fils joined us to help with lifting both heavy and light. At long last, hot, tired, and irritable, we crawled into bed to learn that the post 11:pm hours had been appointed by the neighbor below to play a video game with a loud and heavy beat—over and over again. Although the shenanigames eventually ended, the heat went on and on.

After a great breakfast at a local restaurant (Homestead Family Restaurant for $33) and the first trip to the megamart for groceries (where we ran into an old friend), we got serious into the unpacking. A second trip to megamart got us a window fan. A third trip much later in the day revealed that in contrast to our old country home, our car, and the four-wheeled transport, and in common with the new digs, megamart had no AC units for sale. The highlight of the day was Chinese take-out from the New Hong Kong Restaurant. For $13.00 the two of us had a delicious meal with just enough left over for lunch the next day.

Today, we attended with a small congregation who seemed genuinely glad to see us, and got to see another old friend from our original stomping grounds.

Tomorrow, I should meet the rest of the sages and their handlers, as well as some of the men-at-arms, and the high alchemists.