A Study In Contrasts

A woman is pulled from near the Center Street dam by construction worker Jason Oglesbee on Tuesday. A man who was with the unidentified woman died in the Des Moines River. A rescue team from the Des Moines Fire Department tried several times to rescue the woman but could not get close enough to her. (Andrea Melendez/The Register)


Ms. Valerie Hudson of foreignpolicy.com believes we could do with a lot less of this sort of man, but let me assure her that the woman in the water is probably quite happy that Mr. Jason Oglesbee isn't some smooth shaven, hair-gel snorting, metrosexual.

The news story can be found here.

Ms. Hudson's opinion can be found here.

I'm just sayin'....

Snowdog's Untitled Western Vampire Story - Chapter 5

This is my entry for Bruce Bethke's Friday Challenge for 6/19/09

"Snowdog's Untitled Western Vampire Story - Chapter 5"
by snowdog

The sky over the desert which had started out a stark blue that morning sagged overhead now like a dirty grey blanket. Eddie cleared away the last of the paper plates and sandwich bags, using the cooler as a makeshift trashcan. He glanced at his iWatch and translated the binary in his head.

"Two thirty-three," he announced.

Bob was leaning against the side of the pickup. He stopped wiping down the shotgun long enough to survey the horizon.

"Should be any time now," he said, "if memory serves." He opened a trunk in the back of the truck and started sorting through the ammunition. Even in the subdued daylight, his skin was mottled with red patches. If the transformation were to ever complete itself, even overcast skies would be too much.

Eddie rubbed the day-old stubble on his head and wondered again what it would be like to never feel sunlight on it. It wasn't like he was the outdoorsy type himself, preferring cathode-rays to the solar variety. To be trapped indoors, though, that was altogether different.

Tess came walking from behind some dry brush near the front the truck, buckling her gun belt, somehow making it look fashionable.

"If you knew what time it was going to happen, why'd you bring us out here so early?"

"'Cause I don't know," he said, tossing her the shotgun and grabbing a second for himself. "I'm only guessing."

Another truck pulled up alongside. Richard had brought Josh and Eli along, but the brothers were looking bad. They were drenched in sweat and breathing heavily as if they had jogged to the site rather than riding in air-conditioned comfort.

Bob put his arms on the bed rail and leaned. "Thought you might not show after last night."

Richard didn't look at him as he flipped open the corrugated chrome toolbox in the back of his truck. "I said I'd he here," he said, reaching deep inside. "I still think you're nuttier than all my mother-in-laws put together, but I'm here. Not sure what that says about me."

"Look!" Tess shouted, pointing ahead to the West.

Eddie followed her gesture and cursed. A dark gray curtain of rain had obscured the distant mountains and was advancing in their direction at a startling speed. At that moment, green streaks of lightning reached toward them from the towering thunderheads.

Richard pulled the double-barreled shotgun from his toolbox and shoved some shells into it and handed the rest to Josh who had managed to get out of the truck behind his brother.

"Here it comes." Bob muttered, turning up the collar of his long rider coat, then taking several steps forward.

Eddie grabbed his pistol and went to his sister's side. Tess seemed mesmerized by the approaching tempest.

"I've..." she began and faltered for a moment. "I've never seen anything like it."

"That's because it's unnatural," he answered, pulling the antique revolver from his waistband.

As the storm grew closer, large drops of rain began to pelt them in advance of the main wall. Weapons were loaded and cocked. Hammers were drawn. No one breathed. One hundred yards. Fifty yards.

POP!

A bolt of blinding green lightning kissed the ground, just about thirty yards ahead. Another one followed immediately. Eddie was forced to shield his eyes as a third streak seemed to bend the air around it. Deafening thunder cracked and bounced among the mountains.

With another flash, a young woman fell to the ground in front of them.

"Suzette!" Bob shouted and dashed toward the still figure.

Then the rain was on them. Gusts of wind and water drove Eddie backward several steps before he was able lean into it with enough weight to stay in place.

Bob had made it about half way to the woman when another flash dropped a dead horse only a few yards away. He stopped in his tracks.

"Bob!" Tess shouted and ran after him before Eddie could stop her.

Then there was more green lightning. Several flashes in succession, each brighter than the previous, lit up the valley. Five figures stood between Bob and his lost love: four men and one woman.

Eddie found himself rushing forward with the others, revolver raised, aimed between the eyes of the closest man. He cursed again and wished for a hat as the rain ran from his bald head ran directly into his eyes.

"I thought he said only one of them would be a vampire," Richard's voice came from behind.

For the first time, Eddie was able to focus on their faces. Even as he watched, the small amount of daylight that filtered through overhead had begun to blister their skin.

One of the men leaped high into the air, turned, and started running at an impossible speed toward the shelter of the mountains to the North. Another grabbed the lifeless figure of the woman and all four vampires followed the first.

Bob took off after them, but it was useless. In a fit of irrational rage, he opened fire with the shotgun. One of the fleeing vampires staggered briefly as he was hit with one or two slugs of buck shot. But a moment later, he was up to full speed again.

A low rumbling started. Lightning began to pop off again flickering so fast this time that it created an almost constant wall of light and noise. It was if the raindrops had turned into human figures dropping to the ground. A few of them lay still, but most took off across the wet desert after the others as if by instinct. Hundreds of them, Eddie guessed, streamed toward the shadows to the Rockies. Toward...

"Denver," Richard completed the thought for him.

Menace Day, May 19

This is my entry for Bruce Bethke's Friday Challenge for 5/22/09.


My holiday is called Menace Day, celebrated on May 19. It's a sober reminder to never, ever become a hardcore fan of anything or anyone because sooner or later... let's just say, for example, that you probably won't be lucky enough to have your favorite musician die immediately after doing his best work. Eventually that "fresh new artistic direction" will come. And it will suck.

We'll send those close to us sympathy cards to mark the passing of his or her object of affection into suckiness. Click on the card above to see the inside.

Electrohick

This is my entry to Bruce Bethke's Friday Challenge for 4/17/09

"Electrohick"
by snowdog

Dear Cousin Jimmy,

Just two weeks ago, I'd have not thought it was possible, but I'm now convinced that I have a superpower. Yes, I know what you're thinking, but hear me out. Over the last several days, I've developed the ability to send electrical impulses through the air. The voltage isn't enough that a human being or a dog would be shocked or injured. Indeed, most folks would never even feel the slightest tingle. Electronic devices, on the other hand, well, few can escape me unaffected.

What is the origin of my superpower? Fair question, sir. You know that water tower in the center of town? Late one night, I was climbing it with a can of spraypaint in my waistband. Joe's sister had spread a rumor about me around town and I'd decided to return the favor. What I hadn't noticed was that storm clouds had been building to the West all afternoon. It wouldn't have mattered, though. There was no way I was going to let anyone get away with telling folks I had-- well, we won't go into that.

I made it to the top of the tower and started spraying letters in my prettiest handwriting: "J-E-N-N-I-F-E-R...I-S... A --" Then there was a bright flash of light. That was the last I remember until I woke up in the hospital. About a week later, on the ride home, I noticed that traffic lights kept turning red every time I got near one. All the way down down Broad Street, there must be ten or twelve of them. Every time my truck got within fifty feet or so, the signal would go yellow. I got pissed and blew through one of them, trying to break the cycle, but it didn't matter. Soon as I got close to the next one, RED.

When I got home, I sat down at my computer to twitter about my experience over the last week, but a pop-up box announced that it suddenly had a "virus". This had never happened before. Fortunately, I was still able to reach my free porn sites, though.

Later, I went to the supermarket for more beer and my superpower struck again! The automatic door didn't detect me right away and I damn nearly ran into it face-first!

I know that I have to keep my superpower a secret. If word were to get out, people would try to hire me to blow up their ex's microwave or sabotage their neighbor's leaf blower. No, it's better that I live out my days as a mild-mannered security guard and do what I can stop crime by night. Let the bad guys try to escape the police while catching every light in town.

I remain an enigma.

Your friend and cousin,
Bobby

P.S. Skynyrd!!! WOOO!

Wanna Be An Idol (Sucking Up To Simon)

This is my entry for Bruce Bethke's Friday Challenge for 4/10/09.

"Wanna Be an Idol (Sucking up to Simon)"
by snowdog

The try-outs came into my town one rainy afternoon
No music, only singing in a private little room
All alone, nowhere to hide, I nearly hit the floor
Before the Idol judges, they had gone from three to four

Now I'm sucking up to Simon
And his silly hair
Paula, are you stoned again?
What's with that glassy stare?
Randy, no I'm not a "dawg"
Please don't call me such
But I wanna be an Idol
An American Idol
Wanna be an Idol so much

I got my golden ticket, now it's on to Hollywood
Sang with a bunch of losers, I don't think they understood
I'm in this thing to win it, I don't want to go back home
I'll watch them go down one by one until I'm all alone

So I'm sucking up to Simon
And his snotty attitude
Someone prop up Paula quick
She's been into the 'ludes.
Randy played with Journey, dawg!
His outfit was a rush
But I wanna be an Idol
An American Idol
Wanna be an Idol so much

I made the final twelve or so, my friends and family cheered
Consensus in the web logs called me talented, but weird
'Though millions heard my singing, I'm still standing here alive
You want to see me next week? Then please dial in number five.

For now, I'm sucking up to Simon
That annoying limey git
Paula's up and dancing
In a dress that doesn't fit
Randy says to "check it out",
I think I've had enough
But I wanna be an Idol
An American Idol
Wanna be an Idol so much

(Instrumental)

Spoken:
Oh yeah, I forget. There's a new judge. What was her name, again?


Now I'm sucking up to Simon
That accent and that smirk
Paula's feeling flirty
Keeps touching on that jerk
Randy, no, hey, you're the dawg
Keep that hip-hop stuff
But I wanna be an Idol
An American Idol
Wanna be an Idol so very much

Yeah I wanna be an Idol
An American Idol
Wanna be an Idol so much

Drummer Girl

This is my entry for Bruce Bethke's Friday Challenge for 4/3/09

"Drummer Girl"
by snowdog

The stage lights dimmed by three quarters into a deep blue and the spotlight painted a white disk around her as she shifted from the song "It's Never Goodbye" into her last drum solo. The dark sea of people erupted into applause at the first clickety-click notes on the ride cymbal. Slowly, she built on the foundation. A heartbeat thumping from the kick drum, a gradual rumble from the floor tom, then all the lights flared into a catherine wheel of whirling reds and greens as she suddenly spiked the intensity and speed of the performance. Into the verse-chorus breach a final time, she thought.

It wasn't as easy for Karen as it had been during her younger days. Although few fans noticed the minute flaws, she could feel the slight ache in her limbs that was throwing her timing just a little. Richard had noticed, though. And it was his idea to bring the 2002 tour to a close with a farewell show in Paris. Later tonight, the Richard Carpenter Trio would go their separate ways after a career that spanned five decades.

CRASH-CRASH! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! CRASH! BOOM BOOM CRASH!

From their earliest beginnings as a jazz ensemble, through the seventies' soft rock hits and finally, the edgier arena-filling hard rock, the Trio had driven a long and sometimes bumpy road. Karen was certain that they never would have survived past the first few failed singles had producer George Martin not taken an interest in them early on.

It was the classic case of the right sound at the right place at the right time. The year was 1965. Martin had been producing a struggling young British band called the Beatles who simply could not stand to be in the same room with each other for more than ten minutes at a go. Paul McCartney, John Lennon, George Harrison and Pete Best simply were not a good fit. There was talk about removing Lennon as a remedy since his voice was the weakest and his ego the largest, but Martin had reckoned that it would make no difference. Were it not for a string of minor hits, such as "We Won't Work It Out", "Hard Day's Work", and "Please Me Now, Woman", the band would have split long ago.

Richard had met George Martin before a bar gig in New York City. They had struck up a casual conversation over bourbon, neither knowing who the other was. At sixteen, Karen had been too young to be in the bar legally, but no one asked any questions when Richard excused himself and joined her and Wes Jacobs onstage for a rousing set of jazzy covers of popular rock n' roll tunes. Martin had been won over after he heard the first of three original songs in the set list.

Karen had to snap out of her reverie for a moment to concentrate on some tricky hi-speed triplets on the snare and hi-hat. Not bad for an old lady, she smiled to herself.

The eighties had brought a new sound and a new set of problems. A switchover from Soft Rock to New Wave had alienated more than a few of their long time fans, but her well-publicized feud with Chrissy Hynde, contrived though it was, had won them a level of publicity that she had never dared to imagine. Sales of their 1982 album, You Again, doubled that of its predecessor.

Then came the anorexia. What had started as a strong New Year's resolution to control her weight had blossomed into a full-blown eating disorder. It was Martin who noticed her frail appearance and, along with Richard, coerced her into the newly opened Betty Ford Clinic. There was no doubt in Karen's mind that this act of tough love had saved her life.

THUMP-THUMP-THUMP-THUMP-A-THUMP-THUMP-SPLASH-SPLASH! CRASH!

In the early nineties, Nirvana had exploded onto the scene and it seemed for a moment that grunge would wipe out everything that had come before it. Indeed, countless New Wave and Hair Metal bands were swept away in a deluge of reheated Punk. It was a hard time for the Trio, but Richard and George reinvented their sound, giving it just enough of an edge to interest a new generation of rockers, but still poppy enough climb the mainstream charts.

It was at New Year's Rockin' Eve 1999 in Times Square that Karen had first begun to feel the stiffness in her joints, although at the time, she had written it off to playing in the freezing night air of NYC. To be safe, she saw her family physician while the band rested in Connecticut. There, she was diagnosed with a mild case of arthritis and told that the condition would worsen over time.

After several days of soul searching and more than a few tears, she decided that Richard was right. To paraphrase Def Leppard, it was better to retire gracefully than to slowly fade away in front of an audience.

BOOM! THUMP-A-BOOM! BOOM! Slowly building snare roll... and... CRASH! CRASH! CRASH!

The cheers were deafening. Once again, accompanied by the Trio, she launched into the final chorus "It's Never Goodbye". The lyrics leapt to mind effortlessly and she sang into her headset mike.

You can say farewell if you must
You can use any word you like
You can say it's forever, I promise it's never
It's never goodbye, never goodbye,
Never goodbye

The Kiln

This is my entry for Bruce Bethke's Friday Challenge for 2/26/09

"The Kiln"
by snowdog

I bent down for a closer look. It was another of those hard-shelled chewy pieces of brightly colored candy. This one was green. To make sure, I took the pen from my breast pocket and poked at it to reveal the white "S" printed on the under side. This was the second one I had found less than twenty yards from the crime scene. Either some child had been careless or...

Glancing back toward the rowhouse where the body of the woman had been found, in the general direction of the first candy, I drew a mental line outward and started a slow sweep in the direction of where another might lay. Burger wrappers. Condom packet. People in this city are swine.

A child involved in something this heinous? At the back of my mind, I dreaded this trail leading me into a domestic situation. Why do people have to drag law enforcement into family business? In my four years on the street, I had managed to avoid arresting anyone in a spat with relatives. It's a place the law just doesn't belong. These days, of course, cops are required to make an arrest.

As I stepped over a section of sidewalk that had been partially upended, probably by a tree that had long since been removed, I spotted another one. Another green candy lay glistening in the hot sun. That confirmed my suspicion. I flipped through my yellow pad for a blank sheet and started making notes of their locations, using the lines on the paper to make a rough scale approximation of the distances.

This had been one of the more gruesome crime scenes I had witnessed in my time as a detective. Immediately after ducking under the yellow tape, I had begun to notice the red stains: a footprint on the welcome mat, bloody ax on the white sofa, a smear along hallway wall.

The occupant of this middle rowhouse had harbored a number of arcane interests. Strange shapes cast in glossy ceramic lined the shelves and bookcase. I didn't recognize any of them--fertility gods perhaps. All of them were vaguely human-shaped creatures with grotesquely distorted parts. One had arms that bent backward and wrapped twice around a helpless female victim. Another had hands on the end of its legs. A third had huge, frightening eyes.

Presently, another candy lay at my feet. This one was red.

After updating my pad, I glanced around the street, a nervous habit formed in my early years. No one gave me a second glance; in fact, there few people about at all. I picked up my pace a bit, confident that I knew where to find the next candy. And there it was. Purple.

Now I stood on the corner of a busy intersection. The light had southbound traffic backed up as far as I could see along Warren Street. Which way to go? I decided to first try going straight across. Hopefully the child had been careful enough to mark the intersection closely. And, with any luck, the next candy wouldn't have been eaten by one of the many rats that inhabited the homes in this area.

The officers had led me down into the basement of the house where the body had been found. This was the source of the obscene statues: a dimly lit ceramic workshop. More grotesque shapes adorned the shelves in this darkly paneled room in various states of completion. A woman with overly long arms and legs and giant, shark-like teeth sat next to several open jars of paint. A man with octopus tentacles for arms sat half dried, awaiting his turn in the kiln.

The kiln. That was where what was left of the body lay. The woman had been hacked into pieces and left to bake there, probably for the better part of a day. My stomach had churned at the odor of cooked flesh.

After walking fifty yards along the street, I had spotted no more candies, so I turned and backtracked to the intersection, crossed the street again and headed South, with traffic. Store fronts lined Warren Street beckoning passersby inside with carefully displayed wares, protected by wrought iron bars. There it was. Another yellow one wedged into a crack in the walk.

I noted the location and picked up my pace again. A purple one. A green one. Another green. Then no more. I strolled back to the last candy and found myself beneath the awning of a doughnut shop. Through the window, a policeman chatted with the cute female clerk, either unaware or uncaring about perpetuating a stereotype.

A staircase to the right of the shop led up toward the second floor of the building and a sign in the window offered an apartment for rent. It seemed like a long shot, but I decided to check it out. Halfway up the stairs, I noticed a red piece of paper, as if someone had torn open a candy wrapper. I had stumbled into the right place.

On the landing at the top, I found a black door with three flower pots, all containing dead plants. Just as I was about to knock, the door flung open violently and a thin man stormed out.

"Forget it, Jeanne!" he shouted back into the apartment, pulling on a ragged baseball cap. "I'm not gonna do it again! You deal with them!" He turned to leave and was startled to notice me standing there. After a moment he shook his head in resignation. "Have at her," he said and took the steps down two at a time.

My first impulse was to stop him and ask some questions, but that was preempted by the sound of a child screaming inside. I drew my pistol and banged on the door.

"Open up! It's the police!" I shouted. No answer. The door was unlocked, so I invited myself inside.

The kitchen was tidy, but spartan, sporting only a bare dining table and four chairs. Pistol in front of me, I made my way to the right, into a hallway.

"Police!" I shouted, checking the bedroom to my left. Empty. A tall, middle-aged peroxide blonde woman appeared at the end of the hall.

"Police?" she rasped, "Oh, Jesus, that's just what I need." She took a long draw from a cigarette, stared at me for a moment, then turned away and walked back into the living room.

"Ma'am, I need you come back here."

"No," she shouted, "You come here."

Cautiously, I followed her into the living room. She stood with her hands on her hips and nodded toward a pretty teenage girl who was curled up defensively on the sofa.

"I'm sorry," the girl said. "I didn't mean to scream."

She appeared to be about fifteen or so. I dropped the pistol to my side. "Then why did you?"

She looked hesitantly at her mother.

"Because she doesn't want to be sent away again," the older woman answered impatiently and then blew out a billowing cloud of cigarette smoke.

"You sent her away?"

She motioned around the apartment. "Look around! Do you see any food in here? In this economy, we're lucky to keep ourselves alive, much less two children."

"Two?" For the first time, I noticed a small boy hiding behind the arm of the sofa. I waved. "Hi kid." Then on a hunch, I asked, "Where did you get the candy?"

"I stole it," the girl said, now scowling at me slightly.

"Okay, why don't you tell me what happened, honey. No one's going to hurt you."

She sighed and glanced at her mother again. Then she focused on my eyes and pointed.

"My mother made her boyfriend take us out into the city, trying to get us lost. He..." she paused for a moment and wiped away a tear. "He got into a car with another man and left us on the street!"

"He left you?" I looked at the mother.

She just shook her head. "He was supposed to take them to a shelter. At least they could get food there!"

The girl glared at the woman and continued. "Jared left a trail of candies, but on the way back, we smelled cookies coming out this rowhouse... gingerbread. They smelled so good and we were so hungry. I knocked on the door. This woman answered and invited us in!"

Completely mesmerized, I sat down in on the edge of a rickety coffee table and looked in eyes. "And she gave you the cookies?"

The girl nodded. "But they made us sleepy. She made us go downstairs with her. Then she..." Tears welled up in her eyes again.

"What did she do, honey?" I asked, images of the grotesque statues filling my head again.

"She said she was going to eat us!"

The room was silent for several seconds.

"I know!" she sobbed "I know you don't believe me! But she tried to put Joshua into this big oven she had in the basement! I had trouble standing from the drugs, but I found an old ax behind the wood stove!" With that, she buried her face in her hands and wailed.

I stood and pulled the cell phone from my belt. The mother looked at me suspiciously.

"Who are you calling."

"Someone I swore I'd never call, ma'am." After a couple of rings, a woman's voice answered. "Hi Susan, get me Child Protection Services, please."