On the Rooftops of Paris (FF)

copyright Emmy L. Gant

FF - Friday Fictioneers

Why so many of his friends had recommended he stay at the Hotel Moreau during his three day trip to Paris, Mason could not comprehend.

It wasn’t that the hotel was so terrible. It was just that the decor was a bit faded, the service a trifle slow, and the quail at dinner somewhat overcooked.

Last night in Paris Mason climbed to the roof for some air and in the darkness almost knocked over something in front of him. His eyes flung open wide and he cried out:

"My God, an original Warhol "Trash Can with Bag Too Small!"

And that's why Mason's friends had told the art aficionado to stay at the Hotel Moreau. 

There was also a nifty view of the city from the roof too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You never know  where you might find a great object d'art. It may be on the rooftop of a hotel in Paris, or right in your own back yard.  

Actually, it's a lot more likely to be found on the rooftop of a hotel in Paris than in your own back yard.  But you can find literary objets d'art anywhere and anytime you want by tapping into the weekly offerings of the Friday Fictioneers based upon the picture prompt above.  All you have to do is just click here. 

Andy Warhol would approve.

The World's Narrowest Football Field (FF)

© Erin Leary
FF-Friday Fictioneers

The four of us decided to stop in the little town by the river for lunch, and we asked the waiter if there were any tourist attractions to check out.

“We’re proud to be the home of the World's Narrowest Football Field,” he said, and he tossed us a football and we went to take a look.

What a bizarre field! It was laid out wholly on lily pads with bushes for sidelines and goalposts.  We struggled to stay in-bounds, got soaked, and had a fun time.

"Why are you guys so drenched?" asked the waiter as we returned.

“We’ve just come from the World’s Narrowest Football Field,” I answered.

"The World's Narrowest Football Field is by the high school.   You've just come from the World's Narrowest Poison Ivy Patch!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I only hope I didn't play too badly in the above game on the World’s Narrowest Football Field since it may be some time before I ever play again. I've heard of someone being a break-out star, but this is ridiculous.

Oh well, I might as well pass the ball to the other Friday Fictioneers, and you can check out how well they've played the game regarding the picture prompt above by clicking here.

"Touchdown!"  No, I'm not talking about the kind you score in a football game. It's me scratching the nether parts of my body which are just itching the hell out of me!

Consolation (FF)

 © Melanie Greenwood

FF-Friday Fictioneers

Never fails, I thought in disgust.

Here I am in the middle seat again, sandwiched between the two finalists for the starring role in "Chris Christie; the Early Years" and one row ahead is a really hot blond sitting all by herself.

Come on, Perry, show some guts! "If not now, when? If not me, who?"  I think it was the Biblical sage Rabbi Hillel who uttered those words, and I believe he was considered quite the babe magnet back in the day.

"Stewardess, I'd like to move to the center seat in the next row."

"I'm sorry, sir, but they're shooting a reality show and that seat is reserved for a hot young guy.'

"Yeah but ...."

"Clearly you'd ruin the show. But as consolation ..."

Yes?

"Here's an extra bag of salted nuts."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Having taken the last two weeks off from the Friday Fictioneers, it's good to be back as I know you've all missed me.

Umm ... it's Perry.  Perry Block, that is.  From Philadelphia.   Personal friend of Russell Gayer?  It's Perry!  Perry Block!!

Well anyway, this is my personal take on the picture prompt above, and if you click here you can read the stories of the other Friday Fictioneers, one or two of whom might own up to knowing me.

See you next week. 

Perry!  Perry Damn Block!!! 

The Costa Rica Casanova

Watch out, Hotties: 
Here Comes the Costa Rica Casanova!

When my 17 year old son Brandon and I left for vacation in Costa Rica last August, I was quite explicit with him about what might happen during the 11 days ahead. 

"Brandon," said I "we're going to have great father-son bonding during this trip, but there will be occasions I may seek out the company of a woman or two."

"I understand, Dad," offered Brandon.  "On trips like this there's always women 58 years old or more, kinda desperate, looking for ...."

"No, no, no, Brandon! I've still got it for the babes! And if something should happen, well, there may be a few times you'll have to fend for yourself."

"Got it, Dad," replied Bran. "I'll be cool."

Our first stop was Tortuguero on the Caribbean coast. This place isn't just off the beaten path,  it's off the beaten lagoon.  You get there via a long bumpy drive to an even longer boat ride up an Amazon-like river, and when you finally get there, the there you get to is a scenic but highly remote collection of smallish villages and hotels along a very rustic waterway.

"Very Apocalypse Now, Bran, don't you think?" I remarked as I began stumbling off the boat.

But Brandon wasn't there.  I saw him off a ways down the dock,  talking to an affluent-looking family consisting of mother, father, young  brother, and smoking hot brown-haired teen-aged daughter!

I completed stumbling into the arms of the hotel greeting party consisting of the hotel manager and a couple of irate iguanas. "They're from Spain," Brandon said as he ran over to me, "and the daughter Claudia is just my age!"

That night Brandon and I went on a Turtle Nesting Tour, a very special experience  in which one gets to view a 300 pound Green Sea Turtle climb up on the Caribbean Sea beach, lay hundreds of eggs, and skedaddle back into the sea before being eaten by a 350 pound Green Sea Turtle predator.  

"This may be the closest I get to nesting this entire trip," I began to realize sadly.

"How do you say in Spanish 'Would you like dinner tonight?' " Brandon asked the turtle tour guide.

The next evening I enjoyed an authentic Costa Rican dinner alone in my television-less,  air conditioning-less  lizard-enriched hotel room followed by a stroll to the hotel bar,  which had closed at 8:00 P.M.  

Very Apocalypse Now.  Very little nesting. 

"Sorry, Dad," said Brandon as we next morning boarded the boat to begin chugging our way out of Tortuguero, "but we'll do lots more together now!"  

And during the next few days we did indeed manage some fine bonding experiences --- kayaking, zip lining,  swimming in a waterfall ---  all sandwiched in though they were among Brandon's  numerous and varied interactions with diverse folks from locales around the world, many of whom were of the young and female persuasions.  

I on the other hand proved to be about as popular in Costa Rica as a Donald Trump press conference announcing plans to build a 1,ooo room hotel and casino in the center of the Arenal Rainforest. Finally in our next to last stop in Monteverde I did manage to connect with a couple of sisters from Cincinnati who regaled me at length with tales of quilting during the Roosevelt Administration, although  I'm not sure which of the two such named Administrations they were actually referring to.

Our last port of call was the lovely beach resort of Manuel Antonio on the western Pacific coast.  It's loveliness for me, however, was somewhat marred by my being laid low by  a travel malady I am sometimes prone to which is known in technical medical circles as "I'd Sell My Soul to the Devil for a Poop!"

"Brandon," I said,  turning my head slightly as we sat as one of the resort's three pools, "think I'll go take a walk and try to..."

But Brandon wasn't there.  I saw him a few deck chairs down sitting shoulder to shoulder with a smoking hot blonde teen-aged daughter! (of someone)

"Go right ahead, Dad, I'm fine here."

I walked the grounds, swam in each of  the resort's two other swimming pools, gritted my teeth like Kirk Douglas in Lust for Life, and finally, when a long awaited sense of opportunity presented itself, returned to the room.

"Dad!!!  Umm, can you come back another time?"

"No, I can't!  For a couple of reasons,  the main one of which is: 

DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT!"

Afterwards, Brandon and the young woman,  one Lucia from Italy, mostly hung out at the pool or at the beach. I mostly hung out in the bathroom.

"Know what I liked best about Costa Rica, Dad?"  Brandon said as we settled in on the first of our two flights back home.

"I'm not sure, but I'd guess it was either Italy or Spain?"

"Nah, neither of those.  It was the things we did together, whenever we could."

Well, if I can't be the Costa Rica Casanova myself,  at least I'm happy I was able to bond with the genuine article.

And better still,  to get to live vicariously through him as well ....  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

All the Costa Rican sex I can handle!

Hassan and the American

If it's Friday, it must be the  Great Madison Woods Friday Flash Fiction Extravaganza & Traveling Show!

Only thing is, it's Thursday.   I got my contribution done early and thought I'd post it.  Above is the pictorial prompt, below the prompt provoked piece.  

So sue me. 

Hassan and the American

Hassan had always felt it was a honor to be a real estate professional in the  historically rich city on the Mediterranean in which he had lived since birth.

He had worked so very hard his entire life to achieve this measure of growing success. His clientele had now extended to include wealthy foreigners, including a fair number of Americans.  

Today he was scheduled to meet with one such American,  one that if well-satisfied was in a position to send him a great deal more business from many well-heeled Americans.  But Hassan found no hope or joy in this prospect.  He found only fear and sorrow.  

The American had informed him earlier that week that he was interested in property in the Village Ancienne with its centuries old white-walled living quarters, only minimally updated plumbing and other facilities, and narrow stone alleyways well- trodden as far back as Biblical times. 

"This will not be easy," Hassan thought as he left to pick up the American.  

"Not easy?" he cried aloud, "it will be a disaster!"

As Hassan and the American approached the entrance to the Village Ancienne,  Hassan knew that the time had more than come.  He drew a deep breath. 

"With all due respect, sir, " he began, "I just don't think that ...."

His quavering voice broke off. 

"What's that?" said the American, "You just don't think what?"

Hassan sputtered once more, then it all came pouring out.

"I just don't think this is the property for you, Governor Christie!"

The End

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And Coming Soon:

The Metamorphosis,

 the Musical!

Based on characters created by Franz Kafka

(It's gonna be a toe-tappin', mandible droppin' delight!) 

Zip Went the Strings of My Heart

Is the wire supposed to buckle like this? 

Just sayin'.

Though it was not officially on the itinerary of our trip to Costa Rica last month, not long after we arrived my son Brandon got himself a hankering to go zip lining.

Now I'm someone who throughout his life has steadfastly avoided upward mobility for fear of heights.  So I offered protest.

"Let me get this straight, Dad," said Brandon. "You're afraid to be gliding hundreds of feet above the forest suspended on a thin wire?" 

"No, not exactly.  I'm afraid to not be gliding hundreds of feet above the forest suspended on a thin wire when I'm supposed to be!

"Dad, every day people zip line all throughout Costa Rica without incident," said Brandon. 

"Then an incident is long overdue!"

I pointed out to Brandon that there are no safety regulations whatsoever in Costa Rica for zip lining. I reminded him that an unfortunate accident could put a crimp in our dining plans.  I mentioned once more that I'm the kind of person whose fear of heights is so severe I have regular nightmares about actor Brad Garrett hoisting me on his shoulders.    

I stood up like a man about being scared like a baby! 

And 45 minutes later we were at the entrance of Casa del Zip, clearly marked from the street by a large colorful billboard poster of a man with exultant expression soaring high above the rain forest. 

"No way that guy is Jewish," I said to myself.

We were greeted inside by Alejandro, a friendly enough type who assured me that safety was paramount at Casa del Zip and that I'd be decked out in the latest and most modern zip lining equipment, which apparently these days is manufactured with holes in one of the gloves and rust spots on the harness strapped around you.  

It's counter intuitive, for sure, but Alejandro seemed to know his stuff. 

"I'm a little apprehensive about all this, Alejandro," I said.  "I have fear of heights."

"Oh, you'll be fine.  Trust me!" 

Totally reassured by a complete stranger telling me to "trust him,"  I climbed with Brandon and Alejandro into the cable car that would take us to the summit where our zip lining adventure would begin. 

"OMG!" I screamed.  "I knew it!  I can't go this high!  We've got to turn back!!!"

"Mr. Block?"

"Yes, Alejandro?"

"We're not out of the building yet."

We gradually ascended to a height from which I could see my house in Pennsylvania, then  climbed about 800 half rickety steps to the rickety final  platform.  At the top was a small bar area with a young women selling drinks.

"You may want to have shot,  Mr. Block," said Alejandro. 

"A shot?  No,  I want a bottle of your finest ...."

Brandon went first, smile on his face like the crazed guy on the poster. The zip lining apparatus made a whirring sound as if a clothes line were unreeling and across he went, caught at the end by another member of the Casa del Zip zip lining crew apparently in one piece and still eligible to be in my will.

"Call out that you are ready, Mr. Block," said Alejandro. 

"Ready?  I could only ever be ready if I were structured differently genetically and had had an alternative upbringing." 

"Kind of  R-e-e-a-a-a-d-d-d-e-e-e!!! " I called out. 

My feet left the platform and I heard that godawful whirring sound. My eyes were shut so tightly they couldn't have been pried open by the most experienced of safe crackers, and I felt my body dangling, which is one verb I never like using in conjunction with any bodily part of mine, let alone the whole body.  Then I forced my eyes open and saw myself sliding along a thin metal wire gripping a metal hand contraption which wobbled like the top in the movie Inception. 

Don't look down! Don't look down!  Don't look down!

I looked down. 

"God, I'm sorry for everything!!!  I will atone my sins!  I will find purpose in  life! That's totally it for me with sleeping late!!!"

And then I was across the chasm and caught by the zip lining guy. And  still eligible to be in no one's will. And after about an hour and a half we were done all the 9 or 10 individual runs that make up the zip lining experience at Casa del Zip. 

Brandon had a super time.  He wanted to go again.  

"That ain't gonna happen," I said to him.

I gave Alejandro a very handsome tip.  He wanted us to go again.

"That ain't gonna happen," I said to him.

But a strange thing  did happen.  Though I  remained scared throughout, I managed to keep my eyes open a little longer on each successive run.  I did begin to appreciate the beauty of the rain forest below, the majestic mountains nearby, and my little house in Havertown PA, although it does need a new roof.  

Maybe I'm now on my way to what is said to be the secret to getting over your fears and truly living your life:  Doing one thing a day that scares you. This was my one thing on that one day --- August 23, 2012.

I'll let you know on what day my next scary thing is scheduled soon as I  figure out the best day in 2014 to schedule it for.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Next Up?

No F*cking Way!

The Liquor Drunk, The Prodigals Return

Steady nerves and a natural high;

Yeah right, HELP ME!!!

It's been  about a week now since I returned from vacation with Brandon in Costa Rica a bit sun-burned, a lot constipated, and a whole bunch poorer.

I had a good time.  Meaning I was not eaten by a sloth.

In fact, my fears of the dangers of the feral and wild rain forests down in Central America proved to be as exaggerated and ill-founded as my fears of performing The Cadet's Review at my fourth grade piano recital, except that while I was similarly not devoured by an enormous iguana at my fourth grade piano recital,  I did fuck up The Cadet's Review. 

As for the trip,  however, things went so well I'm finding it difficult figuring out how to write something negative, whiny,  and self-deprecating about the whole experience.   But I will do so in time, you can count on that.  

In the meanwhile,  here's a list of 

 Awful Things That Could Have Happened During our Trip to Costa Rica But Did Not:

1) We did not miss our connecting flight between Philadelphia and San Jose CR causing us to remain overnight  in Charlotte NC.  I don't like spending time in places named after women because I always think the entire populace will reject me.

2) The driver who greeted us upon our arrival in Tortuguero was not a venomous pit viper disguised with a false mustache.  Or a tarantula with a unconvincing monocle.

3)  After we swam at the base of the La Fortuna Waterfall, we did not find out that an  incontinent giant lives just above the rocky crags. 

 4) Sure, he's cute, but I'm reasonably certain the charity to help him emigrate to Israel was a scam.   So I gave lightly...

5) The famous volcano at Arenal did not erupt while we were kayaking on Lake Arenal due to the recent sacrifice of a virgin, the selection of which was thankfully and fortunately completed  just before I stepped off the plane in my Phillies cap, Bermuda shorts, and Paul McCartney London Olympics XXX T-shirt.

6) When I informed the guide about to accompany me on the zip lining excursion which transports you at high speeds on a very thin wire thousands of feet above the cloud forests of Monteverde that I was somewhat concerned about the enterprise because I tend to have fear of heights, he did not say

"YOU THINK YOU HAVE FEAR OF HEIGHTS??!!!" 

7) The bar at the very top of the mountain where there begins the first of the ten runs of the zip lining excursion which transports you at high speeds on a very thin wire thousands of feet above the cloud forests of Monteverde was not out of rum.

8) People who know me in Philadelphia far from the zip lining excursion which transports you at high speeds on a very thin wire thousands of feet above the cloud forests of Monteverde do not have the auditory capability to hear highly drunken yet still frantic screaming, cursing, and pleading with God for mercy emanating from those very thousands of feet above the cloud forests of Monteverde. 

9) The picture below is not an aerial shot of the beach in front of our discount hotel at Manuel Antonio. 

10)  Brandon did not have to sit around bored and restless while the old man successfully pursued two hot babes we encountered from Italy and Spain (heh-heh)  mainly because I,  damn it,  had to sit around bored and restless while Brandon successfully pursued two hot babes we encountered (each one age 17, so I wasn't in the running)  from Italy and Spain. 

Hell, I couldn't even get into the room in Manuel Antonio half the time.

No wonder I'm still constipated. 

More later. 

Hey ... anything going on in politics lately?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Arenal Volcano

Hmm ... looks like it's kinda enjoying that virgin. 

You Can Drink All the Liquor, Part III

Are you ready for the country?

Just one more day and I'm off with son Brandon to the Central American nation paradise known as Costa Rica!

Am I ready in body, mind, and spirit? Well,  frankly I'm about as ready as Snooki is to star in a West End production of Coriolanus. 

I've not been on vacation for five years.  My bathing suits have cuffs.  My suitcase is so old it doesn't even have wheels despite the fact that wheels had already been invented when I bought it.  I haven't been on a plane since the movie they were showing was National Treasure.   Even Nicholas Cage makes fun of that.

So it's time at last to get my act together because I'm taking it on the road. And it's a  pretty long road, with a stopover in Charlotte North Carolina to boot.

First, I need to attend to my toiletries. I require medication for nausea, constipation, diarrhea, malaria, weltschmerz,  performance anxiety (in my case, anxiety that I'll never get the opportunity to perform), and fear of being seated next to Ted Nugent. 

I must also pack an extra pair of contact lenses and all the various shampoos, conditioners,  root lifters, and other Hair Helper products I use to create the illusion of hair in gullible people. Through a mix of prescription and over-the-counter drugs and various and sundry sundries, I will become a flying Rite-Aid.  All that's missing is a flying pharmacist. 

Then, there's the matter of clothing.  Virtually everything you wear has to be sprayed with something called DEET to protect it from being dive-bombed by Costa Rican insects the size of Kirstie Alley.  It is important to follow the instructions on the can label which warn you to never EVER let the spray contact your skin or you will rapidly dissolve like Nosferatu touched by the first rays of early morning sunlight.  Curiously enough, nothing on the label promises that it will work half as well on the big ass bugs seeking to establish military beachheads on your butt.

To protect the top of my head from burning like the most resolute and unrepentant  sinner in a painting by Hieronymous Bosch, I'll also need a floppy broad-brimmed hat and a boldly colorful bandanna. Coupled with the new sunglasses I bought several weeks ago, I'm sure to strike the image of the far and away least cool 60 plus year old rock star ever to be written up in Wikipedia.

Finally there's the experience of a Central America sojourn itself.  Just imagine:  Me - someone who feels like he's returned to the state of nature whenever I have to fetch a wiffle ball out of the neighbor's azaleas - communing with over 10,000 indigenous species of flora and fauna  in the rain forests of Costa Rica.

I'm actually pretty cool with respect to virtually all of that flora and fauna except for two types of fauna you may have heard something less than favorable about over the years known as crocodiles and snakes.  Fortunately the guidebooks all say that visitors to Costa Rica should be just fine as long as they avoid those areas in Costa Rica in which crocodiles and snakes are known to congregate, those areas being more specifically described as Costa Rica.

Luckily my friend Carrie Bailey,  a wise and experienced world traveler, has been helping me to overcome these anxieties. Carrie provides the kind of tough love that makes me want to work diligently to oust my fears despite the fact that my efforts to use our time together towards maneuvering her into bed have proven totally fruitless. Thanks to Carrie's wise ministrations, crocodiles and snakes will not give me to dread just as long as screaming aloud remains prominent on the itinerary.

And so, I bid adieu to my loyal readership (I believe your name is George) for just a little while.

One more thing:  I'd very much like to bring you all something back from Costa Rica.   If you think of it, please tweet me your T-shirt size.  I probably won't buy you one,  but I'll be very excited thinking about the T-shirt sizes of my women followers when I'm on the plane.

Okay, have a good couple of weeks.

I guess I'm ready ....    

 Yep!  I'm ready!