Bored and Boarding

This was written yesterday essentially, but I didn’t have time to tidy it up or post it.

 

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I am currently sitting at the Gold Coast airport, surveying with no shortage of intrigue, the plethora of interesting characters that lurk around airports in the early morning light.

By interesting characters, I mean the interesting characters that aren’t me.

This is all purely observational, and not an assassination of the individuals, in saying that, I will be assassinating them quite viciously.

The guy sitting in front of me is staring at his Mac.

First off, I’m not a Mac user, but I know that just staring at them for extended periods of time is not technically a constructive use for them.

I’m sure many Apple users would disagree and tell me that the pleasing aesthetics, and simple ergonomic design, lends itself very well to staring at them for prolonged time frames. And, I’m sure I’d agree that gazing at the casing is preferable to actually using one.

Mac guy, we’ll call him Max, is going through a perpetual cycle of looking vacant, sticking his hand over his mouth, and occasionally arching his eyebrows, then looking a bit lost. I am not, however, seeing much activity on the typing front from Max.

His hands do stray to the keyboard every now and again, I’m imagining that they are hovering with uncertainty – like a seagull over a quarter pounder. The seagull knows on a fundamental level that the quarter pounder is food, but it knows that there’s something not quite right, and anyway, seagulls have standards – goddammit.

Meanwhile, Max is back to cycling through his pre-programmed array of facial expressions.

Max, I’ve concluded, may be blogging or trying to write an article on airport entertainment; of which there is precious little.

The only entertainment I’ve encountered so far is how cranky the airport security guard got at me for holding my Chai Latte while trying to go through the departure gate. Perhaps he’d had a bad Chai Latte experience: his spouse maybe came to a bitter end at the hands of a poisoned or dark, enchanted, Chai Latte.

He was very thorough in making sure that I hadn’t filled my pants with weapons-grade plutonium. I don’t keep radioactive material in my pants, I keep it in my shoes, like any civilised person.

Much to my amusement, he waved his security wand over my offensive beverage; presumably to check for tiny soggy bombs, or to illustrate his general disapproval of transporting a hot drink past the departure gate.

There’s also a weird needle nosed character that looks like Mr Bean.

Thus far he hasn’t done anything hilarious like, for instance; spilled coffee on his lap, or proposed marriage to a dustbin because he lost his glasses. More’s the pity. He just looks a little meek at the moment. I will keep my eyes peeled for him going to the bathroom mid-flight, opening the wrong door, and comically being sucked out into the troposphere.

Breakfast on the flight consists of:

Pear and raspberry bread containing 21g of sugar.

Peach and mango yoghurt, in innocently unassuming plain white packaging, which has lord knows how much sugar. It’s probably a lot if they are too afraid to display that information.

And, a 23g toasted muesli bar, which has 7.1g of sugar.

With my current sugar reduced / free diet, if I consume all of those, I won’t need the plane to fly to Sydney.

I have very grudgingly eaten the pear and raspberry bread as I am starving. I hate to say it but a croissant and Nutella would have been healthier.

Every now and again I glance up at the screen.

Some celebrity chef or other is cooking in the snow. He has rather conveniently set up his table and utensils at the edge of what looks like a Norwegian forest. It must be part of the ‘cooking in insanely dramatic yet stunning locations that aren’t a traditional kitchen setting with snow-clad conifers absolutely everywhere’ series.

Beyond entertainment value, I fail to see the practicality of this.

Most people would be trying to survive the sub-zero conditions, or avoiding being viciously chewed by wolves if they were in that situation.

I don’t believe that anyone’s first survival instinct would be: construct a rustic table hewn from discarded lumber, somehow find some pots, pans, spoons and spatulas and beginning cooking a very elaborate meal.

All of the aforementioned items may be available if the last celebrity chef, and filming crew, were mauled by a ravenous bear with a penchant for pan seared salmon, tiny asparagus and potato dauphinoise.

I may be wrong. That may be what everyone would do instead of finding shelter, warmth, fresh water and a food source.

I think I’d better stop glancing at the screen, and writing as I’m now extremely certain that the full impact of the 12g of sugar has kicked in.

I’m off for a run up the aisles.

 

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3 Quotes in 3 Days : Day the First

Before anything else, I’d like to thank amusing2write for nominating me to do the 3 quotes in 3 days challenge, and for giving this new blogger some greatly appreciated blogging love.

If you haven’t already I suggest a visit to amusing2write‘s place. I hear she’s just put the kettle on and arranged the chocolate digestives attractively on a splendid china plate.

This, to some extent, is dragging me kicking and screaming out of my safe weekday hiding place; my blogging panic room – if you will.

My current writing routine revolves around attempting to post something blogworthy by Friday afternoon.

If blogworthy isn’t possible, probable or achievable; then some partially realized, half-baked, caffeine-soaked hysteria scribbled with a shaky hand, onto spectral paper, written in invisible ink, should suffice.

I’m going to restrain myself from waxing too lyrically about the late, great, Kurt Vonnegut. Instead, I will just say that as an author Kurt Vonnegut has inspired me greatly, and will continue to amaze, educate and enlighten generations of readers to come.

This is a complete understatement in regards to how much I feel Kurt Vonnegut has influenced the literary world, and the impact his work has had.

So, I will stop talking, shelve my opinions, and let this quote speak for itself:

 

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“Everything is nothing, with a twist.” -Kurt Vonnegut

 

My nominations for the 3 quotes in 3 days challenge – Day 1 are:

The Caffeinated Writer  – Caffeine fiend, and one of my first readers and followers.

Parlor of Horror – That haunted cinema that your friends dare you to spend the night in.

Writerish Ramblings – Journey into the written word.

Games

 

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It’s Friday again, and I’m realising that deadlines are not my strong point at the moment.

I don’t have a vast amount to write about blog-wise I’m afraid. I have barely reached the end of the working week with my sanity intact and have drawn a massive blank, so much so that my mind has been duly whitewashed.

I will say, in my defence, that I have been actively making a list of writing competitions due in February – in the vain hope that my non-existent skills at reaching a deadline improve in the next couple of weeks, at least enough to warrant being dragged into actual existence (as opposed to virtual existence – which is where our bank account resides).

I have also been putting pen to paper, well, fingers to mobile device – which is almost the same thing, without the pleasing aesthetic of scrawling and doodling around on a notepad.

From a creative writing perspective, I did get one of my Drabbles accepted and published by The Drabble this week – which was exceptionally exciting.

I have written a few over the last couple of weeks, which I have predominantly posted to Drablr.

I believe that I have extolled the virtues of this site on one of my earlier posts: Drabbles and Babbles, but since then I have found the community of quality writers on Drablr to be warm, talented and supportive in equal measure.

So, after sharing that with you all – I will post another of my 100 word Drabbles – this one has thus far received the most votes and comments.

It is – as my blog title suggests – called Games.

 

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Games

His face was constantly buried in his phone; eyes transfixed, fingers frantically pressing.

For the first few weeks she’d feigned interest – that’s what people do.

As time passed, she began to resent how little notice he took of her. She could walk into the room naked, asking an opinion about her new dress, and he’d just reply dismissively, ‘nice…’

On a rainy Wednesday, she finally gave up.

Enraged, exasperated and exhausted: sentence over; punctuated with a door slam.

He put down the phone and looked at where she had been.

It had been difficult, but he’d won the game.

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In the Planetarium

I normally don’t post this early in the week.

It’s a common occurrence that I gather my jumbled thoughts, and then scramble those thoughts into some type of baffling composite; a non-linear word omelette, which I unleash in all it’s irrational, made-from-stuff-I-found-at-the-back-of-my-mental-fridge glory on a Friday.

Today, however, I have had one of my Drabbles (100 word short stories) published on The Drabble blog – so am extremely excited.

Well, getting some of my fiction published or noticed was the primary intention of becoming a blogger, that and attempting to become a freelance writer.

So, thank you The Drabble for choosing my work, it makes all the difference and inspires me to keep writing and submitting.

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By Alex Munro

They flowed nebulously into the foyer, buffeted by the rain.

Stairs stretched out ahead, beckoning.  Early – they sat in silence; gaze refusing to meet, eyes slid off of each other like snowflakes hitting a radiator.

Ushered in, they took their seats. The show began.

Stars stretched out in infinite grace; breathtaking and beautiful. The music swelled, mercurial and purposeful. Wonders swirled, a visceral balletic crescendo. The audience, except the couple, applauded.

Rising from their chairs; tenuous and vague, twin wisps of smoke.  Conciliatory, hands clasped; momentarily tightening, then falling loose.

The space that she left could never be filled.

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