So, what does it say about the town you live in that the cheapest, healthiest and most consistently good food can be found at a taco truck in the parking lot of a defunct gas station?

So, here’s a test of a 3d-ish effect. What do you think?

So, I’m in the middle of populating my amazon.com storefront, and I decided to simultaneously revamp all my mosaic tile websites. Of course that means that the first one I did was bead barrel, because I’m all scatterbrained like that.

So, I’m in the middle of pushing my inventory onto amazon.com and I kind of decided to call the business there ‘funkbarrel’, but the stickers are shown to be manufactured by ’stickermatic’. I also have this website, which is just another silly name and I have poetzel.com among others that I could concentrate some umbrella identity on. What’s your vote? Funkbarrel? Flipdingo? Poetzel? Stickermatic? Modernspot? or anything else…

I was unlucky enough to sit through the most recent edition of Wife Swap, and got to watch the buffoonery (edited to that flavor, no doubt) of Stephen Fowler of San Francisco. All of his cutesy eco-shirts kind of got wasted by all the garbage coming out of his mouth. Now every tree hugger that wants to flaunt it will be looking over their shoulder should they venture into the red parts of the country.

I guess I didn’t try to google him fast enough since all his personal information seems to have been wiped off the interweb due to all the indignation his display on television has engendered. Yes, I know that the show is edited to highlight conflict and turmoil, but he had to put on the show for it to make into final cut…

Why go on the show just to be a dick?

If you want to create your own eco friendly t-shirt design or let any other opinion emblazon your chest, Make your own t-shirt.

“I’m kind of bummed that she wanted to buy back her vocal tracks, but it’s her decision. She said that you were going to be looking out for her interests, like I have something to worry about.”

“That’s just something I told her to say. She was all worried that you’d freak out and get angry.”

John was angry, but not in a way that he might consider violence against another person. He wanted to throw his computers off the balcony into the ship canal, or just drop them onto the parking lot thirty feet below. The sound of smashing plastic and silicon might just make him feel better.

“I’m not angry, plus do you think I’d ever try to hurt someone, even if they didn’t know you?”

“Probably not, you seem pretty mellow. Like I said, she was just worried.”

“You tell Roxy that she has nothing to worry about. I might take a baseball bat to my computer, but never to a pretty girl”, John said reachign for another piece of pizza.

Randy had come bringing something else besides John’s favorite pizza. He knew quite a few people at Microsoft, and was still in the loop when it came to software that wasn’t ready for prime time or maybe would never see the light of day. Randy had a DVD in his jacket that was going point John in a whole new direction in his search for artificial intelligence.

Microsoft was so entrenched in the market for computer operating systems that it was like they had a license to print money. Almost every PC manufacturer put a copy of Windows on each machine that went out the door, and all those Microsoft products no longer had boxes or manuals or shrink wrap any more. The digital copies of Windows were just copied onto the hard drives and a little holographic sticker went on the case, showing that the computer had a registered copy of Windows on it.

So the company churned on, streaming out these serial numbers and holographic stickers, raking in the dough, but they had to find something to spend research money on. Programmers and engineers need to be kept busy, honing their skills for the time when the next version of Windows would be needed to bolster the revenue stream and make the end users even happier with their computers. At least that was how it was supposed to work.

Some of the engineers and programmers still got bored, even with xbox 360 and the zune and the web applications. When the smartest ones started to exhibit the telltale signs of ADHD or Asberger’s, they would be given something to copy, clone or reverse-engineer. Sometimes a product would emerge, and sometimes it would just be a dead end in bloatware, but it was always a technological challenge that helped those programmers flex their coding muscles.

Randy was once the group leader of the group that got to write the specs that would get the reverse engineering ball rolling. Someone had to put down on paper all the things that something did, or was supposed to do, so that someone else could recreate it from scratch. When you set out to copy something that someone else is likely to try to protect you from copying, you had to have some ground rules to keep you out of court.

Whether it was a copyright, a trademark or a patent, the guys that would create your version had to keep their grubby hands and prying eyes off the original. Those that wrote the specs would never work the recreation, and would try to keep the next team from ever seeing the competition’s prize. The goal was, of course, to make money selling something that was just a little bit better, or little cheaper than the one that everyone was already buying to put under the christmas tree or on the corporate charge card.

When Windows was flying high, Randy’s team had a lot spare time, so he had written some pretty strange specifications, and a few of those had actually been passed down the line. One that had received some technical attention was on the DVD in his pocket. The spec he had written was for a talking dog, not that anyone buy Randy would know that. When the program had gotten to a certain point, it really started freaking some of the programmers out and they pulled the plug on the project.

Randy held up his finger as he was trying to separate an olive pit from the edible portion of the pizza in his mouth, “I’ve got something to show you.”

Rancy pulled the DVD out of his pocket and put it on the coffee table. It was in a purple jewel case and it was just a cheap recordable DVD that he had burned the data onto. John reached over and picked it up. The top of the DVD was blank except for a ring of very small letters that were etched around the center spindle hole.

“I can’t quite read what it says”, John said to Randy as he twisted the disc around, trying to catch the light.

“It says, El Cerebro.”

“The Brain?”

“The name was a joke that we used when the program started doing things that were never specified. The original name was Irish Rover, which was another joke. You know how funny all us computer geeks are”, Randy said, laughing.

“What is it?”

Randy didn’t want to give John any preconceived notions about the program, so he had to think of a careful answer, “It’s a game, or a joke, maybe.”

“Is this something from your time in Redmond?”, John asked, opening the case to look at the disc.

“Can’t say.”

“Can’t, or won’t?”

“Whatever works for you, man.”

“Where did you work before?”

“I was a manager at a McDonald’s.”

John closed his eyes and tried not to laugh. “That’s where I got my first job when I was fifteen!”

“I hear that a lot. It got pretty hard to hire young teenagers by the time I was a manager. Most of the applicants that I dealt with were people in their forties trying to supplement their income from their other shitty job, pardon my French.”

“Which one did you manage?”

“It was a drive through only restaurant off the Fort Lewis freeway exit.”

“I’ve been at that one. It’s kind of weird.”

“Yeah, it’s different. The franchisee found that narrow lot and that’s all the building that would fit. It does pretty good business though.”

“Well, really don’t eat at McDonald’s much since Dick’s is so much better.”

“I have to agree with you. You can beat a Dick’s shake.”

Paul walked over from his office to see what all the activity was. As usual he was a little out of it and didn’t really know what the conversation was about. “I’d like a big dick in my mouth!”, he exclaimed.
John just scrunched down and tried to contain his laughter. Steve was a little shocked and didn’t know how to react to the comment. Paul just reached out and patted John on the back thinking that he was having trouble coughing.

“Hey, John are you all right?”, Paul asked.

John sat up, pursing his lips and then let out a loud cough. “Oh, I’m fine now Paul. Thanks.”

“Are you guys going up to Dick’s for lunch? My favorite one is the Big Dick!”, said Paul reaching for his wallet, “Can you get me one?”

“It’s called a Deluxe”, John said, correcting him.

“Oh, a Deluxe. I thought it was a Big Dick”, Paul said, handing John twenty bucks.

“Do you have a five?”, John asked, “The deluxe is two ninety five.”

“I’ll buy, get whatever you guys want too”, Paul said walking back to his office.
“Was he serious?”, Steve asked.

“He always calls them that. I don’t know if he’s joking or if that’s what he thinks they’re called.”

“That’s not the kind of mistake you want to make up on Broadway.”

So, I kept writing today. For some reason I always like it when there’s an infodump at the end of the story and it makes it seems like everyone just goes on their merry way. It works as long as you don’t need to make up some reason for a sequel. So I now have written 51,276 words in the month of November and my next monumental task is an edit and a rewrite. But here’s the infodump…

So, the Sheriff ordered more one ounce silver coins, complete with his portrait in the tail side. For this new Sasquatch hunt, he decided on a more local name, The Wishkah Valley Skookum Trail – 2008 on the front. Now that the Bigfoot hunters were all over the internet, he sold out the first minting in less than a month. The press was huge once they got pictures of the footprint mold up on the web. There were hairs left behind in the body bag that proved the Sheriff right, much to the surprise of the State Patrol’s forensic lab. The DNA profile of the Sasquatch was so close to that of a human, no one would have ever found it, except for the exemplars that Denton and Bowden brought in. With this new information, they were able to match DNA left on several more of the body parts to a Skookum, but not the one that had been in the bag.

Eric renamed the bar. The Lumber Mill was rechristened The DreamTime and the grand reopening featured another concert by Ralph’s band, Nobstreater Revival. Eric put a huge portrait of Ollie Svenberg above the bar and a nine foot statue of a Sasquatch just inside the door. Eric financed his remodeling by laundering all the cash he had piled up through Joe Cross’s building, getting a new roof, a new paint job and all new interiors. It only took a month or so for the makeover, making a place for Joe’s anchor tenant, Bowden’s Bigfoot Emporium.

Although Bowden would have preferred to use Sasquatch or Skookum in the name, his last name started with a B, so Bowden’s Bigfoot just sounded better. Sheila was able to run the store, selling those silver medallions and all manner of trinkets and curios to the tourists that had been driving through Aberdeen anyway, just not having a reason to stop until now. Aberdeen was back on the map, as Sasquatch Central.

Mr. Svenberg had a hard time coming to grips with what he’d been entranced to do with his customers and quit the business of death. He still drove his old Cadillac hearse around town after he sold the building where his shop was, keeping that car looking like brand new. And just like having to make the trip to Wal-Mart if they wanted something that the supermarket didn’t sell, everyone had to go to Aberdeen now for their final passage to wherever it was they were headed.

Ralph was so inspired by all the excitement that his geocache dabbling had started that he wrote an entire new album of songs. With all the new tourists in town, he even got noticed by some big wig from LA and signed a record deal. Sarah had warned him about using the old Nobstreater name, and sure enough, as soon as he started getting press, his old band mates came out of the woodwork to hassle him about getting the band back together.

Peter and Louise packed up their internet business and moved to Hawaii. Louise only bought the house in Hoquiam because it cost about the same as a parking space in a Seattle condo building. The rain didn’t bother Peter or Louie, but the cold and the grey did, so they moved to the Big Island where it rained even more, but at least it was warm. Now they wouldn’t run into any Skookums, but they’d better keep an eye out for Night Walkers.

So, I uploaded my most recent novel into the verifier at nanowrimo.org and it says I’m a winner. I can now do a happy dance. I just wish I had some champagne! But I needed more than the 50,000 to get to the end, so I’m trying to get there tonight, but it will probably be tomorrow. I’m at 50,666 words and here’s a sample:

When Ralph and Peter were driving back to town, they got to the Young Street Bridge and the black police cruiser was parked on the shoulder and Eric was sitting on the trunk. He waved at them to stop, so Peter pulled the van over behind Eric’s car. Ralph jumped out first and walked over to Eric.

“Hey, what’s up? Are you sure you aren’t the geocache guru?”, Ralph asked Eric.

“It isn’t me, some dude bought a bunch of those boxes from me last summer. I think he lives in Elma. Did you two call the cops again?”

“Yeah, somebody threw a foot and a head at us”, Ralph replied.

“No shit. I didn’t see anyone up there. I was just checking to see if the cops had cleared out.”, Eric said, thinking that he might not have anything to worry about.

“We decided to put that ammo box back where it was supposed to be in the woods. Someone brought it down here I guess”, Peter said walking up.

“Did you find the clue under the bridge?”, asked Eric, not really caring.

“Yes, it was another hidden message”, Ralph answered, “It had a web address on it. I have to look it up when I get home.”

“So, the cops will be in the rampage again, huh?”, said Eric.

“We just told them about the head, the foot and the mortician.”

“The old dude with the gnarly Cadillac?”

“Yep, he’s my neighbor and he went up to the trail right after we came down.”

“Too weird, dudes. So they’re looking for him now?”

“Yes, the old guy and bear. That’s what they’re hoping to find now.”

“I see, well, that’s interesting. Thanks for letting me know”, Eric said getting back into his old cop car.

“Do you think he’s like a crime buff now? Keeping tabs on the cops, since he was one?”, Peter asked.

“Maybe, who else drives an old beater Crown Vic?”, Ralph asked, getting back in the van.

*****

“Denton! We found it! U-fuckin-reka!”, the Sheriff couldn’t really contain his glee at seeing the impression in the dirt.

“What size foot is that?”, Denton asked.

“Size? It’s not A size, it’s THE size. It’s Bigfoot!”

“I thought you said it was called Sasquatch up here, sir.”

“It is. Sasquatch, Wild Man, Skookum, makes no difference. We are back in business Denton. Go get your forensic mold plaster and I’ll go talk to Svenberg.”

The Sheriff grabbed the bag and took another whiff, “Whooee, that’s ripe. That’s the smell of crazy tourist dollars, it is.”

Denton walked back to his rig and got out the plaster for make shoeprint molds, he just hoped that he had enough for the footprint he had to fill. The Sheriff made his way through the brush back to the Cadillac where Ollie was still waiting patiently.

“Is this your body bag?”, the Sheriff asked, holding up the mangled black pouch.

“Yes, that’s it. Did you find the monkey?”

“Wasn’t a monkey Ollie. It was a Skookum and I’d wager that you’ve fallen under their spell. Didn’t you have a strange tale to tell after you went missing a few years back?”

“Yes, I really don’t know what happened in the woods.”

“I think I know. You must have communed with the Wild Man, sung with the Sasquatch, danced with the Skookums in the DreamTime!”

OK, so here I am, just on the threshold of actually writing out 50,000 semi-cohesive words. I’m at 48,349.

“Hey, there’s the foot. Reset your trip odometer”, Ralph said, looking at the running shoe on the side of the road whiz by.

By the time they got back to the paved road the trip odometer read 1.4 miles, so the foot was a about half way up the road to the trail. Ralph wrote the number down to tell the police when they got to a payphone. Peter began to pull out on the road when they saw a big, black car coming up the street.

When it passed them they saw that it was Mr. Svenberg’s hearse and it looked like the old man driving. Peter slowed down the car so they could see where he went. There wasn’t anything up this road since it ended at another gated logging road about a mile past where they had been turning.

“Hey, he’s going up the road to the trail!”, Ralph shouted.

“I’m going to call the cops from here”, Peter said.

Peter grabbed his cell phone, but there wasn’t a signal down in the valley next to the river. “Shit, the phone’s not working. We have to drive up the road towards town a bit.”

“Go! Let’s get somebody up here. If somebody has a steady supply of body parts it’s the mortician!”, Ralph shouted.

Peter shoved the van into gear and sped down the road, watching the bars on his phone. As soon as he saw two bars of signal he called 911.

“Hi, this isn’t technically an emergency.”

“OK, what’s the problem?”

“I’m up on Central, north of Aberdeen. Send someone from the Sheriff’s Department up to the trailhead where they’ve been investigating the human remains in the woods. Deputy Denton and the Sheriff know where that is.”

“Who is this?”

“This is Peter Forster. My friend and I found the remains with my dogs last week and now somebody or something just threw a foot and a head at us on the same road.”

“Get serious.”

“I’m totally serious. Now the mortician from Hoquiam just drove his hearse up the logging road. I don’t know if he’s picking up or delivering.”

“We’ll call you back if we need to. Don’t confront the other driver”, the operator said as she hung up.

“Well, now we’re involved again I guess”, Peter said as he closed his phone.
“Who’s we, white man? I’m not here”, Ralph said, as he started to get out of the van.

*****

Salal Blossom had been dreaming again and now that he was awake he was really pissed off. The old human hadn’t brought him anything for months. For the last few years he would dream about his women and the old man would bring ghosts up into the woods, always ones that looked like the women in the old man’s dreams. Women with blonde hair, blue eyes and yellow rubber gloves.

He’d been waiting here on the hill that he dreamed about, waiting for the old man, but others kept coming. Too many came lately and he was started to think the old man would stop. The first time it happened, Salal Blossom didn’t know what to think. He recognized the ghost from the old man’s dream, but what would he do with a ghost? Ghosts weren’t warm and they generally didn’t taste very good, but when he figured out that the old man didn’t want them back, they help him vent.

There had been one or two that were fresh, edible even, and the meals satiated Salal Blossom’s hunger and his rage. Then the ghosts were less palatable, some even made him sick, so they became objects of his hatred, his grief and his loneliness. The feet always fell off first and then he’d rip the hands off. The rubber smelled so bad. Then when he got extremely tired of seeing the ghost’s face he’d figure out some new game to separate the head from the body.

After a couple of weeks, he’d bury the rest somewhere in the woods, to feed the trees.