January: Random Assigned Topics
THE SET UP!
This Month: In January 2020, we will write each day on a random topic we assign to one another. You can make it as goofy, sappy, or anger-inducing as you like. Don’t spend more than 5 minutes! Many of these are coming from “642 Things to Write About”.
Rules:
Use one blog post for the whole month.
Write your piece and at the end, in another paragraph, you will write the topic for the other person in bold lettering.
The next day, the next person will put a spacer line (—————), then write below it. If you want, you can put the date.
Day 1 (Jan 1, 2020) : Assigning myself a thing to write about: “The corpse you saw in the undertaker’s window” (EMMA)
It was a warmish day out. One of those days where you are physically confused if it’s too hot or too cold at any and every point in time. I apparently was not the only one, as I glanced at every car I passed walking on the sidewalk. I had been taking my hoodie on and off the whole walk over to the local Bed Bath and Beyond. I didn’t have a coupon, so I was not really too sure why I was going there in the first place, because you can just cover a lemon with plastic wrap…I did not need a little rubbery thing to cover half the lemon I had not used yet. But yet here we are.
It was an unusually busy day out with more cars lined up at traffic lights than normal on a Saturday morning. Most cars had their windows cracked open, with the drivers and passengers bundled up in warm jackets. An array of radio stations seemed to play all at once, with one going in and out of clarity at a time as I walked past each. Though, there was one tune that played above all the rest.
“Another one bites the dust!” screamed the audio. It was hard at first to pinpoint which car it was coming from.
“Another one bites the dust!” it said again. This time with a second singer. It was the driver of the jet black hearse that just missed the light. He was rocking out with the windows open and a large jacket on. He reached down and back, picked up a cola bottle and took a giant swig. He then sang another line along with the tune, and took another swig.
Just as I was stepping into the road to cross in front of the rockin’ hearse, he pauses from singing and rips a massive belch. Happy with himself, he leans back and down to put the cola bottle away. He remains facing back and says to his passenger “Hells yeah, brah!” and commences to high five his buddy behind him.
It should be noted that there was no buddy in the back seat. Instead, he opened the front portion of the coffin and propped up the arm to stick out and be his “high-five guy” for the duration of the trip.
He did not notice that I noticed this.
I simply kept on walking and filed it far away in my mind with hopes that I did not actually see that, and my mind was still asleep.
I did, however, forget to buy the lemon cover and the lemon went bad. Thanks for asking.
Mom, your topic is: “The Next Sound You Hear and What Caused It”
Day 1 (Jan. 1, 2020): “The Next Sound You Hear and What Caused It” (IRENE)
So, as usual, I was working late. I was a marketing person in a manufacturing company and my cube was one of many (at least 100) arranged side by side in long lines separated by hallways of what was once a very large empty room. My cube was just south of mid-center of the room, on the window side of the building, which was on the opposite side from the entrance. I was not happy working this late. It was around 8:00 pm and all the engineers had left at exactly at 5:00 pm (unless they had to go to the factory to drop something off then they left at 3:00 pm and never returned). I was working on a particularly complex project and knew if I left it hanging to go home it would take me forever to pick it up again in the morning. It was always very quiet in the evening, which allowed me to concentrate without interruption.
On this evening all was very, very quiet, and I was at a very crucial point in the project when the next sound I heard was this hushed, slow guttural breathing coming into the engineering area from the main entrance way. I froze, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. It was very, very, very, slowly advancing into the room and the heavy rale-like gasping was getting a little louder as this unknown monster checked out the cubes as it moved forward. I was frantically trying to identify the sound, but the only things that came to mind was one of Stephen King’s escaped demons, or maybe I had been mysteriously transported to Jurassic Park to face a velociraptor, or perhaps an alien landed on the roof and was about to take me hostage, cut me into little pieces, store me in chemistry bottles to take home and study so the entire earth could be vanquished!
As this thing entered into the hallway next to mine, I knew it was a matter of time before it turned the corner and saw me. I turned on my voice recorder, so if I disappeared, or was found mutilated by Ernie our kindly, elderly cleaning person, there would be clues left for the FBI to work with. I then found a place under the desk I could hide, in case it couldn’t sniff my scent very well. I was very frightened.
As this creature got to the end of the passageway it stopped. It didn’t turn the corner into my hallway! My heart was in my mouth beating 1,000 beats a minute. Then I realized it had been dragging something heavy, "Oh God,” I thought, “It’s got Ernie. It murdered Ernie”. I thanked the Angels who had been watching over me because it turned around and slowly moved back towards the exit door dragging poor Ernie with it.
I was in shock and couldn’t possibly finish my project now. I turned off my computer and sat there shaking for an hour when I was sure the monster would not come back. I knew I couldn’t save Ernie, I knew he was already gone. I slowly got my things together and stealthily walked out of the building. Once out I made sure the coast was clear then ran to my car and drove like a lunatic home. By the time I got home I wondered if I had dreamed the whole thing up, and thought I needed a vacation. Maybe take the kids to the beach somewhere and get my mind together.
The next day I was still a bit shaky, but went back to work. It was nice to hear the happy chatter of the engineers swapping engineering problems. Vince, a good humored man who worked in the cube next to mine, was already working when I told him about my horrific experience the night before and played for him my recording of the eerie noise. Much to my annoyance he started to roar with laughter and said, “Don’t you read your emails?”. “What emails?” I said. “The one yesterday where they told us to leave promptly at 5:00 pm because the local fire department was having a fire drill in the building. They were to wear their full gear and respirators to see how far their hoses could go and how well the breathing apparatus would hold up in case there was a fire.” I stared at him open mouthed. I was now thoroughly humiliated, but stood my ground and haughtily said, “No, I didn’t read it, but you may be interested to know that if there was a fire they could only save the managers who are on the north side of the room, because that’s as far as the hoses obviously went, which means, Vince, you and I would be burnt to a crisp”. And on that note I flounced off to my cube to resurrect my project!
Em, your topic is: Your cat’s last dream
Day 2 (Jan. 2, 2020): The Cat’s Last Dream (Emma)
Tucker was not feeling particularly well, and was sleeping most the day. One particular time, he was curled in a ball with chin in the air and paw around the eyes. His whiskers started to twitch and he slightly chatters. Front paws lazily tried grabbing something close to his face. Back legs just slightly kicking at something, or perhaps running. Looks like a nightmare to me. I wake him up by lightly placing my hand on his hip. With a “drrrrreow!” he wakes up confused. He looks around and back at me. He squints his eyes to me, turns away and rolls up into a ball to go back to bed.
Cat PoV.
The city is in complete disarray. Panther (Tucker….clearly) is in charge of bringing back prey for his humans and the giant beast (the other cat) that used to torment him before the apocalypse. There is not that much to eat readily since all went to hell (moved from house to apartment). He must find something for us or we will all surely starve! Panther hears a rustling. Puts his nose in the air and concentrates on smelling the air. He picks up the scent of a bird. He can’t quite identify where it is at so he chatters to see if he can tempt it closer.
THERE IT IS! It’s a sparrow!
He paws closer to it.
A little closer,
Just a little closer……
BAM! He is off running towards it. He reaches out to grab it!
Happy, he almost has the bird…. “drrrrreow!”
“What?! Everything is gone. My human is here….and she is well. WTF.“
Mom, your topic for tomorrow is: Your favorite piece of clothing and why.
Day 3 (Jan. 3, 2020): Your favorite piece of clothing and why (Irene)
Growing up in a reserved, conservative family in the little town of Ore close to Hastings in Sussex, England was hard for a preteen in a very changing world. We were an all-girl household, which included my mother, two sisters, a Grandma , and the cat, Minnie. My sweet Grandma was from a bygone Victorian influenced era, with Victorian values and ideas, which was in definite conflict with a fast changing world I lived in. It was just after WWII—the war that changed everything, from old thinking patterns to emancipation of women, and made the west what it is today. Fortunately, life would never return to the claustrophobic lifestyle of the early 1900 days. But the new world order was too difficult for my Grandma to adjust to, so she tried to exert her influence on us by warning my mother not to let us venture into the big bad corrupt sleepy town of Ore! She wanted to impose rules like no slacks, pants, and DEFINITELY not jeans. If you wore any of them it was a clear sign you were in league with the Devil, and your soul would be damned for eternity, but for some reason the Devil was okay with ski-pants, so presumably he was a avid skier during his summer holidays. The same thing would happen to you if you whistled, which made you want to whistle for sure. But I did have a hard time reasoning, even at such a tender age, why the Devil was so involved with what I wore and what I whistled. According to my older sister I was unimportant, so why would the Devil find me so interesting? Surely there was bigger fish for him to fry—like my sister for example. It was all very puzzling. But, as my Grandma’s luck would have it, my mother either made our day clothes or we wore school uniforms, so we never actually wore slacks, pants, trousers or, even perish the thought, jeans, so our souls were saved, at least for the time-being.
Life after the war bought new things, like the modern cinema. My first “flick” (our colloquialism for movies), was Swiss Family Robinson and when my Grandma found we were going to go and see this on a Sunday, which was our only available time, she went spare! “You cannot go to the cinema on a Sunday, God will turn away from you and be angry.” We went anyway and I asked for forgiveness on the way there. It was around this time that the Broadway show of West Side Story was an attraction. We didn’t have any money to see it, but we were told it was good, and given the general plot: two rival gangs, beautiful girl, handsome guy, fall in love, happily ever after. Then Sony and Cher also ventured into our lives with the song, “I’ve got you Babe”. That was an exciting time and fun music. They were very different from our secure world, and I loved the clothing Cher wore especially her jeans: tight hipsters, bell-bottoms, low-slung belt. She was fabulous and I wanted the jeans.
That same year a new, younger, drama/music teacher was employed at our school. She taught us the music from West Side Story and put together a dance routine that we took part in. Obviously I didn’t get the part of Maria, that went to the teacher’s favorite singer—a very fair-skinned, strapping blonde girl with no trace of Hispanic heritage whatsoever (but in truth that would have been hard to find in our class at that time, but in all fairness some of us did have dark hair). But the best bit was the rest of us were cast as members of the gang, and we got to dress up like a gang member—which meant hipster, bell-bottom jeans.
Now that I had decided my dress, how was I going to break it to my mother that I wanted a pair of jeans? I decided to go about it gently by reasoning with her, and amplifying the positive side of this experience: dance steps = exercise, singing = the musical arts, Broadway shows = theater, and so on. But, alas she was not swayed, it was an emphatic NO. Her suggestion was the nice flowery dress I had with a red velvet ribbon belt. I quickly pointed out that frilly collars, flouncy dresses and embroidered cardigans was NOT the attire for a New York gang member. My Grandma chimed in with the Devil again. But I had made up my mind, and if my mother could sew, well so could I.
I found some jean material (don’t ask me where I found it) and got one of my mother’s pattern books and away I went. I realized I had watched my mother do this so many times that I had unwittingly picked up the techniques. I got one of my sisters to help me thread up the sewing machine and before long I got hipster, bell-bottom jeans in my size. I was so thrilled. I loved every part of them.
The day came for my big performance and when I put my jeans on with a top that I had that I thought Cher would approve of, I was an immediate success with my friends. We performed this very good song and dance in front of the school, and it was enjoyed by all the students both performing and watching. Then disaster struck. I had a dreaded wardrobe malfunction. We were on the ground doing our last dance piece, when we had to jump up from the floor for a fabulous finale and that is when I heard this enormous rip coming from the back of my jeans. The seam had given way under the strain of too much movement. The audience sniggered, but I didn’t care, I carried on because I was now a seasoned actor and performer. I had won on so many levels. I realized I now could sew anything I wanted, I found I really loved dancing I discovered Rock and Roll, and, most of all I had faced and beaten the Devil at his own game.
Em, your topic for tomorrow is: Toto, if we’re not in Kansas anymore, where are we?
Day 4 (January 4): “Toto, if we’re not in Kansas anymore, where are we?”
Africa.
We’re in Africa, Toto.
And it is raining like crazy.
Ok, so that is a bit vague, I get it. Let’s go into the story a bit more. Anywhere you see a Blondie’s Pizza, there will inevitably be a “Rasputin Records” nearby, if not directly next to each other. I was taking a walk and on my way home when it started to rain. It was just like God was holding in a lot of pee and his dad FINALLY pulled the car over to let him relieve himself. So, in order to get away from God-pee (rain), I ran into the closest store: Blondie’s Pizza. It was a pretty dirty place, and I was most definitely not hungry. So, I exited, careful not to go past the awning, and went into the neighboring store: Rasputin Records.
This was a much more tolerable smell. I have no idea how long it’ll be raining, so I decided to take my time. The cool thing about Rasputin, was they had Record’s along with CD’s. They had a tiny corner with cassette tapes….but cassettes are now for chumps, so skip that shit.
Because we are in the roaring ‘20’s….again….They kind of mushed the 70’s and 80’s music into a whole giant section of the store. I guess because this is now considered “classic rock era”?
Perusing the area, there were ACDC, Aerosmith, Cinderella, Def Leppard, and much more. However, the alphabet collection of CD’s was interrupted by a cardboard cut out of a whole section dedicated to the band ‘Kansas’. The whole structure housed the many (mostly multiple copies of “Audio Visions”) albums. Definitely not enough to fill the space, I didn’t know much about Kansas the band, so I pulled up a couple of their discs and started reading the back of them.
“Vinyl Confessions. Play the Game Tonight. Right Away. Fair Exchange,” I read out loud to myself. “I know none of these songs.”
I put that one away and read onto the next one I grabbed. “Leftoverture. Carry on Wayward Son,” once again reading to myself. “Oh yeah, I know that one, but these others….which one has ‘Dust in the Wind’?”
O read pm tp the others I picked up and put them back. This section seemed to last forever. I looked to the other side of the aisle.
Glam Rock.
Whitesnake, Motley Crue, Survivor.
I kept thinking to myself why in God’s name was the Kansas section so large?! Did they have a cult following or were they just a cultish band!?
Soon, I came to the end of the aisle, to which there was yet another shrine. This time, it was not made of old cardboard boxes. It was made of CD cases, 8-tracks, Vinyl, cassette tapes, commemorative DVD’s, and laser discs of the same album of Toto-IV and the hit single “Africa”. No other album tarnished this magnificent gazebo of Toto. I did find a small cut out of Africa someone had stuck onto the side of the structure. It was literally the same album over and over. The single versions of the song “Africa” were the most prominent and obvious selling point.
I had completely forgotten about the Kansas exhibit. I was no longer in Kansas. And it was still raining like a bitch outside.
Mom, your next assignment is “Time Magazine just named you ‘Person of the Year’. Why?”
DAY 5 (January 5, 2020) “Time Magazine just named you ‘Person of the Year’. Why?” Irene
It had been a beautiful day, cool, but sunny and calm. Lulu-belle, my trusty little black and white Shih-poo, and I were enjoying the very last rays of sunshine for the day. We had just come back from a very fruitful, squirrel-chasing, walk in the woods and each of us had polished off a wonderful hotdog from the non-other, world famous Hog Dog Heaven. All was well and peaceful in our little world, and it was time to relax. As the sun went down it got a little chilly, so we turned on the fire, had a quick little loving of each other (well it was mainly me loving her while she was figuring how to get out of a choke-hold), and we stretched out on the comfy couch together. Lulu immediately went off to snooze-land while I got out my phone to read my favorite BBC human-interest stories. Time magazine caught my eye and I scanned their Most Influential People of the Century piece. Then, following in Lulu’s paw steps, I settled down to take a nice little nap.
I had no sooner fallen into a pleasant sleep when Lulu heard a disturbance outside and jumped up and started wildly barking towards the door, and Wyatt, her bird friend, joined in the fray by squawking loudly. I jumped up off the couch in a panic wondering what the heck was going on. Then there was a loud knock on my side door. I looked through a small window and saw my neighbor there with a big grin on his face. I was intrigued.
When I opened the door it was mayhem. My friends, neighbors and the press mobbed me. The street was suddenly alive. Camera’s flashed in my face while news people shoved microphones under my nose. One fellow came forward and said, “We are journalists from the news media. Can we have a statement?” Another said, “How do you feel right now?” Others chimed in with: “Was it a shock, or were you expecting this honor?” “What will you do next?” Eventually all the words blended together and became a giant blur.
“STOP” I shouted, “What is this all about?” One reporter said, “You, you really don’t know?” “Obviously not,” I said sarcastically, “Obviously I don’t know!” “But…but,” he stammered, “You won the Time Magazine woman of the Century, such a great honor!” My mouth dropped open and managed to choke out, “Don’t be stupid. What’s this really about?” My neighbor said, “No. No, it’s true, it’s all over the news, you were chosen.” In bewilderment I said, “But I haven’t done anything even remotely interesting.” “You really don’t know you won do you?” He continued, “They didn’t tell you did they?” All I could do was shake my head.
I was by now becoming somewhat curious. “What did I win this for?” I asked anyone in general, “You took down Medicare” someone in the crowd replied. “I WHAT?” I was incredulous. “You took down Medicare. Forced out all the people who made it into a complicated mess. Boards of advisers were picked from people from all walks of life and charged with reorganization. It is now a smooth running, efficient and equitable system for all. Our health care is better, we have more money to spend on medical research, it offers healthier life-styles, and we saved billions of dollars in the process”. I was shocked. Someone else continued, “Different medical systems around the world are looking into what you did as a benchmark. You are a hero. You changed the world.”
“I changed the world because I was mad that Medicare would not pay a legitimate $400 medical bill?” “Yep,” someone shouted, “You did it, you got so riled that you took surveys and found Medicare and their secretive coding system cheated so many people, particularly the poor and elderly who have been badly misrepresented.” Well, I knew this to be true. Frustration sets in when people pay upwards of $360 a month, and Medicare/supplemental insurance still won’t pay certain credible medical claims. It is a huge rip-off.
Clearly I am getting mad all over again. Then I start to fully comprehend my award and accomplishment. I stand straight, puff out my chest, and slowly turn to the crowd, and announce, “I AM the woman who stopped Medicare in their tracks, and I am proud of this great achievement, and am glad of the benefits it affords each and every one of you.” Everyone clapped and cheered. I felt really good.
Then the dog barked and the bird squawked, and I jumped up, off the couch. As I got my bearings I immediately felt sad because I knew my accomplishment had only been a dream. Then it occurred to me that just before nodding off I had read a quote. It was something Greta Thunberg, the teenage activist, had said…now what was it? Aha, yes. It was something like, “Even the smallest of voices can make a big difference”……..
TO EMMA….WHY BE A WOMAN OF THE YEAR, WHEN YOU CAN BE A WOMAN OF THE CENTURY?
Emma, your next assignment is “Your favorite character’s hair"
Day 6 (January 7): Your favorite character’s hair
I don’t particularly watch too much TV or movies anymore and a character’s hair style never really is awesome enough to stay in my memory like “I really want that style”. I dye my hair a lot, various wild colors, but even so, I can’t really remember any one style that stands out.
With the exception of one.
Bo- Bo Bo Bo- Bo Bo Bo.
That is the name of a Japanese anime character that has the best hair. You, see, this anime is weird. It is weird in Japanese standards as well. I think it was briefly translated and put into America for a hot second. To this day, Aki and I feel bad for the people that had to translate this. I can only imagine they had developed a mental disorder where you frequently question yourself on mundane, normal things. When I watched this show in Japanese, I kept asking Aki if I was misunderstanding the context, only to turn to Aki who clearly was as confused as I was, with the exception of his furrowed brow and gaping mouth. I knew that I was on track.
So, where does the hair play into this?! Well, first you needed to know that the premise, characters, and context made absolutely no sense. It’s like telling this joke:
Person A: Why don’t motorcycles have doors?
Person B: I don’t know. Why?
Person A: Because peanut butter and jelly.
Makes no sense…..that was the whole show. Now, that being said, the main character, Bo- Bo Bo Bo- Bo Bo Bo, he had awesome hair. He was this tall lanky dude with constant sun glasses. button up shirt with most of his chest exposed to show how ripped he was. On the top of his head, he sported the smoothes blonde afro.
However, that is not the hair I am talking about.
I can sense you are getting a little nervous.
You are right to be nervous, but probably not for what you think. Pervert.
The most magnificent locks came from his nostrils. This dude fought with his nose hair. When in trouble, Bo- Bo Bo Bo- Bo Bo Bo had long nose hairs that would come out like long extra arm (oddly dexterous) and beat the hell out of enemies.
I thought that was:
1, not normal
2. sadness for the storyboard artists and writers
3. hopefulness for the animators
4. intrigued.
Mom, your next assignment is “what is it like looking through your dog’s eyes?”
Day 8: January 21 “What is it like looking through your dog’s eyes?
“Oh look at this at great big chew toy.” Lulu the poodle-shi tzu mix puppy thought to herself when she first arrived in her new home. “How nice of my PA (personal assistant) to provide these wonderful accessories. Oh yes, I need to chew, constantly chew, my teeth are calling me to chew. Uh-oh, I better wait until “she” has gone - she gets all funny when I start chewing this toy. She calls it something like dining room table and a couple of chairs…whatever that is.”
That was my puppy years, now I am an experienced adult cute dog so let me take this time to set you all straight. My real dog name is Davina the Daring, but I placate my PA by responding to Lulu (got to throw the old gal a bone now and again). I am wanting to use this spot to complain though. I am usually laid back, but sometimes she can really go barking mad, I mean to say. She talks to no one in particular about the state of something called “work”. I have no idea what that is but seems to be a total waste of time, but she does spend a lot of time talking about it with no concern about my comfort level, which is way more important. It starts just before we should be going for a nice long walk in the woods that is filled with interesting aromas……..wait I am getting ahead of myself and putting the tail before the paws. To try and get out of the house to the park in the first place we have to go through a whole ritual.
She will say something like “Walkies” (a stupid word, but has great rewards if I listen) and I get excited to be able to pee at last. I think this time is going to be different, but it is not. It’s the same routine. She has to find this thing she calls a phone (which is useful if we get lost it can guide us back. I can do it under normal circumstances because of my nose and with her scent I can back track the way we came, but why bother, that’s why she’s got the phone thingy). After searching all over the place for that phone thing she finds it and my ears start to perk up….we’re getting closer to the door. No, we’re not. She needs this little square thing that hangs off her arm (it is a useful item because we use that to get ice cream. It holds some green paper stuff that she takes out and hands to the nice ice cream lady, who then gives us yummy ice cream). After sometime we find that. Okay ever closer to the door. No, we’re not. Now she needs the leash.
We have two leashes, and none of them can be found. Time for me to lay down again. After rumbling around the house and using naughty words she finds one of them in her recipe box. This hunt goes on and on—find the letter she needs to post, find the right size poo-bag, now she’s lost her keys. This find-and-seek game constitutes another snooze time for me.
Eventually she opens the door…this is it….the time has come and I spring out into the bright sunny day….oh no she’s pulling me back….she needs to pee. Here she comes once more and we’re getting to the door…wait, wait for it….ahhhh….lost the keys again, now found them, lost the phone, now found and heading for the door…and…..and…..SHE’S OUT, she’s out and the door has closed….we’re off. Oh hey there’s Darius the Great German Sheppard….”Hey Darius” “Hey Davina”….Oh glorious day, glorious smells, glorious pee, glorious poo, and best of all glorious ice cream. Now home for a nap. Thanks Mom XXX.
Emma, your next assignment is “Write a conversation two people are having at a cafe”