Dream: Urses and Plum Wine
Tuesday morning:
The short, balding scientist dangled on a rope from the open belly hatch of a flying fortress. (Not the B-17; this was an urban lump of yellow would-be metal that soared through the air for no reason... like the play-set version of Doctor Doom's flying citadel, if he had one.) Wind tugged at the sprays of white hair that ringed his head, and he climbed slowly down, forcing himself not to look at the Pacific gaping beneath him. The Tick encouraged him from farther down the rope, while the polar bear swayed heavily at the end. The bear was watching for an island, a boat... anything that would fit The Plan.
The silhouette of a villain yelled insults from the hatch, then a robotic arm grabbed the middle of the rope and pulled it into the fortress. For a few seconds, the Scientist hung inverted on the upper loop, his guts quaking with vertigo. Unseen, the villain neatly sliced the rope. The Scientist's loop unfurled, righting him, and the bottom half of the rope dropped away from the vessel, taking his comrades along for the ride. He clamped his knees and hung on with one hand as he lurched back, grabbing the falling rope with the other. The weight of the Tick and the polar bear tugged his shoulders in their sockets, and the rope burned slowly across his palms.
"Tick!" the Scientist shouted. "It's slipping!"
With a quick grunt, the Tick raced upwards, clambering past the Scientist to lock his grip on the two ropes, blue muscles bulging. The Scientist nodded and resumed his climb down. At the bottom, the polar bear tested the ocean water with a hind leg.
"It isn't wet," he called up.
"What?" said the confounded Scientist. "Are you sure?"
"Oh, yes," he replied. "It's cold enough, it just isn't wet."
The black wood of the small restaurant soaked up the light, giving it a dim, intimate atmosphere. My friend and I had just gotten our food. My plain rice turned out to be a little too plain, so I asked whether they had any fruit.
"Only this can of peaches," the waiter replied.
That wouldn't do at all, so I asked him to mix in some Choya plum wine instead. Since that wasn't enough, I ordered a chocolate cannoli to balance everything. When it arrived, the ends were folded over and welded with extra chocolate, which made them extra tasty.
The polar bear crossed the frozen pond beside his snowy den. Frozen chunks floated in the holes where the ice was broken, the sunlight gently tousled the snow drifts, and burger bags tumbled on the wind. Wait, what's that? Nosing in an icy crevice, the bear was horrified to discover dozens of discarded fast-food wrappers, greasy paper sacks, and styrofoam shells from Hardee's and McDonald's. Tracking swiftly across the ice, he saw more of the trash floating in a slushy puddle. The bear growled a deep, abiding anger, a rumble that was only beginning, still too low to hear or even feel without a hand against his furry side.
Disney has done this.
He stalked forward a few steps, but he stopped when he heard the chatter of approaching hunters. He quickly reversed his path to lay an ambush for the invading humans. They hadn't found his den yet; the opening was too low to the pond. Humans will never find it; they can't stand the heat. When he reached a larger break in the ice, he dove otter-like into the boiling waters below, surfacing again in the black cave at the pool's edge. Eyes alert for the doomed hunters, he waited silently.
The short, balding scientist dangled on a rope from the open belly hatch of a flying fortress. (Not the B-17; this was an urban lump of yellow would-be metal that soared through the air for no reason... like the play-set version of Doctor Doom's flying citadel, if he had one.) Wind tugged at the sprays of white hair that ringed his head, and he climbed slowly down, forcing himself not to look at the Pacific gaping beneath him. The Tick encouraged him from farther down the rope, while the polar bear swayed heavily at the end. The bear was watching for an island, a boat... anything that would fit The Plan.
The silhouette of a villain yelled insults from the hatch, then a robotic arm grabbed the middle of the rope and pulled it into the fortress. For a few seconds, the Scientist hung inverted on the upper loop, his guts quaking with vertigo. Unseen, the villain neatly sliced the rope. The Scientist's loop unfurled, righting him, and the bottom half of the rope dropped away from the vessel, taking his comrades along for the ride. He clamped his knees and hung on with one hand as he lurched back, grabbing the falling rope with the other. The weight of the Tick and the polar bear tugged his shoulders in their sockets, and the rope burned slowly across his palms.
"Tick!" the Scientist shouted. "It's slipping!"
With a quick grunt, the Tick raced upwards, clambering past the Scientist to lock his grip on the two ropes, blue muscles bulging. The Scientist nodded and resumed his climb down. At the bottom, the polar bear tested the ocean water with a hind leg.
"It isn't wet," he called up.
"What?" said the confounded Scientist. "Are you sure?"
"Oh, yes," he replied. "It's cold enough, it just isn't wet."
The black wood of the small restaurant soaked up the light, giving it a dim, intimate atmosphere. My friend and I had just gotten our food. My plain rice turned out to be a little too plain, so I asked whether they had any fruit.
"Only this can of peaches," the waiter replied.
That wouldn't do at all, so I asked him to mix in some Choya plum wine instead. Since that wasn't enough, I ordered a chocolate cannoli to balance everything. When it arrived, the ends were folded over and welded with extra chocolate, which made them extra tasty.
The polar bear crossed the frozen pond beside his snowy den. Frozen chunks floated in the holes where the ice was broken, the sunlight gently tousled the snow drifts, and burger bags tumbled on the wind. Wait, what's that? Nosing in an icy crevice, the bear was horrified to discover dozens of discarded fast-food wrappers, greasy paper sacks, and styrofoam shells from Hardee's and McDonald's. Tracking swiftly across the ice, he saw more of the trash floating in a slushy puddle. The bear growled a deep, abiding anger, a rumble that was only beginning, still too low to hear or even feel without a hand against his furry side.
Disney has done this.
He stalked forward a few steps, but he stopped when he heard the chatter of approaching hunters. He quickly reversed his path to lay an ambush for the invading humans. They hadn't found his den yet; the opening was too low to the pond. Humans will never find it; they can't stand the heat. When he reached a larger break in the ice, he dove otter-like into the boiling waters below, surfacing again in the black cave at the pool's edge. Eyes alert for the doomed hunters, he waited silently.