Saturday Serial Part Quatre

Previously on The Grand Caper: When the U.S. decides to go metric, two men go a little mental. Dave, the leader of a grassroots effort to stop the conversion meets Ray, who's "crazy, but only 3/5ths so" and together they created a bestselling book parodying the effect metric conversion would have on popular culture. The book lands them an appearance on the David Letterman show, and afterwards, Ray shares  some secrets about his past while walking through his old hometown in the Greenpoint section of Brooklyn. It is there that he also unveils his plan to use the profits from the book to travel to France and steal Le Grand K.

"How much further is it?" Dave whined, his hands tensely gripping the wheel in anticipation of entering another traffic circle. It seemed like the French roads had a roundabout every other mile, and Dave was flustered by the way drivers buzzed through them in their tiny little cars like caffeinated bees. But at least they drove on the right side of the road, he consoled himself.

            "I'm not sure exactly," said Ray, "we're looking for a place called Parc de Saint-Cloud. It may be just over this hill..."  

            They had arrived in Paris the day before.  Since neither spoke French, it had taken most of the day just to rent a car and secure a room.  Ray did most of the "talking" - which involved pecking away at a calculator-sized translator before phonetically reciting the words that popped up on the screen. Only Ray kept reverting back to the Spanish accent learned from his high school days, making him sound like something born of an unlawful union between Speedy Gonzalez and Pepe le Peu.   

Even so, they quickly learned that asking was the easy part, it was the listening and understanding that was tricky. 

           

After renting the car, a Peugot that made those little Shriner cars look roomy, they set off to find their hotel. When the map proved useless, they took to pulling over and pestering pedestrians.

 "Ou...est...la...la...la hotel Mondial?" Ray would yell out the side window.

  (Where is the Mondial Hotel?)           

 "L'hôtel Mondial?" they'd repeat.  "Il est situeé à guache de la rue Sommet."

 (The Mondial Hotel?)                      (It is located to the left of Summit Street)

             

Or, as Dave and Ray heard it:

"Lotelmondeeal?  Illay sittuayagoshederoosummay." 

Ray would then valiantly input the rush of words into his device, usually coming up with something useful, like "Island soldiers making merry on leave"           

"Merci," he'd say, thanking the man for his help, before turning to Dave. "I think it's just over this next hill." 

            It was in this manner that they managed to find their hotel, order dinner at a restaurant (actually a McDonald's, but even so, still stressful), and pay for enough gas to get them to Sevres, a small town on the western outskirts of Paris. They were looking for the Bureau International des Poids et Mesures (BIPM), the organization responsible for the creation and provision of all standard measures.  The BIPM was housed in the Pavillon de Breteuil, which according to Ray, was a "Large mansion commissioned by Louis XIV in 1672 to be built as a gift for his brother,  but is now home to the current director of the BIPM."

          

 "There!" Ray shouted. "Up on the right. See the sign?"

Dave did, but there was no way to get over in time.

"Damn. Hang on," he said, resigning himself to another lap in the roundabout. "And if you make one more Chevy Chase joke, I swear I'll open your door, shove you out, and run you over next time I come around." 

It took two more trips around the circle before he could finally exit, but Ray wisely refrained from calling out "Big Ben" or "Parliment."

The building was right off the main road, and not knowing what else to do, Dave simply pulled into the driveway and parked the car in a large lot to the right of the main building.  He had expected some sort of guard house or sentry station, but the only sign of security was a tall iron gate, similar to those surrounding cemeteries.  The large gate door was wide open and unmanned, so Dave just drove right through it.  To Dave, the Pavillon looked pretty much like the back view of the White House, as pictured on the reverse of the new twenty dollar bills, only without the columns. 

            Ray was busy snapping off pictures for later study, for this was to be just a fact-finding mission, or reconnaissance, as Ray called it  - which Dave couldn't help but point out was the first French word he had pronounced correctly in nearly 48 hours. He also pointed out that taking the free tour that the BIPM offered to the public hardly qualified as espionage.  

"We'll see about that," Ray responded cryptically.  

The First Annual Woody Awards!

Seeing as how this is the season for giving thanks and spreading joy, I’d like to use this forum to publicly thank some people (not already listed in my book's credits) who have gone above and beyond with helping me promote it by presenting them with the coveted Woody Award.


The Woody is given semi-regularly to those who deserve it  A select few have received my Woody, and so far there have been no complaints.  So, with no further adieu, I’d like to give a Woody to…

James Barraford! 

I have never met the guy, but he’s been a staunch supporter of my book since it came out. He’s Twittered about it, shared it on facebook, reviewed it on Amazon, and I’m pretty sure he’s even read it! As far as I'm concerned, he could have stopped there and still won - but I’ve seen James champion many causes for other people as well. He’s helped my nemesis Renee search for her missing cats. He’s praised the good folks at Sunflower Farms. He’s a proud fan of minor league sports. And he even likes Canada! He just seems like an all-around good guy and strong supporter of the underdogs (and cats) out there. The world needs more people like him. So thank you James, and enjoy your Woody.



PS - stay tuned for some rather unusual upcoming events. I have several potentially embarrassing (for me) things in the works, all aimed at promoting the book. The first is scheduled for Jan. 10^th, where I will be performing a one-man show (with the help of two other men) at the Huntington Street Café. It’s based on a short story that I wrote (available here). There will be two performances: 6:00-7:30 and 8:00-9:30. Tickets are $5 and there will be a cash bar (beer and wine.)

That is all for now. Be sure to check back on Tuesday to see who walks away with the next Woody

HELLo Santa

As much as I love Christmas, I’m not a huge fan of Santa – not that I’m a Jesus freak, mind you, it’s just that when it comes to decorating and whatnot, you’ll find more pop culture items (Rudolph, Charlie Brown, A Christmas Story, etc.)  around my house than Santa stuff.  

It probably stems from my childhood, when my neighbor, and future sister-in-law, Kelly, had these horribly scary Santa faces hanging in her house. The picture below hardly does them justice, but believe me, they were terrifying.

Speaking of pictures, hang out at the mall for an hour and watch kids reactions to Santa. My theory is the ones who take to him immedietly and have no problem sitting and smiling on his lap are most likely evil, while the ones who are afraid, like my angel Eli, are the good kids.  I have no proof of this, but it makes sense to me.

Me and Eli on the front page of the Huntington Herald

Especially when you consider that when you move the “n” in Santa to the end, you get Satan. It may just be a coincidence, but there’s no denying that they do have many similarities: they both dress in red, they’re both blamed for turning people away from Jesus, and they both like to come down chimneys (only Satan does it just to be gross!) Oh, and they’re both very good at scaring children.

For one month, parents can control their kids with, “Be good, or Santa won’t bring you any presents” and the rest of the year they can rely on saying, “Be good, or Satan will burn you in Hell!”  - the only difference is Santa apparently has a phone, as I’ve never heard a mom threaten to call the devil and let him know little Johnny was being bad.

Now that I think about it, they’re probably in cahoots. All that coal that Santa gives to the bad kids is probably the same coal that Satan will later use to stoke the fires under them. And in return,  Satan gets first rights to the names on Santa’s “Naughty” list to give to his telemarketers (hellamarketers?) for sales leads.

Of course, this blog entry will probably land me on the Naughty list, but I can handle it - I've got Caller ID and registered for the Do Not Call list - and with the cost of oil these days, I could really use the coal.

A Third Helping of Saturday Serial

Previously on The Grand Caper: When the U.S. decides to go metric, two men go a little mental. Dave, the leader of a grassroots effort to stop the conversion meets Ray, who's "crazy, but only 3/5ths so" and together they created a bestselling book parodying the effect metric conversion would have on popular culture. The book lands them an appearance on the David Letterman show, and afterwards, Ray shares  some secrets about his past while walking through his old hometown in the Greenpoint section of Brooklyn. It is there that he also unveils his plan to steal Le Grand K...

 The Pavillon de Breteuil, home of Le Grand K in Sevres, France

“First, a little history” Ray started. “As you know, the kilogram is the base unit of mass in the metric system. And as a base unit, many other units are defined in relation to it, so its stability is important. But for some reason, unlike other units of measure, the kilogram was not defined by a natural constant…”

Seeing a blank stare, Ray stopped to explain.

“Natural constants are fundamental physical properties that can be replicated in laboratories, take the speed of light, for example. The idea is that if things are defined by what we can find in nature, there’s no chance of variability or human error. Anyway, scientists searched for a constant, and came close when they found that the weight of a liter of water was almost equal to a kilogram. But in order to be as accurate as possible, the International Committee for Weights and Measures decided to manufacture a prototype, and that’s how the IPK was born. Using somewhat circular logic, the kilogram was defined as being equal to the mass of the IPK, which stands for the International Prototype Kilogram. The IPK, or Le Grand K as the Frenchies call it, is a platinum-iridium cylinder that is stored in Sevres, France - and while it’s literally worth its weight in platinum, its real worth to the sanctity of the metric system is invaluable. Which is why I’m suggesting we steal it!”

Dave laughed, assuming Ray was joking. But when the laughter stopped and Ray was still watching him expectantly, he realized he was serious

“So let me make sure I have this straight,” Dave started, choosing his words carefully. “First, I’m going to forget the whole stealing thing for a moment - which is just crazy -  but are you telling me that without this cylinder, there would be no way to accurately measure metric weight anymore? We could kill the kilogram?”

“Not exactly. You’ve heard of Greenwich Mean Time, right? How  we basically set our clocks based on the official time over in England? Well let’s say that British clock were to be destroyed, time would still continue, right? I mean, the sun would rise and set, days would pass. Life would go on.. But, there’d be no reliable reference point anymore. Nothing to synchronize our watches to. It wouldn’t be chaos, but it would be confusing for a while.”

“Confusing? You want to risk going to jail, creating an international incident and perhaps getting ourselves killed, just to generate some confusion?”

“Confusion is a word we have invented for an order which is not yet understood”

“What?”

“It’s from Henry Miller, one of my favorite authors. What I’m trying to say is that if we want to change the world, or in our case, stop our world from changing, then confusion may not be a bad place to start. Right now, the American people are lemmings, blindly following their leader. We need to open their eyes and show them that there are other options. And confusion, by definition, occurs when there is a wealth of options.”

“But what you’re suggesting is criminal.  And dangerous.  I started this movement knowing full well I’d be subjecting myself to ridicule and maybe some mild harassment, but I’m not a terrorist!”

Ray shook his head, but it was unclear if he was chiding Dave or dismissing his concerns, until he spoke…

“There’s a thin line between terrorism and activism,” he said, “and I think we may have to cross it. But don’t worry. I have a plan. If things work out, no one will get hurt. ”

The two men continued walking.  Dave was no longer sure if Ray had a destination in mind, yet he was following him anyway. He thought back to their first meeting, and the strange sense that he had just shook hands with the devil. So far their partnership had been both fun and rewarding, but he couldn’t shake the thought that they were headed for disaster.  

Sweet Release?

Ooops, I spent the evening narrating a video for my play and putting together a press release for newpapers like the Connecticut Post and forgot to do something for my blog post. So killing two birds with one stone, here's the press release before it hits the presses - a blogsclusive! 

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Date: December 8, 2010

Press Contact:  Mike Wood, author, 203-922-1377 or mikewood_3@yahoo.com

RE: Local Novelist Turns Playwright; Premier to Take Place at Huntington St. Cafe on 1/10/11

Local Novelist Turns Playwright; Premier to Take Place at Huntington St. Cafe on 1/10/11

SHELTON – To his students, he’s Mr. Wood – West Shore middle school’s 6^th Grade English teacher. To readers of nostalgic fiction, he’s Mike Wood – author of the acclaimed novel, Alchemy. And to theater goers, he’s absolutely no one. But that could change once his first play, "Ecnalubma," hits the stage in early January.

Premiering at the Huntington St. Café on Monday, January 10^th, "Ecnalubma" can be viewed as a modern fable about a young man resisting the urge to become an adult. Or maybe it’s a metaphor about the predictable uncertainties in life. Or it could just be a funny story about three guys getting high in a car that turns into a dark look at the seemingly meaningless moments that ultimately make us who we are. Using a multi-media approach that allows the audience to journey along with the main character as he revisits several milestones in his life, “Ecnalubma” is all of the above and more.

Wood, 40, said he was looking for unique ways promote his book and realized that as a first time author, he couldn’t rely on simply selling the story, he had to sell himself. And thus a play was born. The story he brings to the stage is both very personal - “Too personal,” Wood jokes, and universal. “There’s something for everyone, so long as they’re over 21,” he cautions, referring to the adult content of the play.

In addition to Wood, the play features two former Shelton residents, Geof Johnson and Gary Perez, childhood friends who the author recruited to play themselves on stage. “That was probably the hardest part,” Wood admits. “They have been very supportive of my writing, but I wasn’t sure how they’d feel when I turned my pen on them! Luckily, they not only approved of it, they agreed to star in  it!”

You can see the results for yourself on Monday, January 10^th, 2011 at the Huntington St. Café (90 Huntington Street, Shelton, CT (203) 925-9064) There will be two performances of the 45-minute play, 6:00-7:30 and 8:00-9:30. The Café’s bar and kitchen will be open for food and drink. Tickets are $5, and can be reserved by calling Mike Wood at (203) 922-1377, or emailing him at mikewood_3@yahoo.com

Saturday Morning Serial (Bowl Two)

Previously on The Grand Caper: When the U.S. decides to go metric, two men go a little mental. Dave, the leader of a grassroots effort to stop the conversion meets Ray, who's "crazy, but only 3/5ths so" and together they created a bestselling book parodying the effect metric conversion would have on popular culture. The success of the book is what will give them the capital to go ahead with their plan: stealing Le Grand K, the kilogram standard housed in Sevres, France.  


We pick up with them walking through the Greenpoint section of Brooklyn, Ray's hometown, after an appearance on David Letterman.


Or, if that didn't bring you up to speed, click here for last week's installment.

"So this is where you grew up,” Dave asked, as they headed south down Manhattan Avenue so Ray could prove that the streets were indeed in alphabetical order.

“A, Ash. B, Box. C, Clay,” he called out as they approached each sign. “D, Dupont. E, Eagle. F, Freeman…”

“Okay, I believe you. Can we stop now? I’m tired.

“G, Green. H, Huron. I, India…”

“Well then can we at least take a cab? These shoes weren’t exactly made for walking.”

“Well then why make them?” Ray asked seriously. “And more importantly, why buy them?”

“I wanted to look nice for the show. I still can’t believe we were on Letterman!”

“Speaking of letters, here comes J, Java! K, Kent. And off to our left is Newtown Creek, site of the nation’s worst oil spill…that is until the Exxon Valdez and BP stole our title.”

“I’m sorry for your loss?” Dave tried, still not sure what to make of his new friend and business partner. “There’s always next year?”

“Of course I’m not happy about,” Ray explained. “But not in the way you’re thinking, smartass. My point is, it should have stayed the nation’s largest spill because we should have learned our lesson.  There shouldn’t have been another one. Or two. Or goddamned dozens. But we never learn. No one listens. When money talks, reason walks.”

“Well, I for one see no reason to continue walking,” Dave pressed. “Are we there yet?”

“Where?”

“Your childhood home. Isn’t that what we came here to see?”

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why? You said you were born and raised here.”

“I was.”

“So I thought you wanted to check out your house. Visit the old stomping grounds.”

“Well we all know what happened to Thought, don’t we?”

Dave just shook his head, perplexed.

“Thought thought he had to fart, but he shit his pants instead!”

“So then why are we here,” Dave pressed, ignoring Ray’s “explanation.”

“We were in town, so to speak. It’s been a while since I’d been back here – not since the Asian long-horn beetle fiasco…”

“The what?”

“Long story…ha, ha! Get it? Long story? Long-horn beetle?” Ray giggled crazily. A full 5/5ths crazily in Dave’s opinion.

“What is the matter with you? I've never seen you like this. Is something wrong? You seem so nervous. Well, more nervous than normal.”

They had stopped walking, and spotting a bench, Dave took the opportunity to rest and rub his feet while waiting for Ray to explain.

Ray took several childlike spins around a street sign before continuing.

“It was the summer of ’96 and I was working for the phone company.  Literally for the company, not part of it.  It was my job to trim the tree limbs that were interfering with the telephone wires coming off the poles. An advance crew would mark the trees, and we would go out, prune them and then come back and dispose of the wood. But one day we ended up with a full load well before the end of our route, so I decided to just dump the load in some nearby woods…”

Dave gasped in mock horror. “For shame! You of all people, growing up in the land of the largest oil spill, a litterbug?”

“I know, I know.  But it was just wood. Ashes to ashes, right? But it wasn’t. Turned out the branches were infested with Asian long-horn beetles, and my illegal dumping spread them into Amityville.”

“Amityville? As in "Horror?"” Dave asked, seizing on to the one detail he found interesting.

“Yes. The same. But those beetles were worse than any flies…or flying pigs. For one thing, they were real. And another, they  totally destroyed trees.”

“So what then?” Dave asked, struggling to find the point in the story. “Let me guess. They ended up eating all the trees and putting you out of business? Or did you got arrested?”

“No, no. Nothing like that. No one even found out it was me.”

“So why are you telling me all this?”

“You asked!”

“Me? When? All I wanted to know was why you’re acting so jumpy…well, jumpier than usual. You’re the one who started with all the bug stuff.”

“Well, it’s sort of connected. You see, it seemed like good idea at the time…dumping that wood. But it ended up causing a lot of trouble. And even though I never got caught, and it wasn’t really my fault, I still feel guilty.  You understand what I’m saying?”

Dave nodded.

“Good.  Because you see, I have this other idea that seems like it might be pretty good…”

And that’s when Ray told him about Le Grand K

Bright Lights, Big Pity

It’s not often that I applaud the actions of thieves, but in this case I am willing to make an exception, for they have recently turned their attention to stealing those increasingly popular, incredibly expensive, and inexcusably annoying Xenon headlights.  You know the ones I’m talking about, the headlights that emit the blue glow that turns night to day by burning brighter than a military flare?  Well apparently they are being stolen at quite a steady clip, and at quite a heavy cost to the owners, for these stolen headlights can cost as much as $600 dollars each to replace.  Yes, I said each. And that doesn’t even include the cost of repairing the damage done in removing them, or the labor to reinstall them.  At the end of the day, we’re talking thousands of dollars to replace these stolen headlights. And while the thought of rich people parting with their “hard earned” money does provide me with a little pleasure, that alone is not enough for me to turn a blind eye to robbery.  But when you make it two blind eyes…then I start rooting for the bad guys.

Trying to drive with these cars coming at you is like welding without a hood, since the Xenon powered rays shine 3x brighter than standard halogen headlights.  I’m sure they must offer a wonderfully clear and bright view for the drivers behind the wheels of their Lexus’ and BMW’s, but for the rest of us who have to contend with driving blind through their oncoming blue blaze, they can be quite dangerous.  Sure, the streets are safer for them, for not only can they see better, but the road is probably clear of traffic as well, since most of us have either pulled over to let them pass, or steered sightless into a drainage ditch. 

Once again, the rich are ignoring our rules. No longer content with keeping us out of their communities and paying their way to the front of the line at theme parks, now they want to claim the highways as their own as well.  For years we all had to navigate through our notoriously dark highways and parkways by employing a constant combination of high- and low-beams.  We’d rely on the brighter high beams to light the way whenever possible, but would quickly dim them down to “low” out of courtesy to oncoming traffic or upcoming cars, knowing that the brighter lights coming through the windshield, or reflected in the rear-view mirror, made it difficult (and dangerous) for them to see and drive.  Sure, there was the occasional jerk who would keep their high-beams on full time, but they were few and far between.

Now, courtesy of the Xenon bulb, they are everywhere. But, thanks to some enterprising thieves and unscrupulous auto body shops, there may be less of them on the road and more in the garage. Again, I’m not one who normally sides with criminals, but until these lights are outlawed, I say let the outlaws have the lights.  Sooner or later the rich folk are bound to get tired of paying for their Xenon replacements and will go back to their plain old halogen headlights.  Then they can get back to simply (and safely) blinding us with their dazzling smiles and sparkling jewels. But until then, for safety’s sake, please refrain from engaging in any retaliatory high-beaming of the Xenon crowd. I know it’s tempting to try and duel it out with your dual headlight-sabers, but we all know that two wrongs do not make a right, and more importantly, two blind drivers are worse than one.  So take the high road (if you can see it) and show them that just because they are brighter than us doesn’t mean that they are smarter.