Water Lilly Alley

Princess Nalovia and The Cannon

As told by Mr. WLA

Once upon a time in the far away about eighty years ago there lived a magic cannon princess and what made her different from other princesses was that she collected cannons from all over the world. Her name was Princess Nolovia and she owned many, many cannons, big cannons, small cannons, cannons that shook the ground when they went off and cannons that would no more belch as they sent their cargo skyward.  She owned red cannons, blue cannons, yellow cannons and cannons with exotic flowers painted on the side and cannons embedded with rhinestones and glitter and others with elaborate scenes of marching tin soldiers inlaid on the cannon’s wheels forever marching into tomorrow.

Princess Nolovia was just a young girl of 19 when she began collecting cannons and at 24 she ran away the Zarcatti Brothers’ Circus and toured with them as the first woman cannonball and was the envy of many of the great circus acts of her time. Princess Nolovia held the record for the longest distance launched from a cannon for decades, until she beat her own record by having herself launched into the middle of next Tuesday. She held this record until her retirement at the age of 79.

Although Princess Nolovia retired she never lost the wanting of bright lights, cotton candy, hotdogs, candied apples the smell of fresh popped kettle corn. Even the bark of midway carnies had become music to her ears.

So as not to be deprived in her later years she bought up the biggest parcel of land that was available on the outskirts of town. And once a year, mid-year, she would have her people set up the most colorful of tents. Three.

Once the flag from above the largest tent was unfurled Princess Nolovia would send out fliers far and wide asking for clowns, happy cows and a high flying trapeze team. Also included in the request: Two elephants, an old tiger, an aging bear, out of work carnies and one giant Ferris wheel.

And so every year, mid-year the entire town looked forward to Princess Nolovia's Circus of Many Wonders.

The day before the grand opening Princess Nolovia’s team would roll her grandest of all cannons out onto the midway. All polished and shimmering the cannon whispered grand.

And every year, mid-year the entire town’s anticipation would grow as the postman would deliver 25 invitations to 25 selected children.

The invitation:

Child of the heart, in this day and age when magic and wonder seem to be disappearing in leaps and bounds, it's refreshing to encounter people such as you. After hours and hours of review of who’s been naughty and who’s been nice, you have been selected to partake in a group human cannon ball flight into a 40 foot mountain of freshly spun cotton candy.  On behalf of all that is magical throughout this wonderful land I do hope you will extend yourself to experience softness beyond your wildest dreams.

Sincerely Princess Nolovia.

On opening night, after the clowns clowned, The Flying Merry-Weathers flew, and all the animals did what old animals do, all lights across the midway dimmed as two clowns propped a candy stripped ladder against the cannon’s inviting O.

One by one, the 25 children, some laughing and some just giggling climbed the ladder and one by one they slid slowly down O’s tunnel until they came to the little handholds just above little pillowed seats, they settled in. Excited, they talked of all the softness they had known up until now and how wonderful it would be to mix soft with flying. It was almost too much to think about

As the band played on Princess Nolovia ordered her cannon bearer to slowly crank the cannon into position, slowly upward and with each tick of the crank the crowd cheered,  the cannon's mouth arched 20 degrees above the candied mountain, the crowd cheered even louder than before, 40 degrees, now the cheering slipped into yelling: Higher! Higher!  60 degrees above the mountain of dreams…

The crowd was going crazy. “All the way, all the way” they screamed.

Inside O, one by one, the children slid from their pillows, one by one each lost hold of the handholds and one by one they inched to the back of O as she lifter her heavy neck skyward. Soon, against their best efforts they began to wiggled into a cannon ball. Terrified they heard the crowd counting.

10-9-8-7-

 The cannon rose higher.

6-5-4-

And one by one, each child saw the moon take place of the candied mountain.

3-2-

The crowd looked toward The Magic Cannon Princess.

1

Princess Nolovia bowed to the crowd as the loudest boom of the year spoke belligerently. 

O bellowed and 25 children, one by one led a whoosh and a snazle-fizzle as they trailed into the summer night sky, and one by one, going separate ways they burst into the greatest light shower ever witnessed with bright reds, blues, sunburnt orange, violet and lilac. Some became teal before green. And others before going out, burst again with bright shades of silver, enticing the crowd to reach a frenzy of delight with ahhhh and oooooohhhhs.

The End.

The moral of this tale boys and girls is that just because you receive a request from a princess; never assume that when she says naughty and nice, that you have been the nice one.

More on what happens to children who find it necessary to play with matches time and time again after being told not to do so, can be found at your local library.

Tito, Get Me A Defibrillator.

First of all I would like to quell the rumors of Michael Jackson’s doctor requesting that the paramedics transport Michael to the Los Angeles Children’s Hospital.  This is absolutely not true.  Really. 

This Jackson thing sure caught me off guard. Upside though is that he’s in a better place now and with Farrah and Bubbles to boot.  His much overrated passing has been flooding the local radio stations, newspapers, and yes, silkscreened tees. I kid you not, the memorial T-shirts have hit the streets. Can it be that there are people pushing portable silkscreen carts up and down the back streets of Hollywood looking for celebs to go tit’s up so that they can have the tees ready for the first news van?

And then there is the tremendous TV coverage.  It’s so out of control.  There wasn’t half this much hullabaloo when my childhood kung fu hero David Caradine died a few weeks ago: Just a few shots of him hanging in the closet with his jammie exposed.  Now, if you ask me, that’s just wrong.  But, I took it in stride, I didn’t rush out and purchase every copy of Kill Bill that I could find.  And yet the number one seller on iTunes today was everything Michael.  Music stores have sold out and book stores are Michael-less at this very moment in the City of Angels.  Who would’a thought. 

So…

Instead of talking about death and mayhem today I thought we would pursue a timeless query. Something that you have always wondered about, something mysterious, something one could even call delectable in its own right.

 Yes, I’m talking about…

 What came first, the egg or the chicken?

And let me tell you… you can’t just Google this shit and come out with anything solid.  I tried and what I have found isn’t very convincing. In fact, it’s nothing but a big guessing game. However I had a few hours to spare this morning so I thought I would look into this dilemma. Here are the top three speculations.  

First up: The Chickie-baby zygote theory.

In nature, living things evolve though changes in their DNA. In an animal like a chicken, DNA from a male sperm cell and a female ovum meet and combine to form a zygote -- the first cell of a new baby chicken. Chickens evolved from non-chickens through small changes caused by the mixing of male and female DNA or by mutations to the DNA that produced the zygote. These changes and mutations only have an effect at the point where a new zygote is created. That is, two non-chickens mated and the DNA in their new zygote contained the mutation(s) that produced the first true chicken. That one zygote cell divided to produce the first true chicken.

So far sounds like sheer babbling bullshit to me. Then they go on to say;

Prior to that first true chicken zygote, there were only non-chickens. The zygote cell is the only place where DNA mutations could produce a new animal, and the zygote cell is housed in the chicken's egg. So, the egg must have come first.

 

Non-chickens?  WTF? Before the first true chicken there were NO chickens. How can non-chickens get busy and come up with a chicken egg?  That would be like two consenting adults mating and coming up with a gulfalos. Therefore if that were the case, would we then be non-gulfalos? I think not. We are human beings, and as Billy Preston once said. “Nothing from nothing is nothing.”  In other words, if non-chickens had anything they would have a non-chicken and that pretty much takes us back to square one.

Then there is this little ditty. I call it the evolution of math.

 Chickens hatch from eggs, but eggs are laid by chickens, Cultural references to the chicken and egg intend to point out the futility of identifying the first case of a circular cause and consequence. A literal answer is somewhat obvious, as opposed to the logical fallacy of the metaphorical view, which sets a metaphysical ground on the dilemma. So, to understand its metaphorical meaning better, it could be reformulated as follows: "Which came first, X that can't come without Y, or Y that can't come without X?"

That just gave me a freaking headache with all that crap about circular cause and consequence and X needing Y and whatnot.

Again, square one

And last, from the UK,

A team made up of a geneticist, philosopher and chicken farmer claim to have found an answer. It was the egg.

Ok we’re off to a good start here, some trio eh? And then they go on to say:

Put simply, the reason is down to the fact that genetic material does not change during an animal's life.

Therefore the first bird that evolved into what we would call a chicken, probably in prehistoric times, must have first existed as an embryo inside an egg.

(We’re slipping back to square one kids but hang in there, I’m going somewhere with all this)

Professor John Brookfield, a specialist in evolutionary genetics at the University of Nottingham, told the UK Press Association the pecking order was clear. The living organism inside the eggshell would have had the same DNA as the chicken it would develop into, he said.

"Therefore, the first living thing which we could say unequivocally was a member of the species would be this first egg," he added. "So, I would conclude that the egg came first. "The same conclusion was reached by his fellow "eggsperts" Professor David Papineau, of King's College London, and poultry farmer Charles Bourns.

Mr Papineau, an expert in the philosophy of science, agreed that the first chicken came from an egg and that proves there were chicken eggs before chickens.

(But where did they come from? Now we’re getting into some serious spin.)

He told PA people were mistaken if they argued that the mutant egg belonged to the "non-chicken" bird parents.

"I would argue it is a chicken egg if it has a chicken in it," he said.

"If a kangaroo laid an egg from which an ostrich hatched, that would surely be an ostrich egg, not a kangaroo egg."

(Thus giving credence to my Non-gulfalos theory)

Bourns, chairman of trade body Great British Chicken, said he was also firmly in the pro-egg camp.

He said: "Eggs were around long before the first chicken arrived. Of course, they may not have been chicken eggs as we see them today, but they were eggs."

                                                 ---------------------------------------

So my question at this point would be: Where in the hell did the first eggs come from?

Well after pondering this for most of the morning, I played out my thoughts and  took a nap and lo and behold the answer came to me in a dream.

The very first eggs came from the fucking Easter Bunny.

Tales From Within A New York Minute #1

“I have to have it now, not in five minutes, not in two. Now.” 

‘Now’ seems to have become the new ‘in a minute’ or at least, that is what Google is betting on with their new Google Wave open source program that will allow you to play games, place photos, maps, share real time documents and instant message right in the comfort of your very own email message. With a tap of a key you will be able to instantly place a conversation that you are having right into your very own blog, as you type, as in right now. As if, someone were out there sitting patiently staring at your blog waiting for an update.

I thought that is what Twitter was for: Short nothings in real time. 

“I’m heading out the door; need to pick up the kids”

“I just picked up the kids”

God, don’t get me started on and about Twitter.  I don’t twit.

However, I do, do short stories, more on that in a bit.

If you made it this far and you have an hour, twenty minutes and twelve seconds you can preview the Google Wave here.

One hour, twenty minutes, twelve second on how to do sometime right now. How’s that for irony?

Are we really that far gone that email is not quick enough for us to get by in a 24 hour day? Instant messaging, don’t we have something like that already; can anyone say Yahoo Instant Message, Microsoft Messenger?

As my imaginary father used to tell me in times of indecisiveness, “If you can’t beat’em, then join’em” and I think he may have been right. So with the attention span of the world going south, I think I will jump on the - can you spare a minute program – and get my due with the one minute short story. Yes, you read that right: A one minute story.

As you know, as good story has a beginning, middle, an ending, and somewhere within that algorithm there should be a dilemma, a love interest, perhaps a bad guy or some profound message. Nowhere in the story writing academy does it state that a story need weigh in about a pound or take up to a week to read.

So with that said my friends, pencil me in for a minute of your much valued time because there will be a new feature on this blog; complete stories in 150 words or less.

How cool is that?

So without much more ado kids, I present the first installment of:

Tales From Within a New York Minute.   

Today’s story boys and girls centers around a love gone wrong as two lives merge into a lane of misery and finality.

Just In Time For Murder.
                                        By Alvin Valles

 Carla knew that tonight, tomorrow night and for all the nights that were to follow: nothing would ever change. Like clockwork, Justin would stumble in around 4am, reeking of low-rent women, gin and stale cigarette smoke. Finding her awake, the name calling and humiliation would fall from the top of the hour and roll into dawn, and more times than not; she would come to terms with a backhand or two.

Life again would be in session.

As Carla stood waiting in the dark, fingers clinching and unfurling around the handle of his drop point hunting knife, she heard him lock the front door behind himself, heard the sound of keys sprinkle across the kitchen counter, a grunt, a sigh. 

Under control and in check, back pressed against the cold wall Carla waited as Justin made his way down the hallway and into the bedroom.

Justin heard nothing.

I've Got News For You.

Ever notice how when you flip a coin, it goes up just so high, does a peak flip and then comes down provoking a momentary question just before it lays bare the seemingly anticipated facts?  There is no gray area with a coin flip, it’s either Yes or No. Of course there is a two out of three option for the desperate but it still ends up the same.

And that is what brings me here today.

The either/or plan, or maybe the fact that I will be turning 59 this coming week. Which isn’t a bad thing, because for the last year I thought I was 59, taking about getting ahead of oneself. But then for those of you that know me; this way of doing things is how I do things and as suspecting as I am, I don’t see my ways changing any time soon.

Throughout my school years my only achievement worth noting had to do with being a very well informed clock consultant. I couldn’t wait to get out of class, I couldn’t wait to get home, couldn’t wait to turn 18. I couldn’t wait to turn 21, couldn’t wait to get married, couldn’t wait to get divorced and so on.

Once I realized waiting was just a waste of time I found myself here; trying to live in the moment. And I owe that enlightenment to what someone once said to me a while back. “You do realize you have come further than you are going”

Boy, if that isn’t a wake-up call then I don’t know what is.

However, life can be fun, even in middle age.

In fact, you all can turn off your iPods, PlayStations, iPhone, iTouch, or whatever else requires a battery to enhance your day and come and get old school with me in a rousing bout of BINGO.

The rules are basically the same as you remember them: Except for a few changes.

The idea is to get five squares across, five up or down or diagonally. However, unlike the original Bingo, if you get a black out, (Blackout bingo, commonly known as "Coverall Bingo" is one of the most popular types of bingo patterns.)  a black out bingo card basically means you’re dead. The downside here is that you have no idea that you’ve won.  I don’t recommend going for the cover all. We just want to have fun here.

Here is your card. We will be playing as soon as I rewind the clock and remember: If you feel like the morning after when you haven't been anywhere the night before, then this game if for you.

And How is That?

Dear Sister La Cienega

Recently my 7 year-old asked me ‘With the alarm button gone, what happens to danger?’ Well, as you may have guessed, this question took me quite by surprise. Needless to say, it was just a skoosh above the old standby of ‘Why is the sky blue?’ and telling her that blue is the color of God’s underwear worked when she was 5.  But, my heavens, what is this thing about danger all about?

Lost in New Orleans.

Dear Lost in New Orleans.

Kids are somewhat the curious little creatures aren’t they?  However, you needn’t be alarmed by her interest in the concept of danger. In this time of kidnappings, hit and run incidents, being orphaned, death of a grandparent or kindergarten teacher, life can be downright scary for the little sprogs. 

Just remember that there are times when finagling a tale or two will explain away a child’s curiosity but in this case I think truth is the best policy, but then again, it all depends on how truth is delivered. Children are much more advanced today than when we were kids. 

I suggest that you sit down with her, notebook in hand with the this one item written in crayon

Q: With the alarm button gone, what happens to danger?

Let her mull it over for a few minutes and then have her write:

A: Danger goes renegade.

Then promptly explain.

Renegade danger is like when your Uncle Louie was walking through the park last summer and a squirrel overhead in a tree had a heart attack and fell on top of Uncle Louie’s head, and as the squirrel’s little sinuous paws dug into Uncle Louie’s forehead to stop its fall, and in doing so, the little rodent gouged out Uncle Louie’s eyes.

Or like when we were driving in the country last year and a large bug hit the windshield, and remember how at first we were startled, but then we laughed when the bug’s body had designed a crazy pattern on the glass in its foolish quest to take the highway. And how all the pretty colors in that design had snapped us all up in a fit of the giggles and that I was laughing so hard that I ran off the road and hit a pole, and remember we couldn't call for help because the pole we hit turned out to be a cell phone tower.

That too, my child, is renegade danger.