Thursday, April 19, 2007

First Chapter of Trudy and the Transdimensional Trolley

“Walking into the castle’s entryway, you arrive at a junction. There is a hallway to the left, a hallway to the right, a hallway continuing directly onwards, and a grand spiral stairway climbing up into the darkness above you.”

Excerpts from The Decision Scripts of Wizards in Labcoats

Chapter A – Allowing for Basic Trudyness

Trudy said that the fuss all started with Ted’s love of geography, but Ted said that it was all Trudy’s fault for being good at math, especially geometry. Taking a wider view, most people would say that both geography and geometry were what ultimately rescued Trudy and Ted – and their Transdimensional trolley.

Geography, geometry, and, of course, Lint the dog. If it hadn’t been for Lint, they might still be the captives of the dense yet dreaded Jawbreaker Gang. And the Jawbreaker Gang might have cornered the global junk food market.

That, and Adolph Hitler would have started World War Two. Instead, he ended up as a substitute teacher in an undistinguished school. And we have Lint the dog, and Trudy and Ted, to thank for that, too.

But before we become too immersed in Ted and Trudy’s blaming contest, it might be useful to learn about the concept of Basic Trudyness. Basic Trudyness grew out of one of those conversations that even the youngest of friends will have. Ted and Trudy had been sitting on the back porch of Trudy’s home, talking about things, both here and there. They were playing, but they weren’t playing with anything. They were barely moving. Their playthings were thoughts, with the occasional word thrown in to keep the thoughts from floating away. Trudy said that she didn’t feel like she fit in with many other people.

“Oh, I like them enough, and I get along with them all right, but I’m not much like them, and they, naturally, are not much like me.”

“That’s the way most people feel, I guess.” Ted said.

“Do you really think so, Ted?” Trudy asked. “The other kids look one big generic blur to me on the playground. And they never want to play the different games that we make up; they just play whatever game the teachers tell us to play or whatever game the painted markings and lines on the playground tell them to play.”

Ted pondered for a moment, “Yeah, they never seem to tire of dodgeball, do they?”

“Exactly. And yet you and I think up plenty of other things to do with a ball and a circle on the playground. It’s as if we were from a different galaxy.” Trudy sank her chin into her hands. “I think we’re the only kids who read the Daily Yadda.” The Daily Yadda was the local newspaper, it wasn’t very good, but it was widely distributed.

“My dad says that we’re non-conformists, Trudy.”

“And thank goodness for that,” Trudy exclaimed. “Non-conforming is so important. It’s so basic!”

“It’s a big part of my basic Ted-ness,” Ted replied. “It’s a big part of your basic Trudy-ness.”

“’Basic Trudyness,’” Trudy said, “I like that. I’ll remember that the next time one of our ideas is rejected by the other kids. It will help to feel better.”

And so Basic Trudyness was born. It was to serve them very well in the coming weeks, and in the previous decades.

And, as it turned out, Basic Trudyness proved more helpful than anyone, even Trudy herself, could have imagined.

First Chapter of Wag and the Distant Bums

Previously Known as Pigtown

Wag Durmster had no knowledge of baseball other than the random glimpse of it on television or whenever it strayed onto newspaper headlines as it had today -- “Cubs-Tribe in Wild Series Finish” shrieked a New York Post headline from a newspaper rack. The colder days of autumn were just around the corner, chronologically. It was just a few days before Halloween. Randomly exploring the streets north of their primary school, Wag and his best friend, Pasquale Giacalone, shuffled down Bedford Avenue, discussing what costumes they planned to wear for Halloween.

“I think I might wear a bunch of boxes and paint them lots of colors and be a walking set of building blocks,” Pasquale mused.

“That’s pretty good,” Wag said, “I figured my mom could make me into a comic book with arms and legs. I want to have lots of pages with a whole story in front and then have another bunch of pages with a different story on my back.”

“Who’s gonna write the story?” asked Pasquale.

“I am.” Wag said. “I could think up a really good one.”

“And would you draw the comics, too? They’d have to be real big.”

“So? I could do it. I know all about comic books. I read lots of them.”

%u201