The Lost Blogs Page 15

  There was another point when stubborn Wilbur almost ruined the whole project—we couldn’t get a normal chain working in the prototype engine… It just was too heavy, weighing down the aeroplane. So, I’m sitting there in the bicycle shop working on a bicycle and I turn to the guys and I say, “What about a bicycle chain?” Well, Wilbur was quick to say no because he just likes to say no, but when Charlie played around with it for a while, he realized that my idea was gold. Wilbur didn’t like that either.

  That’s why I was so surprised and honored that he chose me to fly the plane yesterday for the first time. I mean, that was so nice for him to do, he didn’t have to. I mean, he is the older brother. But he said to me, “Orville—you have worked so hard over all these months and I want you to have the chance to fly the Flyer I first. You deserve it more than I do.” Man, I thought that was so great of him to say, and you’d better believe that I jumped at the chance.

  I stayed up in the air for about 12 seconds at 120 feet. They even took pictures of me doing it. When I got back down, you could tell that Wilbur was a bit upset about the fact, but I’m sure he’ll get over it.

  Whatever you do, don’t rub it in his face. He doesn’t even know I write my thoughts here, so keep it quiet. In the meantime, here are pictures of me flying.

  No more notes, okay? I’m just glad that we’ve taken such a big step in the world of flight!

  From: http://www.atexander_graham_bell.com/blog/

  Subject: Hello? Are you there!?

  Hahaha. Get it? I invented the telephone. See? Ha! Inventors and scientists can be funny!!

  Thanks for visiting the official blog of Alexander Graham Bell! Unlike some of those other stuffy inventors and scientists (ahem, Thomas Edison’s phonograph blog and Melville Bissell’s carpet sweeper blog immediately come to mind as useless boring drivel) who have their assistants transcribe their thoughts and notes to their pages, I write each and every thing on here all by my lonesome! And yes, it is lonesome! Haha! Get it? ’cause I do it by myself and that’s a solitary activity and—Yeah, okay.

  I’ve got a brand-new project to introduce and I think you’ll be really excited to hear about it! Heh! (Get it? One of my inventions is dependent on being able to hear!! Heh.) You may or may not know that before I ever invented the telephone, I figured out a way to send piano music electronically over long distances! Well, now that I’ve invented the telephone, I’m combining that with the music element to introduce to you…

  Alexander Graham Bell’s Telephone Ringtones!

  Just click on any of the below musical pieces and they will be immediately sent to your home telephone! For free! In a sense, you’re helping me troubleshoot a brand-new exciting feature for the home communications device!

  But a word of caution—as this is still an experimental technology and because it requires the use of electricity to conduct the music… Pick up the phone with a glove on or something, okay? Hah! Kidding. You don’t need a glove. But just don’t put the phone to your ear… Go ahead and click on one and it should arrive in under 72 hours!

  “I’ll Take You Home Again. Kathleen” by Thomas Payne Westendorf

  “Grandfather’s Clock” by Henry Clay Work

  “The Bonnie Banks o’ Loch Lomond” by Andrew Lang

  “Gay as a Lark” by Septimus Winner

  “Old Aunt Jemima” by James Grace

  “Symphony No. 1” by Johannes Brahms

  “String Quartet No. 1” by Bedrich Smetana

  “Old Macdonald” by Unknown

  “Hello, are you there?” by Alexander Graham Bell

  “Hi. it’s me Alexander” by Alexander Graham Bell

  “Answer the phone, already” by Alexander Graham Bell

  Any problems, injuries, annoyances? E-mail Thomas Edison.

  From: http://www.judy_garland.com/blog/

  Subject: Hi. HI. A89h*((7 !!!!

  Cheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeese.

  Look. Look at the cheese. No, not real cheese but the word cheese can you see it up there right above I just typed it out there for you here it is again

  cheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeese!

  Djal;8d

  Lotsa cheeeeeeese. Cheese isn’t a word, no it’s not don’t tell me it isn’t ’cause it is and I can see it but it doesn’t soudnaa t d,. doesnj’t sound like cheese but cheese doesn’t make a sound in the forest if you hit it with a axe or yes, I do.

  I like vodka… aaand you do too or blue coo coo chee foo.

  Cheeeese is yellow and yellow brick road with all those midgets they freak me out those little freaky small hand people when I was in trhe dressing room getting ready that day they came in accidental and didn’t say what they wanted and I was changing and turned aournd and there they were, those little peopole wanting to say hello and I didni’t want them there so I threw a glass or something and then when I was suppoed to be sing follow the yellow bric road they had mean looks on their faces which I can see now if I close my eyes and it’s not really the memory but the thought that counts and if you dn’t agree theyn you might as well just shut THE HELL UP BEDAUSAE I DON’T CARE WHAT YOU THINK ABOUTANYTHING ASSSSSSSSSSS.

  ;ADLI-89DHFS(SD°a98aud-&7&&897 sdyf9870-

  rh4978

  2-r3998

  (°(Sh;ks

  Y&°D

  That feel nice I’m gonna just rest my head down here and yeah until later so goin nighgt night talk to you soon tomorrow I’ll post more.

  °(&u7h98sdun

  From: http://www.moe_howard.com/blog/

  Subject: I Hate Him

  Someone stole my bike today. I locked it up outside the house and did everything Dad told me to do but still someone got it. I didn’t want to tell Dad ’cause he told me that I should lock it up behind the house but I was just going inside for a second and I didn’t think anyone in the day would try to take it. When Dad came home I told him and he was really mad and pulled out the belt which I said No to. Then Dad said well if you don’t want the belt then you’re gonna be punished another way and I didn’t even have warning and he poked me hard with two fingers in the eyes.

  It really hurt bad and he said that he had to teach me a lesson and tried to do it again but I was smart that time and I held up my hand so his two fingers couldn’t get me—but then he showed me his fist, just hangin’ there in midair… He hit it with another hand, and he wound the fist in midair before hitting me on the head with it. I just started crying and then he slapped me and Curly ran into the other room so he wouldn’t get slapped and Dad just said again how he wasn’t buying me another bike until I could treat things with respect.

  I hate him I hate him I hate him.

  When I grow up and I have kids I ain’t never gonna hit them or yell at them or poke them or nothin’ like that. ’cause it doesn’t make a kid feel good or happy and it ain’t funny or anything like that. Curly said the same thing, he said it’s wrong and Dad should know that pokin’ his kids ain’t gonna do nothing but make them not like him.

  And I say yes to that—when I grow up I ain’t gonna be like him if it’s the last thing I do.

  From: http://www.mecca.org/~muhammad_blog/

  Subject: A Break from It All?

  These freakin’ kids are driving me crazy.

  First Fatimah wanted to hear stories. Now, I got crap to do and I tell Fatimah that, but she throws herself to the floor and starts screaming over and over again. I turn to Khadija and tell her that these are her kids and can she please get Fatimah to stop screaming, to which she just gives me “that look.” Ugh. So what do I do? Yes, once again I sit down with Fatimah, tell her the one about the hummingbird poking holes in the blanket of the skies, thus forming the stars. It’s a long one… but you can read it here if you care one bit.

  So, right, back to the screaming Fatimah. She calms down. I sit down and try to just have a little time to myself when Zainab and Ruqayah start pulling me in both directions. They want to hide and have me find
’em. So I tell ’em to go hide, figuring I’ll have a good few hours to relax. Before long, here comes Khadija again, now railing on me for leaving the girls unattended. Khadija, of course, has Umm Kulthum in her arms and unloads all the girls at my feet. She says something, which I don’t pay much attention to, while the girls turn me into a donkey ride.

  This is a house of estrogen, if you ask me. Sanity is running at an all-time low.

  When the whole donkey ride storytime crap ended, I pulled Khadija aside and told her I had to get some quiet time to myself or I was going to literally explode. After getting roped into watching the girls for the next few days, I was able to eke out a night for myself…

  It’s like I’m a prisoner just trying to escape!

  Either way, I got my time off. Tomorrow night. I’m gonna go out to that area near Mecca with all the caves—maybe some meditation and thought will do me some good. I just want some quiet time. No screaming kids, no pulling at my arms and legs, no responsibility.

  No more voices!! That’s what I want. Total and complete serenity. May I hear nothing but only the sound of my breath and the wind against the land. No more voices.

  Aaah, if I can get that—I will be completely satisfied.

  From: http://www.julia_child.fr/foodblog/

  Subject: The Tuna Sandwich

  I must admit, albeit somewhat embarrassed, but last night I was introduced to a meal they call “a tuna fish sandwich with chips on the side.”

  Dear readers, have you ever tried such a thing?

  Housed in between two glorious slices of something they call “Wonder Bread” (most likely due to the wondrous taste sensation provided to one’s taste buds by the spongy white goodness which elicits a wonderful “wow” from the eater) was a simply spectacular lump of a fish they find deep in the ocean referred to simply as “tuna.” The texture, both disturbing and strange all at once, is in fact—a taste sensation when combined with a heaping cup of mayonnaise. But even more spectacular was the way in which the “side of chips” (potato, not fish as the English refer to their cod) was integrated into the meal. Instead of eating them as if they were separate from the entire concoction—the chips were mashed and crunched into a thousand tiny salty pieces and thrown in between the glorious Wonder Bread, in and among the smooth and silky mayonnaise-lathered tuna… Together, it was a glory that I can honestly say is second to none.

  For dessert, as if I even expected anything to top the first and only course of this unique meal, was a sweet, spongy rod of heaven called the Winky. What winking has to do with this sweet treat I have no idea except for the fact that quite possibly only those who know the amazing nature of this treat will “wink” to others who have experienced such a thing, keeping those like yours truly (until yesterday) out of the secret Winky club. I must say, I shoved that golden cake filled with white opaque frosting into my mouth as quickly as I could —I’m sure I said something to my husband, Paul, about it but he couldn’t hear a word at all. My mouth was filled to the brim with the goodness of the Winky.

  Have you, dear readers, experienced such extraordinary food goodness? I have, it seems, been so caught up in introducing the American public to the recipes and foods of France that I have overlooked these two wonderful items of culinary perfection. Two items that I suspect are going to shape my career and my television program.

  Long live the Winky! Long live the Winky!

  This is Julia, saying toodles for now… As always, if you have a recipe you think the public may fancy, feel free to contact me and submit your meal.

  From: http://www.nikola_tesla.com/radioblog/

  Subject: Radioblog #15

  This week’s radioblog is now available here for download. Select transcripts from Tesla’s radioblog #15 (featuring his good friend Mark Twain) can be read below:

  --

  {snip!}

  Announcer: “Broadcasting wireless from his Houston Street laboratory in New York, transforming his powerful radio signals via his amazing Tesla coils—it’s Nikola Tesla with his special guest Mark Twain!!”

  [Farting sound]

  Tesla: “That’s what I think of Marconi. A big smelly bag of wind!”

  Twain: “You mean, Mar-phony, right, Tesla!?”

  Tesla: “I invented radio. I pioneered it. Without the Tesla oscillator no one would even be trying to broadcast wireless radio signals! Marconi is a copycat, and by him trying to get his own patents for wireless signal technology—it’s just stupid. He’s an impostor!”

  Twain: “Marconi, the phony!”

  [Laughter in the background]

  Tesla: “Show me someone out there broadcasting wireless signals and then ask them how they did it. Me. Me me me me me. Anyone who says they came up with it on their own is a total liar! LIAR! And yet people are out there listening to them, hearing them say they came up with radio, without any knowledge that it was me who did it in the first place. It makes me ill, really.”

  Twain: “Some people are without sense, Tesla. Don’t worry about what they think.”

  Tesla: “You hear about that Edison fella?”

  Twain: “Another copycat?”

  Tesla: “I don’t get it. It pisses me off. There would be NO RADIO if it wasn’t for me. I am the KING OF ALL MEDIA! Yet all these people go around pretending it was them. Copying my act. It’s not all about me either, I’d just like people out there to know that what they’re hearing originated with me. I mean, if someone copied your crap—”

  Twain: “Crap?”

  Tesla: “You know what I mean… You’d want the world to know if someone started writing Tom Sawyer books and passing them off as their own, right?”

  Twain: “Oh yeah. That would make me mad.”

  [Woman’s voice, screaming]

  Tesla: “Okay. We’ll be back with some of the local ladies coming by to talk to Mark and myself after this little homage to my brand-new pal, Marconi the phony, and the love of his life.”

  Twain: “That’s right—now it’s time for…”

  Announcer [with booming voice]: “MARCONI and EDISON: Stupid and Stupider!”

  {snip!}

  ---

  For previous Tesla radioblogs, visit the Tesla Radioblog Archives. To visit the live show or see the Tesla coils firsthand, send an e-mail to Nikola.

  From: http://www.davy_crockett.com/blog/

  Subject: The Alamo

  Can’t write much.

  Mexican forces number in the thousands.

  Defending. Fighting. Protecting.

  Whether or not we are successful in our defense of the Alamo mission, history must never forget this moment in time. A cry or saying of some kind must help those over the years remember. A rallying cry that will whip others into a frenzy in times of war and strife…

  I am not necessarily a wordsmith, but I have a few suggestions which I look to you to help spread:

  “Don’t Forget This Here Place!”

  “’Member the Mission!”

  “This Here Place, There’s No Forgettin’ It!”

  “The Ala-moans Were Numerous, the Sacrifice High.”

  “Remember What Happened at This Here Mission, Do You Hear?!”

  “People Died There, Oh Yes It’s True!”

  “Be Mindful of the Mission!”

  “Remember David Crockett—He Was There Too, You Know.”

  That’s all I can write now.

  My hope is to help thwart this surge of soldiers.

  If I do not come out of this alive, do not forget my contributions to government and Texas.

  “Ala-No no no no no!”

  That one’s pretty good if you ask me.

  From: http://www.in.buddha.com/blog/

  Subject: An Open Letter to Father

  I just want to come back home to the palace, Father. Pleeeeasssssee!

  I know. I know I came across the “four sights”—the old crippled man and the diseased man and the decaying corpse and the ascetic, humorless individual. I know, I know, I know how
I said living a life of riches was useless to me. I know how I said that the pleasures and wealth meant nothing to me. I know how I left my wife and my family behind for this life of being a monk …

  But… well… people make mistakes, right? Sometimes? And then, even though they made a mistake, their parents who love them so much turn a blind eye to the mistake that was made. Right?

  Please please please please please please please please please please please please thirteen hundred more times please!! Do not keep the doors of the palace off limits to me. Open the doors and your heart to your son Gautama! Seriously. C’mon. Open open open open open. I’m begging you. It’s not as easy out here on my own as I thought it would be.

  I have no attendants like Channa waiting on me, providing for me, making sure anything I need is ready at my first thought of it. I have no financial support. I will become a decaying corpse myself if you don’t help me out and soon!

  People say things they don’t mean. When I said that the palace was a festering plot of gluttony, I wasn’t necessarily talking about you, Father. I was just sort of, you know, playing around. A joke! You know? And when I called you the overlord of societal decay I meant that in the best of ways. I meant, you know, that you were so far over, or above trivial things like that. And when I said that the soul was blackened with a world of suffering—it was more like a metaphor… You know?

  Not to mention, these monk robes? They rub the wrong way against my legs and give me rashes. I can hardly take three steps without feeling the burn.

  Tell my wife, Yashodhara, that I miss her and want to come home to the palace! Tell her I have tried to send her messages but they have bounced back, unread, the same as my messages to you. You have left me no choice but to put my open letter to you, Father, here—where the rest of the world must see how much I regret my decision.