Waveboards, Wakeboards, and Weddings (part 1)

They gather in sidewalks and even dare make busy streets their playground – these kids atop strange skateboard-looking thingamajigs that go whoosh, whoosh, and then whirl. Such contraptions look like skateboards with a twist. Yes folks, I am talking about the waveboard.

This plaything has two stepping pads with a pivot at the middle. Underneath the pads are wheels much like a skateboard’s except that these could rotate 360 degrees for added flexibility. The design requires the user to step onto the pads and make alternate horizontal wavelike motions with his feet to make the board go (or at least that is what I know theoretically). Kids just love the waveboard, even teens and the young-at-heart too.

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I dreamed a dream.

I started to open my eyes. I couldn’t move. I felt stiff as if all my joints were ridden with rust. My vision was hazy as I scanned my environs but the shutters of my eyes eventually adjusted focus. It was an unusually small living room with random household objects scattered about, not too tidy and not too messy. The walls and the ceiling were white with filtered sunlight coming from the tiny glass windows to illumine the room. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary until I noticed the object a few feet beside me. It was a robot, not an android but a grey metal robot typically depicted in cartoons and children’s toys – a life-sized one. It seemed dead, with bolts and wires dangling from various hinges, and a cord on its back connected to the electrical outlet. It was being recharged, I assumed.

I tried to take a closer inspection but was held back by something that tied me to the wall. I labored to move an inch and slowly seemed to break loose from what restrained me. My whole body felt heavy as if gravity was pulling unusually strong. Closer, I approached. I was starting to master the weight of my body and the ache in my joints. Now inches away and still fighting the heaviness that weighed me down, I tentatively held out my arm to touch the odd thing. My fingertips finally made contact with cold metal shoulders, then all life – if any – drained out of me. I realized with dread that my arms and fingers were made of iron. I was very much like the thing beside me. I was a robot.

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Cold Decay

This country is at the brink of societal decay – this does not refer to the constant clamor on graft and corruption by politicians, or the ever-growing economic crisis. Judicial lingo and economic jargon has never been my area of expertise. Although such should be of great concern to every Juan and Maria, it seems to me a circumstance beyond control.

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