Tales from the Vienna Woods

Short(s) Stories

“I’m going to the real Vienna, not the one in northern Virginia” the dentist sneered, sitting back down at the booth in the chain diner in suburban Maryland. Everyone else at the networking group that morning was glad, and hoped he would stay there.

That was years ago. This past Sunday morning, I loaded up the DJ rig, my lederhosen, and a special pair of socks, and headed three hours north towards the fake Vienna, and a whole bunch of other places in the DC area. The road was sunny, the music was fine, and…well….here are a few sketches. Call ‘em…The fruits of adventure.

Note to the Aliens: Dress Accordingly

“Would you like to go to space, Josh?”

The question bubbles up sometimes after my lectures. The whole bathroom in orbit thing is disconcerting, I don’t particularly like heights, and well, Earth is pretty groovy. Call me a hypocrite - I usually extoll the virtues of adventure, but consider this:

As far as we know, there’s no Mozart on Mars. Perhaps there’s a thriving community of avid collectors of imports, but for now, Earth can call dibs on Wolfie.

Should aliens visit, and want to see a darn good time, we can proudly proclaim Ein Prosit! and offer them a frothy stein of beer at the next distinctly Earth tradition…Oktoberfest. (Although they’ll be mad if they missed the dress code memo.)

This Lederhosen makes me look like I’ve been at the strudel a bit too much. Mensch!

How’s that for a DJ set? Big thanks to “Rupert” and “Antonius” (we looked up the Germanic versions of their names) for making this stage look and sound like two million bucks! They even put up a video of German scenery in the background while I spun the polka tunes. It sure is good to be an Earthling. Ja!

What groovy hats! In the booth with the fellas getting the A/V dialed in.

We sure had fun! Here was my “office view” for the evening.

On Not Being a Homicidal Maniac

Perhaps the fresh mountain air has softened my brain, or at least my heart. The horn usually remains silent when I drive around town here in Lynchburg. A new sensation has been stirring…could transit be…pleasant?

Trips back to the city are different.

Abandon turn signals. You snooze, you lose. Fix bayonets.

Welcome home, sucker!

After I had expunged the twin weaknesses of Mercy and Patience from my soul upon return to the metropolitan area, I found myself in the usual combat of trying to get anywhere. Old Town Alexandria was the battleground, and my favorite shortcut was closed. Road work. I was grumbly to the extreme. If I were in C.S. Lewis’ The Great Divorce, I’d be like that old lady damned to hell, having become the Grumble.

A trip up the block. Maybe this will work. Ah! A bus is turning left! Is there hope?

A pickup truck tried the same left turn, but the construction worker waved him to a stop, putting the cones back. “You can’t go there.”

The air, already crackling with tension, gave way to a thunderclap of profanity from the driver. The storm lasted a bit, and finally, the truck went on his way, leaving the worker standing on his jobsite, another lovely Monday morning in paradise.

I shouted some garbled encouragement at him as he shook his head…even his gruff exterior was shaken. The vivid pettiness of the pickup driver had knocked me back to my senses. Now I could be stuck in traffic all day, but at least I wasn’t stuck in myself.

Wheeling in to an illegal parking spot, ignoring the condo signs loudly proclaiming threats of towing and burning at the stake, I jumped out, ran up the street, and handed him a protein bar.

“Hey man, not everyone’s a jerk. Have a snack.”

Wonder showed in his weathered face towering above me. “Hey, thanks buddy, thanks a lot.”

I ran back to my car, changed.

I’m frustrated with the world most days. It cuts me off and slams on its brakes. I’m not the only one who feels like this. But what to do about it?

I was talking to a good friend yesterday, telling him I’m trying to speak and write as if it’s 1858, and there’s a chance to stave off catastrophe.

I used to believe that unquestioning kindness would solve everything, but realized it was trickier than that. (It can lead to enablement and the growing of the worst of our nature.) Going too far the other way, I retreated from engagement, and got stuck in my own “room full of mirrors.” (All I could see was me. - Hendrix)

That Clif bar sure did at least two of us a world of good.

I’m still “chewing”, so more to follow.

What do you think?