Word: Saxicoline

saxicoline

[sak-sik-uh-lin, -lahyn]

adjective, Botany, Zoology

1. living or growing among rocks.

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Frank wished he was somewhere else.  He didn't particularly care where as long as it was somewhere else.  He was a respected educator; a molder of young minds.  He should not be a judge of a high school science fair. 

To be fair, he probably wouldn't have minded if the projects were any good.  Unfortunately, they were sub-par at best, and elementary at worst.  If he had to look at one more papier-mâché volcano or weather model, he would burst. 

He wasn't looking for any genius, national champion level projects.  That was asking too much from such a small school.  He just wanted something that was actual high school level.  Where were all the robots?  The chemical reactions?  The projects with actual merit?  So far there had been nothing but store bought, cookie cutter projects.  It seemed so pointless.

Frank stopped at the next project.  It belonged to James Deloy, one of his more promising students.  At the very least his project looked different than all the others.  It consisted of a group of rocks with what looked to be some kind of moss/grass hybrid on them.  The stuff looked like normal moss, but had short grass like blades growing among the rocks as well.  There was a TV set up behind him, but it wasn't displaying anything at that moment.  The student himself was fiddling with the display, obviously trying to get it to work.

Frank cleared his throat.  James stiffened for a moment, but turned around.

"Oh, hey Mr. Pommer." he said.

"Yes, hello James.  What've you got for me today?"

"Oh yeah, it's pretty cool.  See, it's a new kind of mps that I made."

"That you made?"  Frank asked.  At least it sounded promising.  That is, if it was true.

"Yup.  Made it from scratch.  It's a brand new type of moss that grows on rocks, Even in more arid places.  It's gonna do a lot of cool stuff once it really takes off."

The teen certainly seemed confident. That was for sure.  And the moss did look like no other types.  Frank thought James may have intended it to be a method of turning unusable, rocky land into viable pasture land.  After all, it did look like it had some grass like qualities.

 Frank looked at it closer, and saw something odd about the sample though.  He felt one of the blades and sighed.  It had a very distinct feeling.

"James, this is plastic." Frank said.

"Yeah, I know.  Pretty cool, huh?"

"James, you can't go making plastic models and pass it off as something new."

"It's not a model.  It's moss that has plastic like properties.  Basically, it's organic, growable plastic.  Once this stuff really gets out there, it'll revolutionize everything.  Think about it, anyone with enough rocks will be able to grow their own plastic.  Okay, so only big industries will be able to make it in any significant amounts, but still.

"I mean, it’s not perfect or anything.  Since it’s still technically a plant, it only comes it green, so it won’t completely replace manufactured plastics or anything.  Okay, yeah, I tried growing it in other colors, but it didn’t last long.  The yellow held out for a few days longer, but only this green kind can last for any decent amount of time.”

“Yes, James, I’m sure this must all seem very nice to you.  A biological, growable plastic would change quite a bit.  Unfortunately, there’s just no way that can be done.”

“Sure it can.  I did it, and it’s right here.”  James said, pointing to his display.

“I’m afraid I can’t see any evidence that it is, in fact, moss.”

“That’s what the video is for.  I filmed the entire thing as it grew. I’ll show you once I get this thing to work.” 

James immediately went back to work trying to set up the video.  Frank decided to humor the boy and waited.  When he finally did get the slightly outdated equipment to work, he let out a triumphant cheer and set up his video.

“See?  Here I am, getting the seeds of the various colors ready on their rocks.”  James narrated as the film started.  On the screen was a large amount or rocks set up in an outdoor area.  James came on and did just what the teen said.

James continued narrating as Frank watched what appeared to be sped up footage of multi-colored moss growing among a large spread of rocks.  Just as James said, most of the more colorful varieties died out fairly soon, with the colors closer to green lasting longer, and the green moss that was now in front of him lasting until the end of the video.

“See?  It’s all there.”  James said.  “That was filmed constantly over a month.  I could’ve grown more, but that was all the time I had before the fair.”

“Yes, I see.”  Frank said.  He still wasn’t a hundred percent certain.  Although the moss grown on the video did look like the live version, things like that were fairly easy to fake for someone who knew how.  “Although I still need to see more proof that what you have here is, in fact, moss and not a model.  If you can provide that right now, then I would feel quite confident giving you the first place.  If you can’t do that, I’m afraid that I can’t do anything.”

“Uh, oh, yeah, right, sure.”  James said.  He pulled out a notebook and began flipping through it, growing more frustrated as he went.  “Okay, yeah, I don’t have anything else on me right now.  But I do have stuff.  And I can leave the moss here for a few days until you can tell it’s grown.  That should do, right?”

“The science fair won’t be on for a few more days.  Now, while I would be curious on a personal level to see if what you’ve made is real, I’m afraid it won’t be any good for this.”  James looked more than a little disappointed by that.  “But, if it’s real, I will help you after the fair ends to get it out to the public. You were right; something like what you claim will help a lot of people.”

“Really?”  James asked, perking up immediately.  “Thanks, Mr. Pommer.” 

“Of course, James.  Now, unless you have something else to add, I’ll see you in class tomorrow.” 

As Frank went on to the next project, he couldn’t help but wonder if James was telling the truth.  He wasn’t very confident, but either way he would find out in a few days.  

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A kind of plastic that grows like a plant would be pretty cool.  It might cause some problems for the oil industry, but somehow I think they'd survive.

Word: criticaster

criticaster

[krit-i-kas-ter]

noun

1. an incompetent critic.

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Janet reread the small article in the newspaper.  She simply couldn’t believe what she was reading.  It just didn’t make any sense to her.

                “This is unbelievable.”  She said, putting the paper down on the table.

                “What is?”  Asked her husband, Dave.

                “This drama critic in the paper.  You remember that play we went to last night?”  Dave nodded, “Well this guy said it was bad.  Not just bad, he said it was terrible.  I think the word garbage was used several times.  He thought the acting was uninspired, the music was bad, and the plot was trite and predictable.”

                “What?  Let me see that.”  Dave said.  He grabbed the paper and read the review.  “Wow.  This guy’s way off.  That was a great show.”

                “I wonder if this guy was watching a different show than we were.”

                “Can’t be.  The review had to have been written at least two or three days ago, and it says the name of the show and the theater.  It’s all the same.”

                “Well then, this guy’s an idiot.”  Janet said.  “Maybe we should write to the paper and ask that they get rid of that guy.”

                “Let’s not be rash here.”  Dave replied.  “Maybe he was just having a bad day, or he has a personal dislike for someone involved with the show.  Hang on, let me check this guy out.”

                Dave went and retrieved is laptop.  Once everything was set up, he searched for the critic in question.  It didn’t take long to find the guy, but he did take some time to read up on him.

                “Oh.  Oh wow.”  He said after a few minutes.

                “What?  What’s wrong?”  Janet asked.

                “This guy’s nuts.  Everything he reviews is bad.  I mean it.  It doesn’t look like he’s ever given a good review in his career.  It doesn’t matter what other people say, or what he’s reviewing, it’s always negative.”

                “Okay, yeah, like I said, he’s an idiot.”

                “No, I don’t think that’s quite correct.  He writes well, and he seems smart enough from what I can tell.  I think he’s just bad at his job.  Either that, or he’s just a hurtful, spiteful human being.”

                “Great.  So people are getting their info from a critic that is either completely incompetent, or just hates everything?  No wonder people think the arts are dead in this town.  Do people at least know how awful this guy is?”  Janet asked.  Dave spent a few more minutes searching. 

                Well, since he only writes two or three reviews in each publication, I’d say that’s a fair bet.  He just doesn’t give up though.  From what I can tell, he’s written for at least a dozen newspapers all over the country.  It doesn’t seem like they keep him around for very long, that’s for sure.”

                “Well, at least that’s something.  Hopefully our paper is smart enough to get rid of this guy for someone who actually knows how to do his job.”

                “We can only hope.”  Dave said, nodding in agreement.  “Otherwise there might be something to it when people say the arts are dead.”

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It's amazing how we let critics color our views on something, isn't it?  If something gets a bad review, people seeing it will inevitably tend to see the bad things, while the opposite tends to be true for good reviews.  Maybe people should try reading a review of something after they've seen it?  Of course, that would defeat the purpose of a critic, wouldn't it?  

Word: allegiant

allegiant

[uh-lee-juh nt]

adjective

1. loyal; faithful.

noun

2. a faithful follower; adherent:

allegiants of religious cults.

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                Jonas had expected to wake up in a dark cell, chained to a metal slab or chair.  Instead he woke up sitting in a large, well stuffed lounge chair, in a room filled with high end artwork.  There was only one other man in the room with him.  It was someone Jonas knew right away, even though the two had never met.

                “Ah, you’re awake.  Good.  I was starting to worry.  Any longer and I would have called the paramedics.”  The man said when he noticed Jonas waking up.  “I know it’s probably not exactly healthy for your current condition, but I always like to make my guests feel welcome.  To that end, would you care for a glass?”

                The older man held up a small glass of amber liquid.  Jonas said nothing, even as the glass was placed into his hand.

                “There you go.  It’s good scotch, don’t worry.  I wouldn’t dream of adding anything to it.”  The man said.  He raised a glass of the same liquid and took a slow sip.  “I assure you it’s not drugged.  Just take it slow.  This is a drink to be savored, after all.”

                Jonas raised the glass and breathed in the aroma of the liquor.  It smelled alright, but that was hardly an indication of what might be in it.  Still, after the night he had, he could certainly use a good drink.  He took a careful sip.  The alcohol slid down his throat like nothing else.  His captor was right.  It was good.

                “That’s a good man.  This a truly fine vintage.”  The man said, holding up the old bottle.  “Pity they don’t make it like this anymore.  Ah well, people so seldom have a taste for the finer things in life.”  The man sat in a chair similar to the one Jonas had been placed in.  He took another sip of his drink before continuing.  “Now then, I’m sure you have a lot of questions.”

                “A few.”  Jonas said.  “Why am I here, for one.”

                “You mean why you’ve been placed in my personal study instead of some dungeon or torture chamber, correct?”  Jonas nodded.  “The answer is quite simple, really.  I despise torture.  I really do.  Such a barbaric method of gaining information.  Same with drugs and other chemical means.  It’s why the only drug in the scotch is the alcohol.  Really, I can’t understand why some people resort to brutish violence and inefficient chemicals when there are so many better methods of acquiring information.”

                “Such as?”

                “An excellent question, my good man.  And the answer is why you are in this particular room.  After you’re little botched attempt at escape, I reviewed all the security footage, and I discovered one thing.  That I couldn’t discover you.  You quite simply did not show up anywhere in the security footage until your capture.  You, sir, are very good.  Very good indeed.  In fact, I dare say your capture was due to sheer dumb luck on my part.”

                Jonas couldn’t agree more.  The job had gone smoothly.  He had acquired everything he had needed to.  He was on his way out, when he had stepped on a leaf.  One single leaf that had fallen off a tree in early autumn.  It was the only such leaf in a back yard the size of a football field, and he just happened to step on it.  Most people don’t think twice about such things, but it was all that was needed for Jonas to be discovered and captured.  He was still a bit bitter about it.

                “I’ll say.”  He muttered.  “What’s that got to do with anything though?”

                “Simple.  I have two questions to ask, but only one of any real importance.  The first is, obviously, who hired you.  I’m assuming you’re not going to answer that one easily, so let’s just move on to the next.  Would you like to work for me?”

                That was not the question Jonas expected.

                “What?”

                “I would very much like to hire a man of your skills.  Of course, you would need to give up the identity of your current employer, but considering the compensation I’m offering, that shouldn’t be a problem.”

                “Compensation?  What, like a big salary?”

                “Well, yes, I suppose that would be part of it.  And when I say big, I mean seven digits.  I doubt whoever you work for is paying that much, are they?”  Jonas had to admit they weren’t.  “But it’s not just the money.  It’s far more than that.  For example, that scotch.  It’s good, right?”  Jonas nodded.  “Well I have dozens of bottles that make that look like a $10 bottle from a grocery store.  You can have enough to last for years.  And that’s just the beginning.  You’re a handsome young man.  I bet you’re quite the lady killer.”

                “Well, I don’t like to brag, but I get around.”

                “Well, how about spending your nights with women who make Hollywood actresses look like cheap whores?  I can make that happen with a phone call.  I can give you everything your heart desires.  The finest food, liquor, women.  Everything great can be yours.  And all you have to do is come work for me.”

                Jonas placed his drink on a small, round table next to his chair and folded his hands in his lap.

                “Well now, Mr. Telleric, that’s quite the offer.  A man’d have to be an idiot to turn it down.”

                “Wonderful, wonderful.  I can get the paperwork started right away.”

                “Hang on, I’m not done yet.  See, there’s some things you need to know about me.  I’m not a very nice person Mr. Telleric.  I can snap your neck right here and now and I wouldn’t lose a second of sleep.  I can take you for everything your worth and it’d just be another day at the office.  I don’t have much in the ways of morals, you see.  But, there is one thing I can’t stand.  Just one.  And that’s betrayal.  I really hate when someone betrays his loyalties just because a “better offer” came around.  It just…it just gets to me.”

                “Ah, I see.  So you’re turning me down then.”  Mr. Telleric said.  His face darkened as he said those words.

                “Yeah, I am.  And I’m not selling out my people, no matter what you’ve got.  Hell, I’ve had offers just like yours a dozen times before, and I’ve always turned them down.  I gotta admit, the thing with the ladies was knew.  Usually they just say supermodels or something, so I give you props for that.  But yeah, I’m staying with my current gig, no matter what happens.”

                “Well, I admit, I can respect a men with true loyalty.  Such men are rare these days.”  Mr. Telleric said.  “Of course, that does mean I can’t let you live, right?”

                “Yeah, I’ve heard that a dozen times also.”

                A few minutes later, Jonas walked out of the study and down the large, art filled hallway connected to it.  He straightened his black outfit, brushing of a few drops of liquid—some amber, some red—from his sleeve.  No matter what happened to him, he remained confident that his loyalty was not for sale.

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A part of me really wants to show what happens in that room after the conversation ends.  Another part thinks it's better to keep it a mystery.  At least, that's the case for this format.  Maybe if I write a longer version of the story I'll show it, but that's a pretty big if.  Either way, I hope you all enjoy it as is.