Since last week’s effort turned out to be quite a hoot (well, at least for me), with some very creative and entertaining submissions, I thought we’d take another run at it this week. Your mission, should you accept: Write a micro-story in the comments capturing what you think is happening in this photo.
Bit of background:
Once upon a time (okay, it was this past Saturday), the visiting niece convinced the rest of the entourage that she simply had to go to “The Sweet Tooth Hotel” in downtown Dallas. Naturally, my eyebrows raised on why a minor (she’s 17) would feel compelled to visit a hotel when she had a perfectly good bed on one of the spare couches in our house. Was this a protest statement about our hospitality? Or was something wickedly sordid this way coming?
Turns out, said “hotel” is one of those places with “exhibits” where you can immerse yourself in various staged environments while your excited friends take photos of you doing so. (Apparently, this type of establishment is very trendy in certain circles. I’m assuming those circles are much younger than me.) In any case, we were soon traipsing about in the “Victory Park” section of urban Dallas, with the 101-degree summer sun making the trek considerably moist, looking for a building where social-media enthusiasts can build up inventory for their Instagram feeds.
We discovered that the “Sweet Tooth” had two entrances. One led directly to the bar, an access point designed for those folks who had no intention of doing the photo-op thing and would rather swill alcohol until the madness was over. Partner and Brother-in-Law immediately vanished through this portal, not even bothering to look back. Niece, Sister and I clattered through the other door, where it soon became obvious that I was the oldest person on the planet who had ever done so.
Word quickly spread through the gaggle of youthful self-promoters that one of the “exhibits” this time, which change every month or so to keep the revenue stream healthy, apparently involved a dinosaur theme. Several of the dim young things whipped out their cellphones and began edging toward me, jostling to see who would get to mount me first so they could use it as a clever profile photo.
The “hostess” at the front desk, trained in crowd control, as anyone must be in this age of emboldened teenagers, quickly explained that the “tour” hadn’t started yet. Be nice and leave the old man alone. But you should also be sweet and help him should he fall and be unable to get up. Lawsuits are not trending right now and we don’t need any of that mess up in here. The whippersnappers were mildly disappointed, but they quickly found salvation by taking selfies in front of a giant neon ice cream cone on one wall of the lobby.
A few minutes later, our “tour guide” arrived, explained a few rules (don’t go into the VIP section unless you bought the upgraded tickets and don’t kill anybody), and then threw open the doors, at which point the guide became pointless, as everyone rushed past her in a frenzy of self-involvement. Sister and I muttered a small prayer of survival, expressed our love for each other in case we didn’t make it out alive, and then we followed Niece into the inner sanctums.
And you know what? It was fun. I had a really good time. (I was just as stunned as you probably are now, reading this paragraph.) I might even do it again in the future. But I’m definitely going through the bar door first, and then doing the exhibits. There was a tremendous amount of unregulated youthful exuberance in that hotel.
But enough about me.
Back to you.
Please share your whimsical interpretation of the above photo, in whatever manner you find appropriate. (And feel free to exploit the “dinosaur” angle; I certainly did enough of that on my own.) Perhaps some poetry might even be in order. That would be festive. Just make sure it rhymes, as most of the patrons at “The Sweet Tooth Hotel” won’t recognize poetry unless it has a Dr. Seussian flair.
Go forth and pontificate!
Photo credit: The opening snap was taken by the lovely Dawn Kallenberger, sister extraordinaire and oft-times partner in crime. Speaking of, here’s a shot I took of Dawn in one of the “exhibits”. Isn’t it annoying that she looks twenty years younger than me, even though she’s only three? Nobody thought SHE was part of the dinosaur diorama. And so it goes…
Categories: Humor
Bonnywood Manor 
“Almost”
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Yep, I fibbed a bit with the “almost”. What can I say? I’m a wordy kind of guy… 😉
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And that’s okay. Lovely blog you got
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Thank you, sir!
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Small Child: Auntie, who is that man and why does he look so grumpy?
Auntie: Well now, maybe it’s those silver statues. I think they’re supposed to be gold. Then he might be happy because he would have an Oscar.
Small Child: Who’s Oscar? Is that the mouth behind his head? Is Oscar trying to eat him?
Auntie: No, Little One. I think it’s just how he feels. Really hungry, and he’s thinking about it. Don’t get too close now, the grumpy might rub off.
😉
Can’t think of anything else to add. 🙂
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This was perfect, as I was mildly grumpy and severely hungry. (We went to the Hard Rock Cafe right after this.)
About that mouth behind my head: This “exhibit” was a little freaky. There was a camera that somehow captured just your face and then projected it above you, but that image made you look tortured and unsatisfied. Maybe it was a tribute to the current pain of Democrats in America? Who knows… 😉
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Master of the Surreal Universe is approached for Strictly Come Dancing 2021.
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Later that evening, the judging committee reviewed the Master’s blog posts, and the invitation was quickly rescinded…
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For Posterity.
Here I sit, ensconced upon gilded throne,
The focus of every smart ass with a smart phone,
But I fix them with my coldest steely gaze
When they say I’m a relic of the golden olden days.
And those glitter-ball gals in the background are most unnerving, if not downright creepy.
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Brilliant interpretation. I offer great kudos, and a hearty thanks for taking the Poetry Plunge. And those glitter-ball gals? The scene somehow reminds me of “A Clockwork Orange” and nobody was happy in that movie. Nobody.
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Soon the silver statues will produce fern fans that will be wafted over your head.
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And I would have been grateful for such a development, as it was a bit humid in there with all the hormonal teens racing about…
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The fossil relaxes in his favorite chair
He does so with much ancient style and flair
One can see by his sly smile
That he’s relishing this moment with maybe too much guile
Behind him his bodyguard guards linger all shiny, in a formidable pair
Everyone wants a picture
Of this dinosaur fixture
Each teen wants a photo for their instagram page
After all, this relic looks quite the sage
Of mischief and patience, this vintage dino has just the right mixture!
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I do believe you just won the prize in this round. (Shh. Don’t tell the other folks.They can get a bit cranky and we really don’t have time for an uprising.) I love how you embrace my decay and turned it into a good thing… 😉
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Well, really i don’t see any decay. 🙂 I only hammed it up for my “profound” (snort) poetry entry.
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And thank you. I’m glad you enjoyed my rhyming submission!
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Too funny!! You actually ventured into one of those staged social media projects. I laughed out loud at the “frenzy of self-involvement”. I bow in recognition of your courage and audacity.
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It was a bit intimidating at first, but I really did enjoy it once I got into the spirit of things. Some of the “exhibits” were really quite clever (the bathroom was decorated by the Poo-Pourri folks), although there weren’t that many, overall. My understanding is that there are other establishments that are much larger and are truly “artistic” in nature. So I’ll probably try another one at some point. But I’m going to go when all the youngsters should theoretically be in school… 😉
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Great idea. Nothing like a gaggle of teenagers to take the buzz off our fun 🙂
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And Dawn did blow a kiss to the hulking monolith
But Brian smiled not, t’is said he was too hot,
he glowered from his throne whence he sat all alone,
and yet there seemed to be a hint of revelry,
that only pictures tell, of the visit to The Sweet Tooth Hotel.
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Oh, this is a lovely bit of poetry, full of truth and honesty and sprinkled glitter. Of course, sister Dawn might pause at the thought of her blown kiss being directed at me, as we still have tender and raw emotions from our formative years when we couldn’t stand the sight of each other (often the way with young siblings, until we grow up and get over it). We love each other now, although she still accuses me of hurling her innocent body into a cactus when she was 5 years old or some such. Have I shared that story? If not, I really should…
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You must share – sibling rivalry is so interesting when it’s not your sibling )
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Well is it me or did I see more clearly than most that you are in a version of Oz, never dreamt of by L. Frank? Here’s my long winded contribution and tribute:
http://sparksfromacombustiblemind.com/2019/07/26/on-the-throne/
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I just finished up reading your lovely omnibus of tribute and dissertation, and I’m still chuckling. (And, yes, tooting. Cleo has just confirmed that there was tooting and has filed a grievance with her union.)
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I’m rather surprised Cleo didn’t just disappear at the first hint of turbulence in your fortress of sullied solitude. Cats seem delicate that way. On another subject (semi-related, although you don’t know the people nor the cats I’ll talk about briefly)…I was introduced to “Poppy” yesterday. Poppy is a weensy black kitten (could, if she’d sit still long enough, sit on my palm with a bit of wiggle room). She is a rescue that my neighbors, owners of the late and lamented Taco, got. Not as a replacement for Taco. Taco was a boy and a dog after all, and Poppy is female and a cat-to-be. I now suspect that cats, despite their sometimes sober appearances, are here for our amusement. Poppy is living up to that (so far). Her ‘brothers’ Socks and Harry (two male cats) will teach her. Or maybe she’ll teach them. Cleo deserves fish. A lot of fish. Fresh. because she has put up with the tooties.. I BET she’d agree.
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Of course Cleo would agree with the “fresh fish” angle. She’s not getting any of that at the moment, but we did surprise her today with some prescription “treats” that are supposed to help her feel more full than she really is. (She’s been on the hefty side for a while now, and we’ve been working with the vet to slim the little dickens down.) She ate the first round with grace and aplomb (four little bits plunked into what she understands as her “treat bowl”). But she completely ignored the second round (they are still in the bowl, forlorn, as I type this) so I suspect that this bag of treats might get a little stale before all is said and done.
Now, the “Poppy” angle. Aren’t baby kitties the cutest things EVER? So tiny and so full of wonder. If they would just retain that size and curiosity I would have hundreds of them. But they don’t, growing and developing attitudes. Which is part of the reason why we now only have one….
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Despite his two Oscars,
Sir Brian was a grump.
He sat on his golden throne,
Contemplating Trump.
Were he to rule the world,
He’d never play the schlump,
He’d treat all people fair,
And fix this toxic waste dump.
(Though between you and me,
The reason he sits like a lump,
Dawn stole his pink floral robe,
And now he feels the chump.)
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Oh my. It’s like you were there in the room with us. I’m feeling a bit tingly about this cosmic connection, and I don’t say such things lightly. (Okay, maybe I do.) Most importantly, I am in awe that you took the poetry angle. It’s one thing to scribble out a comment. It’s another matter entirely when the comment rhymes… 😉
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brilliant photo.
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Would you expect any less of me, Father? Do tell.
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