Tag Archives: couples

Commercialization of the Word Like

Posted on October 4, 2011 | 6 comments

She put her book on her lap as if a sudden idea occurred to her.

“When did the word like become so…”

“Commercial?” he replied from his work desk on the other side of the room. She smiled.

“You always can finish my – “

“Dinner?” He interrupted with a smile.

“Oh so funny,” she said as she dangled her legs over the side of the dark red couch of their study. “You’re working pretty hard over there.”

“Marketing doesn’t market itself, as my boss always says.”

“Trying to get the new book more likes?”

“Yup,” he said with a frown. “It’s tough. We’re up to 1, 256. My goal is 3000 by the end of the week.”

“Do you get what I’m saying, though? It’s almost as if the word like has lost all meaning. The power of liking something has been diminished, in a meaningful way. I heard a ten-year-old tell his friend that she should like his blog, and she said only if he liked her friend’s pic for some contest. He agreed. But what does he care about the contest? He liked it, I’m sure, as soon as he got home, so that she would fulfill her side of the verbal contract and like his blog. The word is losing its umph, its pizzazz, its gumption.”

He turned to face her, which was simple since he was in a swivel chair. “From a human standpoint, I totally see what you mean and can get behind you a hundred percent. But as a heartless bastard in the world of marketing, what you’re saying right now is scaring the shit out of me.”

“Maybe I’ll start a campaign. A campaign to take back the word like! I’ll tell the world to stop liking things and to just like things! Real life like! I’ll never forget the day you first told me you liked me, I giggled and blushed. Remember?”

He nodded even though his back was to her.

“Maybe you should start a Facebook page.”

“Very funny. But if we weren’t together, and you told me that you liked me now, it just wouldn’t mean the same thing. I like you. Well, that’s nice and all, but you also liked Girls in Wet T-Shirts and California Raisins today, so I’m not really sure where I fit in on your list of priorities.”

“Okay, first off, I liked Girls in Wet T-Shirts as a joke. And I happened to be eating raisins yesterday and thought about how much I liked them, so I liked them.”

“Oh trust me, I laughed at the joke, no worries there. I knew it was your sense of humor aimed right at me. I’m just saying.”

He clicked the mouse a few times. “Hmm…looks like someone likes Those Pantyhose That Come in an Egg Container today. Can I start calling you hypocrite now or should I wait?”

She laughed as he turned to face her again and used his feet to wheel right up to the couch. As she looked at him he took her hands in his and pulled her upright and they faced each other. The smile left his face and he looked at her with love and longing.

With all of the seriousness he could muster, he whispered, “I like you.”

She smiled and blushed.

6 Comments

Posted in flash fiction

Tagged beauty, couples, dating, dennis finocchiaro, entertainment, Facebook, fiction, finishing each others sentences, flash fiction, funny, hipster, humor, humour, jokes, life, like, liking, love, marketing, people, reading, relationships, romance, writing

Lover’s Cliff

Posted on September 7, 2011 | 4 comments

Typography on vintage photographs using an antique typewriter.

4 Comments

Posted in flash fiction, photos of strangers, Typography

Tagged 1930s, 1940s, 1950s, art, beauty, couples, dating, death, dennis finocchiaro, entertainment, fiction, flash fiction, found photograph, friends, kitsch, life, love, marriage, New Hampshire, people, photo, photograph, photography, photos, pictures, relationships, romance, romeo and juliet, sad, star crossed lovers, suicide, The Old Man, tristan and isolde, typewriter, typography, vintage

A Night for Making Out

Posted on September 6, 2011 | Leave a comment

His Baby Boy

Posted on August 29, 2011 | Leave a comment

This is part of my ongoing project of flash fiction typed onto vintage photographs using an antique typewriter. If you’d like to see more keep looking here or visit my Etsy.

Win an Original Print!

Posted on August 14, 2011 | 9 comments

So after These Moments had such a lovely giveaway with one of my original pieces, I had such a blast creating one for the winner that I’ve decided to have my own contest! Read about Esra’s winning image here.

What do you have to do? It’s so easy! All you have to do is comment on this post. Tell me why you should be the winner, or just say hi!

Here’s the image the last winner, Esra, got:

She told me she liked the beach, the city and listed a lot of her other passions, so I created one just for her! Want to get in on the fun? Comment below. And please, check out my upcoming book, Capturing a Moment, which collects many similar images. Not this one though, this one is JUST for Esra!

Capturing a Moment collects around fifty of Dennis Finocchiaro’s original pieces. Dennis is the author of The Z Word, a collection of flash fiction set during a zombie apocalypse. His collection of flash fiction that takes place in coffee shops, Confessions of a Coffee Shop Junkie, which came in third in The Fifteenth Dame Lisbet Throckmorton 2010 fiction writing contest, is also available on Amazon.

Capturing a Moment is available via his Etsy site. It comes signed, with a one-of-a-kind post-it flash fiction piece signed and a post card depicting two of the images. For a little bit more you can purchase the VIP version, which also comes with the original print of your choice.

9 Comments

Posted in flash fiction, photos of strangers, Typography

Tagged 1920s, 1930s, 1940s, 1950s, 1960s, art, beauty, childhood, children, comment, contest, couples, dating, death, dennis finocchiaro, entertainment, family, fiction, flash fiction, found art, found photograph, free stuff, friends, friendship, funny, giveaway, hipster, humor, kitsch, life, love, marriage, original art, people, photo, photograph, photography, photos, pictures, relationships, typewriter, typography, vintage, win, writing

Road Trip

Posted on August 11, 2011 | 2 comments

Road Trip, a new flash fiction on vintage photograph project!

2 Comments

Posted in flash fiction, photos of strangers, Typography

Tagged 1940s, 1950s, art, couples, dating, entertainment, family, fiction, flash fiction, found photograph, friends, funny, gas prices, humor, kitsch, life, love, marriage, people, photo, photograph, photography, photos, pictures, relationships, road trip, romance, typewriter, typography, vintage, writing

William and Mary

Posted on August 5, 2011 | 2 comments

William and Mary exited the church with her parents after saying goodbye to Father Peters.

“Mary,” William said. “How about a walk in the park?”

“That would be lovely,” she said, showing him a rather large smile.

“Have a nice day,” he said to her parents as the held each other and smiled. Her father winked at William, and her mother’s eyes became a bit glassy as she waved, too choked up to say anything else.

They turned the corner toward the park and Mary looked up at her boyfriend. “Can you believe it’s been a year since we met? A whole year.” She put her arm through his and pulled him closer as they passed the five and dime, which was closed.

“Too bad everything is closed, we could have picked up something and had a picnic,” she said to him. He looked at her and smiled.

They continued to the park entrance, which was eerily empty today. Mary stopped. “That’s odd.”

“What is, dear?”

“Where is everyone? Mister Simpson is always feeding the ducks at the pond at this time of day. And this is a park, usually there are children playing! No jumprope, no kites, nothing. Nobody is here.”

He smiled. “It is rather peculiar, isn’t it?” He turned and looked at the Johnsons’ home, noticing the curtains move just the tiniest bit. He knew it was a small town and word traveled fast; it wasn’t the least bit surprising that Mrs. Johnson would take a peek as they passed.

“My, the trees look beautiful, don’t they? Look at all the red and orange. I love Fall,” she said to him as they promenaded through the park. He nodded.

Deep in thought, William hadn’t noticed that his pace quickened and he’d left Mary a few steps behind. He realized it and stopped, waiting for her to catch up. “Did you forget me?” She asked him.

“No, no I guess I was in another world,” he responded.

“Are you nervous about something? You seem to have a small case of the jitters.”

He smiled and took her hand as they walked past the trees, some of which were already bare. He pulled Mary from the path onto the grass toward a hill and the sound of crunching leaves under their feet echoed through the empty park.

“William M. Masters, what’s gotten into you?”

He smiled and led her through a small grove of bright orange and red trees that still had their leaves and there was a red and white checkered blanket with a picnic basket waiting.

“Oh, look at this! Someone has left a perfectly good lunch here,” he said with a sly smile. She squeezed his hand as he brought her over and helped her onto the blanket.

“Why thank you!”

“You’re welcome, darling. Why don’t you go through the basket and see what we’ve got for lunch?”

She got up and walked over to the basket, opened the lid and on top of some chicken, potato salad and fruit she found a small, black box. She picked it up and when she turned to William he was down on one knee.

“Mary, will you marry me and make me the luckiest man in all of Greensville?”

She smiled with a glow and said yes.

2 Comments

Posted in flash fiction, photos of strangers

Tagged 1930s, art, asking her to marry, beauty, couples, dating, family, fiction, flash fiction, found photograph, kitsch, life, love, marriage, people, photograph, photography, proposals, proposing, relationships, romance, vintage

1620 Sycamore

Posted on August 3, 2011 | Leave a comment

“The bed and breakfast should be right around this bend,” Adam said to his new bride, Bertha as he turned the wheel of the car.

“I can’t believe it! I will be waking up with you tomorrow. It’s like a dream.” Bertha was glowing, and he couldn’t believe that just a few short hours ago they’d tied the knot. His friends always bet he would never take that final leap, and yet he was the first of the group to do so.

He knew he would be the second he’d met Bertha. He fell for her on the spot.

Adam smiled at the beautiful brunette as he pulled up to a 1900s farmhouse-turned-bed and breakfast. The siding was painted a pale blue and the woodwork around the porch was a light pink, just as his co-worker described it.

As Adam pulled to a stop his car skidded a bit on the gravel, sending up a small cloud of dust and alerting the owner to their arrival. “Here we are, 1620 Sycamore!” he said. The owner came out onto the wraparound porch and waved to them. As he did so his wire-framed glasses began to fall down his nose a bit and he had to catch them with his hand and push them back into place.

“You must be the Burnses, eh?” he asked them from the porch as they got out of the car.

Bertha giggled. “You’re the first one to call us that!” Adam came around and opened the trunk.

“And you must be Mister Oliver, the owner?”

“Yessir, that’s me!” He fixed his suspenders and let them slap against his oversized stomach as Adam reached into the back seat and pulled out his hat. He placed it onto his head and approached Mister Oliver, hand outstretched.

“Mighty fine place you have here, sir! Lovely. Just perfect for our honeymoon.” The older man smiled and winked at him.

“Haven’t had newlyweds here in a while! Mother and I will enjoy seeing young love again. Here to see the falls?”

“Yes, and possibly a bit of Canada, too.”

“Good for you, son.” Bertha was still waiting by the car and the old man nodded to her. Adam turned, went to the back door of the car and pulled out her small dark blue cardigan.

“It’s a bit chilly, hun, maybe you should put this on.” He started wrapping the sweater around Bertha, who saw the camera in the back seat.

“Oh! Adam, let’s get a photograph. Can we? It will be our first honeymoon shot.”

Adam pulled the camera out and looked hopefully to Mister Oliver, who smiled.

“Let me take that for you, son!” he said as he waddled down the four steps off the porch. As Adam showed him how the camera worked, Bertha carefully placed her purse and sweater onto the porch. Then she fixed her pleated skirt to make sure there were no wrinkles, rechecked the buttons of her blouse, and fixed her sleeves. Adam ran to her and leaned in.

“Hold on!” Bertha said. “You can’t wear a hat in this!” she said, removing it from her husband’s head, placing it onto her belongings on the porch, and then fussing over his hair. Once she got every strand into place, she smiled.

“Ready for this, Mister Burns?”

He smiled at his new wife. “Of course, Mrs. Burns.” And, of course, she giggled a little.

Ritual

Posted on August 2, 2011 | 4 comments

Every morning, Albert woke up before sunrise for his ritual. He climbed from bed right into his work pants, replaced the ribbed undershirt he’d slept in for a fresh, clean one, carefully put on his starched and ironed white button-down shirt, and pulled the suspenders over his shoulders.

Like all men of his day, Albert knew the importance of remaining clean-cut. After a quick visit to the kitchen, where he started the coffee, he headed back through his bedroom to the bathroom.

The bathroom ritual, after actions unmentionable in polite society, of course, included a shave, washing his face and brushing his teeth for three minutes, no more, no less. He would then pomade and brush his gray hair, wipe off his glasses on the special cloth he’d bought from the kindly door-to-door salesman, and then return to the kitchen.

Before Helen passed he’d always walked in to find some form of eggs, toast, orange juice and something from the meat group, but since her death he just couldn’t get the hang of making breakfast. He’d tried for about a year, the eggs were always either burnt or too runny, plus he always forgot to get orange juice at the market. So these days, if he even ate, it was toast and a pear from the tree that Helen planted back when they bought the small, suburban home.

The emptiness of the kitchen always got to Albert when he first walked in. The smells of the past haunted him, and he often forgot about her passing because he swore he could smell the ghosts of bacon frying in a pan. But whenever he walked in with a smile, adjusting his suspenders, his expectations were always disappointed. It was always empty, the sound of the coffee machine the only noise in the house and the counter meticulously organized and clean, just as he’d left it the night before.

And so he would stand with his back to the counter, as if talking to Helen like in the old days, and pour a coffee. But now, instead of sitting at the table, he ate at the sink, letting the crumbs of his solitary piece of toast fall directly into the empty sink. It kept him from having to wipe down the table, and since he kept the place immaculately clean, just as Helen did in her day, it saved him some time.

The final part of Albert’s ritual was to put on his tie, his shoes and his jacket. He walked up to the rack by the door, took his hat off the post, placed it on his head and opened the front door. The sun would just be rising as he turned and looked at his empty, dark home.

“I love you, honey. See you at supper,” he always whispered before he shut the door.