Showing results by narrator "Stephen Mendel" in All Categories

Perhaps it’s something basic to the nature of late night talk shows, or the topics I’m invited to discuss on radio (space and the future), but there are certain evenings, often when the moon is full, that bring the UFO zealots out in swarms. Collectively and individually, they mob the phone banks, converging to defend the faith, and repulse the big, bad doubter-scientist.

Jason let the flimsy message slip from his fingers, fluttering in the gentle, centrifugal pseudo-gravity of the station apartment. Coriolis force—or perhaps the soft breeze from the wall vents—caused it to drift past the edge of the table and land on the floor of the small dining nook.

In the midst of a February cold snap and the political maneuverings of a new government that threatens the jobs of good officers including his young partner, Detective Barry Gilbert of the Metropolitan Toronto Police Force Homicide Squad is called to investigate the murder of Cheryl Latham, the stepdaughter of a prominent government official. Cheryl, her body frozen, is found on a snow-swept pier at the harbor with a bullet in her chest. Autopsy reveals a bizarre clue - Cheryl froze to death first and was shot later.

Detectives Barry Gilbert and Joe Lombardo return after their highly praised debut, Cold Comfort. This time the two are plunged into Toronto's Chinatown district where they are called to investigate the death of Edgar Lau, a man whose history and connections take the detectives on a ride across continents and cultures, deep into the story of one family's struggle to survive against terrible odds

“...So you want to talk about flying saucers? I was afraid of that." This happens every damn time I’m blackmailed into babysitting you insomniacs, while Talkback Larry escapes to Bimini for a badly needed rest. I’m supposed to field call-in questions about astronomy and outer space for two weeks. You know, black holes and comets? But it seems we always have to spend the first night wrangling over puta UFOs.

On planets, they say, water always runs downhill…Serena had no way of knowing if it was true. She had never been on a planet. Not in the brief million or so years she had been aware. Neither had any of her acquaintances. The very idea was ridiculous. Very few Grand Voyageurs ever got a chance to see a planet. And yet, even among them, the ancient truisms were still told.

Back when he was still a student, Stan Goldman and his friends used to play a game of make-believe. “How long do you think it would take Isaac Newton to solve this homework set?” they would ask each other. Or, “If Einstein were alive today, do you think he’d bother with graduate school?”

We survived the transition to a new millennium…when the great digital clock of the common era squeaked, groaned and finally clicked a new digit upon the thousand-year slot. To all the planets and stars, rocks and trees, it was just another day. But none of them love celebrating milestones at the drop of a metaphor. We humans do.

Elvis roams the interstates in a big white Cadillac. It has to be him. Flywheel-bus and commuter-zep riders see plumes of dust trailing like rocket exhaust behind something too fast and glittery for the naked eye. Squint though, and you might glimpse him behind the wheel, steering with one wrist, fiddling the radio dial, then reaching for that always frosty can of beer. “Thank you, honey,” he tells the blonde next to him as he steps on the accelerator.

Nobody speaks much about the Talent, anymore—that aspect of our nature we were asked to give up, for the sake of pity. We gave it up, something precious and rare, for the Lentili. Or did we?

This section, “Contact,” is devoted to that special, often maligned sub-genre of SF, the think piece. Once upon a time, such tales comprised nearly all of science fiction. An author would ask, “What if?” or “If this goes on?” and head off from there, working out what might result from a given premise.

In small-town Maine, unhappily retired Howard Woods is shaken awake one morning by his wife, who confesses to a devastating affair. To the utter dismay of his family, Howard refuses to forgive her. Instead, he vows to travel to Pamplona, Spain, in the footsteps of Hemingway to join the annual running of the bulls. His life promptly descends into chaos. But how does a middle-aged homebody, who has never even done his own laundry, salvage his manhood and pride and learn how to rebuild his life on his own?

I know, things taste better fresh, not packaged. They say hamburger clogs your arteries and hurts the rain forests. We should eat like our Stone Age ancestors, who dug roots, got plenty of exercise, and always stayed a little hungry. So they say. Still, I balked when my wife served me termites. “Come on honey, try one. They’re delicious.”

Hands, those strong hands holding her down upon the tabletop...in her pain and confusion, they reminded her of those tentacled sea creatures of fabled days which ola-chan had described when she was little, whose habit it was to drag unfortunate mariners down to a watery doom.

I earn my living as a writer. In other words, as a magician, shaman, metaphorist. By chant and incantation—and with the active collaboration of my clients, the readers—I create images, characters, alternate realities in other minds. It is an ancient, venerable profession. All tribes have had storytellers, who wove legends round the campfire. My specialty involves epics not about long ago, but times and places yet to come.

You think you’re going to get me, don’t you? Well, you’ve got another thing coming, ‘cause I’m ready for you. That’s why there’s a forged card in my wallet saying my blood group is AB Negative, and a MedicAlert tag warning that I’m allergic to penicillin, aspirin, and phenylalanine. Another one states that I’m a practicing, devout Christian Scientist. All these tricks ought to slow you down when the time comes, as it’s sure to, sometime soon.

On January 26, 1996, Dave Schultz, Olympic gold medal winner and wrestling golden boy, was shot three times by du Pont family heir John E. du Pont at the famed Foxcatcher Farms estate in Pennsylvania. Following the murder, there was a tense standoff when du Pont barricaded himself in his home for two days before he was finally captured. Foxcatcher is gold medal winner Mark Schultz's memoir, revealing what made him and his brother champion and what brought them to Foxcatcher Farms.

A Prairie Girl's Faith provides the first extended, in depth discussion of the Christian faith of one of America's most beloved pioneer women - Laura Ingalls Wilder. Although the faith of the Ingalls' family pervades books in the Little House series, the more specific details of Laura's faith have never been fully explored. It took extraordinary pluck for anyone to survive the harshness of frontier life - from the heartbreak of sudden crop losses to murderous storms to unrelenting loneliness.

Traversing a vivid landscape, from sunblasted hills and canyons to the nighttime streets of America's greatest cities, some of Louis L'Amour's most compelling fiction was set in his own time. Here are tales of innocents caught in the schemes of criminals, detectives hunting down truths that hide more lies, gangsters and beauties, private investigators and cops. Here is a world populated by the kinds of people who risk their lives to right a wrong, make a buck, or save a friend.

Penguin presents the unabridged, downloadable audiobook edition of Foxcatcher by Mark Schultz, read by Stephen Mendel. On 22 January 1996, Dave Schultz, Olympic gold medalist and wrestling's golden boy, was shot in the back by John E. du Pont at the famed Foxcatcher estate in Pennsylvania. That started a two-day siege at the ranch before the du Pont family heir was finally captured.