Balls and Walnuts
more than you ever wanted to know
Monthly Archives: September 2006
Wherein I am brought low
Continued from A bounty of ladies.
On a bright Sunday morn, th’ light sparklin’ off th’waves like a million suns, our froggy helmsman set us on a southerly course, aiming to round th’Horn. All was right with th’world, for I was sailing with a crew o’th’most mouthwatering lasses outside o’Araby.
Yet ’twas less than a fortnight afore I was dragged in irons t’th’most laudable presence of Cap’n Dyke. Aye, a beauteous lass she is, too.
Thar she be, me fair Cap’n Dyke:
Dax Montana, the Cap’n’s bouncer, threw me to the floor most roughly, in a manner t’which I have scarce known from th’softer sex, and I found meself looking up at th’luscious curves of Cap’n Dyke herself.
“He befouled the breast of Blue Gal,” said Dax, “with his mouth.”
Piped the Cap’n, “What have ye t’say in yer defense?”
A bounty of ladies
(In honor of Talk Like a Pirate Day, I have allowed th’good Captain Morning Wood to shanghai me blog. When ye last met him, Cap’n Wood had lost everything to the scurvy ponce Randall Richards, that foppish agent of Her Majesty Herself. Shipless and destitute, Cap’n Wood seeks employment from a most unlikely source: a right buxom lass.)
“A vessel with nought but ladies?” said I. “‘T’ain’t natural.”
“But ye say ye’ve sailed for months on end with nought but lads,” said that most fair wench, Da Nator, ship’s bosun o’th’Mound of Blue Dykes. “That t’ain’t natural.”
“That’t t’ain’t,” said I, “and thank Poseidon for tubs of lanolin.”
SBD: SDB (So Does Brad)
Smart Bitches Day today, droogs, and I’ve been remiss of late. Call it failure of imagination, call it failure of the normal sleep/wake cycle, but I haven’t had a single bright shiny SBD thought in weeks.
However.
While editing yesterday morning, I listened to a netcast of one of my favorite radio stations, KFJC, and the DJ played “Time Warp” from The Rocky Horror Picture Show, and my SBD theme came to me in a flash of inspiration:
Loss of innocence.
I know what you’re thinking. “Walnut, you nailed the loss of innocence theme over a year ago, didn’t you?” Or you would be thinking that if you had read my blog as compulsively as I’ve written it.
Still, I might have another miniscule thing or two to say on the subject.
Loss of innocence is such an emotion-laden subject, it surprises me it isn’t tapped more often for fiction and film. It especially surprises me that I haven’t milked it for the novel I recently finished. Here I am writing about two twenty-something-year-old virgins who finally give up that one last trapping of childhood, and I haven’t even scratched the surface.
My problem is, I’ve approached this story as a romantic comedy, and I’ve consciously tried to downplay most of the serious bits. When I first began writing it, I was burnt out by writing my trilogy/tragedy, and my muse wanted cotton candy. That’s my excuse, anyway.
Loss of innocence is a serious bit. I can’t mine humor from something so inherently sad — nor, I suspect, can anyone else. Case in point, any teen sex comedy (including, yes, American Pie). Puerile is not funny.
Although I do dig the band camp girl.
Alyson Hannigan. Mmmm. Guys and girl-lovin’ gals, google that name with SafeSearch OFF. You won’t be sorry. But I digress.
In editing this novel, I feel a strong urge to address this topic. There has to be a reason why these two have held onto their virginity for so long, right? Something beyond, “Oh, we were too busy to have intimate relationships.” A better reason than that. And there should be some emotional cost to finally kissing it (literally) all goodbye.
I worry a bit that any such attempt on my part will kill the comic buzz, but on the other hand, I trust my muse. I think she has a much different ending in mind, and I for one am looking forward to reading it.
D.
Chicken Soup for the Stomach
This morning, PBW posts a few new publishing opportunities, including an open-ended solicitation from the Chicken Soup for the Soul Machine.
I confess to suspicion regarding CSS. Perhaps it’s my cynicism — I assume most of the stories CSS publishes are fictional. Perhaps it’s my reluctance to believe anything good can come from reading inspirational stories. You’re either a good person or you ain’t, and reading a few weepy-smileys isn’t going to turn a whole life around.
Or, maybe it’s because the CSS people have now become the newest Amway. Such blatant greed runs counter to their ostensible role as soul-nurturers.
Okay. That’s enough meanspiritedness. You want chicken soup? I’ve got the soup.
Boy mit bagels
I made that!
Guess that goes for the boy and the bagels, although I had a bit of help making the boy.
Last time I tried to make bagels, I was in college, and they came out like rubber toss-rings. The experience so traumatized me, I have waited until now to try it again. These came out perfect — go figure. I attribute my success to (A) a kickass power mixer, and (B) a much better oven.
Best thing about this recipe? I have another big ball of dough in the fridge, which I can use to make focaccia tonight, or perhaps another half dozen bagels tomorrow.
***
Our high speed modem is futzing. If it doesn’t rally by this evening, I won’t be live blogging. Check in around 7 to 8 PM PST and see if I’m around.
‘Kay, I’ve made breakfast for the family, ran one load of dishes and one of laundry, cleaned the litterbox, and mopped up the cat’s bathroom (you know the routine — shit on the floors, shit on the walls, and kitty litter everywhere). Time to edit!
D.
Frodo pwnz Hedgehog, Hedgehog gets revenge
Because my sleep is still effed up and I can’t manage to think in anything other than intersecting parallel lines, here’s a surreal Lord of the Rings spoof for you to contemplate.
“LOTR Orgy” doesn’t quite live up to the promise of its name, but it certainly confirmed an old suspicion of mine regarding the, ahem, fellowship of the ring.
Now, this one is worth the wear and tear on your clicky finger: Hunks of Middle Earth. Funny, cute, and none of those way-too-easy Brokeback jokes.
Way cool Gollum impression, sucky video values.
Let me end on a positive note with How The Lord of the Rings Should Have Ended. Watch it to the end — the punch line is great.
D.
P.S.: Let’s say you’ve immersed yourself in Gogol Bordello and you’re looking for another gypsy punk fix. Meet Kultur Shock.
Zoning
Who needs drugs? It’s easy. Get less than four hours of sleep, wake up at 6:30, go into the hospital, have one of those days in which nothing but nothing goes the way you expect it to go, work straight through until 5:30, and then come home to a family who expects you to cook for them.
Hah. Ain’t gonna happen.
***
Don’t forget: live blogging this weekend with mad libs. But mad libs do not create themselves out of thin air, folks. If you think you can make a live blog chat at 7PM Pacific Time this Saturday, send me a 100-200 word scene and I’ll Mad Lib-ify it. Others will supply their slew of adjectives and proper nouns, and I’ll read the results out loud for the chat.
That email addie again: azureus at
harborside dot
com
***
Soon: as a followup to last week’s Thursday Thirteen (Thirteen Patients), tomorrow I’ll write about Thirteen Doctors. Subtitle:
The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly
***
Thanks to my betas who have responded to the most recent email. Yes, I know the ending sucks. Or doesn’t suck enough. Or doesn’t have enough sucking. Something like that. Rest assured, by the time I finish this first edit, everyone should leave the scene satisfied.
D.
The true meaning of slash
I suppose I have a few readers who aren’t Smart Bitches . . . not many, it’s true, but a few. This link is for you:
Candy showcases a YouTube vid of Spock & Kirk TOST bits set to the tune of Nine Inch Nails’ Closer. ‘Nuff said.
From the comments, I found Sarah‘s remarks interesting:
The original meaning of Slash fiction was the “/†between “K†and “S†as in K/S or Kirk/Spock. The very first slash fan fiction was written about these two. So, yeah, makes absolutely sense.
Not that I didn’t believe Sarah, but I had to check. And, guess what? She’s right.
What’s your favorite slash? Just the other day, I read some Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter figging slash . . . but Draco was at the receiving end. So out of character.
D.
Say moo
When I took out the trash a moment ago, I had a true City Boy moment. (What can I say — that’s what I am.)
There — there are cows! Across the street! And calves.
And they smell.
Of course, I had to take a picture.
One of the mama cows impressed Jake with her projectile diarrhea. What do they feed these beasts, anyway?
If you click on the photo, you can see the big version with the mama cows, too.
In other news, certain people at the hospital (you know who you are, you evil lurker you) insist I should be the Chief of Staff next year. As if being Vice Chief of Staff qualifies me for that role!
Vice Chief of Staff is easy. I’m all over Vice. Vice is in my blood. Aside from breaking up that cockfighting game in ICU and the racketeering operation over in Med-Surg, I’ve had little to do all year. But Chief of Staff — that’s a whole ‘nother animal.
I need PEOPLE SKILLS for that job. I can’t blurt out whatever’s on my mind just because I know I’ll get a laugh.
On the other hand, the prospect of absolute power is appealing.
D.