Writing
On the way to work, I thought of — well, not an opening paragraph. Not even an opening sentence. A clause.
On the morning of the day of her alien abduction,
Strangely enough, I could still remember those words when I got home this evening. I fired up the computer, figuring I would finish the sentence and save it to a new file. I finished the sentence, then started another, which turned out to be a longish one . . .
The morning of Lisa O’Keown’s alien abduction was much like any other morning. She pounded on Cyrus’s bedroom door to get him up, dished out some Gerber’s Peaches ‘n Cream for Billy Ray, picked the lock on Cyrus’s door, dropped the fourteen-year-old’s backpack on his sleeping groin (not all of him was asleep, she noted), loaded Mama’s whites into the dryer, cleaned Peaches ‘n Cream spit-up off Billy Ray’s shirt, brushed her hair, ate some dry wheat toast while wondering how her ass managed to stay so huge even on a sixteen hundred calorie diet, dodged Cyrus’s Pre-Algebra book, and broke up with her boyfriend, Henry Davies.
Granted, the breaking-up part of her day was a novelty, although not as much of a novelty as the alien abduction part, but she didn’t know about that yet. Just that by noon, she figured this had to be the worst day of her life, ever. (and so forth)
. . . and before I knew it, I had written over 1200 words.
No, I don’t know where I’m going with this. All I know is what I’ve already told you. I don’t even know if I can finish one chapter in this same voice. I’m not even sure where this voice is coming from — is it authentic Muse, or am I ripping someone off without realizing it? (Trust me, you would need to see more to get the flavor.) And I really don’t know if Gerber’s sells Peaches ‘n Cream baby food!
Blueberry Buckle. That was my favorite as a baby; I can remember the taste.
I’ll keep you posted.
D.
The Last Thirteen Books
In tonight’s debate, I heard Senator Obama say, “. . . the white thing to do.” Meant to say “right,” came out “white.” Okay, the R/W thing is a common enough lingual slip. But what about when Chuck Todd (on Countdown tonight) said “Hitlery” when he meant to say “Hillary”? Come on — you don’t just accidentally slip Ts into your words.
Weird.
For tonight: here’s a brief look at the last thirteen books I’ve read. (No romance here. What’s up with that?)
NPR sucks.
Not a half hour ago, some butt wipe on NPR said, in regard to Democratic voters:
“What’s the white male voter to do? Now, all he has to choose from is Hillary or Obama. All you have to do is look at them and you’ll see the problem. He has no one to vote for now.”
I’m paraphrasing, but you get the idea. This same yutz said that men don’t vote for Hillary and white people don’t vote for Obama (tell that to the citizens of Iowa). So, in one sweeping overgeneralization, he labeled all us white males racists and sexists. Not only that, but by implication, the only reason I backed Edwards was because he had all the right qualities — white and male.
What. A. Dick.
D.
Damn it.
You’ve probably heard: John Edwards has pulled out. Now the mainstream media needn’t do the wink-wink, nudge-nudge whenever they portray this as a two-horse race. Like it or not, that’s what we have.
It’s rare for a politician’s words to choke me up, but Edwards’s concession got to me. It reminded me of everything I’ve loved about him — first and foremost, his commitment to making this country a better place for ALL Americans, not just the wealthy.
Crooks and Liars has the full transcript. Here’s a snippet:
How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Duggars
Wendy’s August, 2007 post at Snarky Gossip still gets comments.
The reason why they have so many kids is because they don’t believe in birth control or having surgery to stop getting pregnant. It’s part of their religion. Every child is a gift from God and they should accept it with open arms.
You guys need to think before you comment. Seriously.
As an initial response, I considered picking apart the commenter’s choice of pronoun (accept it with open arms? IT?) That one little word seemed to summarize all that is wrong with the Quiverfull group’s attitude toward children. But maybe “it” was a slip, the sort of error an inexperienced writer makes when he’s eager to avoid the appearance of sexism. Maybe I was getting a little too overheated, once again, about She of the Bottomless Womb. Yeah. Overheated.
And then I had an epiphany:
America needs the Duggars.
Review of The Hub, Issues 39-42
What’s not to love? The Hub is an e-zine, it’s free, and it publishes some fine short fiction. They’re closed to new submissions, but nothing is perfect.
Here’s my review of Issues 39-42, up at The Fix.
Stay tuned. I’m sure I’ll think of something to say later on tonight.
D.
Sharing the love
Blue Gal mobilizes her army:
Skippy and Jon Swift are spearheading Blogroll Amnesty Day this Sunday. If you want to participate, post some love for one to six of your favorite small blogs (defined as blogs with less traffic than your own) on Sunday, February 3.
The idea is to draw attention to some of the lesser known gems of the blogosphere. Rather than pick a few of my favorites, I think I’ll trawl your blogrolls for your little-known treasures. Hopefully, I’ll meet (and introduce my readers to) a few new (new to me!) voices.
The only rules: February 3, blogs with less traffic than your own, and put “Blogroll Amnesty Day” in your title.
Hmm. My office computer is futzing. Won’t let me link to Blue Gal, screws up every time I do anything with a pop-up window. I had better publish before I lose this altogether.
D.
The six bits meme
Link to the person that tagged you (done)
Post the rules on your blog (here you go)
Share six non-important things/habits/quirks about yourself (coming right up)
Tag six random people at the end of your post by linking to their blogs(yeah, Tam has the right idea crossing these out)
Let each random person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their website
Six Non-Important Things
1. Even though it’s published on the Fox News website, I can believe the story about the 11-year-old British kid repeatedly diagnosed with hearing loss for the last nine years, who regained his hearing “miraculously” when the cotton ball fell out. Another casualty of the evil Q-tip! Or, really, a casualty of sloppy doctoring.
Some time ago, I met a young girl who had had unilateral, foul-smelling nasal drainage for the past seven years. Doctor after doctor treated her with antibiotics, easily dozens of courses, and no one bothered to look into her nose — or if anyone did, he didn’t have eyes to see.
It was a black-eyed pea. We removed it. Problem solved.
Oh, sorry — this was supposed to be a list of unimportant things.
2. I bite my fingernails. There. Happy now?
3. A moment ago, my son thought he had invented the word “bitchiness.” Karen and I had to break the news to him — no, it’s an old word. But I was quick to point out that one could come up with a nearly unlimited collection of appropriate neologisms limited only by our imaginations: Bitchocracy. Bitchitude. Bitchtacular.
Bitchumongous!
4. Shortly after Lyvvie‘s recent comment, I bought Forbidden Lego, a book with lots of nifty Lego projects you’ll never find in your local department store. (Most of ’em shoot stuff across the room.) Now I’m a man with a mission: to gather up and sort all of Jake’s Legos. All of Jake’s ten million Legos. Sure, that’s an exaggeration, but not by much.
You know what? I’m enjoying myself. When I’m too tired to do anything else, I scoop up a quart of Legos and sort away.
5. As much as I hate political hyperbole, I’m fine with all this hype about Obama being the next JFK. I don’t believe it. I doubt Obama believes it. But if the meme gathers momentum, and if Obama becomes our next President, he might feel he needs to live up to the American people’s expectations.
I like the idea of a President who’s thinking LEGACY from day one.
6. My slippers stink. I don’t understand this, since none of my shoes stink, my socks smell just dandy, you could eat off my feet.
I think the ferrets must be pooping in my slippers.
***
No tags, folks. If you’ve done this meme recently (and I know a lot of you have!) leave me a note in the comments.
D.
Syntax is everything
From my inbox:
Super Tuesday Gathering for
Democrats & Independents
Tuesday, Feb. 5th 6 pm
Rainbow Rock Condos
So far so good. I like the local Democratic crowd. Not sure about those Independents, though; how can you trust folks who, after seven years of Bush, still haven’t made up their minds?
Hosted by: Anne & Jim
Eat and meet other local folks!
If you want, please bring a dish to share.
See what I mean about Independents? They’re a bunch of cannibalistic polygamists.
Oh, and I asked already: Karen may be a dish, but she ain’t keen on being shared.
***
Here’s a girl who knows what she wants.
I’M 15 AND I’VE SLEPT WITH MEN OVER 300 TIMES!
Assuming there’s any truth to this one — and that’s a HUGE assumption — the girl is infertile, perhaps because of pelvic inflammatory disease. Have you ever seen the odds for conception for a healthy teenage girl? Three hundred hops and no baby, that’s a lot more than bad luck.
But oh, there’s so much to love in this one. The trashy mama. The daughter who has no cervical vertebrae and apparently thinks prostitution and baby-selling are legal in the States. And then there’s Maury Povich, who’s probably calculating his chances.
Enjoy.
D.
The Idiot’s Guide to Getting Girls, Chapter Four
Who wanted Karen to get in on the act? Well, here you go. YouTube effed up our first take, so I had to go shopping and Karen had to drink some Kahlua and then we were ready for Take 2. We hope you like it. Once again, the video feed gagged midway through (at about 2:00). Bear with it — by 2:30, the feed kicks in again.
At the moment, we’re watching the returns from South Carolina’s primary, but I should be ready for live blogging by 7 PM PST. Hopefully. Tonight, I’m making a pork marsala. Almost bought some veal, but veal is baby cow! And I’m having trouble with beef lately, anyway.
For vlog newcomers: here’s Chapter 1, here’s Chapter 2, and here’s Chapter 3.
See ya at the live blog.
D.