Le petit mort, redux
You know what I want to know?
Why is this woman wearing her glasses?
Yeah, you guessed it, I’m hanging out at Beautiful Agony again.
If my blog brings one more client to Beautiful Agony, I’ll get a month of free orgasm videos. Wouldn’t that be the coolest thing, not just for me, but for all of us? Think of the blogging splendor you will have. A full month of sexual snarkiness. It could be special.
Okay, story time. On the last Smart Bitches Day, Kate was bemoaning the lack of pirate romance, so Beth posted this great snippet. I asked my billing person, Catrina, whether she knew of any pirate romances. Catrina reads romance novels — lots more than I do.
“The Captive series by Fern Michaels,” she said, and since I was ordering Laura Kinsale’s The Shadow and the Star anyway, I picked up what I thought was the first Captive book, Captive Embraces. Turns out I got #2. Why am I always doing that?
Damn, thought I, now I’ll have to go buy #1 so I can read them in order. But it occurred to me, maybe I ought to look at this one to see if I even like Ms. Michael’s style.
Mmm, not so much. The novel opens with a love scene. From page 2,
Each of her senses was heightened and filled by this man who could make her feel as though she’d never known another lover, who could make her believe she was created for his pleasure alone and, in giving that pleasure to him, find her own.
But I’m not one to pass on a book after two pages. Oh, no. I have to give it three.
Together they spun over the threshold of sensuality into the universe, whirling on a roll of thunder and blinded by a flashing bolt of rapture.
I can’t make this stuff up.
Today, I told Catrina, “Um, that Fern Michaels book? Sucks. Opens up with this sex scene where they come together, only she doesn’t say they come together, only some bullshit about spilling over into alternate universes and shit.”
“You were asking for pirate romances,” she said. “I never said it was any good. I couldn’t even finish the first one.”
Now she tells me.
But, it’s not all a waste, since Catrina indirectly gave me an idea for my next Smart Bitches Day post: the orgasm in literature.
Suggestions appreciated. This weekend, email me your favorite orgasm passages, and I’ll work them into what I hope will be a fine contribution to SBD. That email addy again:
azureus
at
harborside
dot
com
Later tonight, I hope: my review of V is for Vendetta.
D.
The Friday morning spew
Comments to my Pad Thai post jogged a few memories.
Alton Brown mangling the recipe reminded me of a horror Karen and I witnessed during my Stanford days. (more…)
Welcome to my Pad
Want a good laugh? Read Alton Brown’s Pad Thai recipe. I’m not sure what upsets me more: the fact that seven of the ingredients are unnecessary (and four of these are hard to find), or the fact that if you followed the recipe to a tee, you would have, I don’t know, Pad Alton maybe, but not Pad Thai. Salted cabbage . . . tofu marinated with five spice powder . . . it’s enough to make a grown man cry.
I’ve been thinking about writing this post ever since my bit on branding. In that post, I forgot to mention one of my favorite brand name products, Annie Chun’s Classic Pad Thai. In this little box, you’ll find one packet of rice noodles and one packet of sauce. You’ll need to supply the cooking oil, tofu, meat-of-choice, eggs, bean sprouts, green onions, lime wedges, peanuts, and cilantro. Why bother buying it, then? Because Annie gets the sauce just right — not only the flavor, but also the volume.
The book of four
From Kris Starr, but ultimately, Kate is to blame, since, um, I don’t know Megan well enough to blame her for an electronically transmitted disease.
This meme is a good thing. If it weren’t for Kris’s meme, I’d be writing an “Alton Brown Ate My Mind!” post right now, since I am soooo pissed at how he mangled pad thai. Okie dokie, we’re saving pad thai for another day.
But . . . but . . . palm sugar? Dried shrimp? Pickled cabbage?
Grrr. On to the meme.
There’s criminal child abuse. And then there’s war ball.
Note before we get rolling: I’m updating my blogroll. If I have been neglectful, drop a note in the comments, and I’ll get you added. I really do like to keep tabs on all the people who visit this place.
Remember this post, where I dropped some names in the hopes my old pals would find me by egomaniacally googling their own names? Great idea, but it didn’t work. My pal Sharon (whom I’ve known since Mrs. Bisetti’s kindergarten class) found me because I dropped a reference to Malice, cuz she had a bit role in the movie. I think you were in scrubs, Sharon, but I knew it was you. No one else in that Hollywood OR knew how to act.
So Sharon dropped me an email, and we shot the shit, and she mentioned that a friend of hers might know something about an old friend of mine, whom I had googled once upon a time and came up with bupkes. He recently entered the blogosphere, though, and with Sharon’s additional information that he’s a freelance writer, I tracked him down. His name is Mike Imlay, and I’ve added him to my blogroll.
Mike, this post is for you.
***
Mike and I had to be the littlest kids in our junior high school class. I haven’t seen Mike since 9th grade, so I’m guessing he had a late growth spurt and now I’m the only little kid left from our junior high. My life is kind of like that.
Because Mike and I made up a weight class all our own, we paired off together for wrestling. This worked out to our advantage since we were both bright kids and the other boys would have murdered us, given the chance. We didn’t do so well at other PE activities, and in particular, our lives were in jeopardy every effin rainy day. That’s because rain meant indoor activities.
Rain meant war ball.
And now, for a limited time only
. . . you, too, can be a gamma reader for my novel, Nest, book #1 of my trilogy.
Before I get to the details — how about Colbert tonight! Stephen Colbert and Keith Olbermann ripping on Bill O’Reilly. Does television get any better? Olbermann called O’Reilly an idiot several times, and called him a bully who only picks on little people like Janeane Garofalo and Billy Barty. Yee haw!
Anyway.
Here are the details. Nest is an 89,400-word science fiction novel featuring hyperevolved birds with arms and hands instead of wings, an invisible ninja bird with a wicked sense of humor, a scheming giant fly with an addiction to caffeine and doggy porn, big-headed blue aliens with sharp pointy teeth, and a little girl who just wants to keep her daddy safe from harm. Here’s the first scene. (more…)
Snape hearts Michelle Duggar
The phone rang four times before I picked it up. I sat in bed, benumbed and lobotomized, feeling as though I had just had my eyelids pried open Clockwork Orange-fashion, and had been forced to watch The Sound of Music at top volume. It took me a moment to answer the operator.
“Are you there, sir? Sir?”
British accent. At some level, I knew what was coming. The cheap bastard was doing it to me again.
“Yes,” I said, shaking off my mental haze. “Yes, I guess I am here after all.”
“I have a Mr. Snape here, sir — excuse me, a Professor Snape. Do you accept the charges?”
I sighed, rolled my eyes for Karen’s benefit, pointed at the phone and mouthed the word Snape.
“Oh, all right, then. Go ahead.” (more…)
What’s in a word?
It’s Smart Bitches Day today. For your SBD, I’d like you to consider the English language’s second-most mercurial word (next to fuck), love. (more…)
New York Times Sunday: the goods
Balls and Walnuts reads the New York Times so you don’t have to. (more…)
Here’s what’s up with the Duggars.
Hmm. My sitemeter stats say folks are busy this weekend digging for Duggars. I even got a hit from someone searching for “Prairie Muffin pornography,” which gave me an idea or three, all of them puerile and scatological.
You remember the Duggars. Ma Duggar popped out baby Prairie Muffin #16 (Johanna Faith Duggar. All Duggar kids have J names. Isn’t that cuuuute?) on October 12, 2005. Not even the prolific Michelle Duggar can produce a #17 this soon, can she? Unless the baby is premature. Damn. I really hope that isn’t the reason for these hits.
Nope. Pheew. I did a Google blog search on the Duggars (thanks for the idea, Blue Gal), and found this post by Work at Home Dad. Guess what: soon, we’ll have another Duggar TV special to snark upon! From Work at Home Dad,
Discovery Health Channel will be running their newest show on the Duggars, “Raising 16 Children.” Here are the air dates (all times Eastern):
March 15, 2006 at 8:00 pm and 11:00 pm
March 19, 2006 at 3:00 pm
March 26, 2006 at 9:00 pm
March 27, 2006 at 12:00 amTLC will be running their newest show on the Duggars, “16 Children and Moving In.” Here are the air dates (all times Eastern):
March 11, 2006 at 9:00 pm
March 12, 2006 at 12:00 am
March 13, 2006 at 8:00 pm and 11:00 pm
March 19, 2006 at 1:00 pm
Get this: Karen knew about this, and she didn’t tell me.
For those of you who need to play catch up, here’s a convenient list of my Duggar & Prairie Muffin posts.
How Many is Too Many? An introduction to the Quiverfull movement in general, and the Duggars in particular, with a focus on the Duggar parenting system.
So you want to be a Prairie Muffin . . . An intensive study of the Muffin Manifesto.
Banned Books Week: the Muffin POV. And you thought book burnings were a bad thing?
I’m wondering what I can do next. Possibilities include,
Not tonight, I’m having your baby: Muffin sexual etiquette.
Cooking for 16+ Cafeteria cooking good enough to eat!
Animals do it outside. Why can’t you? Surviving with 18 family members and 2 1/2 bathrooms.
I’m raising an army of blonde white clones to ensure the primacy of the Aryan Race. And what are you doing to make the world a better place?
Suggestions welcomed.
D.