“If a guy hits .300 every year, what does he have to look forward to? I always tried to stay around .190, with three or four RBI. And I tried to get them all in September. That way I always had something to talk about during the winter.”
~Bob Uecher
Ah, Fall. The mere mention of the word signals the beginning of the end of most of the things I’d mentioned in my “Spring” entry (green grass, fresh air through open windows, BBQ’s, hot apple pie cooling on the windowsill (which I’ve never done) and walking the dog without bundling up to the eyes). It also means the neighbors will still be out in their backyard on their lawn chairs smoking pot while their comedian cum jailbird teenage son puts hotdogs in everyone’s mailboxes and bananas in everyone’s tailpipes, only now, they’ll be wearing sweaters. On the bright side, the wasps and creepy crawlies will also be no more, the flyswatters and bug killers neatly stored away until next Spring. Oh bliss!
It was so wondrous to see the Canada Geese training their young for the big trip south. Far less wondrous will be the sure knowledge of the return of Winter. Leaves of every make, model and color will soon decorate the trees… including the giant heritage oak tree in my back yard that dwarfs literally everything within a three-mile radius, and who’s annual leaf dump literally and absolutely buries every living (and nonliving) thing not only in my back yard, but in at least three other back yards on either side. But that’s okay. We’ll be ready for it. We’ll go to Home Depot and corner the market again, this time on every new fangled rake, blower and gas-powered picker-upper imaginable, right? Yep, we certainly will. We’re still outdoorsy types who know we‘re gonna be shut-ins again, and nothing—nothing—is gonna turn our Summer Utopias into Fall nightmares one moment sooner than they have to be, including Fall.
Speaking of Fall, there is nothing more depressing to a cold-weather hater like myself than to hear the furnace kick on in the morning. Almost as bad is knowing that the idiot-proof flowers you spent a small fortune on in the Spring and then cursed and grudgingly coaxed into living throughout the Summer are at that very moment being turned into frosty flowersicles. But so it goes, right? Seasons change and we have to change with them. So it’s into the closet to dig out the coats we’d happily stuffed away during our Spring cleaning days that seem like… oh, I dunno—last week, maybe? And while we’re in there, we may as well get out boots and hats and scarves, and our flannel sheets and comforters as well. Oh, and let’s not forget the leftover window Saran Wrap-like stuff—the stuff that takes us an hour to put up and our cats a second to shred down. And the ice picks—don‘t forget the ice picks. After all, we’ll need something that’ll chip assorted frozen foodstuffs out of the bottoms of our mailboxes, left courtesy of that knee-slappingly funny teenager who unfortunately still lives next door.
But most importantly, Fall brings thoughts of renewed ambition. Specifically, writing! We may as well, yes? I mean, what else will we have to do? So enjoy it. Clean that thing you call a writing desk and then stock up on paper, pens, stamps and sticky-notes. And while you’re at it, don’t forget a warm throw blanket and a bag of hotdog buns. After all, it’s Fall!
Friday, October 19, 2007
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
Is it in your soul?
If you’d like to sing along, here’re the lyrics:
Ever since I was a little kid
I have always thought
I could run faster than the wind
Stare up to the sky with open spaces
I could live and die
Man you can't find that in no book
You never find that in no book
Someone will drag you down
And try to knock you under
Hey mama said with her words of wonder
Don't matter cause, cause it's in your soul
(I have always felt
That I had to prove it to myself)
No salvation from the firin' line
(A million dreams won't set you free)
God I know there's something trapped in me
There's no refuge from the ride
No shelter ever saved a man his pride
(Give you pain and never feed you hunger
I won't close my eyes when it rain and thunders)
Don't matter cause, cause it's in your soul
(And when the night is overcome
And I've been racin' down a road
That's got no trace, no face
If I could live by the words I've sung
And carry all the choices I've made)
I swear, I swear I'll be there
'O no no, na na
Hey mister don't shadow box with me
'Cause I don't wanna someday be
An old man cursin' what I might have been
Now I realize what I see
That the wind was never chasin' me
And I don't feel so alone
I can close my eyes I'm goin' home
(Behind the clouds the sun is shinin'
Some rain will fall no use in cryin')
'O no
'O no not me
(Got a picture in my head that won't let go of)
Young man running in search of
Count your blessings
'Cause it's in your soul
'O it's in your soul
[Soul]
In your soul
'O no
[In your soul]
Ever since I was a little kid
I have always thought
[Ah he always thought]
Young man running
[Always thought]
Keep on running - and a running - and a running
Keep on running
Saturday, June 23, 2007
BBQ!
After months of cold and rainy weather, we are finally coming up to summer and BBQ season.
Therefore it is important to refresh your memory on the etiquette of this sublime outdoor cooking activity, as it's the only type of cooking a 'real' man will do, probably because there is an element of danger involved.
When a man volunteers to do the BBQ the following chain of events are put into motion:
Routine...
1) The woman buys the food.
2) The woman makes the salad, prepares the vegetables, and makes dessert.
3) The woman prepares the meat for cooking, places it on a tray along with the necessary cooking utensils and sauces, and takes it to the man who is lounging beside the grill - beer in hand.
Here comes the important part:
4) THE MAN PLACES THE MEAT ON THE GRILL.
More routine....
5) The woman goes inside to organize the plates and cutlery.
6) The woman comes out to tell the man that the meat is burning. He thanks her and asks if she will bring another beer while he deals with the situation.
Important again:
7) THE MAN TAKES THE MEAT OFF THE GRILL AND HANDS IT TO THE WOMAN.
More routine....
8) The woman prepares the plates, salad, bread, utensils, napkins, sauces, and brings them to the table.
9) After eating, the woman clears the table and does the dishes.
And most important of all:
10) Everyone PRAISES the MAN and THANKS HIM for his cooking efforts.
11) The man asks the woman how she enjoyed "her night off." And, upon seeing her annoyed reaction, concludes that there's just no pleasing some women....
Therefore it is important to refresh your memory on the etiquette of this sublime outdoor cooking activity, as it's the only type of cooking a 'real' man will do, probably because there is an element of danger involved.
When a man volunteers to do the BBQ the following chain of events are put into motion:
Routine...
1) The woman buys the food.
2) The woman makes the salad, prepares the vegetables, and makes dessert.
3) The woman prepares the meat for cooking, places it on a tray along with the necessary cooking utensils and sauces, and takes it to the man who is lounging beside the grill - beer in hand.
Here comes the important part:
4) THE MAN PLACES THE MEAT ON THE GRILL.
More routine....
5) The woman goes inside to organize the plates and cutlery.
6) The woman comes out to tell the man that the meat is burning. He thanks her and asks if she will bring another beer while he deals with the situation.
Important again:
7) THE MAN TAKES THE MEAT OFF THE GRILL AND HANDS IT TO THE WOMAN.
More routine....
8) The woman prepares the plates, salad, bread, utensils, napkins, sauces, and brings them to the table.
9) After eating, the woman clears the table and does the dishes.
And most important of all:
10) Everyone PRAISES the MAN and THANKS HIM for his cooking efforts.
11) The man asks the woman how she enjoyed "her night off." And, upon seeing her annoyed reaction, concludes that there's just no pleasing some women....
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Why Do Women...
(This giggle was sent to me this morning by my sister. Thanks, Val.)
When you have to visit a public bathroom, you usually find a line of
women, so you smile politely and take your place. Once it's your turn,
you check for feet under the stall doors. Every stall is occupied.
Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman
leaving the stall.
You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't matter, the wait has
been so long you are about to wet your pants! The dispenser for the
modern "seat covers" (invented by someone's Mom, no doubt) is handy, but
empty. You would hang your purse on the door hook, if there was one, but
there isn't - so you carefully, but quickly drape it around your neck,
(Mom would turn over in her grave if you put it on the FLOOR!), yank down
your pants, and assume " The Stance."
In this position your aging, toneless thigh muscles begin to shake. You'd
love to sit down, but you certainly hadn't taken time to wipe the seat or
lay toilet paper on it, so you hold "The Stance."
To take your mind off your trembling thighs, you reach for what you
discover to be the empty toilet paper dispenser. In your mind, you can
hear your mother's voice saying, "Honey, if you had tried to clean the
seat, you would have KNOWN there was no toilet paper!" Your thighs shake
more.
You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on yesterday - the
one that's still in your purse. (Oh yeah, the purse around your neck,
that now, you have to hold up trying not to strangle yourself at the same
time). That would have to do. You crumple it in the puffiest way
possible. It's still smaller than your thumbnail.
Someone pushes your door open because the latch doesn't work. The door
hits your head, and you and your purse topple backward against the tank of
the toilet. "Occupied!" you scream, as you reach for the door, dropping your
precious, tiny, crumpled tissue in a puddle on the floor, lose your
footing altogether, and slide down directly onto the TOILET SEAT. It is
wet of course. You bolt up, knowing all too well that it's too late.
Your bare bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ and life
form on the uncovered seat because YOU never laid down toilet paper - not
that there was any, even if you had taken time to try. You know that your
mother would be utterly appalled if she knew, because, you're certain her
bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat because, frankly, dear,
"You just don't KNOW what kind of diseases you could get."
By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so
confused that it flushes, propelling a stream of water like a fire hose
against the inside of the bowl that sprays a fine mist of water that
covers your butt and runs down your legs and into your shoes. The flush
somehow sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the
empty toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in too. At this
point, you give up. You're soaked by the spewing water and the wet toilet
seat. You're exhausted. You try to wipe with a gum wrapper you found in
your pocket and then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks.
You can't figure out how to operate the faucets with the automatic
sensors, so you wipe your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk
past the line of women, still waiting. You are no longer able to smile
politely to them. A kind soul at the very end of the line points out a
piece of toilet paper trailing from your shoe. (Where was that when you
NEEDED it??) You yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it in the woman's
hand and tell her warmly, "Here, you just might need this." As you exit,
you spot your hubby, who has long since entered, used and left the men's
restroom. Annoyed, he asks, "What took you so long, and why is your purse
hanging around your neck?"
*
This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with a public restrooms
(rest?? you've got to be kidding!). It finally explains to the men
what really does take us so long. It also answers the age-old question about why women go to the restroom in pairs. It's so the other gal can hold the door, hang onto your purse and hand you Kleenex under the door!
If I'm going to get my "Woman's Card" revoked for spilling a secret, I blame Val. Take hers !
When you have to visit a public bathroom, you usually find a line of
women, so you smile politely and take your place. Once it's your turn,
you check for feet under the stall doors. Every stall is occupied.
Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman
leaving the stall.
You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't matter, the wait has
been so long you are about to wet your pants! The dispenser for the
modern "seat covers" (invented by someone's Mom, no doubt) is handy, but
empty. You would hang your purse on the door hook, if there was one, but
there isn't - so you carefully, but quickly drape it around your neck,
(Mom would turn over in her grave if you put it on the FLOOR!), yank down
your pants, and assume " The Stance."
In this position your aging, toneless thigh muscles begin to shake. You'd
love to sit down, but you certainly hadn't taken time to wipe the seat or
lay toilet paper on it, so you hold "The Stance."
To take your mind off your trembling thighs, you reach for what you
discover to be the empty toilet paper dispenser. In your mind, you can
hear your mother's voice saying, "Honey, if you had tried to clean the
seat, you would have KNOWN there was no toilet paper!" Your thighs shake
more.
You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on yesterday - the
one that's still in your purse. (Oh yeah, the purse around your neck,
that now, you have to hold up trying not to strangle yourself at the same
time). That would have to do. You crumple it in the puffiest way
possible. It's still smaller than your thumbnail.
Someone pushes your door open because the latch doesn't work. The door
hits your head, and you and your purse topple backward against the tank of
the toilet. "Occupied!" you scream, as you reach for the door, dropping your
precious, tiny, crumpled tissue in a puddle on the floor, lose your
footing altogether, and slide down directly onto the TOILET SEAT. It is
wet of course. You bolt up, knowing all too well that it's too late.
Your bare bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ and life
form on the uncovered seat because YOU never laid down toilet paper - not
that there was any, even if you had taken time to try. You know that your
mother would be utterly appalled if she knew, because, you're certain her
bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat because, frankly, dear,
"You just don't KNOW what kind of diseases you could get."
By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so
confused that it flushes, propelling a stream of water like a fire hose
against the inside of the bowl that sprays a fine mist of water that
covers your butt and runs down your legs and into your shoes. The flush
somehow sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the
empty toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in too. At this
point, you give up. You're soaked by the spewing water and the wet toilet
seat. You're exhausted. You try to wipe with a gum wrapper you found in
your pocket and then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks.
You can't figure out how to operate the faucets with the automatic
sensors, so you wipe your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk
past the line of women, still waiting. You are no longer able to smile
politely to them. A kind soul at the very end of the line points out a
piece of toilet paper trailing from your shoe. (Where was that when you
NEEDED it??) You yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it in the woman's
hand and tell her warmly, "Here, you just might need this." As you exit,
you spot your hubby, who has long since entered, used and left the men's
restroom. Annoyed, he asks, "What took you so long, and why is your purse
hanging around your neck?"
*
This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with a public restrooms
(rest?? you've got to be kidding!). It finally explains to the men
what really does take us so long. It also answers the age-old question about why women go to the restroom in pairs. It's so the other gal can hold the door, hang onto your purse and hand you Kleenex under the door!
If I'm going to get my "Woman's Card" revoked for spilling a secret, I blame Val. Take hers !
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Inspiration, Part II
Do you remember talking about inspiration? Well there I was, searching and researching today when I ran across these: Chinese Scholar’s Mountain, and Chinese Scholar’s Wood and Stones (Spirit Stones). Seems long before the computer came, writers were also looking for inspiration and didn’t want to (or perhaps couldn‘t afford to) leave home to find it. So they used the next best thing.
Chinese Scholar Stone or Scholar Mountain were created sometime in the 18th century. Normally made of jade, or in rare instances malachite, they were made for Chinese scholars who were constantly cooped up in small study spaces. The scholar would place the stone on his desk to help envision himself in nature. The carvings in the stone (below), though not easily seen here, depict a scholar attended by two figures, picnicking and heading towards a pagoda retreat. The other side of the stone features an ox, which stands for enlightenment, and pine trees, which represent long life. This particular one is carved out of malachite, making it especially rare.
Cherished and collected for centuries, Chinese "Scholar's Rocks" or "Spirit Stones" (gongshi) are as varied as Nature herself. Strange or fantastic stones (guai shi) are used in classical Chinese gardens as necessary counterpoints to the trees, bushes, flowers, and water. Throughout the centuries, scholars, nobles and officials have graced their offices and studies with smaller versions of these "fantastic stones," both to provide the essence (or qi) of the element earth, and to serve as a unique focal point for study and meditation. These small spirit stones were hand-selected in China, and set on wood stands to hold their highly individual shapes.
So if you’ve been wondering if that odd what’s-it on your desk makes you slightly “weird,” not to worry. You’re in very good company.
Chinese Scholar Stone or Scholar Mountain were created sometime in the 18th century. Normally made of jade, or in rare instances malachite, they were made for Chinese scholars who were constantly cooped up in small study spaces. The scholar would place the stone on his desk to help envision himself in nature. The carvings in the stone (below), though not easily seen here, depict a scholar attended by two figures, picnicking and heading towards a pagoda retreat. The other side of the stone features an ox, which stands for enlightenment, and pine trees, which represent long life. This particular one is carved out of malachite, making it especially rare.
Cherished and collected for centuries, Chinese "Scholar's Rocks" or "Spirit Stones" (gongshi) are as varied as Nature herself. Strange or fantastic stones (guai shi) are used in classical Chinese gardens as necessary counterpoints to the trees, bushes, flowers, and water. Throughout the centuries, scholars, nobles and officials have graced their offices and studies with smaller versions of these "fantastic stones," both to provide the essence (or qi) of the element earth, and to serve as a unique focal point for study and meditation. These small spirit stones were hand-selected in China, and set on wood stands to hold their highly individual shapes.
So if you’ve been wondering if that odd what’s-it on your desk makes you slightly “weird,” not to worry. You’re in very good company.
Saturday, June 09, 2007
Literary Mary - Writing Forums
Just to say, I'm a proud member of Literary Mary.
"So what is Literary Mary?" you ask.
I'm glad you asked.
Literary Mary is a friendly and unique forum for writers and artists, built by writers and artists. When you register, you are in complete control of your account and work, both of which you can delete for publication purposes as you see fit. It's our goal to create an atmosphere where people can post their work among friends for critique and feedback while those who would like to hang onto first rights can do so without risk. We also have forums for uploading spoken word or songs and forums for sharing your photographs or pretty much any other visual art. And that's not all. Just a few of this forums super features include:--
* An excellent and very approachable staff.
* Mad-skills-talented members from beginners to the published.
* Enough threads to more than satisfy writers of all walks, tastes and genres (including an Erotica thread which is age restricted and viewable by members only, and a *Secret Bonus Track* thread which is another members only thread similar to a Workshop--meaning first rights are protected in both Erotica and Bonus threads).
* A monthly members only newsletter.
* Seasonal Featured Work---the crème de la crème as chosen by the members in the categories of Poetry, Fiction, and Erotica).
* Lyrics and Music
* Debate
* Chat Forum
And much more.
So if you're a writer, artist, musician or avid reader, check out Literary Mary.
www.LiteraryMary.com
*
Friday, June 01, 2007
What's in a Name?
Summer is finally here, and because of it, I decided to invade the produce section and corner the market on all things fruit. I’m a huge fruit fan. In fact, I could easily become a very bad fruitarian, were it not for my love of poached eggs and veggies (mainly spinach) and if I only had a decent memory. But I don’t. You see, one needs a decent memory to remember to take vitamins and supplements to replace those missing from such a radical dietary change. Since I don’t happen to possess one, I’d likely die of malnutrition or some related issue. (Perhaps I should have invaded the fish a la brain food section instead.)
You know, trying something new is a lot like trying a new author or genre (and yes, my thoughts always go back to writing). At least, it is for me. Either I love it or I put it down—there seems no middle ground. But anyway, back to the fruit... thing.
Funny that adults will try almost anything, but kids won’t eat anything that doesn’t look right, or rather, doesn’t look right after it’s cooked. Take broccoli. Or spinach. Or turnips. Or, horror of horrors, Brussels Sprouts. Heck, take me and mushrooms for instance. I still remember the sight of my first cooked mushroom. Pan-fried slugs, I thought. No way am I eating that, I thought. Mom’s finally flipped out. After mom served it numerous times, always with the threat that I’d “never leave the table” until I try it (and after an hour each time of making gag noises and facial expressions that would make Calvin of Calvin and Hobbes proud—ones that made my mom beg me to go outside), I finally tried one—just one. See, a kid has to build up to these things as dramatically and as vocally as possible, and that means letting your audience (the same one who’d inadvertently turned herself into a captive audience via my captivity; after all, someone had to actually watch me eat the mushroom you know) wait. Let the suspense mount. Let the battle of wills play out. David and Goliath, good and evil, unknown veggie and kid. The mushroom was excellent by the way. A little cold though.
So as I was saying, I loaded up on all things fruit: Red Delicious apples, huge oranges, bananas, cantaloupe, strawberries, watermelon... and low and behold, what did I come across, but this:
I know—revolting, isn’t it. You betcha. It’s so ugly it almost screamed to be looked at it and then dared you to look away. Sort of like a car accident. Almost... alien, really. Okay, so that’s a bit of a stretch. But never in my life had I seen anything that so reminded me of the musical “Little Shop of Horrors” or maybe a pod from the movie “Invasion of the Body Snatchers” before, especially not for sale in the produce section of my lowly supermarket. Heck, I half expected it to start singing or maybe crawling toward me. I did... until a very well dressed, middle-aged woman wandered over with a plastic bag in hand and started going through the stack of them.
“I just love these!” she said to no one in particular, holding one up like she was an archeologist who’d just unearthed the long lost Egyptian “Book of the Living.” Obviously, I wasn’t seeing what she was seeing. “Don’t you?”
“What it is?” I asked, still partly expecting a tongue or harpoon-like appendage to fire out the top and adhere to her face.
“It’s Dragon Fruit!”
Okay then, so that name made sense. I mean, it definitely looked like something a dragon might eat. Or lay. Or... something. And the name certainly intrigued me. Then again, an intriguing title or a well-known author has often influenced my reading choices. And that very thing has disappointed me more than not, too. Same with fruit... which made me wonder if perhaps they (whoever ‘they’ are) purposely gave the hideous-looking thing a good name in order to sell it to those of us whose pallets lean toward something at least slightly aesthetically pleasing. (Prime example: I will not eat liver. End of discussion.)
“You should try one!” she said, shoving the precious what’s-it in the bag and depositing it in my cart. “Just peal off the red. The flesh inside is white-ish grey, sweet, and really seedy.”
I didn’t want to eat any of it, and I certainly didn’t want it in my cart. “Okay,” I said. “And thanks.”
“Remember—don’t eat the red.”
For a moment, I thought to ask what would happen if I did, but let it drop. Besides, my eyes were glued to the “thing” now in my cart and my mind was stuck on three key words (flesh, white-ish and grey), which to me sounded about as appealing as raw squid (no knock against raw squid lovers intended).
For those of you dying to know what it tasted like, I’m not going to tell you, anymore than I’d tell you about a novel you’ve just purchased or an author you’ve just heard about. What I will say from one writer to another, however, is never to be afraid to try new styles, new genres, new voices. New... things. You never know. You may be pleasantly surprised.
You know, trying something new is a lot like trying a new author or genre (and yes, my thoughts always go back to writing). At least, it is for me. Either I love it or I put it down—there seems no middle ground. But anyway, back to the fruit... thing.
Funny that adults will try almost anything, but kids won’t eat anything that doesn’t look right, or rather, doesn’t look right after it’s cooked. Take broccoli. Or spinach. Or turnips. Or, horror of horrors, Brussels Sprouts. Heck, take me and mushrooms for instance. I still remember the sight of my first cooked mushroom. Pan-fried slugs, I thought. No way am I eating that, I thought. Mom’s finally flipped out. After mom served it numerous times, always with the threat that I’d “never leave the table” until I try it (and after an hour each time of making gag noises and facial expressions that would make Calvin of Calvin and Hobbes proud—ones that made my mom beg me to go outside), I finally tried one—just one. See, a kid has to build up to these things as dramatically and as vocally as possible, and that means letting your audience (the same one who’d inadvertently turned herself into a captive audience via my captivity; after all, someone had to actually watch me eat the mushroom you know) wait. Let the suspense mount. Let the battle of wills play out. David and Goliath, good and evil, unknown veggie and kid. The mushroom was excellent by the way. A little cold though.
So as I was saying, I loaded up on all things fruit: Red Delicious apples, huge oranges, bananas, cantaloupe, strawberries, watermelon... and low and behold, what did I come across, but this:
I know—revolting, isn’t it. You betcha. It’s so ugly it almost screamed to be looked at it and then dared you to look away. Sort of like a car accident. Almost... alien, really. Okay, so that’s a bit of a stretch. But never in my life had I seen anything that so reminded me of the musical “Little Shop of Horrors” or maybe a pod from the movie “Invasion of the Body Snatchers” before, especially not for sale in the produce section of my lowly supermarket. Heck, I half expected it to start singing or maybe crawling toward me. I did... until a very well dressed, middle-aged woman wandered over with a plastic bag in hand and started going through the stack of them.
“I just love these!” she said to no one in particular, holding one up like she was an archeologist who’d just unearthed the long lost Egyptian “Book of the Living.” Obviously, I wasn’t seeing what she was seeing. “Don’t you?”
“What it is?” I asked, still partly expecting a tongue or harpoon-like appendage to fire out the top and adhere to her face.
“It’s Dragon Fruit!”
Okay then, so that name made sense. I mean, it definitely looked like something a dragon might eat. Or lay. Or... something. And the name certainly intrigued me. Then again, an intriguing title or a well-known author has often influenced my reading choices. And that very thing has disappointed me more than not, too. Same with fruit... which made me wonder if perhaps they (whoever ‘they’ are) purposely gave the hideous-looking thing a good name in order to sell it to those of us whose pallets lean toward something at least slightly aesthetically pleasing. (Prime example: I will not eat liver. End of discussion.)
“You should try one!” she said, shoving the precious what’s-it in the bag and depositing it in my cart. “Just peal off the red. The flesh inside is white-ish grey, sweet, and really seedy.”
I didn’t want to eat any of it, and I certainly didn’t want it in my cart. “Okay,” I said. “And thanks.”
“Remember—don’t eat the red.”
For a moment, I thought to ask what would happen if I did, but let it drop. Besides, my eyes were glued to the “thing” now in my cart and my mind was stuck on three key words (flesh, white-ish and grey), which to me sounded about as appealing as raw squid (no knock against raw squid lovers intended).
For those of you dying to know what it tasted like, I’m not going to tell you, anymore than I’d tell you about a novel you’ve just purchased or an author you’ve just heard about. What I will say from one writer to another, however, is never to be afraid to try new styles, new genres, new voices. New... things. You never know. You may be pleasantly surprised.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Hey, if we can't laugh at ourselves...
39 Rules to Writing a Novel:
1. Avoid alliteration. Always.
2. Never use a long word when a diminutive one will do.
3. Employ the vernacular.
4. Eschew ampersands & abbreviations, etc.
5. Parenthetical remarks (however relevant) are unnecessary.
6. Remember to never split an infinitive.
7. Contractions aren't necessary.
8. Foreign words and phrases are not apropos.
9. One should never generalize.
10. Eliminate quotations. As Ralph Waldo Emerson said, "I hate quotations. Tell me what you know."
11. Comparisons are as bad as clichés.
12. Don't be redundant; don't use more words than necessary; it's highly superfluous.
13. Be more or less specific.
14. Understatement is always best.
15. One-word sentences? Eliminate.
16. Analogies in writing are like feathers on a snake.
17. The passive voice is to be avoided.
18. Go around the barn at high noon to avoid colloquialisms.
19. Even if a mixed metaphor sings, it should be derailed.
20. Who needs rhetorical questions?
21. Exaggeration is a billion times worse than understatement.
22. Don't never use a double negation.
23. capitalize every sentence and remember always end it with point
24. Do not put statements in the negative form.
25. Verbs have to agree with their subjects.
26. Proofread carefully to see if you words out.
27. If you reread your work, you can find on rereading a great deal of repetition can be avoided by rereading and editing.
28. A writer must not shift your point of view.
29. And don't start a sentence with a conjunction. (Remember, too, a preposition is a terrible word to end a sentence with.)
30. Don't overuse exclamation marks!!
31. Place pronouns as close as possible, especially in long sentences, as of 10 or more words, to the irantecedents.
32. Writing carefully, dangling participles must be avoided.
33. If any word is improper at the end of a sentence, a linking verb is.
34. Take the bull by the hand and avoid mixing metaphors.
35. Avoid trendy locutions that sound flaky.
36. Everyone should be careful to use a singular pronoun with singular nouns in their writing.
37. Always pick on the correct idiom.
38. The adverb always follows the verb.
39. Last but not least, avoid clichés like the plague; They're old hat; seek viable alternatives.
40. (Bonus Step) “There are three rules for writing a novel. Unfortunately, no one knows what they are.” ~W. Somerset Maugham
***
A linguistics professor was lecturing to his English class one day. "In English," he said, "a double negative forms a positive. In some languages, though, such as Russian, a double negative is still a negative. However, there is no language wherein a double positive can form a negative."
A voice from the back of the room piped up, "Yeah, right."
***
There was once a young man who, in his youth, professed his desire to become a great writer. When asked to define great, he said, "I want to write stuff that the whole world will read, stuff that people will react to on a truly emotional level, stuff that will make them scream, cry, howl in pain and anger!"
He now works for Microsoft writing error messages.
***
A screenwriter comes home to a burned down house. His sobbing and slightly-singed wife is standing outside. “What happened, honey?” the man asks.
“Oh, John, it was terrible,” she weeps. “I was cooking, the phone rang. It was your agent. Because I was on the phone, I didn’t notice the stove was on fire. It went up in second. Everything is gone. I nearly didn’t make it out of the house. Poor Fluffy is—”
“Wait, wait. Back up a minute,” The man says. “My agent called?”
***
How many science fiction writers does it take to change a light bulb?
Two, but it's actually the same person doing it. He went back in time and met himself in the doorway and then the first one sat on the other one's shoulder so that they were able to reach it. Then a major time paradox occurred and the entire room, light bulb, changer and all was blown out of existence. They co-existed in a parallel universe, though.
How many publishers does it take to screw in a light bulb?
Three. One to screw it in. Two to hold down the author.
How many mystery writers does it take to screw in a light bulb?
Two. One to screw it almost all the way in, and the other to give it a surprising twist at the end.
How many screenwriters does it take to screw in a light bulb?
Why does it *have* to be changed?
How many cover blurb writers does it take to screw in a light bulb?
A VAST AND TEEMING HORDE STRETCHING FROM SEA TO SHINING SEA!!!!
***
How many screenwriters does it take to change a light bulb?
Answer: Ten.
1st draft. Hero changes light bulb.
2nd draft. Villain changes light bulb.
3rd draft. Hero stops villain from changing light bulb. Villain falls to death.
4th draft. Lose the light bulb.
5th draft. Light bulb back in. Fluorescent instead of tungsten.
6th draft. Villain breaks bulb, uses it to kill hero's mentor.
7th draft. Fluorescent not working. Back to tungsten.
8th draft. Hero forces villain to eat light bulb.
9th draft. Hero laments loss of light bulb. Doesn't change it.
10th draft. Hero changes light bulb.
***
Punctuation Parable
Dear John,
I want a man who knows what love is all about. You are generous, kind, thoughtful. People who are not like you admit to being useless and inferior.
You have ruined me for other men. I yearn for you. I have no feelings whatsoever when we're apart. I can be forever happy - will you let me be yours?
Gloria
Dear John,
I want a man who knows what love is. All about you are generous, kind, thoughtful people, who are not like you. Admit to being useless and inferior.
You have ruined me. For other men, I yearn. For you, I have no feelings whatsoever. When we're apart, I can be forever happy. Will you let me be?
Yours,
Gloria
***
And finally, Writer’s Quotes
“The difference between fiction and reality? Fiction has to make sense.”
—Tom Clancy
“I never know what I think about something until I read what I've written on it.”
—William Faulkner
“I handed in a script last year and the studio didn't change one word. The word they didn't change was on page 87.”
—Steve Martin
“I have always been a huge admirer of my own work. I'm one of the funniest and most entertaining writers I know.”
—Mel Brooks
“It took me fifteen years to discover that I had no talent for writing, but I couldn't give it up because by that time I was too famous.”
—Robert Benchley
“A writer is congenitally unable to tell the truth and that is why we call what he writes fiction.”
—William Faulkner
“The free-lance writer is the person who is paid per piece or per word or perhaps.”
—Robert Benchley
1. Avoid alliteration. Always.
2. Never use a long word when a diminutive one will do.
3. Employ the vernacular.
4. Eschew ampersands & abbreviations, etc.
5. Parenthetical remarks (however relevant) are unnecessary.
6. Remember to never split an infinitive.
7. Contractions aren't necessary.
8. Foreign words and phrases are not apropos.
9. One should never generalize.
10. Eliminate quotations. As Ralph Waldo Emerson said, "I hate quotations. Tell me what you know."
11. Comparisons are as bad as clichés.
12. Don't be redundant; don't use more words than necessary; it's highly superfluous.
13. Be more or less specific.
14. Understatement is always best.
15. One-word sentences? Eliminate.
16. Analogies in writing are like feathers on a snake.
17. The passive voice is to be avoided.
18. Go around the barn at high noon to avoid colloquialisms.
19. Even if a mixed metaphor sings, it should be derailed.
20. Who needs rhetorical questions?
21. Exaggeration is a billion times worse than understatement.
22. Don't never use a double negation.
23. capitalize every sentence and remember always end it with point
24. Do not put statements in the negative form.
25. Verbs have to agree with their subjects.
26. Proofread carefully to see if you words out.
27. If you reread your work, you can find on rereading a great deal of repetition can be avoided by rereading and editing.
28. A writer must not shift your point of view.
29. And don't start a sentence with a conjunction. (Remember, too, a preposition is a terrible word to end a sentence with.)
30. Don't overuse exclamation marks!!
31. Place pronouns as close as possible, especially in long sentences, as of 10 or more words, to the irantecedents.
32. Writing carefully, dangling participles must be avoided.
33. If any word is improper at the end of a sentence, a linking verb is.
34. Take the bull by the hand and avoid mixing metaphors.
35. Avoid trendy locutions that sound flaky.
36. Everyone should be careful to use a singular pronoun with singular nouns in their writing.
37. Always pick on the correct idiom.
38. The adverb always follows the verb.
39. Last but not least, avoid clichés like the plague; They're old hat; seek viable alternatives.
40. (Bonus Step) “There are three rules for writing a novel. Unfortunately, no one knows what they are.” ~W. Somerset Maugham
***
A linguistics professor was lecturing to his English class one day. "In English," he said, "a double negative forms a positive. In some languages, though, such as Russian, a double negative is still a negative. However, there is no language wherein a double positive can form a negative."
A voice from the back of the room piped up, "Yeah, right."
***
There was once a young man who, in his youth, professed his desire to become a great writer. When asked to define great, he said, "I want to write stuff that the whole world will read, stuff that people will react to on a truly emotional level, stuff that will make them scream, cry, howl in pain and anger!"
He now works for Microsoft writing error messages.
***
A screenwriter comes home to a burned down house. His sobbing and slightly-singed wife is standing outside. “What happened, honey?” the man asks.
“Oh, John, it was terrible,” she weeps. “I was cooking, the phone rang. It was your agent. Because I was on the phone, I didn’t notice the stove was on fire. It went up in second. Everything is gone. I nearly didn’t make it out of the house. Poor Fluffy is—”
“Wait, wait. Back up a minute,” The man says. “My agent called?”
***
How many science fiction writers does it take to change a light bulb?
Two, but it's actually the same person doing it. He went back in time and met himself in the doorway and then the first one sat on the other one's shoulder so that they were able to reach it. Then a major time paradox occurred and the entire room, light bulb, changer and all was blown out of existence. They co-existed in a parallel universe, though.
How many publishers does it take to screw in a light bulb?
Three. One to screw it in. Two to hold down the author.
How many mystery writers does it take to screw in a light bulb?
Two. One to screw it almost all the way in, and the other to give it a surprising twist at the end.
How many screenwriters does it take to screw in a light bulb?
Why does it *have* to be changed?
How many cover blurb writers does it take to screw in a light bulb?
A VAST AND TEEMING HORDE STRETCHING FROM SEA TO SHINING SEA!!!!
***
How many screenwriters does it take to change a light bulb?
Answer: Ten.
1st draft. Hero changes light bulb.
2nd draft. Villain changes light bulb.
3rd draft. Hero stops villain from changing light bulb. Villain falls to death.
4th draft. Lose the light bulb.
5th draft. Light bulb back in. Fluorescent instead of tungsten.
6th draft. Villain breaks bulb, uses it to kill hero's mentor.
7th draft. Fluorescent not working. Back to tungsten.
8th draft. Hero forces villain to eat light bulb.
9th draft. Hero laments loss of light bulb. Doesn't change it.
10th draft. Hero changes light bulb.
***
Punctuation Parable
Dear John,
I want a man who knows what love is all about. You are generous, kind, thoughtful. People who are not like you admit to being useless and inferior.
You have ruined me for other men. I yearn for you. I have no feelings whatsoever when we're apart. I can be forever happy - will you let me be yours?
Gloria
Dear John,
I want a man who knows what love is. All about you are generous, kind, thoughtful people, who are not like you. Admit to being useless and inferior.
You have ruined me. For other men, I yearn. For you, I have no feelings whatsoever. When we're apart, I can be forever happy. Will you let me be?
Yours,
Gloria
***
And finally, Writer’s Quotes
“The difference between fiction and reality? Fiction has to make sense.”
—Tom Clancy
“I never know what I think about something until I read what I've written on it.”
—William Faulkner
“I handed in a script last year and the studio didn't change one word. The word they didn't change was on page 87.”
—Steve Martin
“I have always been a huge admirer of my own work. I'm one of the funniest and most entertaining writers I know.”
—Mel Brooks
“It took me fifteen years to discover that I had no talent for writing, but I couldn't give it up because by that time I was too famous.”
—Robert Benchley
“A writer is congenitally unable to tell the truth and that is why we call what he writes fiction.”
—William Faulkner
“The free-lance writer is the person who is paid per piece or per word or perhaps.”
—Robert Benchley
Friday, May 11, 2007
One Cup of Inspiration, Please.
Ah, if it were only that simple. But really, it is.
“Inspiration is born of the need for self understanding and acceptance. We write to discover and accept who we are.” In other words, observation and experience are the tools of inspiration, but the need for self-love is its impetus.
I don’t write every day. In fact, having to write (or rather, the pressure to write) is the quickest way to do me in—I’m lousy under pressure but can write like a demon when the muse strikes me. And maybe that’s the thing. Writing just to write doesn’t necessarily make one a better writer, any more than is writing just to write better than nothing. Sometimes the ideas just aren’t there, and if you push it—if you make yourself write—often the best ideas don’t have the opportunity to form, in effect sandbagging those times when you could have walked away, relaxed, and perhaps had that brilliant “ah-ha” moment.
A dear friend pointed out that I’m “going to pop the bubble of all those ‘Write every day” people’” to which I conceded that a lot do indeed write every day, and more power to them. At the same time, how often have you heard writers say they have to think about a story? That they have to let it form and stew and come together in their mind? Tons. And I’m one of them. If I wrote the first thing that came to mind, odds are I’d go so far off track that when something really good twigged that I’d either have to discard the idea entirely, or back so far up in the story that I may as well start over. So yes, sure writing every day works for some. But it doesn’t work for everyone. Whatever works for the individual, that’s what I think; just write in the way that works best for you and to heck with what anyone else thinks.
Did you know there are a number of writers out there whose work has influenced a nation, a world, but have themselves only written one or two books? Never mind that though. Writing has to be in you, but more importantly, it as to be fun. You have to want to do it and be a happy camper while you are. If you aren’t happy, if it’s not coming to you, then why bash your head against the wall until you loath it? And yes, you can loath anything, even if you want to like it.
Think of a little kid (let’s call him Tommy) whose parents force him to practice the piano. So there little Tommy is, twenty-minutes a day, right after supper, parked in front of the piano and pounding out tunes that make the neighbors cringe. At the end of that time, he shuts the piano and walks away until tomorrow’s practice when he’ll pound it out again. Sure he might get better. Sure he’ll learn the basics. But he’ll never love it, and I guarantee you, the first chance he gets he’ll stop playing the piano and take up something else… like decorating the cat. In other words, it’s not fun, and because of that, about the only thing he’ll learn is to hate the piano with a blinding passion. Forcing yourself to write when it’s not fun and not coming to you is kind of like that—Tommy torture. At least, it is for me.
A writer never really stops writing; it just doesn’t always involve the use of a pen, pencil, or computer. Experiencing things and observation are forms of writing. Take, for instance, my mother’s day surgery, and the lady in the bed across the way who’d waited so long she fell asleep. Or the quiet man on one side of the curtain and the “talker” on the other—the one with tan shoes and matching corduroy pants… which were about all I could see of him under the curtain. Or my mother, who was so wired for sound that she turned speed talking into an art form (of course, bells suddenly going off followed a few minutes later by the announcement “Code Red, all clear! Code Red, all clear!” should get at least some of the credit.) All of them will come back to you when you need them as characters or stories that seemingly write themselves. In other words, inspiration can come from anywhere. The trick is to recognize it.
Speaking of recognizing it, do you know your own past can be a wealth of inspiration, one where “honest writing”—the best kind of writing—will come from? For example, some authors have to travel to where they are writing about. They need to smell that air, touch that earth, see that hillside. They need to feel the moment and put themselves there—right in the character’s shoes—and walk the walk. Why? Because nothing beats honest writing, and nothing is more honest that one’s own perceptions and observations. To commit sights, smells, scenery, customs and even dialect to memory so that they can write not just from research, but from personal experience. From honesty. In other words, much of their work is real, if known only to them. But not everyone can afford to jet off to who-knows-where, and it’s to those (myself included) I say you don’t need to book a plane ticket, because you have your past. Better?—it’s unique because it’s all your own. And even better still?—it comes complete with dialogue, scenery, emotion, characters and even an outcome. Voila! Instant inspiration and instant honest writing, and you didn’t have to leave home to find it.
So one cup of inspiration, please. And fill it to the brim with your own unique observations and experiences. In yourself, you will find all the inspiration you need.
“Inspiration is born of the need for self understanding and acceptance. We write to discover and accept who we are.” In other words, observation and experience are the tools of inspiration, but the need for self-love is its impetus.
I don’t write every day. In fact, having to write (or rather, the pressure to write) is the quickest way to do me in—I’m lousy under pressure but can write like a demon when the muse strikes me. And maybe that’s the thing. Writing just to write doesn’t necessarily make one a better writer, any more than is writing just to write better than nothing. Sometimes the ideas just aren’t there, and if you push it—if you make yourself write—often the best ideas don’t have the opportunity to form, in effect sandbagging those times when you could have walked away, relaxed, and perhaps had that brilliant “ah-ha” moment.
A dear friend pointed out that I’m “going to pop the bubble of all those ‘Write every day” people’” to which I conceded that a lot do indeed write every day, and more power to them. At the same time, how often have you heard writers say they have to think about a story? That they have to let it form and stew and come together in their mind? Tons. And I’m one of them. If I wrote the first thing that came to mind, odds are I’d go so far off track that when something really good twigged that I’d either have to discard the idea entirely, or back so far up in the story that I may as well start over. So yes, sure writing every day works for some. But it doesn’t work for everyone. Whatever works for the individual, that’s what I think; just write in the way that works best for you and to heck with what anyone else thinks.
Did you know there are a number of writers out there whose work has influenced a nation, a world, but have themselves only written one or two books? Never mind that though. Writing has to be in you, but more importantly, it as to be fun. You have to want to do it and be a happy camper while you are. If you aren’t happy, if it’s not coming to you, then why bash your head against the wall until you loath it? And yes, you can loath anything, even if you want to like it.
Think of a little kid (let’s call him Tommy) whose parents force him to practice the piano. So there little Tommy is, twenty-minutes a day, right after supper, parked in front of the piano and pounding out tunes that make the neighbors cringe. At the end of that time, he shuts the piano and walks away until tomorrow’s practice when he’ll pound it out again. Sure he might get better. Sure he’ll learn the basics. But he’ll never love it, and I guarantee you, the first chance he gets he’ll stop playing the piano and take up something else… like decorating the cat. In other words, it’s not fun, and because of that, about the only thing he’ll learn is to hate the piano with a blinding passion. Forcing yourself to write when it’s not fun and not coming to you is kind of like that—Tommy torture. At least, it is for me.
A writer never really stops writing; it just doesn’t always involve the use of a pen, pencil, or computer. Experiencing things and observation are forms of writing. Take, for instance, my mother’s day surgery, and the lady in the bed across the way who’d waited so long she fell asleep. Or the quiet man on one side of the curtain and the “talker” on the other—the one with tan shoes and matching corduroy pants… which were about all I could see of him under the curtain. Or my mother, who was so wired for sound that she turned speed talking into an art form (of course, bells suddenly going off followed a few minutes later by the announcement “Code Red, all clear! Code Red, all clear!” should get at least some of the credit.) All of them will come back to you when you need them as characters or stories that seemingly write themselves. In other words, inspiration can come from anywhere. The trick is to recognize it.
Speaking of recognizing it, do you know your own past can be a wealth of inspiration, one where “honest writing”—the best kind of writing—will come from? For example, some authors have to travel to where they are writing about. They need to smell that air, touch that earth, see that hillside. They need to feel the moment and put themselves there—right in the character’s shoes—and walk the walk. Why? Because nothing beats honest writing, and nothing is more honest that one’s own perceptions and observations. To commit sights, smells, scenery, customs and even dialect to memory so that they can write not just from research, but from personal experience. From honesty. In other words, much of their work is real, if known only to them. But not everyone can afford to jet off to who-knows-where, and it’s to those (myself included) I say you don’t need to book a plane ticket, because you have your past. Better?—it’s unique because it’s all your own. And even better still?—it comes complete with dialogue, scenery, emotion, characters and even an outcome. Voila! Instant inspiration and instant honest writing, and you didn’t have to leave home to find it.
So one cup of inspiration, please. And fill it to the brim with your own unique observations and experiences. In yourself, you will find all the inspiration you need.
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
Tribute
This video is hilarious and I thought I’d share it with you. “This is not the greatest song in the world, no. This is just a tribute.”
Tenacious D - Tribute
Tenacious D - Tribute
Saturday, May 05, 2007
My Biggest Boy
Bear, Bram, Moon and Mystic have each been shown here, but Joe (Joe Glo Two) has yet to have his two seconds. So without further ado, here's my biggest boy. Say hello, Joe.
For the horsey set out there, please note that Joe's a senior horse and is wearing a Monty Foreman Training Bit—one of the best and gentlest bits on the market. Yep, people, it can be done.
For the horsey set out there, please note that Joe's a senior horse and is wearing a Monty Foreman Training Bit—one of the best and gentlest bits on the market. Yep, people, it can be done.
Friday, May 04, 2007
Thursday, April 26, 2007
My Desk Buddies
Meet The New Guy.
This is Moon. (Okay, so it‘s not really him, but my camera isn’t working at the moment so this is as close to him as I can get. Will replace with his real photo as soon as I'm able.) He’s a young Double Ray (DR) Crowntail Betta and a real looker.
Meet The Old Guy.
Moon shares my writing desk (not a tank of course) with my two-year old Mystic Half-Moon Butterfly Betta (the name is longer than the darn fish!) named, of course, Mystic.
Pretty yes? You bet. But before you go rushing out to get a desk buddy Betta of your very own, please, please, please do your research. These fish are not ornaments, nor should they ever be used for our amusement or entertainment. They are living things, and to own one means to be responsible for it.
Respect all life. If not, please leave Bettas (and all future pets) to those who will respect them.
There are a million Betta sites out there, but I’ve found the following to be the most helpful:
BettaCentral
Betta Cave
Betta Talk
Tropical Fish Forums
Betta House
Betta Groups
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Roots
Yes, even I have roots. And now I'm going to trip over them while going down memory lane. In other words, this is my old home town of Portage La Prairie, Manitoba.
Enjoy.
Author Note: My sincere apologies for posting the photos of my old home town. When sent to me I didn't realize they were not owned by the party who sent them. Therefore, they have been removed.
Again, my apologies.
Enjoy.
Author Note: My sincere apologies for posting the photos of my old home town. When sent to me I didn't realize they were not owned by the party who sent them. Therefore, they have been removed.
Again, my apologies.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Virginia Tech
Pictured: 8 pm Candlelight Vigil on the Drillfield
My thoughts and prayers are with the families and all the victims of the Virginia Tech tragedy.
April 16th Memorial Website
Virginia Tech expresses its shock and profound sorrow regarding the tragic campus shootings of April 16, 2007. To honor and remember the victims, the above website has been created so those within the university community and around the world may share condolences, thoughts, and prayers.
Saturday, April 07, 2007
LiteraryMary
Now you know I don’t usually recommend writing forums on The View, but this is one the exception. Introducing:—
Just a few of this forums super features include:
* An excellent and very approachable staff.
* Mad-skills-talented members from beginners to the published.
* Enough threads for writers of all walks, tastes and genres (including an Erotica thread which is age restricted and viewable by members only, and a *Secret Bonus Track* thread which is another members only thread similar to a Workshop—meaning first rights are protected in both Erotica and Bonus threads).
* A monthly newsletter.
* Seasonal Featured Work—the crème de la crème as chosen by the members in the categories of Poetry, Fiction, and Erotica).
If you write or are an avid reader and haven’t yet checked out LiteraryMary, I urge you to do so. And tell 'em I sent ya.
Just a few of this forums super features include:
* An excellent and very approachable staff.
* Mad-skills-talented members from beginners to the published.
* Enough threads for writers of all walks, tastes and genres (including an Erotica thread which is age restricted and viewable by members only, and a *Secret Bonus Track* thread which is another members only thread similar to a Workshop—meaning first rights are protected in both Erotica and Bonus threads).
* A monthly newsletter.
* Seasonal Featured Work—the crème de la crème as chosen by the members in the categories of Poetry, Fiction, and Erotica).
If you write or are an avid reader and haven’t yet checked out LiteraryMary, I urge you to do so. And tell 'em I sent ya.
Sunday, April 01, 2007
For All You Writers Out There:
Here's something cute for you. A kind of little engine that could sort of thing, that may lift your spirits a bit and hopefully inspire you.
Love and hugs.
Love and hugs.
Friday, March 30, 2007
Pet Food Recall List and More
I am an animal lover and proud owner of a sweet Golden Retriever, two cats and two horses. For those of you who haven‘t been keeping up with the latest and don't know where to get information, here are a few helpful links:
Pet Food Recall List
(Scroll down for the list of brand names.) Note: PETA is also calling for the recall of dry pet foods from these same brand names.
PETA
(People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals)
WWF
(World Wildlife Foundation)
I myself am a proud sponsor of WWF. For your convenience, the above three links will be permanently included in my Help List.
Pet Food Recall List
(Scroll down for the list of brand names.) Note: PETA is also calling for the recall of dry pet foods from these same brand names.
PETA
(People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals)
WWF
(World Wildlife Foundation)
I myself am a proud sponsor of WWF. For your convenience, the above three links will be permanently included in my Help List.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Lil Chuckle
In the hospital the relatives gathered in the waiting room, where their family member lay gravely ill. Finally, the doctor came in looking tired and somber.
"I'm afraid I'm the bearer of bad news," he said as he surveyed the worried faces. "The only hope left for your loved one at this time is a brain transplant. It's an experimental procedure, very risky but it is the only hope.
Insurance will cover the procedure, but you will have to pay for the brain yourselves.."
The family members sat silent as they absorbed the news. After a great length of time, someone asked, "Well, how much does a brain cost?"
The doctor quickly responded, "$5,000 for a male brain, and $200 for a female brain."
The moment turned awkward. Men in the room tried not to smile, avoiding eye contact with the women, but some actually smirked.
A man unable to control his curiosity, blurted out the question everyone wanted to ask, "Why is the male brain so much more?"
The doctor smiled at the childish innocence and explained to the entire group, "It's just standard pricing procedure. We have to mark down the price of the female brains, because they've actually been used."
Friday, March 23, 2007
*GROAN*
Say it ain't so. Say WF isn't down again.
Honestly, this is getting ridiculous.
*
It’s back. So, was that a mini sequel, or precursor?
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