Happy Thanksgiving everyone!
May you be celebrating the day with family and friends, stuffing your face with whatever dead animal you chose to sacrifice to your favorite deity, and watching your favorite sport, be it football (American version) or football (what the other 170+ countries in the world play) or whatever fun filled sport that would be played on a normal Thursday in other parts of the world.
~
If you don't celebrate Thanksgiving, or if you're looking for something to do while cooking your dead animal of choice, or if you're one of those cooking your dead vegetable of choice, and it's gotten down to either reading this blog or listening to the 75th time your Uncle (fill in the name) telling you about the time he went a-huntin' for the dead animal of choice and failed, I want to say this:
Why are you here reading this blog? What's the matter with you?? Surely you can find something better to do than to read this blog on a holiday that retailers aren't even paying attention to this year, right???
Seriously though, for your reading pleasure, Cedar's Mountain proudly brings to you (with absolutely almost no effort on your part, beyond moving your mouse and pressing the shiny/dull right or left button) his Thanksgiving post from last year.
It's a special post where he runs down the historical inanities of his state.
Enjoy!
Click here for Cedar's Mountain Thanksgiving Day Special and click here for a classic blast from the same week.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Me So Horny, Me Love You Long Time (3)
part 1 & part 2
The final part for this trilogy will cover how I use in my writings, my observations of the opposite sex during the day-to-day activities that is called my life.
I, like most guys, is simply mesmerized by the opposite sex. The way they move, the way they think, and the way they use their entire body as a weapon of destruction.
Most of the women in my stories are ethnic, simply because most of the women I see and deal with on a daily basis are ethnic. And usually, most of the women in my stories share some similar traits and characteristics: athletic yet lithe, fiercely independent, sensual and self assured to the point of arrogance.
Suddenly, a rather well built and angry black woman bursts on the scene, grabs the narrator and throws him to the ground. Before he can respond, two other equally well built and incredibly angry women (one black and one Hispanic) pick him up and drag him over to a chair, where they proceed to tie him down and then use him as a punching bag. The first woman watches for a minute or so, before blowing a referee's whistle. She then sits down at the computer and begins to pound away on the keyboard.
"Okay, listen up. Let me give you the 411 on this clown as it applies to his usage of the female species. I am a prime example of how he makes the real world visual into a fictional reality."
"Wait a minute! Who do you think you are, barging into my blog post and having a couple of women beat me up?"
"Shut up fool, or I'll have those two ladies over there, Gwendolyn and Bobbi, finish beating you down into the ground."
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me. And you ought to know that I can back up my mouth, because you know who I am."
The blogger freaks, because he'd just figured out whose standing in front of him.
"That's right fool. My name is Alex Carter, and I'm your lead female in your latest story. So shut up and let me say what needs to be said, or so help me, I'll finish what the other two started. Understand?"
Realizing that he's F'ed more ways than he could possibly imagine, he nods his head in agreement.
"Good."
Alex turns her attention back to the task at hand. "Listen up peoples. What the legendary G is trying to politely say, is that he gives his female characters the same attributes that he admires in the real world, namely a woman's rack, her butt and her hair, in that order. If you've been even a casual reader of his other blog, the first thing that sticks out (no pun intended) is that all the females are extremely well built. Top heavy one might say, well endowed would be another. Why? Because that is the number one thing that turns his head, with the butt and the hair turning his head if the rack doesn't do it.
"How am I a prime example? I figured that no one remembers the previous description of me from the original story, but in the current story, he did make me somewhat sculpted, but gave me a pair of big boobs," she paused for a second to walk over to the blogger and deliver a hard slap to the face, before coming back to the computer, "a soft ass and waist length hair.
"Now don't get me wrong, I love the long hair and the decent ass, but I'm really tired of having a rack the size of Dolly Parton's. I mean, couldn't you at least make them a few inches smaller, so that people would see me for who I am, instead of what I am? I mean, I got a brain and I've been trying to use it to the best of my abilities in this story, but geez, ya got me acting like a sex machine. What gives?
"And if you think I got it bad, he did the exact same thing to Gwendolyn and Bobbi, who co-star in his most recently published book. So yeah, he more than uses what he sees in the real world, but does the end result really justify writing the way he writes? I mean, the man really does have talent. I just wish that he would find a better way of utilizing it."
Alex gets up and walks over to where the blogger is and gives him a kiss on the head. The other two untie his hands and gives him a kiss on his head, before following Alex out of the room and back into the books from where they originated. The blogger unties his legs and hustles over to the computer. Pressing CTRL & A, he has the entire post highlighted and is about to press the delete key, when a small twinge of guilt comes over him. He removes his finger and sits back to think about what was said.
A few minutes later, he decided to add a few more words of his own, in order to complete the post and schedule it for publication. He spends the next fifteen minutes staring at the screen, but nothing seems to come out. Finally, something does originate deep within that pea brain of his, and he begins to type away.
"There really isn't nothing more I can add to what has already been said here today. While what Mrs. Carter say is basically true, I am trying my best to tone it down in one venue (graphic descriptive sex) and turn it up in the other (descriptive sensuality). It isn't easy to do, but like she suggested, I am trying to find a better way of utilizing it, and the other things of the female form besides the aforementioned items."
The final part for this trilogy will cover how I use in my writings, my observations of the opposite sex during the day-to-day activities that is called my life.
I, like most guys, is simply mesmerized by the opposite sex. The way they move, the way they think, and the way they use their entire body as a weapon of destruction.
Most of the women in my stories are ethnic, simply because most of the women I see and deal with on a daily basis are ethnic. And usually, most of the women in my stories share some similar traits and characteristics: athletic yet lithe, fiercely independent, sensual and self assured to the point of arrogance.
Suddenly, a rather well built and angry black woman bursts on the scene, grabs the narrator and throws him to the ground. Before he can respond, two other equally well built and incredibly angry women (one black and one Hispanic) pick him up and drag him over to a chair, where they proceed to tie him down and then use him as a punching bag. The first woman watches for a minute or so, before blowing a referee's whistle. She then sits down at the computer and begins to pound away on the keyboard.
"Okay, listen up. Let me give you the 411 on this clown as it applies to his usage of the female species. I am a prime example of how he makes the real world visual into a fictional reality."
"Wait a minute! Who do you think you are, barging into my blog post and having a couple of women beat me up?"
"Shut up fool, or I'll have those two ladies over there, Gwendolyn and Bobbi, finish beating you down into the ground."
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me. And you ought to know that I can back up my mouth, because you know who I am."
The blogger freaks, because he'd just figured out whose standing in front of him.
"That's right fool. My name is Alex Carter, and I'm your lead female in your latest story. So shut up and let me say what needs to be said, or so help me, I'll finish what the other two started. Understand?"
Realizing that he's F'ed more ways than he could possibly imagine, he nods his head in agreement.
"Good."
Alex turns her attention back to the task at hand. "Listen up peoples. What the legendary G is trying to politely say, is that he gives his female characters the same attributes that he admires in the real world, namely a woman's rack, her butt and her hair, in that order. If you've been even a casual reader of his other blog, the first thing that sticks out (no pun intended) is that all the females are extremely well built. Top heavy one might say, well endowed would be another. Why? Because that is the number one thing that turns his head, with the butt and the hair turning his head if the rack doesn't do it.
"How am I a prime example? I figured that no one remembers the previous description of me from the original story, but in the current story, he did make me somewhat sculpted, but gave me a pair of big boobs," she paused for a second to walk over to the blogger and deliver a hard slap to the face, before coming back to the computer, "a soft ass and waist length hair.
"Now don't get me wrong, I love the long hair and the decent ass, but I'm really tired of having a rack the size of Dolly Parton's. I mean, couldn't you at least make them a few inches smaller, so that people would see me for who I am, instead of what I am? I mean, I got a brain and I've been trying to use it to the best of my abilities in this story, but geez, ya got me acting like a sex machine. What gives?
"And if you think I got it bad, he did the exact same thing to Gwendolyn and Bobbi, who co-star in his most recently published book. So yeah, he more than uses what he sees in the real world, but does the end result really justify writing the way he writes? I mean, the man really does have talent. I just wish that he would find a better way of utilizing it."
Alex gets up and walks over to where the blogger is and gives him a kiss on the head. The other two untie his hands and gives him a kiss on his head, before following Alex out of the room and back into the books from where they originated. The blogger unties his legs and hustles over to the computer. Pressing CTRL & A, he has the entire post highlighted and is about to press the delete key, when a small twinge of guilt comes over him. He removes his finger and sits back to think about what was said.
A few minutes later, he decided to add a few more words of his own, in order to complete the post and schedule it for publication. He spends the next fifteen minutes staring at the screen, but nothing seems to come out. Finally, something does originate deep within that pea brain of his, and he begins to type away.
"There really isn't nothing more I can add to what has already been said here today. While what Mrs. Carter say is basically true, I am trying my best to tone it down in one venue (graphic descriptive sex) and turn it up in the other (descriptive sensuality). It isn't easy to do, but like she suggested, I am trying to find a better way of utilizing it, and the other things of the female form besides the aforementioned items."
Sunday, November 22, 2009
A Triangle's Staccato Beat
I love cartoon music, both thematic and incidental. And I'm not talking about the garbage that passes for cartoon music nowadays, except for maybe a select few. I'm talking about the classic stuff from about the mid-70's backwards.
As a child of the 70's, I grew up watching the ever popular, ever omnipotent, the holy grail of animated cartooning, The Warner Brothers Looney Tunes/Merrie Melodies. Everything else was a distant second. How distant, you may ask?
Go on, ask
"G, how distant?"
Well, I'm glad you asked. My list in no particular order of importance:
1} The classic Popeye cartoons from the 30's through the early 40's. The version from the 60's don't even make it out rookie league ball (for those who are not from the States, I would equate it with probably 3rd division football).
2} Classic MGM, including Tom & Jerry.
3} Pink Panther et al.
4} Fat Albert.
5} Fractured Fairy Tales (including Rocky & Bullwinkle, Mr. Peabody, etc.)
6} Mighty Mouse (the original, not the remake by John K of Ren & Stimpy fame)
The only post mid-70's cartoon that would even make the cut are as follows:
1} Rocko's Modern Life (theme was done by the B-52's)
2} First version of Ren & Stimpy.
3} The Klasky-Csupo empire (Rugrats, etc), music done by Mark Mothersbaugh of Devo.
4} Tiny Toon Adventures.
5} Police Academy, the series (short lived, theme was done by Heavy D and the Boyz who did the music for "In Living Colour").
Beyond that, absolutely nothing else makes the cut. And I mean nothing.
Anyways, like I'm want to do from time to time, I make distinctions in various things, this time as it applies to cartoon music. I've always been partial to the cartoons that used orchestras to create the music (Carl Stalling is God) and I think it's because that early on, I was exposed to classical music. Not from the Warner Brothers extensive use of it, but from having to play a good quantity of it during my formative years*.
*I played clarinet and marched in a marching band. There will be absolutely no discussion on this point. None. Nada. Zip. Zilcho.
Anyways, the reason for the title of the post, is quite simple. Whenever I get into a decent frame of mind at work (which is infrequent at best), I love whistling different parts of the theme to the Pink Panther cartoons. The Pink Panther cartoons, which were produced by, among others, Isadore Freling and Chuck Jones, matched up quite well with some of the better MGM stuff. They were really in a league by themselves, due to (in my opinion) the continental flare that was Europe in the mid-60's, and with Henry Mancini doing the theme and incidental music, the cartoon was absolutely perfect. The man was a master of using just a few instruments to convey the proper emotional depth at the precise point needed.
To be more specific, I always start off with the opening notes of the theme's simple triangle staccato beat. It's virtually impossible to describe in print, but that opening triangle has become the most identifiable part of the cartoon. No matter what else that may come after that, its that hook that will get you to stop and take a peek at the telly.
When I'm whistling that theme, there is absolutely nothing that will be able to touch me and ruin my day.
Nothing.
Cartoon music. It's da bomb.
As a child of the 70's, I grew up watching the ever popular, ever omnipotent, the holy grail of animated cartooning, The Warner Brothers Looney Tunes/Merrie Melodies. Everything else was a distant second. How distant, you may ask?
Go on, ask
"G, how distant?"
Well, I'm glad you asked. My list in no particular order of importance:
1} The classic Popeye cartoons from the 30's through the early 40's. The version from the 60's don't even make it out rookie league ball (for those who are not from the States, I would equate it with probably 3rd division football).
2} Classic MGM, including Tom & Jerry.
3} Pink Panther et al.
4} Fat Albert.
5} Fractured Fairy Tales (including Rocky & Bullwinkle, Mr. Peabody, etc.)
6} Mighty Mouse (the original, not the remake by John K of Ren & Stimpy fame)
The only post mid-70's cartoon that would even make the cut are as follows:
1} Rocko's Modern Life (theme was done by the B-52's)
2} First version of Ren & Stimpy.
3} The Klasky-Csupo empire (Rugrats, etc), music done by Mark Mothersbaugh of Devo.
4} Tiny Toon Adventures.
5} Police Academy, the series (short lived, theme was done by Heavy D and the Boyz who did the music for "In Living Colour").
Beyond that, absolutely nothing else makes the cut. And I mean nothing.
Anyways, like I'm want to do from time to time, I make distinctions in various things, this time as it applies to cartoon music. I've always been partial to the cartoons that used orchestras to create the music (Carl Stalling is God) and I think it's because that early on, I was exposed to classical music. Not from the Warner Brothers extensive use of it, but from having to play a good quantity of it during my formative years*.
*I played clarinet and marched in a marching band. There will be absolutely no discussion on this point. None. Nada. Zip. Zilcho.
Anyways, the reason for the title of the post, is quite simple. Whenever I get into a decent frame of mind at work (which is infrequent at best), I love whistling different parts of the theme to the Pink Panther cartoons. The Pink Panther cartoons, which were produced by, among others, Isadore Freling and Chuck Jones, matched up quite well with some of the better MGM stuff. They were really in a league by themselves, due to (in my opinion) the continental flare that was Europe in the mid-60's, and with Henry Mancini doing the theme and incidental music, the cartoon was absolutely perfect. The man was a master of using just a few instruments to convey the proper emotional depth at the precise point needed.
To be more specific, I always start off with the opening notes of the theme's simple triangle staccato beat. It's virtually impossible to describe in print, but that opening triangle has become the most identifiable part of the cartoon. No matter what else that may come after that, its that hook that will get you to stop and take a peek at the telly.
When I'm whistling that theme, there is absolutely nothing that will be able to touch me and ruin my day.
Nothing.
Cartoon music. It's da bomb.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
What's In A Number?
What's in a number? What makes one number particularly more special than another?
We all have special numbers in our lives, be they small singular digits or a series of singular digits strung together to make two, three or four digits. Let's examine a few special numbers that I'm proud of.
1
Everything important in my world starts with 1. F'r instance, 1 signifies the very first post that kicked off this blog back in May 24th, 2008. Without 1, where would this blog be? 1 also signifies the very first book I self-published and the very first short story I got published.
3
3 stands for the month of March, in which Flashing Georgie's Shorts made its debut with this particular story, and when I started working for the big bad incompetent state of Connecticut. 3 also stands for the amount of Real World friends (as opposed to my very good Blog World friends, who number in the double digits) that I consider to be part of my inner circle.
11
11 stands for the month of November, in which my first novel was published and when I celebrate my ten year anniversary of permanent service with the big bad incompetent state of Connecticut.
14
14 stands for the total amount years this coming March that I will have spent working for the big bad incompetent state of Connecticut.
20
20 stands for the amount of years that I've been happily married to my lovely wife, which was celebrated this past June.
44
44 is my age. Egads, come 2010 I'll be one year closer to 50.
50, 100, 150, 200, 250, 300
All those numbers stand for blog post level that this blog has hit so far (which includes about 40 nuked posts).
1962, 1965, 1989, 1992, 2001, 2008
These years represents when my wife was born, I was born, when I was married, when my son was born, when my daughter was born and when this blog was created.
350
350 represents the number of this post. Who would of thunk some 18 months ago that this blog would still be alive and kicking? Compared to some of my good followers and readers, I'm just a little newbie in the blog world (some of them have been around for three or more years, totalling anywhere from 700 to 900+ posts in that span).
I am very proud about the fact that I've been able to stick with this blog for so many months and through so many posts. Usually I have short to medium attention spans when it comes to doing new things (like converting my albums to c.d.'s), but this has stuck to me like nothing else has before, and I'm simply amazed by it all.
With the World Series finishing up earlier in the month, being a New York Mets fan (suffering since 1979), I would like to leave all of you with one of my rare sports related rants. As all of you know, I don't suffer fools, so this post sums up my feelings about the historic collapse of the 2007 New York Mets and the equally stupid 2008 version. There is strong language, so reader discretion is strongly advised.
I'm glad to be here, and I'm glad all of you, whoever you may be, have decided to come along for hike up Cedar's Mountain. You make this doing this blog a pleasure to do.
We all have special numbers in our lives, be they small singular digits or a series of singular digits strung together to make two, three or four digits. Let's examine a few special numbers that I'm proud of.
1
Everything important in my world starts with 1. F'r instance, 1 signifies the very first post that kicked off this blog back in May 24th, 2008. Without 1, where would this blog be? 1 also signifies the very first book I self-published and the very first short story I got published.
3
3 stands for the month of March, in which Flashing Georgie's Shorts made its debut with this particular story, and when I started working for the big bad incompetent state of Connecticut. 3 also stands for the amount of Real World friends (as opposed to my very good Blog World friends, who number in the double digits) that I consider to be part of my inner circle.
11
11 stands for the month of November, in which my first novel was published and when I celebrate my ten year anniversary of permanent service with the big bad incompetent state of Connecticut.
14
14 stands for the total amount years this coming March that I will have spent working for the big bad incompetent state of Connecticut.
20
20 stands for the amount of years that I've been happily married to my lovely wife, which was celebrated this past June.
44
44 is my age. Egads, come 2010 I'll be one year closer to 50.
50, 100, 150, 200, 250, 300
All those numbers stand for blog post level that this blog has hit so far (which includes about 40 nuked posts).
1962, 1965, 1989, 1992, 2001, 2008
These years represents when my wife was born, I was born, when I was married, when my son was born, when my daughter was born and when this blog was created.
350
350 represents the number of this post. Who would of thunk some 18 months ago that this blog would still be alive and kicking? Compared to some of my good followers and readers, I'm just a little newbie in the blog world (some of them have been around for three or more years, totalling anywhere from 700 to 900+ posts in that span).
I am very proud about the fact that I've been able to stick with this blog for so many months and through so many posts. Usually I have short to medium attention spans when it comes to doing new things (like converting my albums to c.d.'s), but this has stuck to me like nothing else has before, and I'm simply amazed by it all.
With the World Series finishing up earlier in the month, being a New York Mets fan (suffering since 1979), I would like to leave all of you with one of my rare sports related rants. As all of you know, I don't suffer fools, so this post sums up my feelings about the historic collapse of the 2007 New York Mets and the equally stupid 2008 version. There is strong language, so reader discretion is strongly advised.
I'm glad to be here, and I'm glad all of you, whoever you may be, have decided to come along for hike up Cedar's Mountain. You make this doing this blog a pleasure to do.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Why Are Men Happier?
Men are just happier people--
What do you expect from such simple creatures?
Your last name stays put.
The garage is all yours.
Wedding plans take care of themselves.
Chocolate is just another snack.
You can be President.
You can never be pregnant.
You can wear a white T-shirt to the water park.
You can wear NO shirt to a water park.
Car mechanics tell you the truth.
The world is your urinal.
You never have to drive to another gas station restroom because this one is just too icky.
You don't have to stop and think of which way to turn a nut on a bolt.
Same work, more pay.
Wrinkles and character.
Wedding dress $5000. Tux rental $100.
People never stare at your chest when you're talking to them.
The occasional well-rendered belch is practically expected.
New shoes don't cut, blister, or mangle your feet.
One mood all the time.
Phone conversations are over in 30 seconds flat.
You know stuff about tanks.
A five-day vacation requires only one suitcase.
You can open all you own jars.
You get extra credit for the slightest act of thoughtfulness.
If someone forgets to invite you, he or she can still be your friend.
Your underwear is $8.95 for a three pack.
Three pairs of shoes are more than enough.
You almost never have strap problems in public.
You are unable to see wrinkles in your clothes.
Everything on your face stays its original color.
The same hairstyle last for years, maybe decades.
You only have to shave your face and neck.
You can play with toys all your life.
Your belly usually hides your big hips.
One wallet and one pair of shoes one color for all seasons.
You can wear shorts no matter how your legs look.
You can "do" your nails with a pocket knife.
You have the freedom of choice concerning growing a mustache.
You can do Christmas shopping for 25 relatives on December 24th in 25 minutes.
What do you expect from such simple creatures?
Your last name stays put.
The garage is all yours.
Wedding plans take care of themselves.
Chocolate is just another snack.
You can be President.
You can never be pregnant.
You can wear a white T-shirt to the water park.
You can wear NO shirt to a water park.
Car mechanics tell you the truth.
The world is your urinal.
You never have to drive to another gas station restroom because this one is just too icky.
You don't have to stop and think of which way to turn a nut on a bolt.
Same work, more pay.
Wrinkles and character.
Wedding dress $5000. Tux rental $100.
People never stare at your chest when you're talking to them.
The occasional well-rendered belch is practically expected.
New shoes don't cut, blister, or mangle your feet.
One mood all the time.
Phone conversations are over in 30 seconds flat.
You know stuff about tanks.
A five-day vacation requires only one suitcase.
You can open all you own jars.
You get extra credit for the slightest act of thoughtfulness.
If someone forgets to invite you, he or she can still be your friend.
Your underwear is $8.95 for a three pack.
Three pairs of shoes are more than enough.
You almost never have strap problems in public.
You are unable to see wrinkles in your clothes.
Everything on your face stays its original color.
The same hairstyle last for years, maybe decades.
You only have to shave your face and neck.
You can play with toys all your life.
Your belly usually hides your big hips.
One wallet and one pair of shoes one color for all seasons.
You can wear shorts no matter how your legs look.
You can "do" your nails with a pocket knife.
You have the freedom of choice concerning growing a mustache.
You can do Christmas shopping for 25 relatives on December 24th in 25 minutes.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
A Thousand Pardons, I Was Most Revolting
I thought I would try something different today, in that I would write a completely frivolous post. I haven't done it quite sometime, and frankly the thought scares me.
Oh sure, I can do a post in which I play the part of an idiot emptying out a particular part of my brain for the general amusement of others.
Or, I can have a conversation with myself and become incredibly funny while doing it.
Or, even better, I can lecture about a particular topic and get my comeuppance in the end.
Sure I can elaborate about comparing myself to a comic book character, explain the phrase don't get your panties in a bunch or even how to talk trash in a PG-13 environment (this last link contains extremely foul language, reader discretion is strongly advised).
Or, I can attempt to explain why I came up with the most ridiculous title ever seen for a blog post. Like the title of this post, which I pulled from a cartoon I saw some twenty-five years ago or so. It was the most exciting part of the cartoon (which was about manners).
Or, I could give a review of the world's worst movie from the 1930's. This movie was so bad, that the only memorable line from the entire movie is a Mexican saying, "No, no senor. It is too dangerous!" I mean, this movie makes any bomb in the last twenty years look like Oscar winning material. Matter of fact, this will make a good stand alone post. Stay tuned for further details.
Or, I could write in cliches. That'll go over well, I betcha.
Or, I can give a demonstration on how I really deal with stupid people. How many of you out there in radio and t.v. land would love to see the real me in action? Even better, I can add a third part to the trinity of why certain people should never be left loose on a computer or let them come into contact with a telephone or cell phone.
Shoot, I could go on all day, inflicting random thoughts of nothingness on my good readers.
Instead, I'll just simply say (think Bob & Doug McKenzie), "Good day." and leave you with this tiny infinitesimal thought.
Contrary to public opinion, if you stick a piece of paper and a pen in front of someone, chances are that they'll not come up with something bright, but in fact, make Zero from Beetle Bailey look like a super genius.
Oh sure, I can do a post in which I play the part of an idiot emptying out a particular part of my brain for the general amusement of others.
Or, I can have a conversation with myself and become incredibly funny while doing it.
Or, even better, I can lecture about a particular topic and get my comeuppance in the end.
Sure I can elaborate about comparing myself to a comic book character, explain the phrase don't get your panties in a bunch or even how to talk trash in a PG-13 environment (this last link contains extremely foul language, reader discretion is strongly advised).
Or, I can attempt to explain why I came up with the most ridiculous title ever seen for a blog post. Like the title of this post, which I pulled from a cartoon I saw some twenty-five years ago or so. It was the most exciting part of the cartoon (which was about manners).
Or, I could give a review of the world's worst movie from the 1930's. This movie was so bad, that the only memorable line from the entire movie is a Mexican saying, "No, no senor. It is too dangerous!" I mean, this movie makes any bomb in the last twenty years look like Oscar winning material. Matter of fact, this will make a good stand alone post. Stay tuned for further details.
Or, I could write in cliches. That'll go over well, I betcha.
Or, I can give a demonstration on how I really deal with stupid people. How many of you out there in radio and t.v. land would love to see the real me in action? Even better, I can add a third part to the trinity of why certain people should never be left loose on a computer or let them come into contact with a telephone or cell phone.
Shoot, I could go on all day, inflicting random thoughts of nothingness on my good readers.
Instead, I'll just simply say (think Bob & Doug McKenzie), "Good day." and leave you with this tiny infinitesimal thought.
Contrary to public opinion, if you stick a piece of paper and a pen in front of someone, chances are that they'll not come up with something bright, but in fact, make Zero from Beetle Bailey look like a super genius.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
When Girls Drink Too Much
1} We have absolutely no idea where our purse is.
2} We believe that dancing with our arms overhead and wiggling our butt while yelling, "WOO-HOO!!!" is truly the sexiest dance move around.
3} We've suddenly decided that we want to kick someones butt and honestly believe that we could do it too.
4} In our last trip to pee, we realize that we now look more like a homeless hooker than the goddess we were just four hours ago.
5} We start crying and telling everyone we see that we love them sooooooo much.
6} We get extremely excited and jump up and down every time a new song plays because, "OH MY GOD! I LOVE THIS SONG!!!!"
7} We've suddenly taken up smoking and become really good at it.
8} We've found a deeper/spiritual side to the geek sitting next to us.
9} We yell at the bartender, who we believe cheated us by giving us just lemonade, but that's just because we can no longer taste the vodka.
10} We think we are in bed, but our pillow feels strangely like the kitchen floor (or the mop?).
11} We fail to notice that the toilet lid's down when sit on it.
12} We take our shoes off because we believe it's their fault that we're having problems walking straight.
2} We believe that dancing with our arms overhead and wiggling our butt while yelling, "WOO-HOO!!!" is truly the sexiest dance move around.
3} We've suddenly decided that we want to kick someones butt and honestly believe that we could do it too.
4} In our last trip to pee, we realize that we now look more like a homeless hooker than the goddess we were just four hours ago.
5} We start crying and telling everyone we see that we love them sooooooo much.
6} We get extremely excited and jump up and down every time a new song plays because, "OH MY GOD! I LOVE THIS SONG!!!!"
7} We've suddenly taken up smoking and become really good at it.
8} We've found a deeper/spiritual side to the geek sitting next to us.
9} We yell at the bartender, who we believe cheated us by giving us just lemonade, but that's just because we can no longer taste the vodka.
10} We think we are in bed, but our pillow feels strangely like the kitchen floor (or the mop?).
11} We fail to notice that the toilet lid's down when sit on it.
12} We take our shoes off because we believe it's their fault that we're having problems walking straight.
Monday, November 2, 2009
To Each Their Own
A few days ago (October 29th to be exact), I was doing my usual morning routine of catching up on my blog reading (down to 62 blogs and one e-zine) when I came across a fascinating post by Globalwrite on her blog called Rule of Three about self doubt. It was mostly about managing self doubt and not letting it ruin your writing and/or running your life.
I left a thoughtful comment, part of which said "That if my self doubt says my writing isn't good enough, I think about my blog and the visitors that I receive. Surely someone thinks my writing is good because they come back time and again to read what I post. I also think about that one story that impressed a publisher enough to take a chance on. No matter what, I still write. Either on the computer or by hand, as long as I'm putting words to paper/screen, there isn't nothing that can stop me."
Later that day, I ran into one of my favorite authors at work, who happened to be there that day as a vendor, selling her book along with arts & crafts with her friend. I asked her if she got my check and my book (which I sent along as a courtesy) and if she got a chance to read it. She said yes, and yes, she did get a chance to read it. She also gave me her opinion on it, of which she said that it really didn't appeal to her, which was as diplomatic as one can get when you're trying not to say something completely negative about a book but wanting to stay neutral about something that isn't your particular cup of tea.
I was about to thank her for it, when her friend pulled me over and gave me her unvarnished opinion of it. One of the sure fire ways of knowing that you're about to get hammered over something you wrote, is when an opinion starts off with "I'm no prude but...."
Well my friends, I got hammered by this person (who I do actually like), who told me in no uncertain terms what she thought of the book. After she got done offering her opinion about it, I said that I was sorry that you didn't like it. I also said a few other polite things about her opinion, then thanked her for it, and went to work. I also spent the day basically not hanging out there, like I usually do when this vendor comes by for a visit, simply because I'm such a hothead about criticism that I do have a tendency to shoot my mouth off.
I do want to say that the criticism from this person, is much different than the criticism from the jerk in the chat room. The criticism that she gave was sincere and heartfelt (not to mention that it hurt like hell), while the criticism from the jerk in the chat room is simply petty, has nothing to do with the first book anymore, and had become downright personal for the past month or so.
Here, self doubt immediately came into play as I spent the rest of the morning thinking about what she said about the book. I also spent part of the afternoon thinking about what she said and to a lesser degree, about my chosen genre. Now I will say that what she said did bother me to the point that I had to modify my plans for the afternoon. I'd planned on spending the afternoon at the library working on my other W.i.P (of which you'd read this excerpt of about three weeks ago), but after I got everything all set up, I proceeded to spend the next 45 minutes staring at a partially blank piece of paper trying to decided what I was going to write.
Frustrated over my lack of output, which was a direct result of what I heard this morning about my book (which I did warn the author that I toned down the sex and violence from the first book, so it wasn't like she was going to read it cold), I wound up making a trek to the mountain, where I was finally able to get a grip on my self doubt, and wrote a couple of pages of text.
Lesson learned was this: while I may be plagued with self doubt about my writing from time to time, letting it bother me to the point of paralysis is ultimately in the end, self destructive.
I left a thoughtful comment, part of which said "That if my self doubt says my writing isn't good enough, I think about my blog and the visitors that I receive. Surely someone thinks my writing is good because they come back time and again to read what I post. I also think about that one story that impressed a publisher enough to take a chance on. No matter what, I still write. Either on the computer or by hand, as long as I'm putting words to paper/screen, there isn't nothing that can stop me."
Later that day, I ran into one of my favorite authors at work, who happened to be there that day as a vendor, selling her book along with arts & crafts with her friend. I asked her if she got my check and my book (which I sent along as a courtesy) and if she got a chance to read it. She said yes, and yes, she did get a chance to read it. She also gave me her opinion on it, of which she said that it really didn't appeal to her, which was as diplomatic as one can get when you're trying not to say something completely negative about a book but wanting to stay neutral about something that isn't your particular cup of tea.
I was about to thank her for it, when her friend pulled me over and gave me her unvarnished opinion of it. One of the sure fire ways of knowing that you're about to get hammered over something you wrote, is when an opinion starts off with "I'm no prude but...."
Well my friends, I got hammered by this person (who I do actually like), who told me in no uncertain terms what she thought of the book. After she got done offering her opinion about it, I said that I was sorry that you didn't like it. I also said a few other polite things about her opinion, then thanked her for it, and went to work. I also spent the day basically not hanging out there, like I usually do when this vendor comes by for a visit, simply because I'm such a hothead about criticism that I do have a tendency to shoot my mouth off.
I do want to say that the criticism from this person, is much different than the criticism from the jerk in the chat room. The criticism that she gave was sincere and heartfelt (not to mention that it hurt like hell), while the criticism from the jerk in the chat room is simply petty, has nothing to do with the first book anymore, and had become downright personal for the past month or so.
Here, self doubt immediately came into play as I spent the rest of the morning thinking about what she said about the book. I also spent part of the afternoon thinking about what she said and to a lesser degree, about my chosen genre. Now I will say that what she said did bother me to the point that I had to modify my plans for the afternoon. I'd planned on spending the afternoon at the library working on my other W.i.P (of which you'd read this excerpt of about three weeks ago), but after I got everything all set up, I proceeded to spend the next 45 minutes staring at a partially blank piece of paper trying to decided what I was going to write.
Frustrated over my lack of output, which was a direct result of what I heard this morning about my book (which I did warn the author that I toned down the sex and violence from the first book, so it wasn't like she was going to read it cold), I wound up making a trek to the mountain, where I was finally able to get a grip on my self doubt, and wrote a couple of pages of text.
Lesson learned was this: while I may be plagued with self doubt about my writing from time to time, letting it bother me to the point of paralysis is ultimately in the end, self destructive.
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