I've been feeling pretty decent the last few days and needed to put a stop to that.

I've re-applied at a local bookstore, and the manager vaguely recalled me, though perhaps not why I'm unacceptable to her. It's probably my attitude, but continual rejections have a way of bringing me down. I think were I to apply to jobs for which I had any qualifications I could possibly be more successful, but that's something I prefer to avoid.

In any event, to sweeten my chances I found a book to buy (Alice Munro's Lives of Girls and Women), a selection I'm certain will demonstrate my sensitive nature. Not many men, I think, would be purchasing a book written by a Canadian woman.

She appeared unphased, and confidence is low. I did mention I'd buy more if I had a job, and she grinned.

Many people (those not me) are making fortunes in the stock market today. My stocks are rising, but still well underneath where I bought them so if anyone reads this and wishes to help me out I'd encourage you all to buy several plasma screen TVs or insist on fibre run to your home.

And, no, even if I were in the market would this campaign sway my opinion. Not that I have anything against hair, mind you, but that's one dumb looking mascot.

I've been feeling pretty decent the last few days and needed to put a stop to that.

I've re-applied at a local bookstore, and the manager vaguely recalled me, though perhaps not why I'm unacceptable to her. It's probably my attitude, but continual rejections have a way of bringing me down. I think were I to apply to jobs for which I had any qualifications I could possibly be more successful, but that's something I prefer to avoid.

In any event, to sweeten my chances I found a book to buy (Alice Munro's Lives of Girls and Women), a selection I'm certain will demonstrate my sensitive nature. Not many men, I think, would be purchasing a book written by a Canadian woman.

She appeared unphased, and confidence is low. I did mention I'd buy more if I had a job, and she grinned.

Many people (those not me) are making fortunes in the stock market today. My stocks are rising, but still well underneath where I bought them so if anyone reads this and wishes to help me out I'd encourage you all to buy several plasma screen TVs or insist on fibre run to your home.

And, no, even if I were in the market would this campaign sway my opinion. Not that I have anything against hair, mind you, but that's one dumb looking mascot.

From what I've seen the Iraqui elections went off much better than I thought they would. Much better. It's not important that I was wrong, but I'm honestly glad that it was so successful. Some of the stories I saw on CNN were touching, and all those people waving and showing off their blue fingers really got to me.

I take a lot of things for granted.

I'm a little upset about Sen Kennedy's reaction, which struck me as sour grapes. His "well, okay, the election went fine but it's the next step that's important" struck me as churlish (or is that childish? I'm not even sure what churlish means, but I like the sound of it). I shouldn't be surprised, though. The Republicans never can say a good word about the Democrats, and it looks like that runs both ways.

I remember that from my last workplace, too. One of the more distressing things there was the insistant emphasis on competition. We absolutely, positively, had to be a "fast follower," near the "bleeding edge" of everything that was going on or else we'd be doomed. Well, there's much more power in Washington and other nation's capitals than I ever saw in my silly jobs, but the same mentality runs through them all. We *must* be right, and our opposition *must* be wrong.

I pretty much hate that. While I find Bush and his administration arrogant, I have to admit they pulled this one off, and it looks as if many people are happy about it. I don't approve of the means, but the end wasn't the disaster I'd expected.

Still, I'm glad not to be associated with either party. Their insistance on holding power sickens me.

From what I've seen the Iraqui elections went off much better than I thought they would. Much better. It's not important that I was wrong, but I'm honestly glad that it was so successful. Some of the stories I saw on CNN were touching, and all those people waving and showing off their blue fingers really got to me.

I take a lot of things for granted.

I'm a little upset about Sen Kennedy's reaction, which struck me as sour grapes. His "well, okay, the election went fine but it's the next step that's important" struck me as churlish (or is that childish? I'm not even sure what churlish means, but I like the sound of it). I shouldn't be surprised, though. The Republicans never can say a good word about the Democrats, and it looks like that runs both ways.

I remember that from my last workplace, too. One of the more distressing things there was the insistant emphasis on competition. We absolutely, positively, had to be a "fast follower," near the "bleeding edge" of everything that was going on or else we'd be doomed. Well, there's much more power in Washington and other nation's capitals than I ever saw in my silly jobs, but the same mentality runs through them all. We *must* be right, and our opposition *must* be wrong.

I pretty much hate that. While I find Bush and his administration arrogant, I have to admit they pulled this one off, and it looks as if many people are happy about it. I don't approve of the means, but the end wasn't the disaster I'd expected.

Still, I'm glad not to be associated with either party. Their insistance on holding power sickens me.

Here's a funny character.

Today I got up and spent some time with my e-mail program. Then, I visited many of the sites I like, the ones to the right. The morning, as you can expect, was grueling.

It was bright out, but cool, and I spent the next hour talking myself out of doing any of the things I needed to do. I wanted to escape the house, get away from everything, so began thinking of shopping. One thing I'd planned on was taking a dead cartridge toner up to Office Depot, where I could exchange it for a ream of recycled paper. The thing is, their replacement cartridges cost nearly a hundred bucks, so I looked for cheaper ones on the Web before deciding to do nothing.

I've been thinking of buying a tea kettle. My main experience with tea was with my grandmother years and years ago, and I've never been a big fan of it, perhaps for that reason. A grandmother is hardly a role model, and I never aspired to be much like her. She used to get dressed in nylons and a dress to weed the lawn.

But another friend drinks tea and I do boil water each day for my coffee. Also, in an attempt to generate some commonality with people who *do* drink tea, as well as for boiling water for hot chocolate, I thought it would be right to have a dedicated vessel for heating water. In the old days (pre 2003) this was never an issue: I wanted something, felt I had to have it, and it was mine.

I have troble justifying buying a container to heat water in. I've been using a pan (Caphalon, but a pan nonetheless) for years and have had no trouble with it. But "the right tool for the job" resonates in my soul. I looked on the Internet and found some tea kettles, but they're quite expensive, considering. The cheap ones look. well, cheap.

I thought I'd ride into town and look. There are some cheap stores there, ones I felt might have tea kettles. Also, there's a store where I could buy some chocolate and also, maybe, some long sleeved T-shirts. No, I don't have money for any of these things, but I want them nonetheless. I've never been responsible.

I needed to get away and felt bad because I could not, in fact, joyfully spend money shopping. I rode up to town and was saved any decisions when I went to a drug store which did not have any tea kettles or T-shirts. So far, so good. The next door did, though, and I spent much longer than one would think looking at a thirty dollar tea kettle. It was the perfect size, about a liter, and had a pleasing, round shape that I thought would be acceptible to leave on the stove top. Of course, it would hardly demonstrate my financial condition, this wasting money on a luxury, and in the end I didn't buy it.

Then I wandered over and looked at some shirts. There were tons of T-shirts but only twenty or so long sleeved ones. Of those, about a dozen had Nike logos. I may be many things, but I'm not a billboard or corporate whore, and I pretty much refuse to buy anything emblazoned with corporate logos. Of the remaining shirts, all but two carried some other brand name, one I didn't know, but they're also unacceptable for me. I just want a goddamn shirt.

They had two, but by that time I was depressed. Too depressed, in fact, to take advantage of the other stores, which I just walked through in a cloud of funk. More teapots, but I had no interest in them. More shirts, but all with corporate or sports logos, and I ended up riding home and not spending a cent.

I guess I should be glad about that, but it put me in a chastised mood for the rest of the day.

So, to sum up, a guy goes out shopping, but can't spend any money. He looks at some stuff, and doesn't buy it. He comes home.

Here's a funny character.

Today I got up and spent some time with my e-mail program. Then, I visited many of the sites I like, the ones to the right. The morning, as you can expect, was grueling.

It was bright out, but cool, and I spent the next hour talking myself out of doing any of the things I needed to do. I wanted to escape the house, get away from everything, so began thinking of shopping. One thing I'd planned on was taking a dead cartridge toner up to Office Depot, where I could exchange it for a ream of recycled paper. The thing is, their replacement cartridges cost nearly a hundred bucks, so I looked for cheaper ones on the Web before deciding to do nothing.

I've been thinking of buying a tea kettle. My main experience with tea was with my grandmother years and years ago, and I've never been a big fan of it, perhaps for that reason. A grandmother is hardly a role model, and I never aspired to be much like her. She used to get dressed in nylons and a dress to weed the lawn.

But another friend drinks tea and I do boil water each day for my coffee. Also, in an attempt to generate some commonality with people who *do* drink tea, as well as for boiling water for hot chocolate, I thought it would be right to have a dedicated vessel for heating water. In the old days (pre 2003) this was never an issue: I wanted something, felt I had to have it, and it was mine.

I have troble justifying buying a container to heat water in. I've been using a pan (Caphalon, but a pan nonetheless) for years and have had no trouble with it. But "the right tool for the job" resonates in my soul. I looked on the Internet and found some tea kettles, but they're quite expensive, considering. The cheap ones look. well, cheap.

I thought I'd ride into town and look. There are some cheap stores there, ones I felt might have tea kettles. Also, there's a store where I could buy some chocolate and also, maybe, some long sleeved T-shirts. No, I don't have money for any of these things, but I want them nonetheless. I've never been responsible.

I needed to get away and felt bad because I could not, in fact, joyfully spend money shopping. I rode up to town and was saved any decisions when I went to a drug store which did not have any tea kettles or T-shirts. So far, so good. The next door did, though, and I spent much longer than one would think looking at a thirty dollar tea kettle. It was the perfect size, about a liter, and had a pleasing, round shape that I thought would be acceptible to leave on the stove top. Of course, it would hardly demonstrate my financial condition, this wasting money on a luxury, and in the end I didn't buy it.

Then I wandered over and looked at some shirts. There were tons of T-shirts but only twenty or so long sleeved ones. Of those, about a dozen had Nike logos. I may be many things, but I'm not a billboard or corporate whore, and I pretty much refuse to buy anything emblazoned with corporate logos. Of the remaining shirts, all but two carried some other brand name, one I didn't know, but they're also unacceptable for me. I just want a goddamn shirt.

They had two, but by that time I was depressed. Too depressed, in fact, to take advantage of the other stores, which I just walked through in a cloud of funk. More teapots, but I had no interest in them. More shirts, but all with corporate or sports logos, and I ended up riding home and not spending a cent.

I guess I should be glad about that, but it put me in a chastised mood for the rest of the day.

So, to sum up, a guy goes out shopping, but can't spend any money. He looks at some stuff, and doesn't buy it. He comes home.

God knows I try...

There was a comedian (Paula Poundstone?) several years ago who was saying she wished she had some horrible disease. That way, she reasoned, she could still get up around noon and instead of receiving disdain everyone would be impressed by the effort she made. I sometimes think of that, and also wonder a lot if my own efforts are as challenging as I make them out to be.

The thing is, I've never (of course) been in anyone else's head. I don't know how anyone else sees the world, what conflicts they see, or if they view the things they overcome as personal triumphs or just shrug them off as being routine. I guess, in short, I'm not sure how much of a drama queen I am.

It's occurred to me many times in my life how different I see my case. When talking with friends, when sharing troubles, it's always for me to see how to solve their dilemnas. "Just do X" I think, or say if asked. When looking at my own problems I refuse to accept those simple answers, the ones having to do with actions, and instead focus on the underlying mental reasons why I can't or shouldn't do the obvious, normal steps to solve the problem.

Since all I see is eveyone else's exteriors, they can succeed and be happy by doing observable steps. Since I know oh so much more about my problems, I refuse to try to solve them by doing the things anyone could see, and I know that's exactly what I should be doing.

Take writing, for instance. Nobody cares what I'm thinking or planning or wrestling with. None of those fights produce anything, make any difference to the world. What's wanted, or expected, by others is "how many pages or words did you do today?" The world little cares how the pages or actions are taken, the results are what matters.

It's like the saying I never heard until late in life, and was amazed by its simplicity: You don't have to like it, you just have to do it. I halt on the liking it, the internal part, but no one cares about that. I'm the only one impressed by my efforts, the only one who feels they're somehow noble or special.

Speaking of "writing," there's more in the More section...

God knows I try...

There was a comedian (Paula Poundstone?) several years ago who was saying she wished she had some horrible disease. That way, she reasoned, she could still get up around noon and instead of receiving disdain everyone would be impressed by the effort she made. I sometimes think of that, and also wonder a lot if my own efforts are as challenging as I make them out to be.

The thing is, I've never (of course) been in anyone else's head. I don't know how anyone else sees the world, what conflicts they see, or if they view the things they overcome as personal triumphs or just shrug them off as being routine. I guess, in short, I'm not sure how much of a drama queen I am.

It's occurred to me many times in my life how different I see my case. When talking with friends, when sharing troubles, it's always for me to see how to solve their dilemnas. "Just do X" I think, or say if asked. When looking at my own problems I refuse to accept those simple answers, the ones having to do with actions, and instead focus on the underlying mental reasons why I can't or shouldn't do the obvious, normal steps to solve the problem.

Since all I see is eveyone else's exteriors, they can succeed and be happy by doing observable steps. Since I know oh so much more about my problems, I refuse to try to solve them by doing the things anyone could see, and I know that's exactly what I should be doing.

Take writing, for instance. Nobody cares what I'm thinking or planning or wrestling with. None of those fights produce anything, make any difference to the world. What's wanted, or expected, by others is "how many pages or words did you do today?" The world little cares how the pages or actions are taken, the results are what matters.

It's like the saying I never heard until late in life, and was amazed by its simplicity: You don't have to like it, you just have to do it. I halt on the liking it, the internal part, but no one cares about that. I'm the only one impressed by my efforts, the only one who feels they're somehow noble or special.

Speaking of "writing," there's more in the More section...

You may not have noticed it, but I was away for a day or so. Computer stuff.

I should be feeling really crappy because I spent money I don't have and can't afford on a new video card. To my credit I bought the cheapest possible one, but it was still a luxury. My old one died about six months ago and I'd been using the one built into the motherboard, but that one wouldn't let me play Pirates!, which I'd recently picked up. I need some diversions and was able to pick up one of those gray market versions with just the CD and no box or manual. It say "Only for sale in Thailand" but, thankfully, the game is in English.

Anyway, so I installed the card and got it to work with Windows(tm), which I use for games and writing. Then, when I was booting up my Internet-safe system (SuSE 9) I mistakenly hit return when it was discovering the new card and screwed up the graphical interface. It felt I should be running at a resolution my monitor doesn't support, so when I'd start X Windows the screen was black except for a helpful message from the monitor saying "mode not supported" or something like that.

After trying and plinking and editing and attempting to run the config utilities (which, also, tried to run under the non-supported settings) I finally found an old setting that worked and, well, here I am.

Then I changed that working setting and now have something that looks better than before. Nice, crisp text.

So last night and early this morning I was full of self-loathing. Not only because I was scared about having ruined my computer but unhappy with myself for spending money I can't afford to spend. This money thing, btw, goes back to last spring's plumbing disaster, which drove a stake into my financial future and my life.

Having only untested (and, thus, not yet failed) plans about how to fix the computer and get back online, I was pretty miserable. Then I got it to work and burst into happiness.

Now I'm back to just wondering what I should talk about...

You may not have noticed it, but I was away for a day or so. Computer stuff.

I should be feeling really crappy because I spent money I don't have and can't afford on a new video card. To my credit I bought the cheapest possible one, but it was still a luxury. My old one died about six months ago and I'd been using the one built into the motherboard, but that one wouldn't let me play Pirates!, which I'd recently picked up. I need some diversions and was able to pick up one of those gray market versions with just the CD and no box or manual. It say "Only for sale in Thailand" but, thankfully, the game is in English.

Anyway, so I installed the card and got it to work with Windows(tm), which I use for games and writing. Then, when I was booting up my Internet-safe system (SuSE 9) I mistakenly hit return when it was discovering the new card and screwed up the graphical interface. It felt I should be running at a resolution my monitor doesn't support, so when I'd start X Windows the screen was black except for a helpful message from the monitor saying "mode not supported" or something like that.

After trying and plinking and editing and attempting to run the config utilities (which, also, tried to run under the non-supported settings) I finally found an old setting that worked and, well, here I am.

Then I changed that working setting and now have something that looks better than before. Nice, crisp text.

So last night and early this morning I was full of self-loathing. Not only because I was scared about having ruined my computer but unhappy with myself for spending money I can't afford to spend. This money thing, btw, goes back to last spring's plumbing disaster, which drove a stake into my financial future and my life.

Having only untested (and, thus, not yet failed) plans about how to fix the computer and get back online, I was pretty miserable. Then I got it to work and burst into happiness.

Now I'm back to just wondering what I should talk about...

For those who don't know the one sin I believe in is the exploitation of innocence. It covers a lot, since people don't expect to be robbed, for example.

Today I slaughtered an otherwise innocent day. Following a bizarre nightmare when I was engaged with ridding my home of pests (which had grown from mice and rats to what I regarded as dragons but actually resembled lizards) I was unable to get back to sleep. No big deal: when you have no scheduled there's little to disrupt. Still, I got up around three, drank a pot of coffee, did some writing and e-mailing and had breakfast around ten.

Then it was three in the afternoon and I was waking up all over again. Had accomplished nothing I'd intended for the day, all those great plans and hopeful, useful things I'd do were all undone, and that always puts me in a bad mood. I disappoint myself a lot, but seemingly never tire of doing it. It has, however, one of the few things I do very well.

So I wasted a day. It's not like I'm counting the few remaining, but it's not like they're infinite in number, either.

For those who don't know the one sin I believe in is the exploitation of innocence. It covers a lot, since people don't expect to be robbed, for example.

Today I slaughtered an otherwise innocent day. Following a bizarre nightmare when I was engaged with ridding my home of pests (which had grown from mice and rats to what I regarded as dragons but actually resembled lizards) I was unable to get back to sleep. No big deal: when you have no scheduled there's little to disrupt. Still, I got up around three, drank a pot of coffee, did some writing and e-mailing and had breakfast around ten.

Then it was three in the afternoon and I was waking up all over again. Had accomplished nothing I'd intended for the day, all those great plans and hopeful, useful things I'd do were all undone, and that always puts me in a bad mood. I disappoint myself a lot, but seemingly never tire of doing it. It has, however, one of the few things I do very well.

So I wasted a day. It's not like I'm counting the few remaining, but it's not like they're infinite in number, either.

Now I know the weather is real because Jon Stewart's talking about it. Cold weather doesn't really exist unless it's in Manhattan, I see.

Anyway here, for the second time in as many days, I can wear shorts, with shoes and shirt optional.

I awoke in a great mood, rapidly replaced by misery when the market opened. Oh, sure, I could get a real job, but I may consider horse racing, instead. There's a million ways for me to lose money, and I've barely scratched the surface. I just want to survive. I've admitted I've lost the game of life, so I'm unsure what else I need to do. I won't end up with a big, beautiful house, I won't be able to pursue my dreams, and I won't influence this world in the slightest. Now, can I just survive? Please?

I've got my Wiki working, a little, and have moved my excellent opinions on writing there. Links from the all new, all colorful, writing page take you there. I think. It's sad how much time I can waste on these things.

It's equally sad that I paint myself into corners, just to watch myself suffer. I don't feel particularly masochistic, but I act that way. The good news is, when all esle fails, I can pound out fiction. More about that in the "more" section.

Now I know the weather is real because Jon Stewart's talking about it. Cold weather doesn't really exist unless it's in Manhattan, I see.

Anyway here, for the second time in as many days, I can wear shorts, with shoes and shirt optional.

I awoke in a great mood, rapidly replaced by misery when the market opened. Oh, sure, I could get a real job, but I may consider horse racing, instead. There's a million ways for me to lose money, and I've barely scratched the surface. I just want to survive. I've admitted I've lost the game of life, so I'm unsure what else I need to do. I won't end up with a big, beautiful house, I won't be able to pursue my dreams, and I won't influence this world in the slightest. Now, can I just survive? Please?

I've got my Wiki working, a little, and have moved my excellent opinions on writing there. Links from the all new, all colorful, writing page take you there. I think. It's sad how much time I can waste on these things.

It's equally sad that I paint myself into corners, just to watch myself suffer. I don't feel particularly masochistic, but I act that way. The good news is, when all esle fails, I can pound out fiction. More about that in the "more" section.

Although it's been sunny and warm the past few days, the ground is still muddy and the street gutters still have standing water in places. I mention that because I was outside and noticed it, and as proof that I did not spend the whole day indoors doing computery and writing stuff.

It's warm enough to wear shorts. The front door is open, directly in front of the thermostat, which is set for sixty degrees. The heater attached to that thermostat is doing nothing, which is much better than more of its death rattles.

I have it on good authority that one of those Southern states (Mississippi? Alabama? Is there a difference?) has a recorded announcement today if you call their government office, one that tells you the office is closed to celebrate the birthdays of Dr. King and Robt. E. Lee, though I may have the order reversed. I consider that shameless, but I sigh and understand the valuable contribution brought to the world by lawyers who never see beyond the letter of the law.

In more computery news, I did a search on Google for "Big Train Show" and was pleased to see my novel shows up on page three! It's last mention is on page twenty-one. The statistical reports from my new website aren't as familiar as the old ones, but it seems I still get some hits. The hits aren't that important, but it's encouraging to know people looking for actual information are being directed to this lame thing.

I used to get quite a kick out of my second novel. In it my main character suffered a grievous injury and had no bandages with which to staunch his bloodflow. His neighbor Vicky did, though, and covered it with sanitary napkins. That got me some curious visitors, whom I picture being somewhat depressed to see the link went to several pages of text. Since later in the book one girl requested an injection of meth in her butt, that generated more visitors, ones I'd suspect have different fetishes.

Things are now much more mundane.

Although it's been sunny and warm the past few days, the ground is still muddy and the street gutters still have standing water in places. I mention that because I was outside and noticed it, and as proof that I did not spend the whole day indoors doing computery and writing stuff.

It's warm enough to wear shorts. The front door is open, directly in front of the thermostat, which is set for sixty degrees. The heater attached to that thermostat is doing nothing, which is much better than more of its death rattles.

I have it on good authority that one of those Southern states (Mississippi? Alabama? Is there a difference?) has a recorded announcement today if you call their government office, one that tells you the office is closed to celebrate the birthdays of Dr. King and Robt. E. Lee, though I may have the order reversed. I consider that shameless, but I sigh and understand the valuable contribution brought to the world by lawyers who never see beyond the letter of the law.

In more computery news, I did a search on Google for "Big Train Show" and was pleased to see my novel shows up on page three! It's last mention is on page twenty-one. The statistical reports from my new website aren't as familiar as the old ones, but it seems I still get some hits. The hits aren't that important, but it's encouraging to know people looking for actual information are being directed to this lame thing.

I used to get quite a kick out of my second novel. In it my main character suffered a grievous injury and had no bandages with which to staunch his bloodflow. His neighbor Vicky did, though, and covered it with sanitary napkins. That got me some curious visitors, whom I picture being somewhat depressed to see the link went to several pages of text. Since later in the book one girl requested an injection of meth in her butt, that generated more visitors, ones I'd suspect have different fetishes.

Things are now much more mundane.

I've been doing most everything that does not involve re-writing The Reader's Emporium.

I was invited to join another flash writing group (Dirty Thirty), one that will be writing ninety page plays or screenplays in thirty days. That's half the words of NaNo, but it would still be an enormous challenge for me, mostly because I've never written any plays or screenplays. Since their admission is limited to thirty people and those who fail to finish will take a spot that could be used by *real* playwrights, I think if I do it at all I'll do it in stealth mode.

A good thing, though, is because it's local those who compete will actually meet and swap plays afterwards. There might even be a reading or something.

I wasted yesterday playing with my website. I added a Wiki (in a typical place) but have no idea if I'll keep it. The greater question would be "Why?" I have nothing to put in it, just added it to see if I could. As if that wasn't enough enhancements for one day I added a honeypot for spammers. You can see it here:half-dozen.net/cyberspacecinema.php

What doesn't show (unless you look at the page source) is it includes a phony e-mail address that can be used to catch spammers. My site doesn't get much traffic, but I really don't like what those people have done to the Internet. I'm not too fond of those who write virii or engage in hijacking or DOS attacks, either.

Some writing stuff in "more"

I've been doing most everything that does not involve re-writing The Reader's Emporium.

I was invited to join another flash writing group (Dirty Thirty), one that will be writing ninety page plays or screenplays in thirty days. That's half the words of NaNo, but it would still be an enormous challenge for me, mostly because I've never written any plays or screenplays. Since their admission is limited to thirty people and those who fail to finish will take a spot that could be used by *real* playwrights, I think if I do it at all I'll do it in stealth mode.

A good thing, though, is because it's local those who compete will actually meet and swap plays afterwards. There might even be a reading or something.

I wasted yesterday playing with my website. I added a Wiki (in a typical place) but have no idea if I'll keep it. The greater question would be "Why?" I have nothing to put in it, just added it to see if I could. As if that wasn't enough enhancements for one day I added a honeypot for spammers. You can see it here:half-dozen.net/cyberspacecinema.php

What doesn't show (unless you look at the page source) is it includes a phony e-mail address that can be used to catch spammers. My site doesn't get much traffic, but I really don't like what those people have done to the Internet. I'm not too fond of those who write virii or engage in hijacking or DOS attacks, either.

Some writing stuff in "more"

Yesterday, as mandated, the government released an updated food pyramid. I hadn't realized the government was required, by law, to update their august opinion on what we should be eating every five years, but that's the way it is.

For those interested, the report is as follows:"blah blah blah...fruits and vegetables...exercise...average two thousand calories a day...blah blah blah...whole grains..."

First, I have to admit that as a youngster I could never understand, nor fully trust, anyone who preferred a luscious, fresh ripe peach to a Three Musketeers candy bar. Second, I really wish the government wouldn't do this kind of thing.

For one thing, fewer than one in eight people follow the recommendations. I would hate to meet any of these people, incidentally, since I can't imagine anything dumber than following government's recommendations. I don't want a government that tells me how to eat, or that even occupies itself with making suggestions about that. It would be one thing if the Surgeon General (who, in my mind, will always be Dr. Everett C. Koop, just because he *looks* like a Surgeon General oughtta) came out and said this, but I'm certain there are thousands of employees involved in this. One person I could overlook, but agencies?

They mostly, I assume, either consider it "important" or treat it as a job and have tenure as government workers.

Whatever the proper role of government, it isn't telling me what to eat, which is pretty damn basic. I hate the notion of being a member of any group who needs or wants the government to tell us how to function. I don't want them telling me what to read, how to dress, saving me from myself, or any of that. The government, I feel, should not be actively engaged in thwarting Darwin merely for the sake of revenue.

Yesterday, as mandated, the government released an updated food pyramid. I hadn't realized the government was required, by law, to update their august opinion on what we should be eating every five years, but that's the way it is.

For those interested, the report is as follows:"blah blah blah...fruits and vegetables...exercise...average two thousand calories a day...blah blah blah...whole grains..."

First, I have to admit that as a youngster I could never understand, nor fully trust, anyone who preferred a luscious, fresh ripe peach to a Three Musketeers candy bar. Second, I really wish the government wouldn't do this kind of thing.

For one thing, fewer than one in eight people follow the recommendations. I would hate to meet any of these people, incidentally, since I can't imagine anything dumber than following government's recommendations. I don't want a government that tells me how to eat, or that even occupies itself with making suggestions about that. It would be one thing if the Surgeon General (who, in my mind, will always be Dr. Everett C. Koop, just because he *looks* like a Surgeon General oughtta) came out and said this, but I'm certain there are thousands of employees involved in this. One person I could overlook, but agencies?

They mostly, I assume, either consider it "important" or treat it as a job and have tenure as government workers.

Whatever the proper role of government, it isn't telling me what to eat, which is pretty damn basic. I hate the notion of being a member of any group who needs or wants the government to tell us how to function. I don't want them telling me what to read, how to dress, saving me from myself, or any of that. The government, I feel, should not be actively engaged in thwarting Darwin merely for the sake of revenue.

So, outside it's bright and blue with sharp shadows and no water falling from the sky. This has been two days in a row, but yesterday was as blustery as ... a very windy day.

The recently washed air made it a good day for bike riding, which was fortunate as I needed to replenish food and supplies for both dog and man. The wind, however, made my bike riding distinctly unenjoyable. Whenever I ride out to pick up dog food I put a notecard in my pocket on which is written "Nourish the beast." I got that from a play of the same name,and a character who did that to puzzle anyone going through his pockets should he die.

Lfe continues apace, whatever that means.

...writing stuff in the "more" section ...

So, outside it's bright and blue with sharp shadows and no water falling from the sky. This has been two days in a row, but yesterday was as blustery as ... a very windy day.

The recently washed air made it a good day for bike riding, which was fortunate as I needed to replenish food and supplies for both dog and man. The wind, however, made my bike riding distinctly unenjoyable. Whenever I ride out to pick up dog food I put a notecard in my pocket on which is written "Nourish the beast." I got that from a play of the same name,and a character who did that to puzzle anyone going through his pockets should he die.

Lfe continues apace, whatever that means.

...writing stuff in the "more" section ...

No, not this one.

I'm just using it as an expression, just saying it.


I'd get very tired of me very quickly, were I not so intimately involved with myself. I'm not paranoid enough to receive care (or money), nor am I a danger to others, but I don't respond in healthy ways to much around me. I don't have big problems with my thinking, not in that way, but I can't say the same about my emotions. And, of course, we humans are only like ninety percent feelings.

I don't hear voices, none that aren't mine. I'm growing weary of my view.

The good news is, I talk about writing in the "more" section. For now, that's all I can offer the world.

No, not this one.

I'm just using it as an expression, just saying it.


I'd get very tired of me very quickly, were I not so intimately involved with myself. I'm not paranoid enough to receive care (or money), nor am I a danger to others, but I don't respond in healthy ways to much around me. I don't have big problems with my thinking, not in that way, but I can't say the same about my emotions. And, of course, we humans are only like ninety percent feelings.

I don't hear voices, none that aren't mine. I'm growing weary of my view.

The good news is, I talk about writing in the "more" section. For now, that's all I can offer the world.

My rewrite of The Reader's Emporium is underway, by which I mean I made it past page one. Already I'm telling myself "I can fix this later" as I put words on the page.

Here's my thing: I tend to write long, then tighten it up later. The more I revise (edit), the shorter the work becomes, and I think that's a good thing. "Omit needless words." I take some perverse pleasure in reducing a paragraph's thought into a short phrase, but then worry that few readers will take the care necessary to digest it all.

Also, while I can express some particular thought in a few words, I wonder about the pacing as much as getting my meaning across. I have a line early on about how Brad is the subject of his friend's envy. I originally wrote that as "When he wasn't receiving the envy of his friends..." which prompted a reader to question if envy could be received. I see, now, that it would be simpler to write "his friends' envy," but I worry if it's necessary at all.

The thing is, I alternate between deleting everything that isn't absolutely necessary and hoping to tell the story richly. I know the story, have read it many times, and much of it is so well-known by me that I think none of it is necessary. Then, someone will read it and tell me they love all the passages I think are unnecessary, and I then worry if they're what makes the novel or what.

I need to be told what to do. I wish, I really wish, there was one single "right way" to write a novel, but even I know and love there's no answer. Different writers have different voices, different goals, and one of the things I most treasure about reading is the various ways thoughts are expressed. Hemingway cannot write Roth, Joyce couldn't carry off Wodehouse's world, and I can't expect to incorporate all the elements I love in any one book I write.

I guess that's why I can write more than one.

My rewrite of The Reader's Emporium is underway, by which I mean I made it past page one. Already I'm telling myself "I can fix this later" as I put words on the page.

Here's my thing: I tend to write long, then tighten it up later. The more I revise (edit), the shorter the work becomes, and I think that's a good thing. "Omit needless words." I take some perverse pleasure in reducing a paragraph's thought into a short phrase, but then worry that few readers will take the care necessary to digest it all.

Also, while I can express some particular thought in a few words, I wonder about the pacing as much as getting my meaning across. I have a line early on about how Brad is the subject of his friend's envy. I originally wrote that as "When he wasn't receiving the envy of his friends..." which prompted a reader to question if envy could be received. I see, now, that it would be simpler to write "his friends' envy," but I worry if it's necessary at all.

The thing is, I alternate between deleting everything that isn't absolutely necessary and hoping to tell the story richly. I know the story, have read it many times, and much of it is so well-known by me that I think none of it is necessary. Then, someone will read it and tell me they love all the passages I think are unnecessary, and I then worry if they're what makes the novel or what.

I need to be told what to do. I wish, I really wish, there was one single "right way" to write a novel, but even I know and love there's no answer. Different writers have different voices, different goals, and one of the things I most treasure about reading is the various ways thoughts are expressed. Hemingway cannot write Roth, Joyce couldn't carry off Wodehouse's world, and I can't expect to incorporate all the elements I love in any one book I write.

I guess that's why I can write more than one.

I'm struggling with my rewrite of The Reader's Emporium.

I'm now deciding it's been overworked, has lost all of its charm, and anything I liked about it is a far and distant shadow. I've been working for three days on the first line, and everything I write sounds too ... writerly. I know I should include the phrase "pile of ash and two bare feet" in it, but other than that I keep rephrasing, recasting, and am unhappy with it all.

The first paragraph had, I thought, some of the best writing I ever did. It maybe was overwritten and a bit over the top, but it was full of fancy language and colorful phrasing. The thing is, the more I look at it the worse it looks. It *is* overwritten, it *is* pretentious, it *does* draw attention to itself. And, what's worse, as much as I may like showing off talking about "bouquets of gray," "ripples of grief," and "scant numbers vastly diluted," *I* was the only one who found it acceptable.

And now I don't.

I think that type of writing is something I've been taught is good, but I'm not so sure I still feel that way. Or, I feel it needs to be more spread out, no more than one "great" line per page. The bigger problem, though, I'm thinking is one of mood. That type of language, even if it's any good, is not right for the story that follows.

The tone isn't carried throughout, and it's Brad's story, not mine. It sets the reader up for an entirely different story than she'll get, and that isn't fair. It's far too much "look at how clever I am," and for that reason it's far too amateur. I may be able to get away with that in another piece, but not in The Reader's Emporium.

The story's still very close to my heart. I don't know why that is, maybe because it's the first one I wrote, the one I started in my twenties and forgot about for half a lifetime. Or maybe because it's the first one I finished. I want it to be good, to be acceptable, and I may just have to write the whole thing all over again.

But I can't get started.

I'm struggling with my rewrite of The Reader's Emporium.

I'm now deciding it's been overworked, has lost all of its charm, and anything I liked about it is a far and distant shadow. I've been working for three days on the first line, and everything I write sounds too ... writerly. I know I should include the phrase "pile of ash and two bare feet" in it, but other than that I keep rephrasing, recasting, and am unhappy with it all.

The first paragraph had, I thought, some of the best writing I ever did. It maybe was overwritten and a bit over the top, but it was full of fancy language and colorful phrasing. The thing is, the more I look at it the worse it looks. It *is* overwritten, it *is* pretentious, it *does* draw attention to itself. And, what's worse, as much as I may like showing off talking about "bouquets of gray," "ripples of grief," and "scant numbers vastly diluted," *I* was the only one who found it acceptable.

And now I don't.

I think that type of writing is something I've been taught is good, but I'm not so sure I still feel that way. Or, I feel it needs to be more spread out, no more than one "great" line per page. The bigger problem, though, I'm thinking is one of mood. That type of language, even if it's any good, is not right for the story that follows.

The tone isn't carried throughout, and it's Brad's story, not mine. It sets the reader up for an entirely different story than she'll get, and that isn't fair. It's far too much "look at how clever I am," and for that reason it's far too amateur. I may be able to get away with that in another piece, but not in The Reader's Emporium.

The story's still very close to my heart. I don't know why that is, maybe because it's the first one I wrote, the one I started in my twenties and forgot about for half a lifetime. Or maybe because it's the first one I finished. I want it to be good, to be acceptable, and I may just have to write the whole thing all over again.

But I can't get started.

It could be.

After ingesting a healthy dose of NaNovels over the past month I thought I'd look at how other, more highly regarded, writers attempt to put their thoughts into words. To do a more even comparison I should, of course, have compared novels to novels, but this is me we're talking about. Instead, I finally cracked The Story and Its Writer - An Introduction to Short Fiction edited by Ann Charters (6th Ed).

Oh my.

I'd purchased this rather large book sometime late last year. It's about 1800 pages, those thin ones that always remind me of Bibles, and contains about fifteen hundred pages of stories. Then, commentaries. I've made a slight dent so far, and every story new to me is also the best I've read, ever.

I like how that works.

I have much to learn. I hope that my hobbled brain can remain facile enough to create a work or two that will please me and others. I know I've forgotten much, that the synapses are clogged with sludge or have lost tenuous connections to others, but perhaps enough remains to do some good. I know I can write, and at times even do so well, but I admit I've lost that step or two. Maybe what's left is enough, and maybe I can fake it.

"Words were the surfaces..." -- Sherwood Anderson.

It could be.

After ingesting a healthy dose of NaNovels over the past month I thought I'd look at how other, more highly regarded, writers attempt to put their thoughts into words. To do a more even comparison I should, of course, have compared novels to novels, but this is me we're talking about. Instead, I finally cracked The Story and Its Writer - An Introduction to Short Fiction edited by Ann Charters (6th Ed).

Oh my.

I'd purchased this rather large book sometime late last year. It's about 1800 pages, those thin ones that always remind me of Bibles, and contains about fifteen hundred pages of stories. Then, commentaries. I've made a slight dent so far, and every story new to me is also the best I've read, ever.

I like how that works.

I have much to learn. I hope that my hobbled brain can remain facile enough to create a work or two that will please me and others. I know I've forgotten much, that the synapses are clogged with sludge or have lost tenuous connections to others, but perhaps enough remains to do some good. I know I can write, and at times even do so well, but I admit I've lost that step or two. Maybe what's left is enough, and maybe I can fake it.

"Words were the surfaces..." -- Sherwood Anderson.

Happy New Year!

As ordered, this morning brought a break from the wind and rain and was gorgeous. It always is for the first, as in accordance with the Tournament of Roses Committee. We like to show off blue skies and people in T-shirts on the first, when much of the sane world is huddled, inside cursing snow.

Also, it salves our consciences, justifies the obscene housing costs.

One can expect the annual arrival of another million people any time over the next few weeks.

But that's not the point.

So far this year I've eaten no animals. I have, however, relied on them heavily for my one meal (biscuits with butter and honey for breakfast, chased with coffee and, later, orange juice). I'm still attempting to come to terms with having to use (for my benefit) the once peacefully resting remains of dinosaurs. Plastic. Oil. Heating.

These dinosaurs did nothing to deserve this, and predated me. The same could be said for Native American burial grounds, and I'd be loathe to dig up their remains for my own use, so I wonder why I'm so cavaliler about using the processed life tissues of my reptilian ancestors.

Ah, but they weren't my ancestors. Of course, the same could be said for the Indians, with whom I share no blood (as far as I know). It's okay, I guess, to use already dead animals, just not to kill them. I will attempt to reconcile this with farm accidents and the fuel spent in harvesting wheat at a later time, but evidently it's okay to have people killed and maimed to get me acorns, just not other animals.

No, I'm not expecting to go meat free very long at all. That's not one of my resolutions. I think last year I resolved to eat at nationally advertised fast food places only four times during the year, and I think I went once to Subway and that was it. This year my standard will be twice.

I'll continue to shop at Vons, kind of a Safeway place, but that's because I can't afford to buy food anywhere else. I will keep my record clean and avoid Wal*Mart, of course, and maybe only set foot in one chain store a month. That's not a snob thing, it's just that I find them soulless. If there was a difference between a Gap in my neighborhood and anyone else's, it wouldn't be so stultifying to shop in any of them.

So far, I'm boycotting all the sponsored bowl games, which leaves me with a meager, slender New Year's Day. Maybe I'll just read, instead. So far this year I've completed one novel (a NaNovel, set in Canada and concerned with coincidence. The characters range from an airline pilot to a homeless guy, and feature Korean students and bombers. Not bad.) I've got a long list of books to read, both to better myself as well as to read for pleasure, and I hope to have a modestly rewarding year.

I hope better for you.

Happy New Year!

As ordered, this morning brought a break from the wind and rain and was gorgeous. It always is for the first, as in accordance with the Tournament of Roses Committee. We like to show off blue skies and people in T-shirts on the first, when much of the sane world is huddled, inside cursing snow.

Also, it salves our consciences, justifies the obscene housing costs.

One can expect the annual arrival of another million people any time over the next few weeks.

But that's not the point.

So far this year I've eaten no animals. I have, however, relied on them heavily for my one meal (biscuits with butter and honey for breakfast, chased with coffee and, later, orange juice). I'm still attempting to come to terms with having to use (for my benefit) the once peacefully resting remains of dinosaurs. Plastic. Oil. Heating.

These dinosaurs did nothing to deserve this, and predated me. The same could be said for Native American burial grounds, and I'd be loathe to dig up their remains for my own use, so I wonder why I'm so cavaliler about using the processed life tissues of my reptilian ancestors.

Ah, but they weren't my ancestors. Of course, the same could be said for the Indians, with whom I share no blood (as far as I know). It's okay, I guess, to use already dead animals, just not to kill them. I will attempt to reconcile this with farm accidents and the fuel spent in harvesting wheat at a later time, but evidently it's okay to have people killed and maimed to get me acorns, just not other animals.

No, I'm not expecting to go meat free very long at all. That's not one of my resolutions. I think last year I resolved to eat at nationally advertised fast food places only four times during the year, and I think I went once to Subway and that was it. This year my standard will be twice.

I'll continue to shop at Vons, kind of a Safeway place, but that's because I can't afford to buy food anywhere else. I will keep my record clean and avoid Wal*Mart, of course, and maybe only set foot in one chain store a month. That's not a snob thing, it's just that I find them soulless. If there was a difference between a Gap in my neighborhood and anyone else's, it wouldn't be so stultifying to shop in any of them.

So far, I'm boycotting all the sponsored bowl games, which leaves me with a meager, slender New Year's Day. Maybe I'll just read, instead. So far this year I've completed one novel (a NaNovel, set in Canada and concerned with coincidence. The characters range from an airline pilot to a homeless guy, and feature Korean students and bombers. Not bad.) I've got a long list of books to read, both to better myself as well as to read for pleasure, and I hope to have a modestly rewarding year.

I hope better for you.