Archive for March, 2009:
Check out the article here.
The new odor eating undies are being launched into space (on an astronaut, mind you) to test their effectiveness. They are supposed to – hypothesized to? – control odor for seven days. But who is testing this on our astronaut? Why are we sending very expensive, highly trained people into space for months on end to say: “Sniff my butt.” “No, you sniff my butt.” “You have to, it’s in your job description.”
Are there men and women up in the International Space Station thinking to themselves, ‘I would not have become an astronaut had I known this was going to happen’? And I will add, it’s one thing to have someone sniff your ass to see if it smells, but it’s another thing entirely to do it on the fourth day . . . or the seventh.
If the undies fail by day three are they allowed to terminate the process? Or do they have to keep going until the full seven days? Is there a slaughter rule – like ‘if the sniffer passes out you can quit’?
I’m going to state flat out that I think authors should use different pen names when they write in different genres. I understand the desire to show one author can do it all, but let that happen when everyone gets excited at the “Joe Schmoe is really John Doe?” stage of the game. No one should force a different genre on their readers.
Stephen King once did the Nom de Plume thing, and he didn’t even switch genres. Hell, he didn’t even switch writing styles or word usage. I’m sure it wasn’t just me thinking, ‘hey, this Richard Bachman guy has totally ripped off ole Steve King.’ I grew more curious as Steve failed to sue Rick for blatantly stealing a style. But then I found out why. And I’ll be honest, I’m not even sure why Stephen King decided he needed a pen name to do what he’d always been doing.
Yet so many authors go out on a limb and write something totally different under the same name. Grisham quasi-pulled it off with his humorous Christmas story. King wrote fantasy under his own name (why? when he’s clearly not averse to pen names??) And a good handful of female suspense writers have gone back and forth between thrillers and romances (and covered all the ground in between). Unfortunately, I think they’ve shot their own gender in the foot.
She was becoming.
She was no longer Cyndy and never would be again. What, or who, she was becoming, she wasn’t sure. But she was changing. Even as she walked through the woods, cheap sneakers crunching leaves, she felt things sharpening inside.
There were twinges and tugs where injuries pulled at her. She’d picked a fight at school just for the purpose of getting bruises. That way no one would notice any new ones after tonight. The damage was both an asset and a liability. But she wouldn’t let it hurt.
In the dark, her vision had changed to the grayscale world that the night allowed. But even in the depth of night she could see the house was painted a sunny yellow. A big Victorian with white trim, it loomed over her.
The backyard stretched before her, beckoning her out, calling to her where she stood at the edge of the trees. Sliding back into the cover of the woods, she slipped what she needed out of her pockets. A black hat had been jammed into one, and she now forced her ponytail up under it. Several attempts were required to make it stay and all the while she was fighting with it she was cataloguing better options – a haircut, braids, hairspray – because this would not be the last time she had to do this.
It’s just art, really
Just like most high-schoolers, I was not immune to the joys of toilet-papering someone’s house. There really is something satisfying about a round, white roll flying high up into the air and arcing through tall branches. The trail of white it leaves like a jet plume is poetry in motion. And there’s a solid sense of satisfaction when looking at a yard that’s been coated in white tails blowing softly in the dark. But I digress . . .
Most people don’t see TPing a yard as the art form that it is. I can’t tell you how disappointed I am to see a lone tree with a roll or two dangling pitifully off the branches. Maybe this is because the vandals were chased away mid-work, but that’s really their own fault. That smacks of poor planning.
We all know GPS stands for ‘Global Positioning System’ but did you know it also means ‘Getting Peacefully Stupid’. Because, let’s face it – that’s what you do when you get a GPS.
I used to know how to find my way around. I used to laugh at that guy who drove his car into the lake because his GPS told him to. But these days mostly I keep my mouth shut.
Once you own a GPS you might as well climb into your car, stare into the middle distance and say ‘yeessss masssterr’ every time it speaks. Because on the one hand the GPS is awesome: you don’t have to pay attention to any turns – the little voice on your dash just tells you where to go. You obey, and voila! you arrive. Couldn’t be easier.
Argue with your GPS and you need to be prepared to suffer the consequences. We’ve all looked at the map on the screen and said “Well, that’s just stupid.’ We make the logical (reasonable) turn only to find out that we shouldn’t have taken that left back in Albuquerque. I’m surprised the voice doesn’t have a ‘chide’ option. “I told you to stay on this road for two more miles, why didn’t you listen?” Or a good “Now look what you’ve gotten us into!” But it seems you won’t get scolded and you won’t even get a good long-suffering sigh out of the thing, just the admonition to make a legal U-turn as soon as possible.
A family Tradition
Now, it’s really important that you understand the following account is fictional. In no way am I responsible for any of the mishaps or misdemeanors mentioned here. Also, we are way past the statute of limitations on a good number of these . . .
Let me start by saying that I don’t ‘tag’ things. I won’t leave a ten foot stylized version of my ‘hood’ name on the side of your business just to up my street cred. Since I am quite certain that I have no street cred anyway, it would just be pointless. Needless to say, I do find some minor vandalism quite refreshing from time to time.
Before you condemn me, let me explain. I’m not talking about throwing rolls of toilet paper up into the trees of a nearby house – that’s a separate subject. I’m talking about minor alterations that the world needs. We’ve all seen it; I just tend to do something about it.