Take onnnnnnnnn meeeeeee! Take me on....
So sang one of the poets of the '80's, "Aha," with their socially relevant message.
Pretty much sums up what the '80's were about in a nutshell. Non-threatening, bland, everyone afraid to admit "this decade sucks, so let's have fun!"
Karma, karma, karma, karma chameleonnnnnn, you turn me onnnnnnnn....
I suppose Culture Club had it right. Nothing was going on so you may as well think about love. And Karma.
I was in college in the '80's. Thought I had the cat by the tail. There I was on the dance-floor, gyrating like I was having a seizure, fists pumping and swinging. Pretty much acting like I was swinging a cat by the tail. Thought I was cool.
For the love of God, why didn't anyone ever tell me how moronic I looked and acted?
It's a mistake, it's a mistakkkkkkkke....
The Australian band, "Men At Work," wailed those words. For some inexplicable reason, my roommate thought they were singing, "Nice summer dayyyyyy, nice summer dayyyyyyyy." But that's neither here nor there.
The '80's was a mistake. Just look at the fashions. I was sporting designer jeans, long past their popular shelf life. Hey. I was (still am) in Kansas. We get on the band-wagon about five years after the fact. My light-colored sports jacket was stained (it'd weathered too many beer blow-outs), but I made sure to pull those sleeves up (a shout-out to Crockett and Tubbs on "Miami Vice"). And I couldn't leave the dorm without a shockingly bright t-shirt. At least I never went in for the bandannas placed indiscriminately around either neck, arm or leg (thanks, Duran-Duran!).
Girls just wanna' have fu-hun, oh, girls just wanna' have funnnnnnn....
If three hours of making your hair bigger than Godzilla is considered "fun," then Cyndi Lauper had it right. I felt sorry for my female '80's peers. I struggled enough with my own hair. I tried to feather it but it wouldn't cooperate. One side was always off. I tried the long hair in the back, shorter on the sides, the precursor to the dreaded "mullet." Nothing worked. I desperately wanted to look like a "Duke of Hazzard." Came out the other end, resembling Gary Busey. Modern-day Gary Busey. At least males didn't have to contend with leg warmers and big-shouldered jackets. Though some guys did try to make it a thing.
Tonight I'm gonna' party like it's 1989... (Emergency Edit! My wife just told me I got the lyrics wrong. She's right! Gah! Should be "1999," of course. SO...we'll treat it like this...)
Thank you, Prince! Sure you're amping on about how you wanna' party in 1999. But you sang it in the '80's. Betcha' you don't wanna' party like it's 1999 any more. 1989 was MUCH better. But we partied. And we did, oblivious to the world around us. While we were spastically jumping about the dance-floor, the world was suffering through increasing economic debts, the Iran-Iraq war, the Soviet-Afghan war, the realization of global warming, and other trauma. The world was on the cusp of becoming a scarier, more hostile place.
But we remained in our own little, insular world, hanging out on the dance-floor.
I feel sorry for kids these days. Now, they have to suspect every suspicious package they see and keep a wary eye out for odd behavior. The '80's seems like it was the last "innocent" decade.
Sometimes, especially now, I wish I could go back.
Except, of course, for the hideous fashion, brain-dead music, and totally awful, culturally popular movements.
We got the beat, everybody get on the floor! 'Cause we got the beat, we got the beat, we got the beat, yeaaaaaaah! We got the beat!
Sunday, April 21, 2013
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
Uncovering The Acadian Secret With Tammy Lowe
Hey! Author Tammy Lowe has decided to go under my scalpel here at Twisted Tales From Tornado Alley and chat up her new book The Acadian Secret. Her MG/YA fantasy/time-jumping tale's a great read for people of all ages and is highly recommended. Let's see what she has to say for herself.Hi Tammy! Please tell us about your book. But you have to do it in poem form. It’s gotta’ rhyme. Go!
Oh jeepers! You’re going to keep me on my toes, aren’t you?
Okay, let’s see…
Elisabeth finds she can play in the past.
“How on Earth did I get here?” she asked.
Meanwhile…
On a small island three boys search with pleasure,
Have the teens found Cap’n Kidd’s buried treasure?
Okay! You passed the poetry challenge! Research, Tammy, let’s chat research. Your Scottish dialect and landscape rings true. How much did you do?
I’ve always loved Scottish history. It fascinates me. A few years ago, we brought our son on an adventure across the Scottish Highlands. We stayed in the stone tower of a fifteenth century castle. We wandered the glens and sailed across Loch Ness in search of Nessie.
Scotland will always hold a special place in my heart. I swear there is a magical quality you can feel in the air. It’s not surprising that so many legends spring up from that part of the world. After being there, you start to wonder if maybe there’s some truth to them. *grin*
As for the dialect, I “winged” it. That being said, when I was a little girl in nursery school, I had two Scottish daycare teachers. Over time, I began to pick up a bit of an accent from them. It’s probably still embedded in my brain somewhere.
I did a lot of research for other parts of the book as well. The Oak Island treasure hunt is one of the most famous in the entire world and I wanted it to be as historically accurate as possible. I am fascinated with the way James Cameron did Titanic. Jack and Rose were fictional characters bouncing off of real-life people and events. That was in the back of my mind as I wrote “The Acadian Secret.” I laughed when my son told me I should come up with a more exciting name for John Smith. John and his friends were real people. They discovered the pit and sparked one of the greatest treasure hunts in history.
Call me crazy, but I didn’t try haggis while I was in Scotland. I was more interested in trying the deep fried Mars Bars. With ketchup. By the time I found them, I had just finished eating a big meal and was too full.
I’ve heard it said that haggis tastes like shoe leather. I suppose there are those that enjoy shoe leather. Heck, maybe I’d enjoy shoe leather haggis if I tried it. Perhaps someday I will. I never say never.
I like how you mix up your characters with real people. Did the idea for your book start with a “what-if” scenario based in reality?
I suppose you could call it a “what if.” Oh, this is SO going to illustrate what a dork I am…
As a kid, I loved to read books and watch shows like Little House on the Prairie and Anne of Green Gables. I loved anything set in the “olden days.”
When I was about ten years old, I began to wonder about time travel. My biggest wish was that I’d end up back in the pioneer era. I wanted to go and hang out with spoiled Nellie Olsen. I don’t remember why I wished for Nellie over Laura Ingalls, but I think it had something to do with the fact that her parents owned the candy shop.
I had it all figured out. I didn’t want to live in the 18th or 19th century; I’d miss my family too much. And I can’t live without modern comforts. I wanted the freedom to travel back and forth through time.
So strong was my wish to time travel, I even dressed the part, as much as I could, without raising anyone’s suspicions. I wore dresses to school every day, when all my friends wore jeans and t-shirts. I had to be prepared just in case it worked and I was whisked through time. That summer, I even begged my mom to buy me a bonnet. She did. I wore that white bonnet everywhere. If I ended up in Walnut Grove or Avonlea, I was prepared. I have a photograph of me and my bonnet. I think you can guess which kid I was.
You captured the voice and characterization of kids very well. Are they based on anyone you know or did you wing it?
None of the kids/teens are based on anyone I know. I do have a teenage son, and I have spent my entire adult life working with young children, so I interact with kids, way more than adults, on a daily basis.
Some of my favourite literary characters have been the villains. Mr. Hobson is pompous, ambitious and human. In his mind, he is not a villain, but a hero. I wanted to illustrate those qualities.
The Acadian Secret’s like a big ol’ puzzle--full of different eras, characters and incidents doled out over time. I love puzzles. How do you write such a beast? Do you begin at the end? And this question becomes even more “meta” when you consider how many different eras are covered.
I spent quite a while plotting the timelines. I had notebooks and spreadsheets and post it notes scattered everywhere. The story was written in layers and woven together.
There are some spit-out-coffee, laugh-out-loud moments in your novel. I very much enjoyed your amusing characters. To me, humor’s gotta’ be somewhere in a novel. Discuss.
Ironically, I didn’t set out to be humorous. I was just telling a bedtime story. I didn’t even realize there were laugh-out-loud moments until my editor started leaving me comments in the margins telling me she found this hysterical, or she just laughed out loud at a certain spot. I bet if I had tried to make funny moments, it wouldn’t have worked. Instead, I just let the story unfold and those moments happened naturally.
Okay. Time travel. From a scientific view-point, I had issues about items traveling with Elisabeth to and fro. Please justify. “Magic” ain’t a viable option.
It’s totally possible for items to travel with Elisabeth. If you don’t want to say “magic” think of the transporter on Star Trek. Now, that’s not time travel, but it is people materializing somewhere else. The Away Team always arrives with their tasers, a diplomat can arrive with a briefcase, or Dr. Crusher with her medical bag.
My favourite view-point comes from an intriguing internet “event” that happened during 2000-2001. John Titor claimed to be an American Military time traveler from the year 2036. He left posts on a message board describing his time machine and how he had to come back to retrieve an old IBM computer that they needed in the future to debug a program. He left messages, some cryptic. Of course, it was all taken in jest and he stopped posting in March 2001.
Later, when people went back and re-read his posts, it was more than a bit eerie. Some predictions of his had come true, including “missing towers in NYC”. Also, the computer he came back to retrieve did have some special feature that was not widely known to the public.
It’s a fantastic tale. Again, his intention was to come and bring an item back to the future with him.
I’ve read that if time travel was discovered in our future, one of the things it would be used for would be to go back and retrieve artifacts, documents, DNA etc. So, none of these are “magical” but rather scientific, in a sci-fi sort of way. I think if Elisabeth can travel through time with the clothes on her back, there won’t be any problem with her sticking some chocolate into her backpack.
Well, you nearly lost me with Star Trek, Tammy, but I'm back on board again with your John Titor tale! Thanks for stopping in, Tammy!
Friday, March 29, 2013
Potty Etiquette
I don't really use the word "potty." I'm an old guy. But since I think it's funny, I guess I'm still an eleven year old at heart.
Okay, baring my soul here.
Last Christmas, I was at my in-laws. I always eat well there. Too much. They're great cooks and even better in-laws. But I was in the bathroom paying the consequences.
There was a knock on the bathroom door. I froze, all bodily functions shutting down. Fleeting images of how to maintain cool (something I'm not overly familiar with) ran through my brain, sorta' like the cliché of when you're dying and images of loved ones flash through your mind. But this situation was WAY worse. My tongue turned into a bloated slug, words couldn't form. Not knowing what to do or say, I felt caught in the act of something heinous. Behind enemy lines, I wasn't on my home-friendly throne.
Finally, I came up with, "Who is it?"
Okay. It wasn't really what I meant to say. But I have my pants down around my ankles, feeling very vulnerable and exposed. There's a thin door separating me from whoever was lurking outside. And the last thing I wanted to do was become embroiled in a conversation. "Sure, come on in, pop a squat, drop trow if you're thusly inclined, don't be embarrassed just 'cause I'm bare-assed, sorry for the smell, some weather we're having lately, huh?"
"Who is it?" Was that really the best thing I could come up with? Dumb. Did I really care? No. I just wanted to be left in peace. I was buying time, hoping the intruder would go away along with the fumes. He/she/the fumes didn't. They were still lurking outside the door.
Time shut down. Silence. Breathing beyond the door. Waiting. I was trapped. No easy exit. They knew what I was up to. Should I come clean, flush, wash, smile and wave when I brush by the bathroom raider(s)? No way. That's the road to humiliation.
So I'm writing this from my inlaw's bathroom. Been here a while.
Okay, baring my soul here.
Last Christmas, I was at my in-laws. I always eat well there. Too much. They're great cooks and even better in-laws. But I was in the bathroom paying the consequences.
There was a knock on the bathroom door. I froze, all bodily functions shutting down. Fleeting images of how to maintain cool (something I'm not overly familiar with) ran through my brain, sorta' like the cliché of when you're dying and images of loved ones flash through your mind. But this situation was WAY worse. My tongue turned into a bloated slug, words couldn't form. Not knowing what to do or say, I felt caught in the act of something heinous. Behind enemy lines, I wasn't on my home-friendly throne.
Finally, I came up with, "Who is it?"
Okay. It wasn't really what I meant to say. But I have my pants down around my ankles, feeling very vulnerable and exposed. There's a thin door separating me from whoever was lurking outside. And the last thing I wanted to do was become embroiled in a conversation. "Sure, come on in, pop a squat, drop trow if you're thusly inclined, don't be embarrassed just 'cause I'm bare-assed, sorry for the smell, some weather we're having lately, huh?"
"Who is it?" Was that really the best thing I could come up with? Dumb. Did I really care? No. I just wanted to be left in peace. I was buying time, hoping the intruder would go away along with the fumes. He/she/the fumes didn't. They were still lurking outside the door.
Time shut down. Silence. Breathing beyond the door. Waiting. I was trapped. No easy exit. They knew what I was up to. Should I come clean, flush, wash, smile and wave when I brush by the bathroom raider(s)? No way. That's the road to humiliation.
So I'm writing this from my inlaw's bathroom. Been here a while.
Friday, March 22, 2013
A Pius Man: Popes And Explosives!
It's been my great pleasure to read newcomer author Declan Finn's religious, conspiracy, satirical thriller, A Pius Man. Guy's got chops. Extremely well written and obviously well researched, it's a crazy good read. I'm already envisioning the TV series: "Action Pope." Here's what he has to say:
1. The description for A Pius Man says that it slips in history in between the gunshots. Care to elaborate?
I’m a nerd – a history and philosophy nerd, amongst others. I’ve got degrees in both of them because I thought both of them were fun. And since this is a mystery at the Vatican, it has to be seeped in both. There is no other place on the planet where a city is practically drowning in history and philosophy practically.
2. So, why A Pius Man?
Because I’m not only a nerd, I’m an angry nerd. (Laughs.) Seriously, A Pius Man was a graduate paper gone wild. I had been studying Pope Pius XII, the Pope of World War II, sometimes known as “Hitler’s Pope,” reading books and articles and even scanning microfiche. And I came across some things that most fiction – and even some history books – had completely and utterly missed.
After that, I decided that it was time for some “revisionist history.” If the truth can be a revision.
3. Are you shooting for the Da Vinci Code?
Actually, I’m shooting for the anti-Da Vinci Code – not only is my book using real history, A Pius Man is actually entertaining. At no point will my characters spend 100 pages just getting out of an art museum like the Louvre.
Also, unlike Dan Brown’s conspiracy, my characters don’t have to run all over Europe.
I’m not shooting for Dan Brown, more like shooting at Dan Brown.
4. So you’d say being Catholic helped you with writing this book
Hell yes. It gave me a starting point—a perspective and a body of knowledge other people don’t have. I’ve come to realize just how many people outside of Catholicism – and sometimes within Catholicism – have no idea what the Church preaches, or believes, or even how the logic works. Ask anyone on the street, nine times out of ten you might get a vague mention of “the rhythm method,” and being against contraception, but if you asked them why, I can only imagine what sort of half-assed answer you’d get. The proper answer should include a phrase called natural law. If you don’t know about natural law, you should probably pick up A Pius Man.
5. What other books do you have in the works?
Well, I’ve got two other novels. One is a science fiction novel called Codename: Winterborn, and the other is a murder mystery, set at a science fiction convention called It Was Only On Stun! With Codename: Winterborn, it’s one part revenge novel, part romance, and one part political dissertation – trust me, that is such a long, long story. With It Was Only On Stun! … well, I was just having fun. Oh, and did I mention that A Pius Man was book 1 of a trilogy? A Pius Legacy will be coming out in fall, and A Pius Stand will be sometime in 2014.
So, yes, I’ve got a few things on my plate.
6. What’s on your reading list?
I have a “to read” stack that takes over my life, actually. James Rollins, and JD Robb, and John Ringo, and David Weber – though I’m behind on buying the latest Ringo, actually. I’m not even sure what’s there anymore. I’m currently reading The Scarlet and the Black, which was made into a movie with Gregory Peck, though I grew up with the movie. I’ve got so, so many books, I’m just trying to keep up with them.
7. Some writers outline. Some writers make stories up as they go along. Some even get bored when they figure out who the killer is. How does your writing process work?
A Pius Man was actually the first novel I had to outline. There were so many directions, with so many clues, coming from so many directions, I had to keep track of it. Of course, the original novel was broken up into a trilogy, so that tells you how complex it turned out to be. Thankfully, none of the books end in To Be Continued. I learned well from Terry Goodkind – he had an entire series that would have a nice, solid ending, and the next book would take place the next morning. A Pius Man comes to a definitive conclusion … and then there’s the morning after.
8. Who else has tried this sort of story before?
Do you want to count Daniel Silva? He did something around World War II and the Catholic church called The Confessor, but in his case, I know what books he researched – because I used them too. And there were points where his “facts” directly contradicted events that both sides of the Pius-argument actually agree on.
So, the answer is “sort of.” But most go for the sensational aspect. Dan Brown, for example, got so many things wrong it’s laughable – like making an evil Cardinal from Opus Dei the bad guy, though Opus Dei is 98% laymen.
If you asked me if anyone has ever tried to do this sort of story grounded in any reality, I’d have to say no.
9. What is most difficult in writing a story like this?
For me, the biggest challenge was keeping out just how many facts there is to stick into a story like this. As a history nerd, I originally had pages upon pages of historical exposition and conversations. So I had to do a lot of cutting … and some drafts had cut out far, far too much. And, then, you have to balance out blathering on about history and philosophy, and then the gunplay.
10. What, if anything, surprised you while working on A Pius Man?
I didn’t expect it to turn into a trilogy. I figured I’d have a good, solid novel, and move on. Then there was one character who wouldn’t die, and he kept extending the plot. And then there was a small war by book three. So that was fun.
11. Do you have any advice to blog readers who are thinking about writing their own novels?
Finish the bloody book. Everytime someone asks me for advice about writing a book, I ask if they’ve written a word. They almost never have.
12. Last chance: What do you think is the one thing we should remember about A Pius Man?
That you have a fun time, and maybe even learn something along the way.
Thanks, Declan! I gotta' say I think his character, Sean Ryan, is good for a couple more books. Cool action hero! But, frankly, that goes for most of the folks in his book. At one point a character refers to the gathering of spies, agents, spooks, what have you, as the "Justice League." Forget that nonsense. They're the friggin' international Marvel "Avengers." If ever there was a movie in the making, it's here!
Grab it now.
1. The description for A Pius Man says that it slips in history in between the gunshots. Care to elaborate?
I’m a nerd – a history and philosophy nerd, amongst others. I’ve got degrees in both of them because I thought both of them were fun. And since this is a mystery at the Vatican, it has to be seeped in both. There is no other place on the planet where a city is practically drowning in history and philosophy practically.
2. So, why A Pius Man?
Because I’m not only a nerd, I’m an angry nerd. (Laughs.) Seriously, A Pius Man was a graduate paper gone wild. I had been studying Pope Pius XII, the Pope of World War II, sometimes known as “Hitler’s Pope,” reading books and articles and even scanning microfiche. And I came across some things that most fiction – and even some history books – had completely and utterly missed.
After that, I decided that it was time for some “revisionist history.” If the truth can be a revision.
3. Are you shooting for the Da Vinci Code?
Actually, I’m shooting for the anti-Da Vinci Code – not only is my book using real history, A Pius Man is actually entertaining. At no point will my characters spend 100 pages just getting out of an art museum like the Louvre.
Also, unlike Dan Brown’s conspiracy, my characters don’t have to run all over Europe.
I’m not shooting for Dan Brown, more like shooting at Dan Brown.
4. So you’d say being Catholic helped you with writing this book
Hell yes. It gave me a starting point—a perspective and a body of knowledge other people don’t have. I’ve come to realize just how many people outside of Catholicism – and sometimes within Catholicism – have no idea what the Church preaches, or believes, or even how the logic works. Ask anyone on the street, nine times out of ten you might get a vague mention of “the rhythm method,” and being against contraception, but if you asked them why, I can only imagine what sort of half-assed answer you’d get. The proper answer should include a phrase called natural law. If you don’t know about natural law, you should probably pick up A Pius Man.
5. What other books do you have in the works?
Well, I’ve got two other novels. One is a science fiction novel called Codename: Winterborn, and the other is a murder mystery, set at a science fiction convention called It Was Only On Stun! With Codename: Winterborn, it’s one part revenge novel, part romance, and one part political dissertation – trust me, that is such a long, long story. With It Was Only On Stun! … well, I was just having fun. Oh, and did I mention that A Pius Man was book 1 of a trilogy? A Pius Legacy will be coming out in fall, and A Pius Stand will be sometime in 2014.
So, yes, I’ve got a few things on my plate.
6. What’s on your reading list?
I have a “to read” stack that takes over my life, actually. James Rollins, and JD Robb, and John Ringo, and David Weber – though I’m behind on buying the latest Ringo, actually. I’m not even sure what’s there anymore. I’m currently reading The Scarlet and the Black, which was made into a movie with Gregory Peck, though I grew up with the movie. I’ve got so, so many books, I’m just trying to keep up with them.
7. Some writers outline. Some writers make stories up as they go along. Some even get bored when they figure out who the killer is. How does your writing process work?
A Pius Man was actually the first novel I had to outline. There were so many directions, with so many clues, coming from so many directions, I had to keep track of it. Of course, the original novel was broken up into a trilogy, so that tells you how complex it turned out to be. Thankfully, none of the books end in To Be Continued. I learned well from Terry Goodkind – he had an entire series that would have a nice, solid ending, and the next book would take place the next morning. A Pius Man comes to a definitive conclusion … and then there’s the morning after.
8. Who else has tried this sort of story before?
Do you want to count Daniel Silva? He did something around World War II and the Catholic church called The Confessor, but in his case, I know what books he researched – because I used them too. And there were points where his “facts” directly contradicted events that both sides of the Pius-argument actually agree on.
So, the answer is “sort of.” But most go for the sensational aspect. Dan Brown, for example, got so many things wrong it’s laughable – like making an evil Cardinal from Opus Dei the bad guy, though Opus Dei is 98% laymen.
If you asked me if anyone has ever tried to do this sort of story grounded in any reality, I’d have to say no.
9. What is most difficult in writing a story like this?
For me, the biggest challenge was keeping out just how many facts there is to stick into a story like this. As a history nerd, I originally had pages upon pages of historical exposition and conversations. So I had to do a lot of cutting … and some drafts had cut out far, far too much. And, then, you have to balance out blathering on about history and philosophy, and then the gunplay.
10. What, if anything, surprised you while working on A Pius Man?
I didn’t expect it to turn into a trilogy. I figured I’d have a good, solid novel, and move on. Then there was one character who wouldn’t die, and he kept extending the plot. And then there was a small war by book three. So that was fun.
11. Do you have any advice to blog readers who are thinking about writing their own novels?
Finish the bloody book. Everytime someone asks me for advice about writing a book, I ask if they’ve written a word. They almost never have.
12. Last chance: What do you think is the one thing we should remember about A Pius Man?
That you have a fun time, and maybe even learn something along the way.
Thanks, Declan! I gotta' say I think his character, Sean Ryan, is good for a couple more books. Cool action hero! But, frankly, that goes for most of the folks in his book. At one point a character refers to the gathering of spies, agents, spooks, what have you, as the "Justice League." Forget that nonsense. They're the friggin' international Marvel "Avengers." If ever there was a movie in the making, it's here!
Grab it now.
Saturday, March 16, 2013
The Strange Case Of Winnie The Pooh
Winnie The Pooh. Donald Duck. The crazy guy down the street. What do they have in common? A lack of pants.
Okay, maybe "Pooh's" incontinent. Maybe he has a bowel issue. Could be why he doesn't wear pants. Too much fiber in his diet, all those honey pots and such. But I doubt it. He and Donald seem like exhibitionists.
Are they forward-thinking radicals, attuned to a future we can only think of? Or perverts? I opt for the latter. These are two children's icons hanging out (um, literally) without a worry of what they're repping. I mean, it's not like they're broke and can't afford pants. Winnie's constantly rocking the polo shirts while Donald's got a sorta' Village People nautical thing going on. Doesn't matter. Their upper wardrobes look costly. So did they just forget their pants? Okay, once maybe. It happens. But all the time? Doubtful.
If this is the fashion choice of tomorrow, well, sir, count me out! These two anamorphic guys apparently didn't read the Bible. I'm sorta' glad Eve ate the apple. Otherwise, we'd all be without pants. I don't want to live in a world where I walk into a McDonald's and have some kid without pants ask me if I'd like to supersize it. Nosiree-bob-cattail!
So while all the uptight folks are out there burning Huckleberry Finn and other classics, I think their over-zealous frenzy would be better served roasting nudist bears and ducks.
Okay, maybe "Pooh's" incontinent. Maybe he has a bowel issue. Could be why he doesn't wear pants. Too much fiber in his diet, all those honey pots and such. But I doubt it. He and Donald seem like exhibitionists.
Are they forward-thinking radicals, attuned to a future we can only think of? Or perverts? I opt for the latter. These are two children's icons hanging out (um, literally) without a worry of what they're repping. I mean, it's not like they're broke and can't afford pants. Winnie's constantly rocking the polo shirts while Donald's got a sorta' Village People nautical thing going on. Doesn't matter. Their upper wardrobes look costly. So did they just forget their pants? Okay, once maybe. It happens. But all the time? Doubtful.
If this is the fashion choice of tomorrow, well, sir, count me out! These two anamorphic guys apparently didn't read the Bible. I'm sorta' glad Eve ate the apple. Otherwise, we'd all be without pants. I don't want to live in a world where I walk into a McDonald's and have some kid without pants ask me if I'd like to supersize it. Nosiree-bob-cattail!
So while all the uptight folks are out there burning Huckleberry Finn and other classics, I think their over-zealous frenzy would be better served roasting nudist bears and ducks.
Friday, March 8, 2013
My Twenty Minutes Of Fame Sucked
Wednesday night, there was a persistent pounding at the door, wouldn't let up. Intuition told me it wasn't a bible salesman. I was right. It was two detectives from the Sheriff's department. Uh-oh.
I was right, uh-oh. The female detective (not what you'd expect, overweight with adult acne) said she was worried about my neighbors.
The male-alpha detective--pushy, yuppie, stylishly dressed, pretty much what'd you expect--wouldn't let me get a word in, hammering me with questions I couldn't fathom. I asked them if my neighbors were in trouble. They said, "no."
They lied.
Eight months or so ago, the gal living next door told me they were moving a couple blocks over. Said they'd be around. Seemed as happy as I'd seen her. She popped up a couple weeks later. I asked if they needed help moving, she said, "we're done, thanks, anyway." I never had a clue when they moved.
The house has been abandoned since.
The day after my detective grilling, the media landed. One of the local news stations broad-sided me, telling me the woman I used to live next door to shot herself, along with another woman, in a local, public park. A suicide pact. Twin sisters.
I was stunned. They asked if they could interview me on camera. In a daze, I said, "sure." Stupid. They led me, told me what to say, baited me. I was reeling it all in while they reeled me in on camera. Don't even remember what I said.
After that, the media carnival launched. Another network team came. Then another. And another.
The vulture's were circling.
After my first two attacks, I locked up, shut down and shut up.
Damn. All I know is that my neighbor was a very nice person, one of the few people on the street I actually liked. My heart goes out to the family.
In retrospect, I'm wondering if I could've done something, helped her out, maybe been a better neighbor. She told me she was depressed a year or so ago over the fence. But that's where our friendship stopped. Over the fence. God, I wish it hadn't. I knew nothing about her, other than knowing she was not doing so well. I didn't even know her last name. Shoulda' got to know her better. Maybe things would've turned out different. But I didn't do anything.
I wish I had.
I wish I'd reached over that fence.
I was right, uh-oh. The female detective (not what you'd expect, overweight with adult acne) said she was worried about my neighbors.
The male-alpha detective--pushy, yuppie, stylishly dressed, pretty much what'd you expect--wouldn't let me get a word in, hammering me with questions I couldn't fathom. I asked them if my neighbors were in trouble. They said, "no."
They lied.
Eight months or so ago, the gal living next door told me they were moving a couple blocks over. Said they'd be around. Seemed as happy as I'd seen her. She popped up a couple weeks later. I asked if they needed help moving, she said, "we're done, thanks, anyway." I never had a clue when they moved.
The house has been abandoned since.
The day after my detective grilling, the media landed. One of the local news stations broad-sided me, telling me the woman I used to live next door to shot herself, along with another woman, in a local, public park. A suicide pact. Twin sisters.
I was stunned. They asked if they could interview me on camera. In a daze, I said, "sure." Stupid. They led me, told me what to say, baited me. I was reeling it all in while they reeled me in on camera. Don't even remember what I said.
After that, the media carnival launched. Another network team came. Then another. And another.
The vulture's were circling.
After my first two attacks, I locked up, shut down and shut up.
Damn. All I know is that my neighbor was a very nice person, one of the few people on the street I actually liked. My heart goes out to the family.
In retrospect, I'm wondering if I could've done something, helped her out, maybe been a better neighbor. She told me she was depressed a year or so ago over the fence. But that's where our friendship stopped. Over the fence. God, I wish it hadn't. I knew nothing about her, other than knowing she was not doing so well. I didn't even know her last name. Shoulda' got to know her better. Maybe things would've turned out different. But I didn't do anything.
I wish I had.
I wish I'd reached over that fence.
Saturday, March 2, 2013
Something Smells Bad In Kansas
No doubt about it, something smelled awful. And flies buzzed about my head like I was a priest in a bad horror film. Wondered if it was me at first, thinking food poisoning or something. After disqualifying myself through highly scientific methods (don't ask) I searched the house, wondering if Destructo, The Dog Wonder had responded to the aftermath of eating grass or possum. Still couldn't find the point of origin. Finally, I narrowed it down to the chimney. Either Santa was decaying inside or some poor hapless critter met it's maker.
I called the ominously named "Critter Control." The James Bond of animal clean-up showed up, blue hazzard suit on, and fully armed with massive Plumber's Crack. I expected no less. Well, he could've had a mullet. But one can only dream.
Now, you know it's gotta' be bad when the expert is dry-heaving by the chimney. But, professional that he is, he soldiered on. Armed with a full trash bag, he clapped his hands, another job well done, said "that was a dad-gum huge raccoon stuck in your chimney. Female."
Well. Crap. I didn't need to know it was a female. Made it all rather melancholy. Poor dead, stinky critter. Maybe she was trying to have babies in our chimney. Maybe she was just trying to get out of the cold. Doesn't matter. It's a cruel, harsh world out there, folks, and I contributed to the death of a female raccoon.
Anguish. (And gagging reflex). Couldn't it have been a less smelly and cute creature to pollute our household? I mean everyone loves raccoons. Walt Disney did. And he's dead. Probably smelly, too. 'Cept he's cryogenically frozen.
I called the ominously named "Critter Control." The James Bond of animal clean-up showed up, blue hazzard suit on, and fully armed with massive Plumber's Crack. I expected no less. Well, he could've had a mullet. But one can only dream.
Now, you know it's gotta' be bad when the expert is dry-heaving by the chimney. But, professional that he is, he soldiered on. Armed with a full trash bag, he clapped his hands, another job well done, said "that was a dad-gum huge raccoon stuck in your chimney. Female."
Well. Crap. I didn't need to know it was a female. Made it all rather melancholy. Poor dead, stinky critter. Maybe she was trying to have babies in our chimney. Maybe she was just trying to get out of the cold. Doesn't matter. It's a cruel, harsh world out there, folks, and I contributed to the death of a female raccoon.
Anguish. (And gagging reflex). Couldn't it have been a less smelly and cute creature to pollute our household? I mean everyone loves raccoons. Walt Disney did. And he's dead. Probably smelly, too. 'Cept he's cryogenically frozen.
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