Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Off to the airport we go. Check in is a breeze (thank you Charlotte International Airport!) that is until one of the attendants relays to me that it is an oversold flight and I may not have a seat.
“Excuse me?” I say bewildered and clutching my prepaid receipt in my hand.
“Yes, Ma’am, those confirmations are not a guarantee that you will get a seat on the flight. You better hurry. Have a great day.”
Hurry. Looking at the line that weaves out of the security checkpoint I am engulfed by quiet panic. I think; I am gonna miss my flight, and they will reroute me through seven airports. I shall arrive in Nola just in time to get back on a flight here. Or worse, I will end up in Finland and have to survive on herring or smelt. Gods and Goddess I will die!
I turn to Pooh to relay this and he does what he does best.
“I am gonna miss my flight.”
“No you aren’t. I got you here in plenty of time.”
“She said the flight was oversold. I am gonna miss it. They‘ll bump me.”
“They won’t bump you because if they try I will come up in there and shoot someone’s ass.”
I am somewhat mollified. Peace and calm settle through me for I know, that if they indeed try to bump me, The Pooh will swoop in and open a can of whoop ass. So with a smile on my face I wait in line for 20 minutes, secure in the knowledge that, one way or another I am getting on this flight.
On the plane I am wedged between two rather rotund persons of the male persuasion. This made for a somewhat uncomfortable and rather apologetic fight, the person on my right kept elbowing me in the bosom as he was apparently having some issues with his laptop, while the person on my right was almost certainly inebriated ( peeps, he smelled like a still) and kept resting his head on my shoulder. I did not mind so much as I am sure he was a nervous flier and I am all for giving comfort where comfort is needed. (I am sweet damnit!)
We land in Alanta! Yay!!!! Half way there. I sniff the air cautiously, what is that I smell?? STARBUCKS. I take off with all the enthusiasm of a wildebeest thundering through the African plains. Pacified with my double shot peppermint mocha I sit and wait.
Apparently, peppermint is not soothing to the tummy when mixed with espresso and chocolate. I haul out the Dramamine, pop two and the rest of my flight is a blur. We land and I look at the time. Three past Ten, well goodie, out comes the phone and I call the Glamazon (AKA Karen) arrangements are made to meet at her baggage claim.
“What are you wearing?” I ask so that I may be able to pick her out in the crowd.
“Black print shirt , black skirt and heels.” She replies, graciously omitting the designers as she knows this only confuses me.
I hang up the phone and stow it, only to have to fish it out again. Is Jenn. And the conversation went a lot like this.
Chackle hiss pop “…..You?”
Somehow we manage to communicate- sisters you know- is a magical thing. And it is agreed that she and Nee shall pick us up at the airport, how exciting!
I grab my bag and head over to find Karen. On the way I note a quite bewildering array of women - and one person I am sure had an Addams apple- dressed per her description. I am smart and clever however and like a bloodhound scenting a prison escapee, I look at the floor examining shoes left and right, there in the corner I spot my prey, impossibly high and stylish heels. Tis Karen for sure.
“Karen?” I squeal.
“Meme” she squeals back.
Hugs all around. Folks let me tell you, Karen is beautiful and blessed with an hourglass figure Mae West would have envied. I am jealous sorta.
Phone ringing breaks up the huggles fest and it is Jenn again.
Crackel hiss pop “…Are you?”
Finally, after about ten calls in as many minutes we collect Ange and after schlepping ourselves and our luggage up and down baggage claim finally make it to the correct door and exit nearly being mashed by oncoming taxis. We scurry across to the passenger pick up and look for Jenn and Nee.
Nothing. Turning, I spy a woman in a van and one standing beside the van, it looks kinda like our Jenn but I wait, sure enough she opens her mouth to say something and I know.
“That’s Jenn.“ I say.
“Are you sure?” Karen asks.
“Yep. I can see her big mouth from here.”
The trip was quite fun, Karen commandeered the very back and sat like Queen if All She Surveys. I sat next to Ange and terrified Jenn by shouting multiple directions to Nee who did, at one point growl; “DO NOT make me stop this car.”
I was scared. I really was. But we made it in one happy, loud and hungry piece!
Coming up Part Two: The Hotel Lasalle
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
I hate everything I have to do.
I hate my job, I hate my life.
Getting out of bed seems such a high price.
I hate my face, I hate my ass
I want to break my looking glass
Life sucks big time I say,
As I crawl throughout my sucky day.
I have no desire to summon a smile,
The effort hardly seems worthwhile.
I am dull and bent,
I think of people with ill intent.
I am cranky and sour,
all alone hour by hour.
Life has no color or shine
It’s just a way to pass the time
I hate it when I feel this way.
Even the sun is dim today.
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
Lately I have been thinking about the phrase “Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind”. This is most likely because my dog, Reno has been hit by a car and suffered an injury to his back leg. Now for those of you who don’t know, Reno is my bebbie, as little dogs tend to be for people who don’t have children. And, as little dogs tend to be, he is pitiful.
This is where the cruel to be kind part comes in. He must use the potty and cannot get there under his own steam so I must carry him. This makes him cry, because it is painful. He gets snappish and forces me to muzzle him, which I hate. It is one of the main reasons I don’t take him to be groomed and do it myself instead.
There is little choice for me here, I can leave him lying in a puddle of his own waste, or I can be cruel to him. So, I pick him up and carry him outside because in the long run it is a kindness. But in this moment it is cruel, plain and simple. It scares him and hurts him and you can see in his eyes he does not understand why I am doing this awful thing to him.
I don’t feel guilty about it, but it pains me, because even though I am the one hurting and scaring him he still turns to me for comfort. I am his mommy, or his alpha or whatever it is that he sees me as, I am the one he expects to fix everything and make him feel better.
I am certain my love for this dog is not one tenth of the love a parent has for their child and it leaves me even more relieved that I have no kids. As bad as I feel, how much more pain would there be if Reno were a human baby? And how on earth do parents cope when their children are hurting? When their baby needs to have a shot or surgery and they cry and snap and at the same time want hugs and kisses? Where to mommies and daddys get the strength to dig in and do what needs to be done? To be cruel to be kind?
I don’t know, but I do know I have a deeper respect for people who decide to populate their lives with one of those irksome, complex, funny and fascinating creatures. I couldn’t do it.
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Is that I hate to blog.
I read my friend’s blogs with a mixture of enjoyment and envy and think to myself, why can’t I write like that?
Does nothing good happen to me, well, good enough to be worth blogging?
Sure it does, every day. The truth folks, is that I am just paranoid. I don’t want people to know what happens in my life, not really. I have this deep-seated and wholly unreasonable fear that there is some weird, greasy, creepy dude in a windowless van, cataloguing every bit of personal information I let slip into the cyberverse and waiting until he has just enough to steal me away and dump me in a pit, where he shall -- yep, you guessed it-- make me put lotion on my skin.
One could say I am almost phobic about it. I don’t like blogging, chatting (with the exception of my very small and tight circle of friends) or those prolific personality quizzes peeps keep sending me. ACK, why on do you care what I had for breakfast? I can't help but think; hmmm, I bet my serial stalker (whoever he may be) wants to know!
This is not a good attitude for a writer to have, your books don’t get sold if nobody knows who you are. I have a friend who is just amazing at all the minutia of promo and name dropping. Her website is out of this world, her group is active and the many other groups she belongs to all know who she is and they love her.
I hate her…. I really do… no I love her…. No, I hate her!!! ACK! Am I tipping into serial stalker territory myself?
What’s a reclusive-unknown-but-seriously-in-need-of-exposure-writer to do????
By the way, in case my stalker is wondering….I don’t eat breakfast. Nayna! Pfft!
Thursday, August 10, 2006
This is something interesting I picked up from one of my groups. I cannot say I hate this woman, but she is annoying. Kind of like a yappy dog that is too tiny and scrawny to actually kick, so one grits one’s teeth and lets her yap.
Even Pooh, who is ultra conservative, (can you imagine?) despises this woman.
Anyway, this is a review of Ann Coulter’s latest drivel, (not to be compared to my lovely, sexy, sassy and spicy drivel, mind you.) Now, I don't subscribe to the theory of evolution myself, but I do think there is truth in the survival of the fittest. And who are we to presume how the divine went about creation? We were not there and even if we were, the magnitude of such an act would surely have fried our tiny brains.
The woman is a fruit and an embarrassment to the few really true Good Christians out there.
I am genuinely embarrassed for her.
Godless: The Church of Liberalism
by Ann Coulter
A review by Jerry Coyne
H. L. Mencken once responded to a question asked by many of hisreaders: "If you find so much that is unworthy of reverence inthe United States, then why do you live here?" His answer was,"Why do men go to zoos?" Sadly, Mencken is not here to ogle thenewest creature in the American Zoo: the Bleached Flamingo, otherwiseknown as Ann Coulter. This beast draws crowds by its frequent,raucous calls, eerily resembling a human voice, and its unearthlyappearance, scrawny and pallid. (Wikipedia notes that "a whiteor pale flamingo ... is usually unhealthy or suffering from alack of food.") The etiolated Coulter issued a piercing squawkthis spring with her now-notorious book, Godless: The Church ofLiberalism. Its thesis, harebrained even by her standards, isthat liberals are an atheistic lot who have devised a substitute religion, replete with the sacraments of abortion, feminism, coddlingof criminals, and -- you guessed it -- bestiality. Liberals also have their god, who, like Coulter's, is bearded and imposing.He is none other than Charles Darwin. But the left-wing god is malevolent, for Coulter sees Darwin as the root cause of every ill afflicting our society, not to mention being responsible for the historical atrocities of Hitler and Stalin.
The furor caused by her vicious remarks about the 9/11 widows("I've never seen people enjoying their husbands' deaths so much.")has distracted people from the main topic of her book: evolutionary biology, or rather the pathetic pseudoscientific arguments of its modern fundamentalist challenger, Intelligent Design (ID).This occupies four of Coulter's eleven chapters. Enamored of ID,and unable to fathom a scientific reason why biologists don't buy it, Coulter suggests that scientists are an evil sub-cabal of atheist liberals, a group so addicted to godlessness that they must hide at all costs the awful "truth" that evolution didn't happen. She accuses evolutionists of brainwashing children with phony fossils and made-up "evidence," turning the kids into "Darwiniacs"stripped of all moral (i.e., biblical) grounding and prone to become beasts and genocidal lunatics. To Coulter, biologists are folks who, when not playing with test tubes or warping children's minds, encourage people to have sex with dogs. (I am not making this up.)
Any sane person who starts reading Godless will soon ask, Does Coulter really believe this stuff? The answer is that it doesn't much matter. What's far more disturbing than Coulter herself (and she's plenty disturbing: On the cover photo she has the scariest eyes since Rasputin) is the fact that Americans are lapping up her latest prose like a pack of starved cats. The buyers cannot be political opponents who just want to enjoy her "humor"; like me, those people wouldn't enrich her by a dime. (I didn't pay for my copy.) Rather, a lot of folks apparently like her ravings-- suggesting that, on some level at least, they must agree with her. And this means that the hundreds of thousands of Americans who put Coulter at the top of the best-seller lists see evolution as a national menace.
Well, that's hardly news. We've known for years that nearly half of all Americans believe in the Genesis account of creation, and only about 10 percent want evolution taught in public schools without mentioning ID or other forms of creationism. But it's worth taking up the cudgels once again, if only to show that,contrary to Coulter's claim, accepting Darwinism is not tantamount to endorsing immorality and genocide.
First, one has to ask whether Coulter (who, by the way, attacks me in her book) really understands the Darwinism she rejects.The answer is a resounding No. According to the book's acknowledgments,Coulter was tutored in the "complex ideas" of evolution by DavidBerlinski, a science writer; Michael Behe, a third-rate biologistat Lehigh University (whose own department's website disowns his bizarre ideas); and William Dembski, a fairly bright theologian who went off the intellectual rails and now peddles creationism at Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary. These are the "giants"of the ID movement, which shows how retarded it really is. Learning biology from this lot is like learning elocution from George W.Bush.
As expected with such tutors, the Darwinism decried by Coulter is the usual distorted cardboard cut-out. All she does is parrot the ID line: There are no transitional fossils; natural selectioncan't create true novelty; some features of organisms could not have evolved and therefore must have been designed by an unspecified supernatural agent. And her "research" method consists of using quotes taken out of context, scouring biased secondary sources,and distorting what appears in the scientific literature. Judging by the shoddy documentation of the evolution section, I'm not convinced that the rest of the book isn't based on equally shoddy research. At any rate, I won't belabor the case that Coulter makes for ID, as I've already shown in TNR that her arguments are completely bogus.
What is especially striking is Coulter's failure to tell us what she really believes about how the earth's species got here. It's clear that she thinks God had a direct hand in it, but beyond that we remain unenlightened. IDers believe in limited amounts of evolution. Does Coulter think that mammals evolved from reptiles?If not, what are those curious mammal-like reptiles that appear exactly at the right time in the fossil record? Did humans evolve from ape-like primates, or did the Designer conjure us into existence all at once? How did all those annoying fossils get there, in remarkable evolutionary order?
And, when faced with the real evidence that shows how strongly evolution trumps ID, she clams up completely. What about the massive fossil evidence for human evolution -- what exactly were those creatures 2 million years ago that had human-like skeletons but ape-like brains? Did a race of Limbaughs walk the earth? And why did God -- sorry, the Intelligent Designer -- give whales a vestigial pelvis, and the flightless kiwi bird tiny, nonfunctional wings?Why do we carry around in our DNA useless genes that are functional in similar species? Did the Designer decide to make the world look as though life had evolved? What a joker! And the Designer doesn't seem all that intelligent, either. He must have been asleep at the wheel when he designed our appendix, back, and prostate gland.
There are none so blind as those who will not see, and Coulter knows that myopia about evolution is a lucrative game. After all,she is a millionaire, reveling in her status as a celebrity and stalked by ignorazzis. I have never seen anyone enjoy her own inanity so much.
But after ranting for nearly a hundred pages about evolution,Coulter finally gives away the game on page 277: "God exists whether or not archaeopteryx ever evolved into something better. If evolution is true, then God created evolution." Gee. Evolution might be true after all! But she's just spent a hundred pages telling us it isn't! What gives? As Tennessee Williams's Big Daddy said,there's a powerful and obnoxious odor of mendacity in this room.
What's annoying about Coulter (note: there's more than one thing!)is that she insistently demands evidence for evolution (none of which she'll ever accept), but requires not a shred of evidence for her "alternative hypothesis." She repeatedly assures us that God exists (not just any God -- the Christian God), that there is only one God (she's no Hindu, folks), that we are made in the image of said God, that the Christian Bible, like Antonin Scalia's Constitution, "is not a 'living' document" (that is, not susceptible to changing interpretation; so does she think that Genesis is literally true?), and that God just might have used evolutionas part of His plan. What makes her so sure about all this? And how does she know that the Supreme Being, even if It exists, goes by the name of Yahweh, rather than Allah, Wotan, Zeus, or Mabel?If Coulter just knows these things by faith alone, she should say so, and then tell us why she's so sure that what Parsees or Zunis just know is wrong. I, for one, am not prepared to believe that Ann Coulter is made in God's image without seeing some proof.
Moreover, if evolution is wrong, why is it the central paradigm of biology? According to Coulter, it's all a big con game. In smoky back rooms at annual meetings, evolutionists plot ways to jam Darwin down America's throat, knowing that even though it is scientifically incorrect, Darwinism (Coulter says) "lets them off the hook morally. Do whatever you feel like doing -- screw your secretary, kill Grandma, abort your defective child -- Darwinsays it will benefit humanity!"
Unfortunately for Coulter (but fortunately for humanity), science doesn't work this way. Scientists gain fame and high reputation not for propping up their personal prejudices, but for finding out facts about nature. And if evolution really were wrong, the renegade scientist who disproved it -- and showed that generations of his predecessors were misled -- would reach the top of the scientific ladder in one leap, gaining fame and riches. All it would take to trash Darwinism is a simple demonstration that humans and dinosaurs lived at the same time, or that our closest genetic relative is the rabbit. There is no cabal, no back-room conspiracy.
Instead, the empirical evidence for evolution just keeps piling up, year after year.
As for biologists' supposed agenda of godlessness -- how ridiculous!Yes, a lot of scientists are atheists, but most have better things to do than deliberately destroy people's faith. This goes doubly for the many scientists -- roughly a third of them -- who are religious. After all, one of the most vocal (and effective) opponents of ID is Ken Miller of Brown University, a devout Catholic.
The real reason Coulter goes after evolution is not because it'swrong, but because she doesn't like it -- it doesn't accord with how she thinks the world should be. That's because she feels,along with many Americans, that "Darwin's theory overturned every aspect of Biblical morality." What's so sad -- not so much for Coulter as for Americans as a whole -- is that this idea is simply wrong. Darwinism, after all, is just a body of thought about the origin and change of biological diversity, not a handbook of ethics.(I just consulted my copy of The Origin of Species, and I swear that there's nothing in there about abortion or eugenics, much less about shtupping one's secretary.)
If Coulter were right, evolutionists would be the most beastly people on earth, not to be trusted in the vicinity of a goat.But I've been around biologists all of my adult life, and I cantell you that they're a lot more civil than, say, Coulter. It's a simple fact that you don't need the Bible -- or even religion-- to be moral. Buddhists, Hindus, and Jews, who don't follow the New Testament, usually behave responsibly despite this problem;and atheists and agnostics derive morality from non-biblical philosophy.In fact, one of the most ethical people I know is Coulter's version of the Antichrist: the atheistic biologist Richard Dawkins (more about that below). Dawkins would never say -- as Coulter does-- that Cindy Sheehan doesn't look good in shorts, that Al Franken resembles a monkey, or that 9/11 widows enjoyed the deaths of their husbands. Isn't there something in the Bible about doing unto others?
The mistake of equating Darwinism with a code of behavior leads Coulter into her most idiotic accusation: that the Holocaust and numberless murders of Stalin can be laid at Darwin's door. "From Marx to Hitler, the men responsible for the greatest mass murders of the twentieth century were avid Darwinists." Anyone who is religious should be very careful about saying something like this,because, throughout history, more killings have been done in the name of religion than of anything else. What's going on in the Middle East, and what happened in Serbia and Northern Ireland?What was the Inquisition about, and the Crusades, and the slaughter following the partition of India? Religion, of course -- or rather,religiously inspired killing. (Come to think of it, the reason Hitler singled out the Jews is that Christians regarded them for centuries as the killers of Christ. And I don't remember any mentionof Darwinism in the Moscow Doctors' Trial.) If Darwin is guilty of genocide, then so are God, Jesus, Brahma, Martin Luther, and countless popes.
As Coulter well knows, the misuse of an idea for evil purposes does not mean that idea is wrong. In fact, she accuses liberals of making this very error: She attacks them for worrying that the message of racial inequality conveyed by the book The Bell Curve could promote genocide: "Only liberals could interpret a statement that people have varying IQs as a call to start killing people." Back at you, Ann: Only conservatives could interpret a statement that species evolved as a call to start killing people.
Coulter clearly knows better. I conclude that the trash-talkingblonde bit is just a shtick (admittedly, a clever one) calculated to make her rich and famous. (Look at her website, where she whines regularly that she is not getting enough notice.) Her hyper-conservativism seems no more grounded than her faith. She has claimed that the Bible is her favorite book, she is rumored to go to church, and on the cover of Godless you see a cross dangling tantalizingly in her décolletage. But could anybody who absorbed the Sermonon the Mount write, as she does of Richard Dawkins, "I defy any of my coreligionists to tell me they do not laugh at the idea of Dawkins burning in hell"? Well, I wouldn't want Coulter to roast (there's not much meat there anyway), but I wish she'd shut up and learn something about evolution. Her case for ID involves the same stupid arguments that fundamentalists have made for a hundred years. They're about as convincing as the blonde hair that gets her so much attention. By their roots shall ye know them.
Jerry Coyne is a professor in the Department of Ecology and Evolutionat the University of Chicago.
Read the review online
Sunday, August 06, 2006
I would like to share my experience. Firstly, I went for the aforementioned coffee, so you know I was already in a bad mood. I shuffle into the Walmart, stagger to the coffee isle (which also contains the pickles for some reason I never can figure out), grab my super-duper-economy can of Folgers, and shuffle toward the checkout. As I have only the one thing I opted for the “Express” isle.
Apparently without my caffeine fix I do move at the speed of a snail as my Pooh claims, and I can only blame my lack of swiftness for the twit that decided to cut in front of me just as I get there. I blink a couple of times before I notice that this fat-bottomed woman, squeezed into a pair of spandex shorts several sizes too small, thus giving her a spectacular Dunlap, has absconded with my place in line.
Ok, I take full responsibility for that. .
Of course the state of her clothing should have given me a clue to the amount of brains she had rattling in her brittle-fried-within-an-inch-of-its-life-bleach-blonde-head. For, as I stand in the ten items or less line, this woman proceeds to unpack an entire cart full of crap onto the tiny counter. I look around noticing that there is only one other lane open and that line seems to stretch into infinity. Fabulous.
The checker and I share a weary look, both of us knowing where this is heading. “Ma’am” she says. “This is the ten items or less lane.”
Lard butt looks up at the sign, hoists the straps of her tank top (no bra of course, ew) and says. “It is? Well, I have a couple more things than ten.”
“Surely you don’t mind just this once.”
The checker just barely restrains rolling of the eyeballs and sighs mournfully. “No ma’am it is fine, just this once.”
Gah!!! Of course she minds you witless cow! I MIND!!! I have not had my coffee damnit and I want it NOW! I scream silently in my head as I peruse the tabloid rack in an effort to distract myself. Unfortunately, the many covers with Jessica and Carmen and the rest of vacuous Hollywood did not help my frame of mind.
Things are going along, and the Walmart bags are piling up on the floor when we hit a snag.
“Wait, those are supposed to be two for five dollars.”
“It’s coming up 3.99.”
“Try it one more time”
“Well the sign said two for five.”
“Do you want me to do a price check?”
The checker scoots out from behind the register and heads toward the nearest phone with the world weary air of a DMV worker on Friday afternoon. I seethe silently.
Lard butt turns to me and says. “It said two for five.”
“I’m sure it did.” I say politely.
“I hate price checks.”
Then why did you ask for one you heifer? “Oh, me too.”
Lard butt looks at my lone coffee can. “Is that all you have?”
And we wait. Damnit. I, having perfected the art of waiting, stand quietly and flip through the tabloid. Lard butt, apparently having convinced herself she is the most important person on the planet huffs and puffs and complains loudly and bitterly so that all may hear how unfair her life is because she has to wait for a price check on a box of friggin donuts she, with her ginormous ass, really does not need in the first place.
She turns to me again. “What is taking so long?”
I shrug “It’s a price check, they always take a while, that’s why I never get them.”
“Look at how it‘s holding up the line. Well, they need to do something about that. ”
Of course ‘they’ do
About this time I crack. “Listen,” I say in a sweet ,mild tone. “If you had just gone into the other lane, instead of clogging the express lane with a cart full of stuff, I and the others like me who have just a couple of things would be out of here already.”
Lard butt gives me the ‘well-I-never!’ look and says hotly. “I didn’t know it was express.”
“Clearly, however the sign just above your head is quite easy to read. Perhaps in the future it would behoove you to get your head out of your ass and look up once in a while.”
With that I sweep from the line and head for the nearest CSM (aka Collation of Satan’s Mistresses) and explain the situation. I ended up getting a swift checkout at the customer service desk, much to my amazement. And as I sashay my pert little butt out of the store I wave merrily to lard butt, who had apparently decided to give up on the donuts after all.
Thursday, July 27, 2006
<---- Me and "Spanking Diaz"
Ok some of you are acquainted with my hubby aka Pooh so none of this will come as a surprise. For those of you who are not acquainted with Pooh, I apologize in advance.
This afternoon Pooh came swanning in to my room, dressed in his usual attire of tattered tighty-whities and a smug, sleazy smile. He stands in front of me in what I can only assume is a pose he had seen watching a cheap seventies porno and states the following in a Spanish accent he most likely heard from the same movie.
“Eello, I am Don Juan but ju may new me as Spanking Diaz. Si, ZE Spanking Diaz. Please, do nut come too cloze, I know thes is `ard for ju, I am world vamous porn star. I `ave been ze luver to meny women but belong to nun.”
He then proceeds to pose like a playboy bunny on the foot of my bed and continues this monologue;
“I new ju are overcomzs with ze dezire for a taste of my `ot latin lurv. Ju covet my speztatular and muzcular buddocks and long to become cloze friends with my loins. *insert sleezy smile here* “Alas Ju are too let, ny ‘eart as been captured by ze stunning and lurvery Meme, she is ze womens I vas ment to lurve for all eternity.”
At which point he leaves me, stunned speechless, and returns to his cave. Honestly, I am not sure if I could be afraid or flattered.
Saturday, July 22, 2006
Is it: meme (mēm), noun: A unit of cultural information, such as a cultural practice or idea, that is transmitted verbally or by repeated action from one mind to another?
Or is it Meme, the slightly cranky, just-woke-up woman above whose hubby Pooh thought it would be funny to snap this photo? (I have to say I do think it is funny now, especially when I recall the wedgie I gave him after :D)
It is both actually, but in the world of blogging, a meme is any idea that is spread from one person to another. It can be anything from a funny news story to a game of some sort to a what-type-of-kitchen-appliance-are-you? quiz. If you got the idea from someone else and you’re spreading the idea to other people, you’re contributing to a meme. Here are some memes seen around the Net:
Four Things About Me: I’ve seen a bunch of variations on this, but the premise is the same: listing things about yourself in fours on your blog.
Blog Tag: There are a million versions of this one too – basically write about something, and then tag someone else.
Meet and Greet: Leave a comment on a blog, find the person who commented before you and then comment on that person's blog.
Now it's your turn. Try one of the memes above. Even better, be creative and make one of your own. Feel free to comment about them here! Heck, we’ll do a version of the Meet and Greet on this blog. Comment on this blog entry, and read the blog of a person who had commented before you. Then post a nice comment on that person’s blog.
Come on you all know you want to take a ride of the MemeCoaster of Love! Whohoo!!!
To quote a very good friend of mine. We are Legion, We are Meme! *Ahem!*
Taken in part from yahoo's 360 (yes I know it is meem but really , I could not resist!)
Sunday, July 16, 2006
The Survival Guide to the Supernatural
1.When it appears that you have killed the monster, *never* check to see if it's really dead.
2.If you find that your house is built upon or near a cemetery, was once a church that was used for black masses, had previous inhabitants who went mad or committed suicide or died in some horrible fashion, or had inhabitants who performed satanic practices in your house--move away immediately!
3.Never read a book of demon summoning aloud, even as a joke.
4.Do not search the basement, especially if the power has just gone out.
5. If your children speak to you in Latin or any other language which they should not know, or if they speak to you using a voice which is other than their own, shoot them immediately. It will save you a lot of grief in the long run. NOTE: It will probably take several rounds to kill them, so be prepared.
6.When you have the benefit of numbers, *never* pair off and go it alone.
7.As a general rule, don't solve puzzles that open portals to Hell.
8.Never stand in, on, above, below, beside, or anywhere near a grave, tomb, crypt, mausoleum, or other house of the dead.
9.If you're searching for something which caused a noise and find out that it's just the cat, leave the room immediately if you value your life.
10.If appliances start operating by themselves, move out.
11.Do not take *anything* from the dead.
12.If you find a town which looks deserted, it's probably for a reason. Take the hint and stay away.
13.Don't fool with recombinant DNA technology unless you're sure you know what you are doing.
14.If you're running from the monster, expect to trip or fall down at least twice, more if you are of the female persuasion. Also note that, despite the fact that you are running and the monster is merely shambling along, it's still moving fast enough to catch up with you.
15.If your companions suddenly begin to exhibit uncharacteristic behavior such as hissing, fascination for blood, glowing eyes, increasing hairiness, and so on, get away from them as fast as possible.
16.Stay away from certain geographical locations, some of which are listed here: Amityville, Elm Street, Transylvania, Nilbog (you're in trouble if you recognize this one), the Bermuda Triangle, or any small town in Maine.
17.If your car runs out of gas at night, do not go to the nearby deserted-looking house to phone for help.
18. Beware of strangers bearing tools such as chainsaws, staple guns, hedge trimmers, electric carving knives, combines, lawnmowers, butane torches, soldering irons, band saws, or any device made from deceased companions.
I recommend one print this, have it laminated and keep it on one’s person at all times. Ideally, one should memorize it, however who has time for that sort of thing these days?
While you’re at, take a look at my story, http://www.fictionwise.com/eBooks/MidnightShowcaseeBooks.htm I am in there with a five other highly talented authors, so I am sure there is something to please whatever you fancy!
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
Moonshyne, Jewel Adams
Being the last moonbeam faery in existence makes Shyne lonely, until she meets Sheriff Malachi Spellfire, a shape-shifting demvir, who fills her emptiness with passion.
Trouble Brews, Mae Powers
When Jeff and Marion Trinkets learn she's pregnant, they didn't expect troubled brews of an eerie kind to happen within Spellfire, Texas.
The Grand Design, Melanie Gilbreath
Artist Stephen McClintock has lost his inspiration. It's interior decorator and witch Amy Pettibone to the rescue to salvage his unharmonious habitat.
Clothes Minded, Karen Rose
When car trouble brings runaway bride Cosmina del Costa to Quantum Mechanics, will this fashion designer find love in the arms of an ancient warrior?
In The Hot Zone, C. D. Reese
Heaven and Hell collide when a sharpshooter falls for a half demon. Can this 'petite ange' aim true to win her lover's very soul back?
High Chairs and High Stakes, Jenna Leigh
When Erin MacKenzie meets Matthias Gregory, a vampire raising his
daughter alone, the witch-nanny finds that she's bitten off more than she can chew.
Well, would you look at that!
I was actually starting to think it was a dream or something. Pooh induced of course.
This is very exciting, especially as three of the authors are, in fact, very great personal friends of mine! You do realize ladies, this means we are bound for all eternity! BWAHAHAHAHAHA!!!
We shall be MadCows forever! *Pumps fist in air*
Oh and yes I have finally gotten a website, after all my whining! My thanks to Jennifer Macaire for suggesting Moonfruit.
So check me out if you like. http://wordwitch.moonfruit.com/
Saturday, March 11, 2006
since my tarot deck is being a smart ass and repeating cards on me - 4 of Pentcles and The High Priestess- Here is something I thought was interesting!
Hope you all enjoy!
Caring For Your Muse
by Krishanna Spencer
The Greeks had nine guiding geniuses of creative inspiration, the Nine Muses. Ancient Grecians knew how to please and solicit their help. So should we, as Creative Spirits. Inspiration is often fickle,unpredictable and unaccountable. What can we do to make sure that our free spirited Muses feel welcome and at home with us?
Of course, there is no one answer but there is a common denominator: what your muse wants from you is your time.
Many of us are familiar with the terrific idea that hits you in the middle of a business meeting or as you grab your keys and head out the door. But usually, the idea is lost by the time we are home and in front of the keyboard, at the easel, or behind the pen.
Muse-pleasing works on the same principle as dreamwork. Your Muse likes to be invited, just like dreams. Natalie Goldberg suggests, "showing up for work"- even if you sit there blankly for an hour and nothing happens, fingers disturbingly still. Set aside regular time to wait, to pay attention, to listen, to be there. However, muses are allergic to imperatives and don't appear to place such a high price on producing as we do. They like us to give ourselves time to play and daydream, to think and ruminate, to muse and be amused.
What does your Muse look like? What kind of Muse do have or do you
want? What is her name? What does your Muse prefer? Does she prefer blues to classical; roses or daffodils? Does she have a favorite coloror fragrance? Is she your sister, a Goddess or an intimate friend?
When we symbolize creative inspiration this way, we are more likely to set up the best atmosphere for keeping our Muses and our creative selves by extension, content and well fed. Inspiration needs nourishment and no one wants to starve his or her Muse. Museums,libraries, galleries, concerts, nature and bookstores keep your Muse interested and inspired-- and your creativity in almost constant bloom.
Like people, Muses enjoy friends. Maybe you have developed relationships that scoff at your attempts and ignore your achievements but no self-respecting Muse stands for this. If you keep your Muse in mind, she will help you to choose friendships that will support and nurture your creativity.
Muses hate to be bored and many aspects of our culture do this- television, mall music and the erroneous idea that we exist to shop andbuy in our pervasive advertising. When my Muse starts to snooze, I take it as an indication that I need to choose more things that keep Her awake and alert.
It's difficult to engage your Muse when you are surrounded with noise and chaos. Vital to a muse is a private place. A converted garage, or attic or the corner of a room for your chosen form of art makes that private place for you and your Muse to form a deep and lasting kinship.
Lastly, some sort of regular, spiritual practice seems to please the Muse. Whether this includes singing, drumming, prayer, meditation,burning candles, lighting incense or something completely different; it doesn't matter. What matters is that if you feel dried out or burned up, spending some time focused on Spirit can bring us to the well and allows us to drink the sweet water of creativity. Muses get thirsty too.
Thursday, March 09, 2006
The four of pentacles represents possessions. Financial problems will be overcome and you will find yourself with material stability. A very solid home life is indicated, this is great if it comes after a time of struggle, however if not, life could become too predictable.
OK this one was not too hard for me to figure out. Today I started a new job and it is one where I shall be making more money than the last. I also am saving to go back to school so, much like the grouchy merchant in this card, I am hoarding every dime I make with an almost posessive jealousy. It is mine, MINE!!! And you cant have it, I shant share!!!
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Am I sensing a theme here?
As I am using the Robin Wood deck, this card seems to compliment yesterday’s card of the Moon. The moon is in this card again and it is shining brightly, the Priestess herself seems to be offering me the knowledge she holds in her hand, if only I will take it.
I found myself staring at this card for quite a while this morning. It really spoke to me. I have been studying the Craft for after three years and, after several bad experiences, have nearly given up on finding anyone knowledgeable to guide me. Perhaps this card is telling me not to give up, or that maybe I don’t need someone to show me the way, I can find it myself if I keep looking.
Stimulating the imagination
Another interesting card for me. I have been sort of wandering aimlessly for the last month, not getting anything useful done, very unhappy in my last job and in denial about my misery because it was convenient. It has wreaked havoc on my inner balance. Along with that are the inner changes that I have been going through.
I have recently been contracted to write a story heavy on the fantasy elements, and have been struggling with it. I am very afraid I shall fail and my story shall sucketh big time!
This card did not frighten me, as I gather from the book it does to many. The moon gives plenty of light and the path is clear. I don’t see the baying dogs as frightening but as companions for my trip and what dog does not love to howl at the moon? The water and the crawfish, to me represent creative energy being drawn from the recesses of my subconscious and the pillars to me represent strength and in a of sort of way I find them comforting.
I could be totally off but there you have it!
March 6, 2006
Six of swords-
Feeling the blues
OK this was a weirdly profound card for me for two reasons. I have recently accepted that I have left the Maiden phase of my life behind and entered the Mother phase. This makes me sad and wistful, I feel like I just got to know the Maiden me and now I have to leave her behind.
I know it is for the best yet I can’t seem to muster any enthusiasm about it.
On a more mundane note, I am leaving one dead-end job for another, the new one is marginally better, more money better, hours yada, yada yet is still a dead end job. Still it is progress forward, but I can’t bring my self to be enthusiastic about it either.
Thursday, February 23, 2006
The Fairy Princess
You are youthful, cheery, and exuberant with a sunny disposition and a mischievous sense of humor. You are very lively and are always up for a good bit of fun. You have a deep love of nature and animals.
Role Model: Titania
You are most likely to: Convert a pumpkin into a useful mode of transportation.
Monday, February 20, 2006
It has been brought to my attention that, as a budding author, I should consider getting a website of my own.
Good Lord! Look people, the only reason I have this blog is because my good friend Jenn did all my HTML or whatever it is called for me. I am such a dolt at this stuff that she is forced to keep a file on her own computer of all my stuff and fix my mistakes.
There seems to be a bewildering array of places one can get a website at. So how does a tech-challenged gal know how to get the one that is right for her. I mean it’s not like I can to go match.com and fill out a questionnaire and be matched up to the right one. Or can I?
So hear my cry for help out there in cyber space.
Wherever shall I go? Whatever shall I do? Ahem. *ok my Gone With the Wind moment has passed. *
Any advice shall be gratefully accepted
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
Let me see what have I been doing with myself? (besides not keeping up with my blog?)
I have been accepted by Midnight Showcase to write a story for their summer Spellfire Digest. Yes it is very exciting! Go me!!!
I did have the deer-in-the-headlights-writer’s-block for about a week but then our Devine Ms. Q gave me some advice that I had given her and it’s all good now. May I say that I do indeed give good advice *Preens*
Pooh has stopped making fire and now apparently can only produce smoke. So I am indeed a smoked Meme. *sigh* He has also managed to break the wood stove, Apparently no one informed him that one splits logs with an ax and a wedge, not by beating them against the lip of the wood stove. Luckily there was no fire, only smoke so we did not have to file an insurance claim. ( I wonder if we are covered for an act of Pooh?)
As a side note, three of marvelous mad cows listed in the side bar have also been accepted into the Spellfire digest I have been , this is a most exciting development as you know how ebil likes to stick together!
That is all for now, I shall endeavor to keep you all abreast of things here in the smoky little kingdom of Princess Smoked Meme and Chief Pooh of the ripped drawers!
P.s. Much thanks to Jenn for fixing my blog with a new look!