Have you ever wondered what it would feel like if you injected bleach into your lungs? It feels like bronchitis, which I have had, seriously, for two fucking weeks. So much for bragging that I haven't been sick in 5 years...
Surgery, oh yeah, that thing. It's going well. I have some gross scars, a little pain, but other than that, I've fine, except that I got bronchitis. Which is the worst illness I have ever had. Especially when I have a coughing fit and this green stuff that looks like spackling flies out of my mouth. I've been told by my doctor that the spackling stuff is what's known as a "productive cough".
Great, because other than my cough, I haven't been productive at all.
I was also told that quitting smoking cold turkey right before my surgery was "a stupid thing to do" and "possibly the stupidest thing a patient has ever done". I'm allowed, by my doc, to smoke 2 cigarettes a day to help my lungs get through this difficult time. I know it seems counter-intuitive to smoke while sick, but it helps with my cough, which is exacerbated by suddenly quitting smoking.
Right, enough bitching about being sick. I promise to go back to writing interesting things in the next few days, assuming my bronchitis keeps getting better...
Friday, February 18, 2011
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
I give Joe the finger
My friend Joe "Brassy" Josephson was driving to the outdoor retail show the night I had surgery, but he wanted to know how I was. I sent him this picture giving him the finger (hee). For the record, because I've had frostbite in a lot of fingers, my middle finger was the only one they could get a reading from.Check out all those jacked up IVs they put in my arm. I was like you dudes are doing that because I have good veins, not because I need them. Which made the nurses laugh because I do have great veins and it gave the interns a chance to practice. Interesting fact - new needles for the IVs are plastic, not metal. But still, I don't like having that shit in my arm. See that blue thing? That's to monitor my oxygen. I unplugged it and forgot to plug it back in...oops...I got yelled at for that.
Joe had recently burned his fingers, so he sent me this pic of his finger in response to my middle finger picture. Of course, he's not really giving me the middle finger.
And now, I have to go lay back down on the sofa and watch a movie or something. Still feeling tired and it's uncomfortable to sit up for long periods of time. And somehow my eyes are messed up, they've been blurry since the surgery...
surgery
My anesthesiologist did a great job (and was a smoker, and told me that he would have snuck me out for a smoke break if the doctor hadn't shown up). He gave me something he called "medicinal bourbon" to relax me. I don't know what the fuck it was, but I literally felt it hit my vein. He said it normally takes a few minutes to kick in, but right as it went into my arm everything in the room got crazy. I vaguely remember saying "Did anyone else notice that everything in the room just turned purple?" Then I don't remember anything. My mom said that I was carrying on as if I had been on a drinking bender for hours. I'm glad I don't remember what I said.
When I came to in the recovery room, I was still pretty jacked up. The nurses said I kept laughing uncontrollably. Surprisingly I didn't vomit once. The key is to take Dramamine before surgery if you are allergic to anesthetic. Wish someone had told me that 10 years ago. I'm normally vomiting my brains out in recovery. This very sweet orderly took me to my room. I remember telling him "look, you've had a lot to drink, maybe you should let me drive". He told my mom that I was the first patient he's ever wheeled up to a room that was like a happy drunk.
I stayed at Rose Medical Center. Say what you will about the annoyances of HIPAA, one good thing is hospitals can no longer crowd patients into a room. I had my own room, a huge contrast from my last hospital stay when they packed 3 other patients in a room the same size as the one I stayed in at Rose.
The nurses were bored because there weren't many patients on the floor. They kept bringing me stuff to eat, even though I wasn't hungry. They would show up with ice cream and then say "oh, you can't eat this can you" and then they would eat the ice cream while sitting on the edge of my bed. After re hydrating I started feeling more human and was able to show the nurses how to do a little hack on their computer system to make it easier to enter patient information. I learned how to use all the computers in my room so I could get out of bed to pee or wander the halls without setting off any alarms.
After getting knocked out for surgery your lungs get lazy. One thing I had to do was breathe into this machine to register how strong my lungs were working. My lungs were kind of shit (this is also supposed to keep you from getting bronchitis, but I got sick anyway because my mom got it, supposedly because she was with me in the hospital).
I had asked the nurses what I had to do to get out of the hospital as quickly as possible. I met all of the tasks they gave me by Thursday night, but they wanted me to stay so I did. At 3 in the morning me, two nurses, and a nurse intern had a contest with the breathing machine. I won for the strongest lungs, which surprised them because I smoke(d). Then they said I kind of cheated because I didn't tell them that I also run.
One of the nurses, Kathy, came in to see me every hour. I always woke up when she came into my room and she would tell me stories about her family. She also would bring me popsicles and as much coke as I could drink even though I was supposed to be drinking water. She kept telling me to order a sandwich from room service (yeah, hospital with room service) but I really couldn't eat anything. And she took me off the "standard diet" delivery so I could order what ever I wanted for breakfast and dinner.
When I left the hospital they didn't even make me ride down to the car in a wheel chair.
If you're ever in Denver and need surgery, I highly recommend Rose Medical Center. It was seriously the BEST hospital I have ever been in.
five points batmobile
Weird. What the fuck is this thing? The batmobile with empty gun turrets? Oddly, on the same corner some guys were selling drugs. Maybe it's their car.
Very subtle. Not.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
weird things the French eat
Yesterday I was way swamped with work tying up loose ends before my surgery. It didn't help that I had a conference call from 754 to 1030 last night...
FRG offered to make me dinner since I didn't even have time to go pick something up. Dinner consisted of potatoes broiled in spices that are from FRG's "prah vansss" and salad. If you can roll the S sound out really long when saying provence you get extra points from the French.
He also brought two kinds of cheese. One was Roquefort cheese, which I've had, and the other was Morbier, which FRG used to make when he lived in France. For the record, we americans do cheese wrong. It was in the wrong kind of plastic packaging and the sticker on the cheese, according to FRG, "is stupid and sucks". I guess in France the cheese is served in leather jackets with matching pants.
There was a very long explanation about the temperature at which you serve cheese, as well as how it's made. Morbier has this green stripe in it because back in the day farmers didn't have a big enough pot, or what ever you make cheese in, to make the whole cheese (I didn't know cheese had to be a certain size) so they would put some stuff (I didn't really understand the word) in to mark where the cheese was stopped so the next day they could make more. Making cheese is totally stressful. You have to press it, get the whey out, make some bacteria grow in it, and beat it to pieces with some metal blender thing, but if you beat it too much all the cheese goes down some drain thing. But it you beat it into too big of pieces it's "totally fucked up" as the FRG helpfully put it.
I disgraced myself by sticking a knife into the middle of the cheese and pulling a blob of it out to put on my baguette. FRG looked at me as if I had picked the cheese up with my toes and said I must never do that again, specific guidance being "You cut a whole slice, put it on your plate, and then you can spread it on your bread". Who knew... He also cautioned me not to eat the rind of the cheese. As if.
I was a little worried about the cheese because it smelled sort of like feet, and things that go into your body come out smelling at least 4 times as bad. I figured if the Morbier cheese made me fart they would have to block off my house as a toxic waste site.
He also brought prosciutto to go with the potatoes. I never had it before, and was not pleased to see that it looked like the skin that's peeled off of an infected blister. Gross. Also, the label on the package said "Boar's Head". It took about 5 minutes for FRG to convince me that was the brand name of the meat place and not where the meat came from (I have reasons to be suspicious - he told me about how in his village people drink blood from a pig right after it's been killed - "with spices" he said as if that makes drinking blood alright - you apparently have to share your blood with your neighbors and they share their blood with you when they kill a pig - I'm glad you can't raise pigs where I live).
After smelling the prosciutto and attempting numerous times to put it in my mouth, I finally ate a piece. It was like pig sushi. So gross. I told FRG "this tastes like raw bacon" and he said "that's essentially what it is". I almost puked.
He said I have to be more adventurous in eating if I expect him to continue cooking for me. So I plan to take him for sushi after I've recovered from my surgery. We'll see how he does with raw quail eggs.
Fair is fair, even when it comes to the french.
FRG offered to make me dinner since I didn't even have time to go pick something up. Dinner consisted of potatoes broiled in spices that are from FRG's "prah vansss" and salad. If you can roll the S sound out really long when saying provence you get extra points from the French.
He also brought two kinds of cheese. One was Roquefort cheese, which I've had, and the other was Morbier, which FRG used to make when he lived in France. For the record, we americans do cheese wrong. It was in the wrong kind of plastic packaging and the sticker on the cheese, according to FRG, "is stupid and sucks". I guess in France the cheese is served in leather jackets with matching pants.
There was a very long explanation about the temperature at which you serve cheese, as well as how it's made. Morbier has this green stripe in it because back in the day farmers didn't have a big enough pot, or what ever you make cheese in, to make the whole cheese (I didn't know cheese had to be a certain size) so they would put some stuff (I didn't really understand the word) in to mark where the cheese was stopped so the next day they could make more. Making cheese is totally stressful. You have to press it, get the whey out, make some bacteria grow in it, and beat it to pieces with some metal blender thing, but if you beat it too much all the cheese goes down some drain thing. But it you beat it into too big of pieces it's "totally fucked up" as the FRG helpfully put it.
I disgraced myself by sticking a knife into the middle of the cheese and pulling a blob of it out to put on my baguette. FRG looked at me as if I had picked the cheese up with my toes and said I must never do that again, specific guidance being "You cut a whole slice, put it on your plate, and then you can spread it on your bread". Who knew... He also cautioned me not to eat the rind of the cheese. As if.
I was a little worried about the cheese because it smelled sort of like feet, and things that go into your body come out smelling at least 4 times as bad. I figured if the Morbier cheese made me fart they would have to block off my house as a toxic waste site.
He also brought prosciutto to go with the potatoes. I never had it before, and was not pleased to see that it looked like the skin that's peeled off of an infected blister. Gross. Also, the label on the package said "Boar's Head". It took about 5 minutes for FRG to convince me that was the brand name of the meat place and not where the meat came from (I have reasons to be suspicious - he told me about how in his village people drink blood from a pig right after it's been killed - "with spices" he said as if that makes drinking blood alright - you apparently have to share your blood with your neighbors and they share their blood with you when they kill a pig - I'm glad you can't raise pigs where I live).
After smelling the prosciutto and attempting numerous times to put it in my mouth, I finally ate a piece. It was like pig sushi. So gross. I told FRG "this tastes like raw bacon" and he said "that's essentially what it is". I almost puked.
He said I have to be more adventurous in eating if I expect him to continue cooking for me. So I plan to take him for sushi after I've recovered from my surgery. We'll see how he does with raw quail eggs.
Fair is fair, even when it comes to the french.
Monday, January 24, 2011
French translation
While hanging out with my French rope gun (who would have imagined I would become friends with someone who is French, real French, not Canadian French, and worse, from southern France) I've had a few moments of confusion over his English. I've provided some translations of French English in case you decide to become friends with someone French who "speaks english".
While we were driving in the worst traffic ever on Saturday to go skiing, FRG was (oh wait, I just noticed, the abbreviation of french rope gun almost spells frog - I did NOT do that on purpose) telling me a story about getting in trouble in high school while taking some test they have to take to graduate. He didn't study for the exam, but he and his friend devised a little plan to pass the test. But, what I heard when he was telling the story, was "I was accused by my teacher of being a shit" (I can see that, he's french) and "she accused me of shitting with my friend" (okay, that sounded weird, even for french boys in boarding school). I finally figured out shitting was cheating. I have not corrected him on that word, and have encouraged him to tell that story to more people because it was so funny.
He was also telling me, after skiing that he was worried about his harm. He then went on for a few more minutes about his harm. I thought at first he might have been talking about how dangerous ski conditions were on Saturday (half the runs on the mountain were closed because of high winds, and I literally could not see more than 2 feet in front of me due to blowing snow while I was skiing). I finally realized he was talking about his arm. Which is interesting BECAUSE...
A few days previous he was showing me pictures of climbing areas in France and Washington State. In one of the pictures he said "Look, that is art lake". I thought that was a kind of stupid name for a lake, though it was very picturesque and had a nice reflection of flowers in it. So I said "Yes, I can see why someone would want to paint that, which is why it has that name I guess." He looked at me as though I was a moron (that happens a lot, especially in the gym when I am trying to learn proper footwork or how to use a gri-gri). Later, in another picture, I noticed that the lake was in the shape of a heart, and realized he had been saying "heart lake".
So I accused him of randomly leaving out or adding an H to words. He said that he doesn't like to say "arm" because "it sounds stupid, and is a stupid word". So he will add an H or extra vowels to words he doesn't like to make them "sound better". He also leaves off consonants on words. He refuses to say "th" and replaces it with either an F or an S sound. If I make fun of his pronunciation he asks me to say phrases in French. He especially likes my pronunciation of my cook ware, Le Crueset. When he says it it doesn't even sound like a word you could spell.
I guess I'm going to have to learn some French so FRG can write a blog making fun of me...
While we were driving in the worst traffic ever on Saturday to go skiing, FRG was (oh wait, I just noticed, the abbreviation of french rope gun almost spells frog - I did NOT do that on purpose) telling me a story about getting in trouble in high school while taking some test they have to take to graduate. He didn't study for the exam, but he and his friend devised a little plan to pass the test. But, what I heard when he was telling the story, was "I was accused by my teacher of being a shit" (I can see that, he's french) and "she accused me of shitting with my friend" (okay, that sounded weird, even for french boys in boarding school). I finally figured out shitting was cheating. I have not corrected him on that word, and have encouraged him to tell that story to more people because it was so funny.
He was also telling me, after skiing that he was worried about his harm. He then went on for a few more minutes about his harm. I thought at first he might have been talking about how dangerous ski conditions were on Saturday (half the runs on the mountain were closed because of high winds, and I literally could not see more than 2 feet in front of me due to blowing snow while I was skiing). I finally realized he was talking about his arm. Which is interesting BECAUSE...
A few days previous he was showing me pictures of climbing areas in France and Washington State. In one of the pictures he said "Look, that is art lake". I thought that was a kind of stupid name for a lake, though it was very picturesque and had a nice reflection of flowers in it. So I said "Yes, I can see why someone would want to paint that, which is why it has that name I guess." He looked at me as though I was a moron (that happens a lot, especially in the gym when I am trying to learn proper footwork or how to use a gri-gri). Later, in another picture, I noticed that the lake was in the shape of a heart, and realized he had been saying "heart lake".
So I accused him of randomly leaving out or adding an H to words. He said that he doesn't like to say "arm" because "it sounds stupid, and is a stupid word". So he will add an H or extra vowels to words he doesn't like to make them "sound better". He also leaves off consonants on words. He refuses to say "th" and replaces it with either an F or an S sound. If I make fun of his pronunciation he asks me to say phrases in French. He especially likes my pronunciation of my cook ware, Le Crueset. When he says it it doesn't even sound like a word you could spell.
I guess I'm going to have to learn some French so FRG can write a blog making fun of me...
my quit smoking program
So I will hopefully quit smoking starting this thursday, when I show up at the hospital at 530 am to get my uterus cut out. Fun.
Don't recommend that as a quit smoking program for everyone, but getting rid of the curse and a nasty nicotine habit all on the same day seemed like a good idea to me.
Don't recommend that as a quit smoking program for everyone, but getting rid of the curse and a nasty nicotine habit all on the same day seemed like a good idea to me.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Mickey Mouse uterus - a gross blog you might not want to read
On Wednesday I went to the doc's for a check up. I have to do that every year since I had problems back in 2004 requiring surgery. I almost skipped the appointment because I just had one in April of last year, and had a pap smear (if that mention bothers you, don't read the rest of this) in December that was normal.
Well wouldn't you fucking know it...during the ultrasound my doctor started freaking out and taking lots of pictures. That's never a good thing. I could see the screen and could see the dark spots that are tumors (know how to spot them after my last surgery). There were 5 big enough for her to take pics of, and smaller ones. Plus, I have some tumors growing on the outside of my uterus. My doctor, who is very cool, said my uterus looks like Mickey Mouse. Which would be funny if it didn't also suck.
So now I have to get a hysterectomy. My doctor wants me to do it as soon as possible because the tumors grew so fast (8 months), they're big enough for her to feel by just poking my abdomen (not that I have a lot of fat on my abdomen, but still, that's gross). I go see a specialist tomorrow to figure out what the fuck I'm going to do.
Positive thing: no more monthly curse. Negative thing: a lot of blogs I've read doing research say that constipation is a problem, along with gas, and potential weight gain. And some other crap stuff.
The cool thing is I met with my veteran yesterday and she had the same surgery. My vet was a combat medic and I'm her mentor to help her transition into a commercial job (I'm volunteering through an organization called ACP). She's great and really tall. She said she'll be my surgery mentor since I'm helping her with the job stuff. I like that we are helping each other.
More to follow after my appointment tomorrow...
Well wouldn't you fucking know it...during the ultrasound my doctor started freaking out and taking lots of pictures. That's never a good thing. I could see the screen and could see the dark spots that are tumors (know how to spot them after my last surgery). There were 5 big enough for her to take pics of, and smaller ones. Plus, I have some tumors growing on the outside of my uterus. My doctor, who is very cool, said my uterus looks like Mickey Mouse. Which would be funny if it didn't also suck.
So now I have to get a hysterectomy. My doctor wants me to do it as soon as possible because the tumors grew so fast (8 months), they're big enough for her to feel by just poking my abdomen (not that I have a lot of fat on my abdomen, but still, that's gross). I go see a specialist tomorrow to figure out what the fuck I'm going to do.
Positive thing: no more monthly curse. Negative thing: a lot of blogs I've read doing research say that constipation is a problem, along with gas, and potential weight gain. And some other crap stuff.
The cool thing is I met with my veteran yesterday and she had the same surgery. My vet was a combat medic and I'm her mentor to help her transition into a commercial job (I'm volunteering through an organization called ACP). She's great and really tall. She said she'll be my surgery mentor since I'm helping her with the job stuff. I like that we are helping each other.
More to follow after my appointment tomorrow...
quiet please, my dough is resting
So last night, after 2 glasses of wine, and while switching to the second DVD for Godfather II, I decided to make some bread. I had been given an "easy" recipe from the ladies at La Crueset when I bought my pots. It's a bread I can make in my dutch oven. In theory.
I thought last night went pretty good. I put my flour through the flour shifter (shocked I own one, aren't you). Then I didn't exactly measure the amount of yeast I put in, but more should be better, right? I had to do some mathematical calculations on the water (perhaps that's where things went wrong).
This morning when I checked my dough it looked exactly like the directions said it should. Bubbly on top. I luckily checked the directions around 2 (I'm making the bread for dinner tonight at 630 - my rope gun is coming over and is making me chicken picata) and found out the dough had to be taken out of the bowl, rolled in some flour, laid on a towel with more towel on top, and that it still needed another two hours to "rest" before being ready to cook (for an hour and a half - that seems excessive).
I rolled it out and did just what the directions said, except that it said to form the dough into a ball, which was kind of impossible because it's like a total blob. Then it said to rest the dough on its seam. Seam? What the fuck is that? I just put it on the towel and it sort of oozed into a flat kind of thing. I tried putting more flour in but the recipe said you can only do that if you do it quickly and not to man handle the dough too much. It was supposed to rise to twice it's normal size.
Anyway, after an hour it's still the same old blob as before. I even turned on the oven to give the dough more heat and that's not helping (it's sitting on top of the oven).
Damn. Fucking bread. How about this dough blob? Less resting, more rising.
I will post a picture of it after it's cooked. Should be good for a few laughs.
I thought last night went pretty good. I put my flour through the flour shifter (shocked I own one, aren't you). Then I didn't exactly measure the amount of yeast I put in, but more should be better, right? I had to do some mathematical calculations on the water (perhaps that's where things went wrong).
This morning when I checked my dough it looked exactly like the directions said it should. Bubbly on top. I luckily checked the directions around 2 (I'm making the bread for dinner tonight at 630 - my rope gun is coming over and is making me chicken picata) and found out the dough had to be taken out of the bowl, rolled in some flour, laid on a towel with more towel on top, and that it still needed another two hours to "rest" before being ready to cook (for an hour and a half - that seems excessive).
I rolled it out and did just what the directions said, except that it said to form the dough into a ball, which was kind of impossible because it's like a total blob. Then it said to rest the dough on its seam. Seam? What the fuck is that? I just put it on the towel and it sort of oozed into a flat kind of thing. I tried putting more flour in but the recipe said you can only do that if you do it quickly and not to man handle the dough too much. It was supposed to rise to twice it's normal size.
Anyway, after an hour it's still the same old blob as before. I even turned on the oven to give the dough more heat and that's not helping (it's sitting on top of the oven).
Damn. Fucking bread. How about this dough blob? Less resting, more rising.
I will post a picture of it after it's cooked. Should be good for a few laughs.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
OR victory from the jaws of defeat!!!!!!!!!!!
I was kind of bummed last night that I lost pitchapalooza. But, when I was walking home, in a way, I felt like something good was going to happen. I talked to Brassy last night and he cheered me up, but still I felt like there was something unfinished, or that something was going to happen.
This morning I checked my email, and had one from someone in my writer's group that I haven't really met. He was at the pitch last night, he's a published author, and an award winning screen writer splitting his time between here and NYC (which is why I haven't met him). The email said:
I was shocked, surprised, excited, and stunned that this person who's never met me, or read anything I've written, would go out of his way to help me. I sent a profusely thankful email back to him, offered to buy him a drink, and then got on the stick and sent an email, which was probably crappy, to David. Now I guess I'll wait and see what happens.
In the mean time, I got a response back to my thankful email:
This morning I checked my email, and had one from someone in my writer's group that I haven't really met. He was at the pitch last night, he's a published author, and an award winning screen writer splitting his time between here and NYC (which is why I haven't met him). The email said:
Hi, Franki,
After the event, I bought a book and got it signed. I put in a
nice word for you with David (the pitchapalooza panel guy). He wants to follow up
with you and was really impressed with your pitch, Franki. He
wanted me to make sure you contact him. His email is [deleted].
Good luck! Awesome job tonight.
After the event, I bought a book and got it signed. I put in a
nice word for you with David (the pitchapalooza panel guy). He wants to follow up
with you and was really impressed with your pitch, Franki. He
wanted me to make sure you contact him. His email is [deleted].
Good luck! Awesome job tonight.
I was shocked, surprised, excited, and stunned that this person who's never met me, or read anything I've written, would go out of his way to help me. I sent a profusely thankful email back to him, offered to buy him a drink, and then got on the stick and sent an email, which was probably crappy, to David. Now I guess I'll wait and see what happens.
In the mean time, I got a response back to my thankful email:
Your story is CAPTIVATING! I have not seen your writing, but if it is anything like the way you tell it verbally, I believe you will inspire many people. Plus, you're a really nice person and I want you to succeed.
See you soon.
Stay tuned...
Monday, January 10, 2011
I lost
Well, tonight was a weird experience...
When I got to the pitchapalooza 64 people had shown up to pitch. I was like uh oh. They had us put our names in a basket to be randomly selected to pitch. They said they would take 30 people. I didn't get called. Then they said they only had time for one more pitch (19 had been done) because Tattered Cover was closing early. I thought as hard as I could for them to pull my name as the last pitch.
Amazingly, they did.
From the first 5 seconds of my pitch there was an audible gasp from the panel. Then they laughed at the cadaver knee part. When I finished they even applauded me (they didn't applaud anyone else). The main guy said my pitch was perfect and that he loved it. A guy who is a book rep said he thought my book would sell really well and that if the media got their hands on me they would eat me up (his exact words). They all said there wasn't a single thing about my pitch that they would change (unlike every one else that had pitched). I told them I had gotten some rejections on my book and the book seller said "that's because they aren't reading your pitch, but that's going to change - don't see those as rejections at all".
The one woman on the panel asked if my stories were true. I said I had the pictures and witnesses to prove it which made everyone in the audience laugh (maybe because of the way I said it, I don't know).
Then the woman and the book seller went out of the room to pick the winner. I put my hat on and got my jacket ready. Everyone was like "what are you doing? you had to have won!" When the woman and book seller walked back in the room a bunch of people from the writer's group started saying "You know you won".
Which was embarrassing because I didn't win. The woman who won wrote a memoir about making a major change in her life from being a house wife to a feminist. Her pitch was so boring compared to some of the others that I didn't even remember what it was about (someone pitched a kid's book about the Cat Intelligence Agency, where cats solve crimes by manipulating humans - thought that was a great pitch).
Afterward a bunch of people came up to me, that I didn't know, and told me that they really liked my book idea. It was weird.
So, I'm going to change my cover letter to my one minute pitch. Find some agents. Send them a paper copy of my letter, chapter summaries, and the first five pages of my book. And keep going. I have to be close at this point for something to happen.
When I got to the pitchapalooza 64 people had shown up to pitch. I was like uh oh. They had us put our names in a basket to be randomly selected to pitch. They said they would take 30 people. I didn't get called. Then they said they only had time for one more pitch (19 had been done) because Tattered Cover was closing early. I thought as hard as I could for them to pull my name as the last pitch.
Amazingly, they did.
From the first 5 seconds of my pitch there was an audible gasp from the panel. Then they laughed at the cadaver knee part. When I finished they even applauded me (they didn't applaud anyone else). The main guy said my pitch was perfect and that he loved it. A guy who is a book rep said he thought my book would sell really well and that if the media got their hands on me they would eat me up (his exact words). They all said there wasn't a single thing about my pitch that they would change (unlike every one else that had pitched). I told them I had gotten some rejections on my book and the book seller said "that's because they aren't reading your pitch, but that's going to change - don't see those as rejections at all".
The one woman on the panel asked if my stories were true. I said I had the pictures and witnesses to prove it which made everyone in the audience laugh (maybe because of the way I said it, I don't know).
Then the woman and the book seller went out of the room to pick the winner. I put my hat on and got my jacket ready. Everyone was like "what are you doing? you had to have won!" When the woman and book seller walked back in the room a bunch of people from the writer's group started saying "You know you won".
Which was embarrassing because I didn't win. The woman who won wrote a memoir about making a major change in her life from being a house wife to a feminist. Her pitch was so boring compared to some of the others that I didn't even remember what it was about (someone pitched a kid's book about the Cat Intelligence Agency, where cats solve crimes by manipulating humans - thought that was a great pitch).
Afterward a bunch of people came up to me, that I didn't know, and told me that they really liked my book idea. It was weird.
So, I'm going to change my cover letter to my one minute pitch. Find some agents. Send them a paper copy of my letter, chapter summaries, and the first five pages of my book. And keep going. I have to be close at this point for something to happen.
pitchapalooza
Tonight I'm attending an event with my writer's group. It has the dumb name "pitchapalooza". Everyone gets one minute to give a verbal pitch to a panel of experts (what ever that means and how ever they qualify as an expert). The winner gets a 15 minute consultation that may or may not lead to book publication.
I spent Saturday and Sunday trying to come up with my pitch. I can't decide today whether I'm nervous or not. I wish I knew more about what the format for the event was going to be, and how many people are going to be there. I'm wondering if less people will come because of the snow we got yesterday.
Here's the final version of my pitch:
I spent Saturday and Sunday trying to come up with my pitch. I can't decide today whether I'm nervous or not. I wish I knew more about what the format for the event was going to be, and how many people are going to be there. I'm wondering if less people will come because of the snow we got yesterday.
Here's the final version of my pitch:
Have you ever wondered what it would be like to have your head almost bitten off by a great white shark? Or to take a 70 foot fall in front of eight tourists while rock climbing in the gunks? Or to complete the Alcatraz to San Francisco swim after learning to swim on the internet?
Me too! That’s why I did those things and then wrote a book about them. My Other Nine Lives is a completed collection of 9 humorous non-fiction essays about my experiences in learning extreme sports, despite having little athletic talent and a knee built out of cadaver parts as a result of an accident that doctors thought would leave me crippled for the rest of my life.
The stories are woven together by a biographical thread that provides insight into managing extreme pain through extreme sports, as well as detailing my romances and mis-adventures with professional extreme athletes. It’s the usual travel adventure book, but with homicidal sled dogs, falling ice, and screaming barfies.
Friday, January 7, 2011
american express - I should have left home without it
My fucking head is going to explode. Seriously.
I spent 5 hours today (luckily had a lot of conf calls - multi-tasking!) going through every corporate am ex statement since March of 2007 along side the scanned in copies of all of my expense reports trying to find out why I have a $1,400 balance on my card.
If that sounds like not such a hard task, let me clarify by saying I have at least 2 expense reports every month, and for the past two years have had one submitted a week. Last year I charged about $200,000 worth of stuff to my am ex.
"Well," you're probably thinking "can't your company just run a report to see what expenses on your card haven't been assigned to an expense report?"
Yeah buster, I'm one step ahead of you on that one. I tried that. We use a system, the same one I've used at every company I've worked at since 1995, that uploads your charges and then you assign them to an expense report and the bills get paid. But, what has happened is somehow charges that I didn't make got assigned to my account in the system. Charges I did make probably ended up on someone else's account (for example, I had an airfare that never showed up in my card data). That has never happened to me before in the 12 years of using the system other places - only at this company.
When that started happening last year I called the morons who handle this shit in my company. They said "oh, just delete those expenses if you didn't make them." Regarding my missing charges, they said "you can't put them on a report manually, they will be rejected. We'll try to figure out what's going on."
What, me worry?
Anyway, since November of 2009 I have been trying to get this issue resolved. Even though Am Ex and I can both prove that expenses being applied to my account were never made by me, my company can't figure out how to take them off my account (e.g. $900 of stuff charged in New Jersey - car rental and hotel - when I can prove I was in the UAE when the charges were incurred). Am Ex tells me they can see the name on the receipts and it isn't my name - they know whose account the charges should go on but my company can't figure out, in their system, how to move the charges.
My company suggested I pay the $1400 until things get sorted out because my credit card is about to be turned off. Fat fucking chance. After almost a year and a half this problem is not any closer to being resolved. I can probably sweet talk am ex into cutting me a break, again, but I'm racking up late fees to the tune of $45 - $80 a month. But I'm afraid if I pay the charges my company will never give my money back.
They did give me a form to fill out for expenses over 1 year old. Unfortunately, after I filled it out and sent it in, I found out it was the wrong form. I filled out the new form a week later, and was told the process of who I have to submit the form to was also changed, so the person I sent it to just ignored it, and my subsequent emails, and it wasn't until I went to her boss that I found out I wasn't supposed to send the form to her anymore. No one can tell me who to send the form to, but they're going to email me real soon.
I would ask my manager, but he's not really my manager because he's working a different job now and they haven't replaced him with someone else. I inquired who my manager was and the response was a copy of the job description for my manager with the suggestion I apply for the position.
Fucking fuck I am annoyed!
I spent 5 hours today (luckily had a lot of conf calls - multi-tasking!) going through every corporate am ex statement since March of 2007 along side the scanned in copies of all of my expense reports trying to find out why I have a $1,400 balance on my card.
If that sounds like not such a hard task, let me clarify by saying I have at least 2 expense reports every month, and for the past two years have had one submitted a week. Last year I charged about $200,000 worth of stuff to my am ex.
"Well," you're probably thinking "can't your company just run a report to see what expenses on your card haven't been assigned to an expense report?"
Yeah buster, I'm one step ahead of you on that one. I tried that. We use a system, the same one I've used at every company I've worked at since 1995, that uploads your charges and then you assign them to an expense report and the bills get paid. But, what has happened is somehow charges that I didn't make got assigned to my account in the system. Charges I did make probably ended up on someone else's account (for example, I had an airfare that never showed up in my card data). That has never happened to me before in the 12 years of using the system other places - only at this company.
When that started happening last year I called the morons who handle this shit in my company. They said "oh, just delete those expenses if you didn't make them." Regarding my missing charges, they said "you can't put them on a report manually, they will be rejected. We'll try to figure out what's going on."
What, me worry?
Anyway, since November of 2009 I have been trying to get this issue resolved. Even though Am Ex and I can both prove that expenses being applied to my account were never made by me, my company can't figure out how to take them off my account (e.g. $900 of stuff charged in New Jersey - car rental and hotel - when I can prove I was in the UAE when the charges were incurred). Am Ex tells me they can see the name on the receipts and it isn't my name - they know whose account the charges should go on but my company can't figure out, in their system, how to move the charges.
My company suggested I pay the $1400 until things get sorted out because my credit card is about to be turned off. Fat fucking chance. After almost a year and a half this problem is not any closer to being resolved. I can probably sweet talk am ex into cutting me a break, again, but I'm racking up late fees to the tune of $45 - $80 a month. But I'm afraid if I pay the charges my company will never give my money back.
They did give me a form to fill out for expenses over 1 year old. Unfortunately, after I filled it out and sent it in, I found out it was the wrong form. I filled out the new form a week later, and was told the process of who I have to submit the form to was also changed, so the person I sent it to just ignored it, and my subsequent emails, and it wasn't until I went to her boss that I found out I wasn't supposed to send the form to her anymore. No one can tell me who to send the form to, but they're going to email me real soon.
I would ask my manager, but he's not really my manager because he's working a different job now and they haven't replaced him with someone else. I inquired who my manager was and the response was a copy of the job description for my manager with the suggestion I apply for the position.
Fucking fuck I am annoyed!
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
I'll drink to that!
Had the person who made the sign still been around I would have ponied up some cash for a few rounds.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
bacon bird
GROSS!!!!!!!!
I ate mac and cheese for dinner last night.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
the wrong Ben
I am such a fucking moron.
When I was talking to Shim at the Bozeman Icefest he was telling me about a climber dude I should meet named Ben. I thought I knew Ben, and decided to email him about possibly building a bouldering cave in my garage.
So I send Ben, a guy I knew from the east coast, an email saying I had talked to Shim, that Shim said hi, and could he give me some info about building a climbing wall. Then I put a bunch of chatty shit in the email figuring Shim must have emailed him that I would be emailing him. Blah blah blah I went on about a bunch of stupid shit. Ben responded back to my first email right away so I emailed him back, inviting him to Denver as per Shim's suggestion. Ben never responded back to that email.
Then on Thursday night Shim called to wish me a happy new year. I mentioned to him that I had contacted Ben, but used his first and last name. Shim paused for a moment and said "I don't know that guy." I was like but you said I should email Ben. Shim was like "Well, that's the wrong Ben".
SO embarrassed. Ben probably thinks I'm some kind of idiot, and I wonder why he didn't ask me why Shim was saying hi when he doesn't know Shim. Worse, he's friends with a bunch of people I knew at this gym where I have a high profile ex. And all the people at that gym gossip like they're still in high school. I'm going to send Ben (the wrong ben) an email trying to explain myself so he doesn't think I'm a total twit. Though Shim and Cat both said I shouldn't email explaining.
I always have to do things people tell me not to :D
When I was talking to Shim at the Bozeman Icefest he was telling me about a climber dude I should meet named Ben. I thought I knew Ben, and decided to email him about possibly building a bouldering cave in my garage.
So I send Ben, a guy I knew from the east coast, an email saying I had talked to Shim, that Shim said hi, and could he give me some info about building a climbing wall. Then I put a bunch of chatty shit in the email figuring Shim must have emailed him that I would be emailing him. Blah blah blah I went on about a bunch of stupid shit. Ben responded back to my first email right away so I emailed him back, inviting him to Denver as per Shim's suggestion. Ben never responded back to that email.
Then on Thursday night Shim called to wish me a happy new year. I mentioned to him that I had contacted Ben, but used his first and last name. Shim paused for a moment and said "I don't know that guy." I was like but you said I should email Ben. Shim was like "Well, that's the wrong Ben".
SO embarrassed. Ben probably thinks I'm some kind of idiot, and I wonder why he didn't ask me why Shim was saying hi when he doesn't know Shim. Worse, he's friends with a bunch of people I knew at this gym where I have a high profile ex. And all the people at that gym gossip like they're still in high school. I'm going to send Ben (the wrong ben) an email trying to explain myself so he doesn't think I'm a total twit. Though Shim and Cat both said I shouldn't email explaining.
I always have to do things people tell me not to :D
new year's eve
The weather had been perfect here, but of course the day she flew in we had a snow storm and then the temps dropped to single digits. Friday morning we had decided to do a hike at Matt Winters, and I lent my sister a bunch of clothes because it was only 3 degrees F outside and she didn't have anything warm enough to hike in.
The hike was fun, then we went to Wahoo's and had fish tacos. Cat took a nap while I worked on the photos we took at Matt Winters. We saw a huge buck and a family of 8 deer while hiking. I took a movie of them for my sister's kids.
Hair spray is one of those things, like deodorant, that I don't understand and will never own. Oh well. She survived.
We were planning to go to 16th Street mall but it was way too cold to walk down there. Also, Cat was wearing boots with heels and I was worried about ice on the sidewalk. We went to Larimer Lounge instead, which was tres boring. We got there around 830 and it was dead. We had to pay a $15 cover to see a band that started playing a few minutes before we left (I think we heard one song).
We were standing against a table set up by the band, talking and having a beer (no wine - sucked!!!!!). People started showing up. Soon there was a group of 3 geeky guys. They kept walking by us and giving us meaningful glances. I was like I am NOT going to talk to a guy who doesn't have the balls to talk to me first. Then two other guys showed up and were standing behind us and the table talking loudly about climbing. I had to laugh. Yeah, I'm SO impressed you climbed at the Monastery. Then a guy came in with his girlfriend and did a double take when he saw Cat. He almost fell over. His girlfriend grabbed him by the arm and dragged him into the room where the band was playing.
No hot guys, so after 2 beers we left and got home right at 10. Then we ordered a pizza and watched some Ab Fab. I had to get up at 330 this morning to take Cat to the airport. Luckily both her flights were on time. She's supposed to come out to go skiing in March. Psyched! Also, we decided next new year's we are going somewhere warm.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
versa climber!!!!!
I just ordered my very own versa climber!!!!! I've been saving up for it for the past two years!!!! Psyched!!!! They start building it today and I should have it mid-January. I even got the sales guy to make the shipping free.
I think I'm going to put it in my kitchen next to my cacti so they can watch me work out. And I've downloaded a bunch of workouts from the web site.
The versa climber has always been my favorite cardio machine in the gym (though I usually end up using the dreadmill because most gyms, for some stupid reason, don't have versa climbers). I am hating on push ups and pull ups so this will give me a nice exercise to keep my arms in shape. And it's a nice thing to do with running to keep my knee from blowing up (in theory anyway).
Because, this is the year for big trips. I'm going to do the grand with Joe in the summer, Little Bear (also maybe with Joe unless he hates me after the grand), and I plan on doing the rim-rim-rim in the grand canyon (likely that will be a solo endeavor as no one I've talked to seems interested in doing it with me). I'm going to train for a 5k, and then a 10k, and see how my knee does. I might try an easy marathon if the stupid thing holds up this year.
After wasting a year of my life with those fucks in the ME I am ready to have some serious fun this year.
I think I'm going to put it in my kitchen next to my cacti so they can watch me work out. And I've downloaded a bunch of workouts from the web site.
The versa climber has always been my favorite cardio machine in the gym (though I usually end up using the dreadmill because most gyms, for some stupid reason, don't have versa climbers). I am hating on push ups and pull ups so this will give me a nice exercise to keep my arms in shape. And it's a nice thing to do with running to keep my knee from blowing up (in theory anyway).
Because, this is the year for big trips. I'm going to do the grand with Joe in the summer, Little Bear (also maybe with Joe unless he hates me after the grand), and I plan on doing the rim-rim-rim in the grand canyon (likely that will be a solo endeavor as no one I've talked to seems interested in doing it with me). I'm going to train for a 5k, and then a 10k, and see how my knee does. I might try an easy marathon if the stupid thing holds up this year.
After wasting a year of my life with those fucks in the ME I am ready to have some serious fun this year.
Friday, December 24, 2010
red river gorge
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| Me at the base of the indian staircase |
We were going to do a hike called the indian staircase. But first we had to find it. My dad had a map that was 10 years old that didn't even have the approach trail on it. We walked along for about 3 miles and he decided we should start bushwhacking up towards a cliff where he thought the staircase was. There was lots of snow and ice all over everything since they had just had a huge ice storm. After I tripped over four downed trees I was like "dude, I don't think this is the right way". So we retreated to the trail and kept walking. My dad spotted finally a staircase carved into the bark of a tree, and that's how we found the trail.
The trail was really, really steep and covered in ice and downed trees. All of us were just wearing yak traks so it made walking interesting. I kept telling the guys to kick in their steps but they weren't so I took the front and kicked in steps for them. The trail gets narrow and there's a big cliff you can potentially fall off, especially when the trail is ice, so we started slowing down. Then, we got to the actual staircase, and it looked like a fucking ice climb. You walk up on this 10 foot ledge and start up the stair case, and even just walking around the ledge made me nervous because I couldn't kick steps into the ice and if one of us had fallen it would have been a long, long way down.
"This is way to dangerous" I tried to tell my dad, but he wanted to see if he could get up the staircase. I pointed out to him that if he slipped he would not be able to stop himself on the ledge before he went over the cliff. My uncle was getting pretty nervous too. And it was fucking cold and getting colder while we stood around trying to see if there was a way up. Finally we retreated. Just coming back down the trail was hard - I don't think we would have survived coming down the ice covered rocks.
We did 3 more hikes and headed into town because my uncle had told us about this pizza place that had great pizza, and then you can sit out back by a bonfire and drink beer. The whole day we were talking about what kind of pizza we were going to get and how many pieces we were going to eat and then how we were first going to have a beer. And how we would have more beer while sitting by the bonfire.
But the fucking place was closed.
We went back to the lodge, which was the only restaurant opened. "Do you have pizza?" I asked the waitress as we were being shown to a table. "No, we only have the buffet". Crap. Then my dad asked if they had beer. "This is a dry county" she said. I could have wept.
But, the food wasn't bad (though it wasn't pizza). And we had beer in the cabin. Actually, I drank some Jim Beam with my uncle and woke up with a bad headache the next morning.
We did a short hike up to the natural bridge, which was really cool but covered in ice. I couldn't believe some guy was taking his kids up the trail and they only had on tennis shoes. I don't know how he got them down.
Anyway, we've decided to make a trip to the RRG for hiking right before Christmas a new tradition. Though, after walking around in my hiking shoes (I couldn't fit my boots in my luggage) and freezing my feet off I decided that my dad needed to buy me electric feet warmers (he did, they came today, and I have already put them together!).
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| My dad and I at the base of the natural arch |
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| The indian staircase |
a blond and an engineer discuss a fruit bowl
Last weekend I helped my dad move from a 3 bedroom house to a one bedroom condo. Well, I showed up for the unpacking part. My dad had been left to his own devices to put his stuff in boxes.
My dad has never had to pack or unpack a house even though we used to move a lot. My mom always did it. But since she broke her arm she stayed in Williamsburg and I went to Cincy to help my dad.
I almost had heart failure when I walked into his place and saw wall to wall boxes. There's no way all this shit is going to fit in here I thought to myself. Also, I only had 24 hours to get everything unpacked, and had to unpack enough stuff to make a place to sleep for myself.
I managed to get a shit ton of stuff unpacked, despite my dad's packing. He, for example, packed canned goods and socks all in one box. Then, I came across a big wad of packing paper with a bunch of tape around it in a box that contained tools like wrenches and screw drivers. What the fuck is this going to be I wondered. The last wad of packing paper I had found contained all my dad's silverware (which I dumped all over the floor cutting it open).
I carefully cut into the wad and found a fruit bowl with the fruit still in it. I couldn't believe my dad would pack fruit in a cardboard box. Oh wait, I did believe it.
I went into his bedroom where he was trying to find sheets for the bed. I was like "dad, what the fuck is this?" and he said "it's a fruit bowl". I was like "I know it's a fruit bowl, but what the fuck were you thinking packing the fruit like this?" He looked puzzled and said "well, I thought it was a good way to pack it". I ripped open the paper some more and said "next time, don't put fruit in a box!"
I went back out into the living room and took the rest of the paper off. Hm, I thought, maybe my dad was right. The fruit was in good shape, with no bruises. So I yelled back to my dad "Hey, I guess I was wrong! This fruit didn't even get bruised!" I started thinking I would use that trick next time I have to move. My dad stuck his head out of his bedroom. "Um, you realize that is not real fruit, don't you?" he asked.
It was indeed plastic fruit. How embarrassing. "You really are a blond" my dad said before retreating back into the bedroom.
My dad has never had to pack or unpack a house even though we used to move a lot. My mom always did it. But since she broke her arm she stayed in Williamsburg and I went to Cincy to help my dad.
I almost had heart failure when I walked into his place and saw wall to wall boxes. There's no way all this shit is going to fit in here I thought to myself. Also, I only had 24 hours to get everything unpacked, and had to unpack enough stuff to make a place to sleep for myself.
I carefully cut into the wad and found a fruit bowl with the fruit still in it. I couldn't believe my dad would pack fruit in a cardboard box. Oh wait, I did believe it.
I went into his bedroom where he was trying to find sheets for the bed. I was like "dad, what the fuck is this?" and he said "it's a fruit bowl". I was like "I know it's a fruit bowl, but what the fuck were you thinking packing the fruit like this?" He looked puzzled and said "well, I thought it was a good way to pack it". I ripped open the paper some more and said "next time, don't put fruit in a box!"
I went back out into the living room and took the rest of the paper off. Hm, I thought, maybe my dad was right. The fruit was in good shape, with no bruises. So I yelled back to my dad "Hey, I guess I was wrong! This fruit didn't even get bruised!" I started thinking I would use that trick next time I have to move. My dad stuck his head out of his bedroom. "Um, you realize that is not real fruit, don't you?" he asked.
It was indeed plastic fruit. How embarrassing. "You really are a blond" my dad said before retreating back into the bedroom.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
don't you know who I am???????
It's funny, the world of famous climbers. Or, should I say, "famous" climbers, because most people in the real world have hardly heard about climbing, much less the people that do it.
I have a few famous climber friends. They're all different. Joe is very humble. Others, who shall remain namely, are a little arrogant. Then there is one climber who would probably be famous no matter what he did because he's so enthusiastic about everything. He was even hired by discovery channel to take a boring show about rocks and make it more exciting by acting like himself (great quote he used in a slide show - a producer asked him to go diving with sharks while holding a crate of fish heads - he was not psyched to do that and words were exchanged - so he finally told the producer "why don't I strap a dead chicken to your head and send you into grizzly country?").
Anyway, I somehow found myself in a mix of famous climbers at the Bozeman icefest wrap party on Sunday (it's a great icefest - not as crazy as the other ones I've been to - and, honestly, it was nice to go to an icefest and not have Timmy O'Neil there acting crazy). And one of the guys was talking to one of the other guys and he said "So, I showed up at the spot for my clinic and the ropes weren't set up. Finally a guy showed up and I was like dude, where are my ropes? And he said "who are you?" I was like dude, don't you know who I am?????"
I interjected that I didn't know who he was either. Then his friend started spewing all this shit about "he's so and so and he's climbed this and he's done blah blah blah" and just to be even more of an asshole I was like "Oh, was that hard?" (I knew it was a hard climb). The guy recommended I start reading climbing magazines if I wanted to be a climber and I said I couldn't because I can only read English. He didn't get it.
Which got me thinking about climbers I've dated and how when we would go to climber events I was totally left out of the conversation. Most of these guys can only talk about themselves or climbing. If you bring up something related to the real world they don't have much to say. And, it's one of the things that makes dating a climber hard. You're never going to be part of their community. Which kind of reminds me of my situation because I had a weird job and unless you worked at that job you would never understand the environment. Though, I was of that environment, but not really part of it.
Which makes me think about that. I've never been a "group" kind of person. I've always done my own thing. I seem to circulate around a bunch of different groups in which I'm known, but I'm not part of those groups. Even when I ran track I was kind of an unofficial captain of the team even though someone else was captain, but I wasn't really part of the group the way other people were part of it. All the runners would go to concerts and out to dinner, but I was never invited. It used to hurt my feelings but then at my 20 year high school reunion I asked some of the runners why they always excluded me and they seemed shocked that I saw it as an exclusion. Everyone said "we didn't invite you because we didn't think you would be interested".
There's probably something interesting that I should come up with about what I've written. But, unfortunately, I'm too fucking tired to figure it out. Drove 10 hours from Bozeman to Denver yesterday, did laundry, and then got up at 3 this morning to catch a flight to Galveston (a weird, but interesting town, city, what ever this place is). I haven't gotten more than 5 hours of sleep in about 2 weeks.
Enlightenment will have to wait for another evening...
I have a few famous climber friends. They're all different. Joe is very humble. Others, who shall remain namely, are a little arrogant. Then there is one climber who would probably be famous no matter what he did because he's so enthusiastic about everything. He was even hired by discovery channel to take a boring show about rocks and make it more exciting by acting like himself (great quote he used in a slide show - a producer asked him to go diving with sharks while holding a crate of fish heads - he was not psyched to do that and words were exchanged - so he finally told the producer "why don't I strap a dead chicken to your head and send you into grizzly country?").
Anyway, I somehow found myself in a mix of famous climbers at the Bozeman icefest wrap party on Sunday (it's a great icefest - not as crazy as the other ones I've been to - and, honestly, it was nice to go to an icefest and not have Timmy O'Neil there acting crazy). And one of the guys was talking to one of the other guys and he said "So, I showed up at the spot for my clinic and the ropes weren't set up. Finally a guy showed up and I was like dude, where are my ropes? And he said "who are you?" I was like dude, don't you know who I am?????"
I interjected that I didn't know who he was either. Then his friend started spewing all this shit about "he's so and so and he's climbed this and he's done blah blah blah" and just to be even more of an asshole I was like "Oh, was that hard?" (I knew it was a hard climb). The guy recommended I start reading climbing magazines if I wanted to be a climber and I said I couldn't because I can only read English. He didn't get it.
Which got me thinking about climbers I've dated and how when we would go to climber events I was totally left out of the conversation. Most of these guys can only talk about themselves or climbing. If you bring up something related to the real world they don't have much to say. And, it's one of the things that makes dating a climber hard. You're never going to be part of their community. Which kind of reminds me of my situation because I had a weird job and unless you worked at that job you would never understand the environment. Though, I was of that environment, but not really part of it.
Which makes me think about that. I've never been a "group" kind of person. I've always done my own thing. I seem to circulate around a bunch of different groups in which I'm known, but I'm not part of those groups. Even when I ran track I was kind of an unofficial captain of the team even though someone else was captain, but I wasn't really part of the group the way other people were part of it. All the runners would go to concerts and out to dinner, but I was never invited. It used to hurt my feelings but then at my 20 year high school reunion I asked some of the runners why they always excluded me and they seemed shocked that I saw it as an exclusion. Everyone said "we didn't invite you because we didn't think you would be interested".
There's probably something interesting that I should come up with about what I've written. But, unfortunately, I'm too fucking tired to figure it out. Drove 10 hours from Bozeman to Denver yesterday, did laundry, and then got up at 3 this morning to catch a flight to Galveston (a weird, but interesting town, city, what ever this place is). I haven't gotten more than 5 hours of sleep in about 2 weeks.
Enlightenment will have to wait for another evening...
Shim's gems
I had the pleasure on Saturday to climb with Jim Shimberg. I had met him once, really briefly, when I was dating Mayo, out in the 'daks.
He's a great guy with the most positive attitude of anyone I've met in a while. Which is not to say he isn't sarcastic. Here are some of my favorite things he said:
On coaching newbie climbers on having the correct stance for ice climbing: "Push to screw, squat to poo" - meaning, stand up with your hips towards the ice when you're putting in an ice screw or whacking your tool into the ice, and then walk your legs up on your ax before moving up. He yelled that at people continually through the day.
When giving me advice on whether or not to move up on a crap tool placement - I had just told him how Joe always yells at me for moving up on bad tools because you get into the habit and that can kill you when you're leading: "Ah, that tool looks alright, go ahead and move up on it" (I was climbing with one ax at the time to practice foot placement, and I had the tool only 3 teeth in and it was wobbling back and forth)
After I stood up and got my face in line with the badly placed tool: "Of course, you don't want to stand up on it because it'll pop out and hit you in the face (which it almost did). Make sure you tell Joe Shim is keeping you safe."
On mixed climbing: "Maybe I'm just an old dinosaur, but I don't know why you'd ruin your tools rock climbing with them. When it's cold, I climb ice. When it's warm, I rock climb." Of course, a few hours later he sent a hard mixed climb.
On having good belaying skills: "One of the problems with dropping your partner is they are going to hit the ground and die."
On saying "I love you" (if Shim loves you he tells you all the time): "Sometimes I wonder if guys stop talking to me because I tell them that I love them."
On having a picture of his wife and daughter taped to the back of his helmet: "It reminds my helmet who's really in charge of making decisions."
On being a substitute teacher for a class of first graders: "The first day I followed the lesson plan, and that was a disaster. The second day I said "let's go run around outside". So we were running around outside and the principal was looking out the window at me like "what's that guy doing????" That day went a lot better for the first graders." (he didn't mention if he was hired as a substitute again)
On yelling when we knocked down ice: "Don't waste energy yelling "Ice!" We're ice climbing, we know it's coming down."
On how often we did a lap at the clinic (it was mid day and a few of us were really tired): "Look, this is about what ever you want it to be about. You can climb, you can belay, you can take a break to eat something, it's very relaxed. But, right now, you have to climb. So who's getting on this rope?"
I learned, and re-learned, a lot climbing with Shim. Thanks Shim! If you ever get the opportunity to climb with him do it! He has a guide service too (www.rhinoguides.com). And if you're interested in seeing what he looks like (he's a handsome dude) there's a pic of him climbing on his web site with his shirt off.
He's a great guy with the most positive attitude of anyone I've met in a while. Which is not to say he isn't sarcastic. Here are some of my favorite things he said:
On coaching newbie climbers on having the correct stance for ice climbing: "Push to screw, squat to poo" - meaning, stand up with your hips towards the ice when you're putting in an ice screw or whacking your tool into the ice, and then walk your legs up on your ax before moving up. He yelled that at people continually through the day.
When giving me advice on whether or not to move up on a crap tool placement - I had just told him how Joe always yells at me for moving up on bad tools because you get into the habit and that can kill you when you're leading: "Ah, that tool looks alright, go ahead and move up on it" (I was climbing with one ax at the time to practice foot placement, and I had the tool only 3 teeth in and it was wobbling back and forth)
After I stood up and got my face in line with the badly placed tool: "Of course, you don't want to stand up on it because it'll pop out and hit you in the face (which it almost did). Make sure you tell Joe Shim is keeping you safe."
On mixed climbing: "Maybe I'm just an old dinosaur, but I don't know why you'd ruin your tools rock climbing with them. When it's cold, I climb ice. When it's warm, I rock climb." Of course, a few hours later he sent a hard mixed climb.
On having good belaying skills: "One of the problems with dropping your partner is they are going to hit the ground and die."
On saying "I love you" (if Shim loves you he tells you all the time): "Sometimes I wonder if guys stop talking to me because I tell them that I love them."
On having a picture of his wife and daughter taped to the back of his helmet: "It reminds my helmet who's really in charge of making decisions."
On being a substitute teacher for a class of first graders: "The first day I followed the lesson plan, and that was a disaster. The second day I said "let's go run around outside". So we were running around outside and the principal was looking out the window at me like "what's that guy doing????" That day went a lot better for the first graders." (he didn't mention if he was hired as a substitute again)
On yelling when we knocked down ice: "Don't waste energy yelling "Ice!" We're ice climbing, we know it's coming down."
On how often we did a lap at the clinic (it was mid day and a few of us were really tired): "Look, this is about what ever you want it to be about. You can climb, you can belay, you can take a break to eat something, it's very relaxed. But, right now, you have to climb. So who's getting on this rope?"
I learned, and re-learned, a lot climbing with Shim. Thanks Shim! If you ever get the opportunity to climb with him do it! He has a guide service too (www.rhinoguides.com). And if you're interested in seeing what he looks like (he's a handsome dude) there's a pic of him climbing on his web site with his shirt off.
Friday, December 10, 2010
spider legs
For those of you who don't believe I have abnormally long legs...check out this weird vid of me being lowered off of an ice climb. You can see how short my climbing pants are, which have a 32 inch inseam (I need another two inches on the inseam, but would have to have a pair special made to actually fit me). My legs look really weird, especially compared to the legs of the other person climbing next to me. I hope it's partially video distortion. I look like a spider or something.
BTW, she rights the camera after a few seconds.
Hanging out in Bozeman for the icefest. The ice is fat! And, I'm embarrassed to say, I was the only one at the Ice Goddess clinic (all women) who was there by myself. But, I made some new friends. And if you ever wondered what it's like to go to an icefest this video gives a short but accurate idea of what the day is like.
BTW, she rights the camera after a few seconds.
Hanging out in Bozeman for the icefest. The ice is fat! And, I'm embarrassed to say, I was the only one at the Ice Goddess clinic (all women) who was there by myself. But, I made some new friends. And if you ever wondered what it's like to go to an icefest this video gives a short but accurate idea of what the day is like.
Monday, December 6, 2010
christmas trees
Last week my mom kept me hopping setting up christmas decorations. I set up not one, not two, but THREE FUCKING christmas trees.
I've never set one up before. My mom was like "this will be a good learning experience". Or, not. Who needs to know how to set up a christmas tree? Like what, I can put that on my resume?
The trees were all artificial, and weighed a fucking ton. I had to carry them down three flights of steps. Then, it turned out, I'm allergic to what ever they're made out of, and by the end of the day I had a rash all over both of my arms. After you get the tree set up you have to fluff up the branches. That was tedious, and made worse because my mom wanted the ends of all of the branches to flare out in a star. I was like dude, tree branches grow straight out. They don't go up and down. But my mom was like shut the fuck up and flare the branches.
Then I had to put the lights on. And she wanted like two million strands on every tree. Thankfully half her light collection broke in the move, so I only had to put 17, yes 17, strands of lights on the trees.
Then I had to haul 4 boxes of ornaments down from the attic. I really think we put way more ornaments on the trees than normal people put up. One tree had so many ornaments it started to fall over and I had to prop it up in a corner. My mom said it's because I decorated the front but not the back of the tree. As if I'm going to decorate part of the tree that no one can see. So she went up the stairs and stood at this weird angle and said "from here I can see there are no ornaments on the back of the tree".
Sigh.
My favorite thing was one of the trees that had spray painted silver glitter on it. The glitter got everywhere. I had it on my face, in my hair, on my clothes, and it was all over the floor. Every time my mom would place an ornament on the tree I would knock the branch above her head so she would get glitter in her hair. She said I was "a little shit". Even though I'm 7 inches taller than her.
I put a star on top of one tree (that will be the jew tree) and an angel on the other. I felt bad about giving her an evergreen enema but it was the only way I could get her to stay on top. Of course, by the time I put the angel on the tree my mom and I had been drinking wine. The next morning I realized how crooked she was, but forgot to fix her before I left. Anyway, her crookedness makes it less obvious that the tree is about to fall over.
I can't believe people do this every year...
I've never set one up before. My mom was like "this will be a good learning experience". Or, not. Who needs to know how to set up a christmas tree? Like what, I can put that on my resume?
The trees were all artificial, and weighed a fucking ton. I had to carry them down three flights of steps. Then, it turned out, I'm allergic to what ever they're made out of, and by the end of the day I had a rash all over both of my arms. After you get the tree set up you have to fluff up the branches. That was tedious, and made worse because my mom wanted the ends of all of the branches to flare out in a star. I was like dude, tree branches grow straight out. They don't go up and down. But my mom was like shut the fuck up and flare the branches.
Then I had to put the lights on. And she wanted like two million strands on every tree. Thankfully half her light collection broke in the move, so I only had to put 17, yes 17, strands of lights on the trees.
Then I had to haul 4 boxes of ornaments down from the attic. I really think we put way more ornaments on the trees than normal people put up. One tree had so many ornaments it started to fall over and I had to prop it up in a corner. My mom said it's because I decorated the front but not the back of the tree. As if I'm going to decorate part of the tree that no one can see. So she went up the stairs and stood at this weird angle and said "from here I can see there are no ornaments on the back of the tree".
Sigh.
My favorite thing was one of the trees that had spray painted silver glitter on it. The glitter got everywhere. I had it on my face, in my hair, on my clothes, and it was all over the floor. Every time my mom would place an ornament on the tree I would knock the branch above her head so she would get glitter in her hair. She said I was "a little shit". Even though I'm 7 inches taller than her.
I put a star on top of one tree (that will be the jew tree) and an angel on the other. I felt bad about giving her an evergreen enema but it was the only way I could get her to stay on top. Of course, by the time I put the angel on the tree my mom and I had been drinking wine. The next morning I realized how crooked she was, but forgot to fix her before I left. Anyway, her crookedness makes it less obvious that the tree is about to fall over.
I can't believe people do this every year...
my brother identifies why my book is stupid, and Moschops returns
I'm shocked. The climber dude who borrowed my magic writing dinosaur returned him! Moschops arrived today thanks to the Canadian post. I am very happy to have him back!
In other news, I was sitting around last Saturday night drinking with my brother and watching Dirty Harry movies, and we decided to take a smoke break. While we were smoking I was whining about my book "blah blah blah I don't know how to fix it I'm so fucked woe is me". My brother asked to read my first two chapters. He did this while watching Magnum Force and drinking 3 beers. I wasn't expecting much in the way of useful comments.
But on our next smoke break he said "Here's what's wrong with your book. If you talk about being in the middle of the ocean, about to die, that's interesting. If you talk about laying in bed, about to die from a knee surgery, that's just stupid."
I realized he was right. Then he suggested I open my book with the first two pages describing how I got lost in the San Francisco bay. I did the rewrite on Sunday and think it's really getting there. So now if an agent asks to read my first 5 pages, they're good as opposed to the stupid crap I had before. I've had three agents decline my project after reading my first five pages, and hope that maybe the next time I'll be successful with my new rewrite.
So thanks Bob!!!!!!!!!!!! I have some more tweaks to do and then I'll post it.
In other news, I was sitting around last Saturday night drinking with my brother and watching Dirty Harry movies, and we decided to take a smoke break. While we were smoking I was whining about my book "blah blah blah I don't know how to fix it I'm so fucked woe is me". My brother asked to read my first two chapters. He did this while watching Magnum Force and drinking 3 beers. I wasn't expecting much in the way of useful comments.
But on our next smoke break he said "Here's what's wrong with your book. If you talk about being in the middle of the ocean, about to die, that's interesting. If you talk about laying in bed, about to die from a knee surgery, that's just stupid."
I realized he was right. Then he suggested I open my book with the first two pages describing how I got lost in the San Francisco bay. I did the rewrite on Sunday and think it's really getting there. So now if an agent asks to read my first 5 pages, they're good as opposed to the stupid crap I had before. I've had three agents decline my project after reading my first five pages, and hope that maybe the next time I'll be successful with my new rewrite.
So thanks Bob!!!!!!!!!!!! I have some more tweaks to do and then I'll post it.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
I stuff a turkey's ass - "one more handful"
I hope this is the most disgusting thing I ever do in my life. WARNING: this video contains graphic footage that might make you vomit. The turkey even queefed.
Thanksgiving drama
So my mom called me on Saturday morning, as I was leaving for the airport, to ask if I could find a ride to Williamsburg. She didn't bother to tell me she had broken her right arm and that it was in a sling. Anyway, I called my brother Bob, who lives 3 1/2 hours from my mom, and asked him to come pick me up at the airport. He was at an afghan buffet and said he would leave as soon as he was done eating.
It ended up being a great visit with him (we stayed up until 2 in the morning talking and laughing), though he had to leave Sunday night because he was having a new furnace installed. He got up at 4 am and got back to my mom's house at 730 this morning.
The reason he came back is that my mom said that I, the worst cook in the world, would have to cook dinner since she can't with one arm (funny thing, I talked to my niece tonight and said "I have to cook dinner because grandma only has one arm" and my niece thought my mom had broken her arm off - Bob said "and that's why you don't have kids"). It's a disaster waiting to happen. I don't know how to fucking cook.
Worse, my mom had frozen the turkey, and it was taking forever to thaw. We had it soaking in a brine and my mom realized the neck was still inside. So I had to take a fucking knife and hack away at the ice around the neck to get it out. I almost puked. It was like trying to pull a tampon out of a frozen person. Then I had to shove the turkey down into the brine. It was like holding someone's head under water. Ech.
And people wonder why I'm a vegetarian.
I also made dough for rolls. Everything will probably taste like shit. I explained the whole situation to my friend Cam, who said "well, how are you going to make the gravy?" Gravy???? I have to make fucking GRAVY too???? I don't know how to fucking make gravy!
She said she would keep her cell phone with her all day tomorrow in case I run into trouble. And then she said "I'm going to pray for you. I'm going to pray really hard."
This could be the worst thanksgiving meal ever.
It ended up being a great visit with him (we stayed up until 2 in the morning talking and laughing), though he had to leave Sunday night because he was having a new furnace installed. He got up at 4 am and got back to my mom's house at 730 this morning.
The reason he came back is that my mom said that I, the worst cook in the world, would have to cook dinner since she can't with one arm (funny thing, I talked to my niece tonight and said "I have to cook dinner because grandma only has one arm" and my niece thought my mom had broken her arm off - Bob said "and that's why you don't have kids"). It's a disaster waiting to happen. I don't know how to fucking cook.
Worse, my mom had frozen the turkey, and it was taking forever to thaw. We had it soaking in a brine and my mom realized the neck was still inside. So I had to take a fucking knife and hack away at the ice around the neck to get it out. I almost puked. It was like trying to pull a tampon out of a frozen person. Then I had to shove the turkey down into the brine. It was like holding someone's head under water. Ech.
And people wonder why I'm a vegetarian.
I also made dough for rolls. Everything will probably taste like shit. I explained the whole situation to my friend Cam, who said "well, how are you going to make the gravy?" Gravy???? I have to make fucking GRAVY too???? I don't know how to fucking make gravy!
She said she would keep her cell phone with her all day tomorrow in case I run into trouble. And then she said "I'm going to pray for you. I'm going to pray really hard."
This could be the worst thanksgiving meal ever.
Friday, November 19, 2010
My millionth rewrite about my zombie knee - this version includes the easter bunny!
I've been so stressed out about my book because the first chapter just wasn't working, and it's the crux of the book. I've had 4 agents show interest in my book, only to turn me down because they asked for the first five pages and didn't like them. And everyone who read the chapter said it was not as funny or interesting as the rest of the book.
If you can't hook the readers with your first five pages you're fucked, right? So I sat down today and seriously for like the billionth time rewrote the chapter. I'm hoping this version works. I wrote it the way I wanted to write it, without all the bullshit other people were saying I needed to put in.
Here it is if anyone wants to comment on it. I don't care if you hate it. I want to know.
If you can't hook the readers with your first five pages you're fucked, right? So I sat down today and seriously for like the billionth time rewrote the chapter. I'm hoping this version works. I wrote it the way I wanted to write it, without all the bullshit other people were saying I needed to put in.
Here it is if anyone wants to comment on it. I don't care if you hate it. I want to know.
Prologue
18 November 2000, 101 Grand Avenue, Capitola, California
It was 4 a.m. I hadn’t slept for three days. The only noise was the sound of the waves sliding into the rocks at the base of the cliff below my apartment, and the strange robotic purr of the CPM (continuous passive movement) machine to which my right leg was strapped.
I was afraid to close my eyes. I was sure that I would never open them again.
*****
Three days before I had undergone a seven hour experimental surgery on my right leg to rebuild my knee and femur out of cadaver parts. It wasn’t a voluntary operation. Eight years before, in 1992, I had broken my right leg, but had somehow failed to notice. I ran competitively in 10Ks until 2000, when my leg started collapsing underneath me. I didn’t think the collapses were a major issue until it happened while I was walking through a cafeteria with a tray full of food. It seemed wasteful to buy an overpriced plate of macaroni and cheese only to have it end up on the floor.
My leg was collapsing because the right knuckle of my femur had broken off in an accident and, over the years, the jagged remains of the bone had smashed the inside of my knee to pieces, like a broken glass bottle hammering into a filet mignon. An initial surgery to fix the problem was botched and the surgeon informed me that my knee had to be removed and replaced with a titanium rod.
I found out that the rod would prevent me from bending my leg. And wouldn’t make a cool didgeridoo sound when I walked as I had imagined when I first heard about it. I embarked on a series of visits to 20 of the top knee doctors in the San Francisco area to see if someone had a better idea for my leg.
After I had explained my situation, and produced the surgery report, X-rays, and pictures, I would ask if there was a solution for my problem that didn’t involve a rod. Every doctor looked at me as if I was asking if it was medically possible to make the Easter Bunny pop out of my ass. No one could help me.
Then I found out that there was a doctor, one of two in the US, doing experimental knee surgeries with cadaver parts. Although I wasn’t excited about the idea of having a zombie knee, I went to see him. Dead body bits seemed like a better option than having something in my leg that might make me more susceptible to lightning strikes.
And that’s how I met Dr. Douglas Blatz. At our first meeting he said he couldn’t help me. But then I managed to convince him to try. I’m ashamed to admit I did that by crying like a two year old and then threatening to cut off my leg. He didn’t know at the time that I was lying about owning a bread knife.
Chris Kuhn, my physical therapist since the first surgery, worked many long hours during the eight month wait for a donor to prepare me for my zombie knee surgery. He kept my spirits up during the grueling sessions by inventing fun games, like one where he would throw a ball at my head while I stood on a wobble board. He knew damn well I would never catch it.
Dr. Blatz had warned me that the surgery would be hard, that I would never run again and that I would have to wear a brace on my leg for the rest of my life. I didn’t listen, thinking that if I had managed to run on a broken leg for eight years I could do anything.
*****
My knee resembled a rotting cantaloupe. It felt as if someone was jack hammering my leg. My femur coursed with an electrical sensation that ran through the bone into my thigh. Every time the CPM forced my knee to bend 20 degrees it sounded like someone slowly stepping on a box of Wheat Chex cereal.
The pain gradually began affecting the rest of my body. My heart felt like it was trying to bounce off of my lungs and out of my body. My right hip cramped. My swollen toes, covered in a substance leaking out of my knee that looked like baby shampoo, closely resembled a parade float. It seemed that someone had set off a fire alarm in my brain and then evacuated without turning it off.
 |
| The day after my surgery |
The thought of enduring even ten more minutes of the pain was unbearable. Death was imminent. I had spent the past two days analyzing the situation from every angle as if it were an engineering problem. I needed a solution to end the pain, even if for one minute. There was no solution.
I started to cry. Through my tears I could see the waves picking up in the ocean. It was now 4:30. In another hour the surfers would be showing up at the punch bowl, a local surfing area below my balcony. I was filled with hatred for them, walking leisurely down the beach with their boards, floating out in the water, and then having breakfast on the boardwalk at Zelda’s before carrying on with their lives. They would be driving cars, working, going to the gym, eating pizza at Pizza My Heart, hanging out in the evening with their partners, talking and laughing. I would be sitting alone, doing nothing, unable to leave the confines of my apartment because I had a brace on my leg that went from my ankle to my hip that made crutching difficult and dangerous.
Then I noticed something. Just a few feet off shore, a school of dolphins was swimming in the surf. There were at least 30 of them, maybe more, fins bobbing in and out of the water as they played in the rolling waves. At that moment the sun appeared, a faint yellow line on the edge of the ocean, gradually rising and making the dolphin fins glow.
That’s what I’ll do, I thought to myself.
I’ll swim.
I'm no angel
She said she was walking through the Renaissance festival in Texas when she saw this angel. She said as soon as she saw the face she thought of me. I guess it kind of looks like me, the hair anyway.
I'm going to put a little piece of metal on the bricks near my bed and put this on the wall in my bedroom (the angel has a magnet on the back).
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
sex in the library
I had a writer's group meeting on Saturday in the library. There were two new 40 something women in the group and they both brought stuff to read.
They read first, as is the custom. One is writing a book about dating, and her 5 pages were so overdone with sex that after reading her first paragraph aloud, as is the custom, the group leader suggested we read the rest in silence. One guy had to make a comment on the piece, and he started out by saying "I'm going to pretend this is a work of fiction, otherwise I won't be able to look at you".
The second woman is also writing about dating, but her book is really man-bashing-ish. She spent three of her 5 pages describing the toilet of a man she was dating. It was really, really detailed and gross. Then the next two pages described a sexual encounter that left a lot to (hee) be desired. I was just like oh god damn are you kidding me. No one had much in the way of comments except for me, who said politely I thought the book was a little negative.
After the group meeting I was invited to have a drink with some of the inner circle. They all think my book is pretty good and that I have a shot at getting published. One of the guys calls me "action figure Franki". It made me feel good that some writers who are real writers for a living, that have been published, think my book doesn't suck.
So I spammed some more agents on Sunday. We'll see what happens. I'm feeling less doubtful now, after having a depressing few days in Banff.
BTW, if anyone reading this lives around Banff, while I was driving to the airport I was listening to a radio station 88.1 FM and heard this cool song. I googled the radio stations in Canada and only found one 88.1 out of Toronto. I sent the program manager an email offering to donate to the radio station if he could tell me the name of the song (I was unable to find it on google when I googled the lyrics I remembered). The fucker never responded back. So maybe I emailed the wrong radio station. If anyone listens to that station and knows the station identifier I would be eternally grateful if you would leave me a comment with that information.
They read first, as is the custom. One is writing a book about dating, and her 5 pages were so overdone with sex that after reading her first paragraph aloud, as is the custom, the group leader suggested we read the rest in silence. One guy had to make a comment on the piece, and he started out by saying "I'm going to pretend this is a work of fiction, otherwise I won't be able to look at you".
The second woman is also writing about dating, but her book is really man-bashing-ish. She spent three of her 5 pages describing the toilet of a man she was dating. It was really, really detailed and gross. Then the next two pages described a sexual encounter that left a lot to (hee) be desired. I was just like oh god damn are you kidding me. No one had much in the way of comments except for me, who said politely I thought the book was a little negative.
After the group meeting I was invited to have a drink with some of the inner circle. They all think my book is pretty good and that I have a shot at getting published. One of the guys calls me "action figure Franki". It made me feel good that some writers who are real writers for a living, that have been published, think my book doesn't suck.
So I spammed some more agents on Sunday. We'll see what happens. I'm feeling less doubtful now, after having a depressing few days in Banff.
BTW, if anyone reading this lives around Banff, while I was driving to the airport I was listening to a radio station 88.1 FM and heard this cool song. I googled the radio stations in Canada and only found one 88.1 out of Toronto. I sent the program manager an email offering to donate to the radio station if he could tell me the name of the song (I was unable to find it on google when I googled the lyrics I remembered). The fucker never responded back. So maybe I emailed the wrong radio station. If anyone listens to that station and knows the station identifier I would be eternally grateful if you would leave me a comment with that information.
Masa absconds with Moschops
While up in Banff to meet with Tony I ended up having dinner with 3 of the writers in this year's group.
I got to sit across from this very hot guy named Masa. He's writing a book about living off the grid, but he was having problems starting. I showed him Moschops and bragged about him being my magic writing dinosaur. Masa liked Moschops and asked if he could hold him. I let him, but he started squeezing him so I took Moschops back because Moschops doesn't like to be squeezed.
Masa asked how he works and I told him I just put Moschops on my laptop, facing the screen, and then I start writing. Masa asked if I had a PC, and then he wanted to know if Moschops was Mac compatible.
I'm a sucker for anyone in need, especially if that person is hot, so I ended up giving Moschops to Masa for the night. He was supposed to give him back to me on Thursday night, since I was leaving Friday. No, I didn't get his phone number or email.
I ran into Masa on Thursday afternoon. He was going somewhere, but asked if we could meet later for a drink. I gave him my email address but never heard from him. By the time I left on Friday I was pissed, but then thought maybe it was fate that I lost Moschops.
On Sunday I sent an email to Tony asking for Masa's address. I realized I was more attached to my magic writing dinosaur than I was willing to admit. I'm not a materialistic person but Moschops was with me during a very dark period of doubt about my book, and he's the one who got me writing again.
In the mean time my friend Camile gave me another dinosaur, who's blue and as she said "much fiercer than Moschops". But it wasn't the same. I was relieved to hear from Masa, who will be sending Moschops to me on Friday at the end of his writing program. And Moschops worked for him too, so I don't think it's just me being silly.
I told him I would send him the fierce blue dinosaur, and Masa is calling him "blue boy". I suggested he start a blog for blue boy called "Magic Writing Dinosaur Living Off The Grid" and Masa thought it was a good idea. We'll see if he does it.
And we'll see if I get Moschops back.
I got to sit across from this very hot guy named Masa. He's writing a book about living off the grid, but he was having problems starting. I showed him Moschops and bragged about him being my magic writing dinosaur. Masa liked Moschops and asked if he could hold him. I let him, but he started squeezing him so I took Moschops back because Moschops doesn't like to be squeezed.
Masa asked how he works and I told him I just put Moschops on my laptop, facing the screen, and then I start writing. Masa asked if I had a PC, and then he wanted to know if Moschops was Mac compatible.
I'm a sucker for anyone in need, especially if that person is hot, so I ended up giving Moschops to Masa for the night. He was supposed to give him back to me on Thursday night, since I was leaving Friday. No, I didn't get his phone number or email.
I ran into Masa on Thursday afternoon. He was going somewhere, but asked if we could meet later for a drink. I gave him my email address but never heard from him. By the time I left on Friday I was pissed, but then thought maybe it was fate that I lost Moschops.
On Sunday I sent an email to Tony asking for Masa's address. I realized I was more attached to my magic writing dinosaur than I was willing to admit. I'm not a materialistic person but Moschops was with me during a very dark period of doubt about my book, and he's the one who got me writing again.
In the mean time my friend Camile gave me another dinosaur, who's blue and as she said "much fiercer than Moschops". But it wasn't the same. I was relieved to hear from Masa, who will be sending Moschops to me on Friday at the end of his writing program. And Moschops worked for him too, so I don't think it's just me being silly.
I told him I would send him the fierce blue dinosaur, and Masa is calling him "blue boy". I suggested he start a blog for blue boy called "Magic Writing Dinosaur Living Off The Grid" and Masa thought it was a good idea. We'll see if he does it.
And we'll see if I get Moschops back.
Friday, November 5, 2010
Moschops and banjo boobs
Last night I brought my magic writing dinosaur to my writer's group meeting. A guy there who has published 8 books really liked my dinosaur. And, he showed me at the bottom of the dinosaur was written Moschops. He had the same dinosaur when he was a kid. He handed it back to me and said "now your dinosaur has a name." But I'm also going to keep calling him my magic writing dinosaur.
Moschops was the largest therapsid on the planet during its life in the Middle Permiam period (he's not really a dinosaur, technically speaking). Like me it mostly ate vegetables but occasionally ate meat. And it had a super thick skull. Some scientist say it's because Moschops head butted other dinosaurs, while others say it had a disease and that's what caused the skull to be so thick. He wasn't very evolved, having splayed feet and a tiny little brain. I also found this:
"It may seem hard to believe, but Moschops was the star of a short-lived kids' TV show back in 1983, though it's unclear whether the producers knew that it technically wasn't a dinosaur. Granted, that wasn't the only scientific inaccuracy: for example, Moschops shared a cave with his best friend, an Allosaurus, and his grandfather was a Diplodocus. Perhaps it was a good thing that Moschops only lasted for 13 episodes before fading into pop-culture obscurity."
Scientists are so funny.
There was a new woman at the group who arrived late. She spent 10 minutes introducing herself (we're normally supposed to give our name and what we're working on). She said she was writing a piece about being kicked out of meditation camp, and then proceeded to list about 20 other things she had been kicked out of. She even got kicked out of banjo lessons, which were taught by her best friend. He kicked her out because she wouldn't hold the banjo correctly. She got mad and said "why don't YOU grow some boobs and see how easy it is to hold a banjo". Then he kicked her out.
My piece was read first, 5 pages of Buford, about ice climbing. This woman kept telling me "read eat, pray, love and don't exactly write like that, but write mostly like that". I was like um, no thanks. All the women said they wanted more "inner dialog", whatever that means. And a guy with exactly 2 hours of climbing experience told me I needed to add a section where I planned my climb. I was like dude. I don't plan. I just go. But, whatever. It was still helpful.
Then a dutch guy who is supposed to be my new writing partner (the eat pray love woman is younger and a lot better looking than me so now the screen writer who was helping me seems to be pawning me off so he can help eat pray love woman) read his piece next. It was about a girl who gets TB. The banjo woman suddenly stood up and said that her boyfriend was dying from something which I couldn't hear and that it was upsetting her to listen to a story about someone dying (even though the dutch guy's piece was about the boyfriend of the TB girl trying to find out whether TB girl had a cold or something worse).
It was strange.
Also I met a guy who is an illustrator and I pitched a joint book idea to him where he would take my dreams and draw pictures of them. It was weird because he had just done the same thing for a heavy metal band (he created their cover, and the lead singer said "take this fucked up dream I had and make it the album cover picture"). He said no one had ever asked him to draw their dreams and now, within the space of a week, two of us did.
Anyway, other than my meeting I've been an editing machine. I've been editing about 4 hours at least every day. Sunday I rewrite my proposal and then go to Banff on Wednesday to see Tony, my editor from the mountain writing program. I want my book to be kick ass. I'm actually feeling a lot more confident about it. I rewrote my first chapter AGAIN yesterday and think I've finally addressed the issue people were having with it. And after my Buford piece was read three of the women in my group said "I want to go ice climbing!'
Hooray! My book is working!
Moschops was the largest therapsid on the planet during its life in the Middle Permiam period (he's not really a dinosaur, technically speaking). Like me it mostly ate vegetables but occasionally ate meat. And it had a super thick skull. Some scientist say it's because Moschops head butted other dinosaurs, while others say it had a disease and that's what caused the skull to be so thick. He wasn't very evolved, having splayed feet and a tiny little brain. I also found this:
"It may seem hard to believe, but Moschops was the star of a short-lived kids' TV show back in 1983, though it's unclear whether the producers knew that it technically wasn't a dinosaur. Granted, that wasn't the only scientific inaccuracy: for example, Moschops shared a cave with his best friend, an Allosaurus, and his grandfather was a Diplodocus. Perhaps it was a good thing that Moschops only lasted for 13 episodes before fading into pop-culture obscurity."
Scientists are so funny.
There was a new woman at the group who arrived late. She spent 10 minutes introducing herself (we're normally supposed to give our name and what we're working on). She said she was writing a piece about being kicked out of meditation camp, and then proceeded to list about 20 other things she had been kicked out of. She even got kicked out of banjo lessons, which were taught by her best friend. He kicked her out because she wouldn't hold the banjo correctly. She got mad and said "why don't YOU grow some boobs and see how easy it is to hold a banjo". Then he kicked her out.
My piece was read first, 5 pages of Buford, about ice climbing. This woman kept telling me "read eat, pray, love and don't exactly write like that, but write mostly like that". I was like um, no thanks. All the women said they wanted more "inner dialog", whatever that means. And a guy with exactly 2 hours of climbing experience told me I needed to add a section where I planned my climb. I was like dude. I don't plan. I just go. But, whatever. It was still helpful.
Then a dutch guy who is supposed to be my new writing partner (the eat pray love woman is younger and a lot better looking than me so now the screen writer who was helping me seems to be pawning me off so he can help eat pray love woman) read his piece next. It was about a girl who gets TB. The banjo woman suddenly stood up and said that her boyfriend was dying from something which I couldn't hear and that it was upsetting her to listen to a story about someone dying (even though the dutch guy's piece was about the boyfriend of the TB girl trying to find out whether TB girl had a cold or something worse).
It was strange.
Also I met a guy who is an illustrator and I pitched a joint book idea to him where he would take my dreams and draw pictures of them. It was weird because he had just done the same thing for a heavy metal band (he created their cover, and the lead singer said "take this fucked up dream I had and make it the album cover picture"). He said no one had ever asked him to draw their dreams and now, within the space of a week, two of us did.
Anyway, other than my meeting I've been an editing machine. I've been editing about 4 hours at least every day. Sunday I rewrite my proposal and then go to Banff on Wednesday to see Tony, my editor from the mountain writing program. I want my book to be kick ass. I'm actually feeling a lot more confident about it. I rewrote my first chapter AGAIN yesterday and think I've finally addressed the issue people were having with it. And after my Buford piece was read three of the women in my group said "I want to go ice climbing!'
Hooray! My book is working!
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
FINITO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! and the magic writing dinosaur
YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!
I have finished the last chapter of my book!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Hooray!!! Only a billion more days of editing ahead of me! But who cares! I am so psyched to be done!
Special thanks to Cam who gave me a magic writing dinosaur!
I have finished the last chapter of my book!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Hooray!!! Only a billion more days of editing ahead of me! But who cares! I am so psyched to be done!
Special thanks to Cam who gave me a magic writing dinosaur!
Monday, November 1, 2010
Halloween at Cam's
I went to my friend Cam's house yesterday for Halloween. Every year she has a party where she makes gumbo and the neighbors come over when their brats and done trick or treating.
I was supposed to help Cam make the gumbo, and I did a pretty good job chopping vegetables, but when she brought out the rotisserie chicken and asked me to rip the meat off of it I almost gagged. When she pulled the little meat sticks off the chicken body I told her I would not eat any gumbo that had any meat from those meat sticks in it. So she made a special little bowl for me that didn't have that stuff in it.
One problem with gumbo is you always have to watch it and stir it. That's fun for about 5 minutes. Then I was bored. So she suggested I sit out on the stoop with the candy bowl waiting for little kids to come by. I went out with the bowl and waited for some kids. In the mean time, Cam brought me a beer.
So there I was, sitting on her stoop, drinking a beer and chain smoking. Tricker treater after tricker treater went by, and no one was coming up to Cam's door. So I started heckling the kids' parents "hey, don't you want some candy?" Finally I realized they weren't coming to the stoop because I was drinking and smoking. Whatever. That was my favorite part of halloween when I was a kid. I used to bum cigarettes off of people and we had one neighbor that used to get so drunk we could go to his house 5 or 6 times and he wouldn't remember us.
Then this group of three kids came up. The two older kids, I'd guess they were 9 or 10, were running ahead of the third kid, who was probably 6. This kid, named Charlie, had a craftsy kind of mom. She made him a robot costume out of a huge cardboard box. The box went from his neck to his knees, and only his elbows forward were showing of his arms. Charlie was trying to catch up with his siblings but couldn't run very fast in the box.
Then Charlie ate shit right in front of Cam's stoop. His head disappeared in the box, and I could see his arms flapping around the sides of the box, and he couldn't stand up. He started screaming and crying like he was being water boarded. I was going to help him but I was doubled over with laughter watching his little box rocking around on the sidewalk with his legs kicking out the bottom. It looked like the box was eating him alive.
Finally his parents showed up to help him. Then I realized they were both carrying beers. That's why their kids came up to the stoop I guess, not afraid of me, I reminded them of their parents. I gave them almost the whole bowl of candy.
Then we ate gumbo. It was really good. Tomorrow I'm going to help Cam install some new light bulbs because she's afraid of heights and can't go up on a ladder. I'm hoping there was some left over gumbo...
I was supposed to help Cam make the gumbo, and I did a pretty good job chopping vegetables, but when she brought out the rotisserie chicken and asked me to rip the meat off of it I almost gagged. When she pulled the little meat sticks off the chicken body I told her I would not eat any gumbo that had any meat from those meat sticks in it. So she made a special little bowl for me that didn't have that stuff in it.
One problem with gumbo is you always have to watch it and stir it. That's fun for about 5 minutes. Then I was bored. So she suggested I sit out on the stoop with the candy bowl waiting for little kids to come by. I went out with the bowl and waited for some kids. In the mean time, Cam brought me a beer.
So there I was, sitting on her stoop, drinking a beer and chain smoking. Tricker treater after tricker treater went by, and no one was coming up to Cam's door. So I started heckling the kids' parents "hey, don't you want some candy?" Finally I realized they weren't coming to the stoop because I was drinking and smoking. Whatever. That was my favorite part of halloween when I was a kid. I used to bum cigarettes off of people and we had one neighbor that used to get so drunk we could go to his house 5 or 6 times and he wouldn't remember us.
Then this group of three kids came up. The two older kids, I'd guess they were 9 or 10, were running ahead of the third kid, who was probably 6. This kid, named Charlie, had a craftsy kind of mom. She made him a robot costume out of a huge cardboard box. The box went from his neck to his knees, and only his elbows forward were showing of his arms. Charlie was trying to catch up with his siblings but couldn't run very fast in the box.
Then Charlie ate shit right in front of Cam's stoop. His head disappeared in the box, and I could see his arms flapping around the sides of the box, and he couldn't stand up. He started screaming and crying like he was being water boarded. I was going to help him but I was doubled over with laughter watching his little box rocking around on the sidewalk with his legs kicking out the bottom. It looked like the box was eating him alive.
Finally his parents showed up to help him. Then I realized they were both carrying beers. That's why their kids came up to the stoop I guess, not afraid of me, I reminded them of their parents. I gave them almost the whole bowl of candy.
Then we ate gumbo. It was really good. Tomorrow I'm going to help Cam install some new light bulbs because she's afraid of heights and can't go up on a ladder. I'm hoping there was some left over gumbo...
Friday, October 29, 2010
you know you've been traveling too much when...
You always bring your suitcase when you leave the house, because it seems strange to be getting into your car for any reason other than to go to the airport.
You have a moment of panic because you put your keys and your blackberry in the same pocket, and you're afraid your blackberry has demagnetized your keys.
You wonder why the bed hasn't been made up, and then realize there's no maid service at your house.
You throw trash on the floor of your car, and then remember it's not a rental.
You look for the do not disturb sign to hang on your door before you go to bed.
When you wake up the first thing you do is open your suitcase to see what clothes options you have for the day, and then momentarily panic because the suitcase is empty.
You wake up early in the morning and decide to go to the hotel gym, only to discover your house doesn't have a hotel gym.
You mention to the punk at the 7-11 where you are buying cigarettes that the birthdate is located at the top of your Colorado driver's license, only to remember, when he glares at you, that you are in Colorado.
You have a moment of panic because you put your keys and your blackberry in the same pocket, and you're afraid your blackberry has demagnetized your keys.
You wonder why the bed hasn't been made up, and then realize there's no maid service at your house.
You throw trash on the floor of your car, and then remember it's not a rental.
You look for the do not disturb sign to hang on your door before you go to bed.
When you wake up the first thing you do is open your suitcase to see what clothes options you have for the day, and then momentarily panic because the suitcase is empty.
You wake up early in the morning and decide to go to the hotel gym, only to discover your house doesn't have a hotel gym.
You mention to the punk at the 7-11 where you are buying cigarettes that the birthdate is located at the top of your Colorado driver's license, only to remember, when he glares at you, that you are in Colorado.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
finally, a useful meeting!
On Thursday night I went to my first writer's group meeting. It was very useful and I'm glad I went. The guy who ran my sub-group is known for being sort of mean. I was really glad. He gave me a good reality check about my book, and some great advice. I'm going again 4 November.
In fact, I was so excited that after the meeting I came home and worked on my book for 3 hours. I haven't finished my last chapter but that's okay because I did a major revision of my prologue, first chapter, and my proposal. Today I did research on competitive books. Tomorrow is writing day!!!! I got a hopefully useful book called "Naked, Drunk, and Writing". I do write naked in the summer, but it's too cold to do that now.
I managed to get all of my errands done today too, including removing all of my outside vent covers and putting in insulation (what a fucking pain in the ass). Then I climbed up on my roof to winterize my swamp cooler and almost fell getting down because the old divider wall I climb to get up on the roof was about a foot taller than the new one. I did a pretty impressive iron cross trying to lower my foot down to the divider. Ech.
And, I watched two disturbing movies: Benny's Videos and Funny Games. Fucked up.
In fact, I was so excited that after the meeting I came home and worked on my book for 3 hours. I haven't finished my last chapter but that's okay because I did a major revision of my prologue, first chapter, and my proposal. Today I did research on competitive books. Tomorrow is writing day!!!! I got a hopefully useful book called "Naked, Drunk, and Writing". I do write naked in the summer, but it's too cold to do that now.
I managed to get all of my errands done today too, including removing all of my outside vent covers and putting in insulation (what a fucking pain in the ass). Then I climbed up on my roof to winterize my swamp cooler and almost fell getting down because the old divider wall I climb to get up on the roof was about a foot taller than the new one. I did a pretty impressive iron cross trying to lower my foot down to the divider. Ech.
And, I watched two disturbing movies: Benny's Videos and Funny Games. Fucked up.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
that's what's up doc
I went to the doctor's today because my friend Camile made me. I don't have strep throat but I have a sinus infection. Antibiotics to follow.
I was also told that I need to gain weight, and that I have scoliosis (discovered when she was checking my lungs - ha! I don't have bad posture, it's a genetic defect). For the record, my lungs are in great shape and my doctor can't believe I smoke. So, smokers out there, if you can't quit take up running. It seems to offset emphysema, which I should have, but don't. Or at least go for a brisk walk. You guys should be doing that anyway.
I also had to get a test to see if I have anemia because I don't eat enough meat. I did, however, eat some of that meat thing I made yesterday (even though it was a little crispy, it wasn't bad - it wasn't horrible - it was edible). I also accidentally forgot about the spaghetti squash I was cooking in the oven and over cooked it for an hour. That was also still edible. Last night I put half of it on my salad. Tonight I think I'll mix it in with some mashed potatoes and see how that tastes. Those fuckers are really hard to aerate (you have to put holes in them before you cook them because they explode).
I forgot about my squash because a guy came by to measure my back doors, and we started talking, and it was only when I was emailing Cam that I remembered the damn thing. I'm replacing the doors with full view doors so I can have even more light in my house. Psyched to get my new doors!!!!! They are energy efficient, and metal, and will be so much better than the crappy wooden doors I have now which are falling apart.
I was also told that I need to gain weight, and that I have scoliosis (discovered when she was checking my lungs - ha! I don't have bad posture, it's a genetic defect). For the record, my lungs are in great shape and my doctor can't believe I smoke. So, smokers out there, if you can't quit take up running. It seems to offset emphysema, which I should have, but don't. Or at least go for a brisk walk. You guys should be doing that anyway.
I also had to get a test to see if I have anemia because I don't eat enough meat. I did, however, eat some of that meat thing I made yesterday (even though it was a little crispy, it wasn't bad - it wasn't horrible - it was edible). I also accidentally forgot about the spaghetti squash I was cooking in the oven and over cooked it for an hour. That was also still edible. Last night I put half of it on my salad. Tonight I think I'll mix it in with some mashed potatoes and see how that tastes. Those fuckers are really hard to aerate (you have to put holes in them before you cook them because they explode).
I forgot about my squash because a guy came by to measure my back doors, and we started talking, and it was only when I was emailing Cam that I remembered the damn thing. I'm replacing the doors with full view doors so I can have even more light in my house. Psyched to get my new doors!!!!! They are energy efficient, and metal, and will be so much better than the crappy wooden doors I have now which are falling apart.
Monday, October 18, 2010
perverted canadians
And, BTW, what's up with THIS??????
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20101018/ap_on_re_ca/cn_canada_commander_slayings
"Many of the pictures showed a serious-looking Williams masturbating in or with the stolen lingerie. In one picture, he appears to be wearing his military uniform with his trousers dropped to expose pink panties."
Does it surprise me that he was in Dubai? No. I told you everyone over there is fucked up:
"Williams, a 23-year military veteran, has never been in combat but has been stationed across Canada and internationally, including a stint in 2006 as commanding officer of Camp Mirage, the secretive Canadian Forces base widely reported to be near Dubai."
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20101018/ap_on_re_ca/cn_canada_commander_slayings
"Many of the pictures showed a serious-looking Williams masturbating in or with the stolen lingerie. In one picture, he appears to be wearing his military uniform with his trousers dropped to expose pink panties."
Does it surprise me that he was in Dubai? No. I told you everyone over there is fucked up:
"Williams, a 23-year military veteran, has never been in combat but has been stationed across Canada and internationally, including a stint in 2006 as commanding officer of Camp Mirage, the secretive Canadian Forces base widely reported to be near Dubai."
with apologies, and a word on my meat mallet
I've been getting some complaints for not writing lately. My excuse is that I've been sick, so sick, in fact, that I am actually going to see a doctor (I know, shocking). I've lost my voice and can't really talk (and someone should chime in "you say that like it's a bad thing").
In the mean time, I've also managed to not write the last chapter of my book. But, I did sign up for a writer's group in Denver today. We meet on Thursday night. Should be interesting.
And, I'm cooking some more stuff. Today I went to buy a flank steak (I haven't been grocery shopping for 4 weeks) to make this new recipe thing I found, but they didn't have anything called flank steak in the meat place. So I got this other thing called a brisket, which looked like the same thing as a flank steak according to the recipe pictures. Stupid meat. Why do they have to make it so complicated?
Anyway, I pounded the shit out of the brisket thing and then tried to put it in my slow cooker but it got so flattened out that I had to cut it up so it would fit (amazing how much meat spaces out when you flatten it, reminds me of flattening relational database tables, but, that's more useful because then you can do complex queries without crashing the server because you put in a bad outer join - why am I talking about that - I don't know either). Then I doused it with this dressing thing I made. It could be the worst meat ever. We'll see.
One other recipe thing I did wrong was it said to sear the meat. I have no idea what that means, but it sounds hard. That's why I decided to mash the brisket with my meat mallet. Hopefully searing and smashing create the same end product.
Tomorrow, the book will be done. TOMORROW!!!!
In the mean time, I've also managed to not write the last chapter of my book. But, I did sign up for a writer's group in Denver today. We meet on Thursday night. Should be interesting.
And, I'm cooking some more stuff. Today I went to buy a flank steak (I haven't been grocery shopping for 4 weeks) to make this new recipe thing I found, but they didn't have anything called flank steak in the meat place. So I got this other thing called a brisket, which looked like the same thing as a flank steak according to the recipe pictures. Stupid meat. Why do they have to make it so complicated?
Anyway, I pounded the shit out of the brisket thing and then tried to put it in my slow cooker but it got so flattened out that I had to cut it up so it would fit (amazing how much meat spaces out when you flatten it, reminds me of flattening relational database tables, but, that's more useful because then you can do complex queries without crashing the server because you put in a bad outer join - why am I talking about that - I don't know either). Then I doused it with this dressing thing I made. It could be the worst meat ever. We'll see.
One other recipe thing I did wrong was it said to sear the meat. I have no idea what that means, but it sounds hard. That's why I decided to mash the brisket with my meat mallet. Hopefully searing and smashing create the same end product.
Tomorrow, the book will be done. TOMORROW!!!!
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