day 3 - pitch fest turns to bitch fest

This pitch fest is like trying to make the cheerleader squad.

When the group leader was giving feedback from the morning pitch she said nice things to everyone about what the editor said.

I was sitting in a corner sending my earlier blog post. A woman I've been talking to was like "what did she say about Franki?" and the group leader was like "Oh, um, Franki, if you want to know what she said I can tell you later."

I was so pissed, like why don't you just tell me now? I don't really give a fuck if she hated my book. She doesn't even publish my genre.

Then an unexpected shit storm started  because some of us have been pitching to editors that have nothing to do with our genres. And the conference guy told a woman with a story about a lawyer that she had been asked to write by the lawyer "there isn't an editor here that would be interested in your story so there's no point in you doing any more pitches".



In the afternoon I pitched to an editor who was
1. sick
2. 8 hours into her day of listening to book pitches (I was the 30th person to pitch her)
3. not someone who works in my genre (she does women's literary fiction, i.e. eat pray love and every other book like that which I will never read)

I was so over this conference that I rewrote my pitch, didn't bother to read it over before I printed it, and didn't bother to practice it before I met with her.

Surprisingly, she seemed interested. But, I chalked that up to the pictures on my pitch. Also, at one point she was looking at me and smiling, and I didn't know what to do, so I said "I guess I'll leave now" (normally they say "thanks!" when they want you to leave). Ech. She was the only editor that shook my hand.

Later, I was at a conference happy hour, and my group leader came up and said "how do you think that went?" and I was like "I have no idea." She was like "do you think she was interested in your book?" and I said "no, I think she just was curious about the shark picture because she was bored (I have a pic I took of a great white on my pitch sheet) and so she was like 'tell me about the shark and then get the fuck out of my face'." (explaining my rather awkward exit).

Then the group leader was like "Oh. Because I think she was interested. You'll find out next week."

I'm probably jinxing myself even writing that on my blog.


Every one was like "stay out and party with us!" But I had a client issue and had to go back to the hotel to take care of it because the fuck wit install engineer who was supposed to get my software installed for my Monday engagement decided instead to not do his fucking job.

Ech.

I should write a fiction book about desperate women trying to get their books published.

really? is this a sick joke?

So I got here this morning at 9 am to practice my pitch. The group leader reviewed it and suggested I change it back to the version I had yesterday with a few word changes. Ech. So I ran back to my hotel and rewrote my pitch and had to kick a middle eastern guy off the hotel computer so I could print it. I got back to the morning pitch fest with 2 minutes to spare.

The editor I pitched to has done 4 books in 10 years. She does nothing with my genre. The only things she said to me are "I'm afraid of sharks" and "I hate swimming".

I ran back to the hotel after my pitch and rewrote my pitch  again.

What the fuck am I doing?

day 3 - coming out of my corner swinging

I only got 4 hours of sleep last night but I managed to finish another rewrite of my pitch. I did some research on the pitches that won last year and revised mine accordingly. It's not what the book is about, but they can find that out when they read it.

now I know why I don't read much fiction - day 2

So today everyone pitched their stories to an editor. I knew I was screwed when, after the first woman did her pitch, the editor said "Oh, I like anything with the word daughter in it!" and then started talking about her daughter. The book was about a Canadian family who decide to spend a year driving around in an RV car schooling their 7 year old.

A woman in my group, who is a plastic surgeon in Beverly Hills, pitched her book which is about a plastic surgeon in Beverly Hills who agrees to star in a reality TV show because she has so much school debt. I think it's a great pitch. The editor said "that's a little too edgy for me."

Um, what? Nip/Tuck and Dr. Beverly Hills 90210 are two of the most popular shows ever (okay, I know that because the doctor told me that, but I looked it up and it's true). Her book shows the inside story on what happens with plastic surgery. And this was not of interest to an editor that does women's fiction?

I don't know why I even bothered to pitch her because she doesn't do my genre. She said I should focus more on myself than what I did for adventures. Then the group tore my pitch apart. They were like "what is your book about?" I was like "what the pitch said, not letting an injury prevent me from being an athlete" and they were like "but we don't get that from your pitch". Ech.

And then one of the women said "you say your book is funny but you are just trying to mask your pain." No. I laugh about my situation because there's nothing I can do about it. So then she said "why don't you just take drugs?"

Then one of the other women said "Her book is about having a void in her life." I guess she found it unbelievable that I might enjoy ice climbing.


The person I feel the worst for is a woman who's a lawyer that wrote a story about defending her brother against a controversial law in Kentucky that says teachers can't have sex with anyone under 17 (the legal age for consensual sex for everyone but teachers is 16). Her brother, who is a teacher, had sex with a 17 year old who wasn't his student (that's how he ended up getting off from the charges). It's obviously a very emotional topic (the point of the book is that she became close to her estranged brother defending him even though she thought what he did was wrong). A bunch of the women in the group were like "I just find it hard to believe you would defend him even though he is your brother. It's seems like you need more motivation than that."

I got invited out for a drink but instead I'm going to work on my pitch again. I'm just so annoyed and frustrated right now.

And, I wasn't a finalist in that kid's book contest. However, The Adventures of Poo Boy was, as well as The Kissy Momster.

What the fuck...

pitchfest - day 1 - I'm depressed

So I did my first day of the pitchfest. 

Today was kind of depressing. We are in groups according to genres, and my "genre" is women's fiction and memoir. So, picture me in a room full of 14 women. They've already given me a nickname: the human crash test dummy. BTW, none of the other women were given nicknames.

Everyone has a really strong pitch. I think they didn't know what to do with mine. There was a stunned silence when I finished reading it and then the woman running the group said "Well. That wasn't what I was expecting." I tried to explain the difference between coordination and athleticism. They didn't seem to get it. They kept saying "If you were a competitive runner why would ice climbing be so hard for you?" Ech.

And I revised my pitch. AGAIN.

It's pretty high school the way things go down. Pitches start tomorrow. Every day we pitch to an agent or an editor. 

You go in to a room with just the agent or editor and the person running your group, make your pitch, and then the agent or editor decides which books they want to take a look at. Then we're all called back into the room and the group leader announces whose books made the cut. And the group leader keeps counseling us not to cry during our pitches and not to cry afterward if our book is rejected because "it's all subjective".

Okay, it's not like high school. It's like kindergarten. I'm fucking over 40. I don't need someone to tell me not to cry during a business meeting.

 Fuck. I should have come here with my kid book.

And it's humid so my hair looks insane. I don't know if that's a plus or minus. Also, we were apparently supposed to dress in business attire. Oops. I guess I didn't read that memo. An agent can't seriously expect me to wear a suit. What's the point of being a writer if I have to be professional? I might as well stay a consultant.

from snake-tacular to muons

Since I have to spend the weekend in Rhode Island next weekend I was trying to convince a friend of mine, who is a double amputee, to go to the aquarium with me to check out some sea dragons and so I could stand in front of the snake cages and work on my snake phobia.

Unfortunately he's out of town, but he mentioned he is also afraid of snakes and didn't want to hang out around snake cages.

So I made the following suggestion:

You should put something in your legs that would electrocute snakes if they try to bite you. And maybe the electric current could also cook the snake and then you and your friends could eat it.

Or, maybe more humane, play annoying music that only snakes can hear so they won't come near you. Like Van Halen's 1984 album. All the snakes would be like "let's get out of here before Jump comes on!"

He didn't think it was a great idea (as in "too stupid to even respond to"). And, after doing some research, it turns out he was right:

I've been doing research over the course of the day (lots of boring call in meetings, no one can see what I'm doing).

Apparently certain noises agitate snakes and make them more likely to strike. Van Halen would probably agitate them. So don't listen to my suggestion in the last email.

BTW, I found an awesome snake trap. On the lid it says "WARNING! Live Snake May Be Inside!"

I also found some snake repellent. It's made out of mongoose urine. Gross.

Did you know snakes don't like to slither over sisal rope? Apparently it hurts their underbelly.

And then I followed the wikipedia links to other pages and eventually ended up on a page about muons. If I were a muon I would wear a shirt all the time that said "electrons, I will crush you".

Because, muons are like 200 times bigger than electrons.


And I sent a fan letter to this guy who runs my new favorite (okay, I didn't have an old favorite) snake web site. You can see a snake pooping. Their poop is really gross because they pee out the same hole and they don't have, according to the web site, enough plant fiber in their diet. 

There's also, I just want to mention, a glue trap for snakes. The glue breaks down over time so the snake could get away, in theory. But it usually starves to death first. But, then you can pull it out of the glue trap and throw it away as opposed to having to throw the glue trap away while the snake is still attached.


The web site dude hasn't responded back yet. That's okay. He's probably catching snakes. Which is a good thing.
 

escape to new york

Well, I'm in the city and in my hotel room, which is a lot bigger than I expected it to be. It's almost a regular sized room.

It wasn't easy getting here. My flight was delayed an hour because there was fog in NYC and they wouldn't allow planes to land. Then the traffic controllers got all mixed up. First they told us we were clear to take off so everyone got on the plane. Then while we were taxiing down the runway (boy, that's a weird word, taxiing, I like it) they said we weren't cleared to take off. So we sat on the run way for about 40 minutes. The baby behind me was crying. I hate that.

I guess it was a good thing we were delayed because a shit show storm was brewing for my engagement next week, all because the install engineer doesn't do his fucking job. This is the third engagement I've done with him where he failed to get the software installed and operational before I showed up. Oh, and the engagement manager forgot to order the training material for a class I'm giving Monday.

I'm glad I get to do everyone else's job, and my own.

Oh, and a blog posting I put up yesterday on my work blog went viral. Kind of cool.

Well, into the void tomorrow. I wonder if I'm going to have to pitch to an agent tomorrow or if we're just working with editors...it would be cool if something finally happens for my book but I'm trying to not get my hopes up.

new york, new york

So tomorrow I leave for the pitch conference to see if I can get an agent for my book. The fun starts Thursday at 9 am and goes to Sunday 4 pm. Though, I'll be leaving at 2 PM to take a train to my customer engagement next week.

I keep rewriting my first five pages. I need to stop doing that.

I read a really depressing statistic. Most agents get 10,000 queries a year. They usually pick 2 to publish. That's even worse odds than when I applied to Johns Hopkins. Ech.

perhaps I've taken fake smoking too far

So, I'm taking my anti-smoking medication so I can stop smoking my fake cigarettes. Is that weird? My dad thinks it is.

Also, I just found out on wikipedia today that nicotine ISN'T bad for you. Me, I mean.

So I spent an hour filling all my zero nicotine cartridges for my fake cigarette with nicotine liquid so they'll have nicotine in them.

my hair is my glory and, is that santa claus?

So, without going into too much detail about it, I got a jacked up hair cut about 5 weeks ago. That was bad, but what was worse is that my hairdresser also straightened my hair WITHOUT ASKING ME.

ANNOYING!

Because I LIKE being called Medusa (with blond hair instead of snakes, because you know I don't like snakes). I ended up getting this amazing hair mask and my hair is slowly getting back to normal.

So last night I was having a drink with my friend Jessie. She has really long black hair and it's curly like mine. She was commiserating with me about my still a little jacked up hair. She's small but she gets loud after a few drinks. Anyway, a black woman in the bar (it's a bar where homeless people hang out some times, but I wanted to go there because it's right down my street) came up to me and said "Your hair is your glory! Grow your glory!"

I didn't know what to do so I said "Okay, um, I won't get it cut for a long time."

But the woman wouldn't stop going on about my hair. And then a guy walked in with this weird pointy beard. He was super short and looked like one of those guys that starts a cult and then kills all the members.

So we decided to go to another local bar (it's so local they check your ID to make sure you're from the hood before they serve you a drink). Jessie wondered, loudly, why people on crack like me so much (I'm often approached on the street by homeless crack heads - they don't ask me for money - they just want to talk to me). People started sneak looking at me. Then I told her a story and she started laughing so hard everyone in the bar turned around to look at her and this time she noticed a white haired guy sitting at the end of the bar.

She was like "Oh my god! Is that santa claus?"

At which point I decided it was time to walk her home. While we were waiting at a stop light I checked my crackberry and saw I had a text from my brother so I said "Oh, I got a text from Bob." And Jessie said "That's your brother's name? That's what I named my vibrator!"

She laughed about that the whole walk home.

I'm not so sure about this "socializing" stuff.

why researchers need to hire a stand up comedian

I just read an article on NPR about how researchers managed to send a message through 787 feet of stone using a beam of neutrinos.

A quote from another article said:

For the first time, scientists have used neutrinos — the exotic fundamental particles that routinely pass right through Earth — to send a message through the ground.

Guess what message they sent? Remembering that neutrinos are exotic and that this was a ground breaking experiment with potential to change, if nothing else, the way we communicate (at&t will have to kiss all those gov dollars for maintaining phone lines bye bye for starters). And that, if CERN figures out whether or not a neutrino did travel faster than the speed of light that we could send messages back in time. And that this wasn't an overnight experiment, surely it was years in the making and all the scientists had to be thinking about what message to send...

They sent one word: neutrino.

Um, what? Are you fucking KIDDING???????????

Why not "Rosebud was his sled", "first neutrino spam message", "my neutrino went through the center of the earth and all I got was this lousy t-shirt", "neutrinos are particles too", "I've been shot!", "neutrinos do it faster"...

And those are just stupid things that I thought up in one minute.

It's a happy day for science, and a sad day for creativity

Reminds me of my dream where I was allowed to look through a telescope to see the secrets of the universe...

the gift that keeps on giving me shit

I should have known not to get too excited about my new laptop.

I turned it on yesterday late afternoon so I could start migrating stuff off this old dying dog.

BUT -

My name is spelled wrong on my account so I wasn't able to connect to the network; also, it took me a while to figure out where the spelling error was (they replaced the "a" in my last name with a "u" - interesting).

They sent me the wrong passwords for both my Admin and user accounts. Luckily I was able to guess them both.

They sent the laptop loaded with nothing but windows 7 and some other crap. Seriously? Like, they couldn't take the FIVE FUCKING SECONDS to load MS Office so instead I wasted 5 hours downloading it off a server that's probably in fucking India.

The instructions for the set up were completely wrong. Like wrong at step 2. How fucking incompetent do you have to be that in a 4 page 20 step document EVERYTHING is wrong after step 1 (which was "log on"). I just started winging it (I know, for YOU set up of a laptop is not hard - but I am in an INSANE corporate environment and have to do shit like encrypt my hard drive, add passwords to disks, link up to a security site that checks my laptop once a week for sensitive information compliance and I had to also figure out what fucking server my mail is on - WHO KNOWS THAT??????).

I probably would not be so pissed if I hadn't been up in the Boulder office where they load up the laptops and seen most of the staff there talking or playing solitaire. I think one guy was working on a laptop. No, better to have me waste my time doing this shit than someone who IS GETTING PAID TO BE IT SUPPORT.

Don't worry. I have a job interview on Friday.

the squeaky wheel gets the biggest laptop ever

My new laptop arrived. It's a lot bigger than my old one and weighs as much as I do.

It fucking better be faster and more stable.

Can't wait to lug that power supply around. I thought batteries were getting smaller.

We are a high tech company.

the wifesitter

My writing buddy Kevin just made a trailer for a tv show called The Wifesitter. Check it out. He plays the husband.

a strange underwear drawer of their own

Generally, it's hard to be friends with mathematicians. Sure they occasionally provide some useful information. But for the most part, they're smart asses. Like this mathematician I know that I was trying to get to help me think of a practical use for the Goldbach Conjecture should it ever be proved (I like to stress myself out by thinking about problems that can't be solved but that don't involve Pakistan):

I wrote:

I've been taking tests for an hour to see if I pick the golden rectangle out of a series of rectangles and I can't do it. Like, 90% of the population can do it. I'm so depressed.

I've been reading a book about chaos and numbers. Discovered a neat card trick, which is how to suspend a card completely off of a table using only four cards and no glue. And have been caught up in wondering about a practical use for the Goldbach Conjecture.

And, ha ha:

There are three types of people: those who count precisely and those who don't.

I'm bored. When are you getting home?

He wrote:

I'm home. I’m remembering that one time during the week I had an insight about chaos theory, but I’m too rushed right now to articulate it. Remind me later.

The original interest in Goldbach’s Conjecture was to use it as a gravel screen in the search for prime numbers I would assume. But that has probably gone by the boards these days, with modern machine searching algorithms.

I wrote (to be a smart ass):

It's this:

Every even integer greater than 2 can be expressed as the sum of two primes

So the multiplication of 2 primes can be used to encrypt data because it's so hard to figure out what the two original primes were, I was thinking about, if Goldbach's conjecture could be proven to be true is there a practical application.

He wrote:

I know/knew what Goldbach’s conjecture is, and was merely speculating on its usefulness myself. But think of your encryption proposal this way – it will only be useful if the GC remains unproven, just because any proof of the GC is liable to include a calculation engine that will determine the primes involved that sum to a particular value. In other words, you would only have a trustworthy, computable code if the GC were proven. But, if the GC were proven, then its proof could be applied in the deciphering of your encryption. Zero sum game.

Best place to hide stuff is still across the borders of adjacent second order mathematical languages – i.e. book codes and the like, that are generated anew for each message and user.

Though, your underwear drawer can work pretty good, too. No one ever stole my credit card numbers from there.

And since he said "your underwear drawer" (people are normally good at math or english, and, he's a mathematician) I wrote:

Why are you hiding your credit card numbers in my underwear drawer?

You're right. No one looks in there.

It should be noted I don't have an underwear drawer.

He wrote (because he can't admit he's made even an english mistake):

Think of your underwear drawer as my personal version of cloud computing, except that your underwear drawer won’t be subject to repetitive hacking attempts.

Okay. Denial of service attacks, maybe.

Anyway. Everyone should have one. You know... they could arrange a strange underwear drawer of their own.

 Um, what?????

Though, I did laugh about the cloud comment. Reminded me of the obnoxious consultant sitting in his own personal cloud.

it turns out, I'm not a dinosaur

I just took a quiz on fake science to find out what kind of dinosaur I am.

Be...normal?

more on mittens

I was just reading an article about Khodorkovsky, the Russian billionaire wrongly jailed by Putin. While he was awaiting trial he was forced to work in the prison colony's mitten factory.


Interesting tie in with my cringle crisp story since, for punishment, the croco-diamond and the kangawrong have to knit mittens as punishment for trying to steal the ton-o-tap full of cringle crisps. And to think someone told me that was a "ridiculous" punishment.

rooting my xoom

My brother Steve sends me links to stuff all the time, probably in the hopes that someday I won't be such a fucking idiot. But half the time I don't understand what he's sending me.

For example, on Wednesday he sent me an email titled: root your xoom. I didn't open it for a few days because I thought his email might have gotten hacked. Then curiosity got the best of me and I opened it. It said:

http://cornea.site40.net/

 

I had to re-root my xoom, this program is much easier than the way I did it the first time.

I was like, um, what? So I sent him an email back:

Not to be totally stupid, but what does rooting do?

I didn't mention I had no idea what a xoom was.

It turns out xoom is the new tablet I just bought. For those of you with tablets that are curious, here's what, according to Steve, rooting your xoom will do (besides invalidating your warranty):

http://www.tomsguide.com/us/Root-Your-Android-Phone,review-1688.html

I rooted my xoom so I can back it up and so I can make the external sdcard read/write. But at the end of the day I bought the device, it is mine, I should have control over it, not the other way around.

I need to write up an article on the must have droid apps for new users, but here is a short list for you (root or not):
- es file explorer (manage your files, connect to remote, I use every day)
- airdroid (manage your device and file with easy transfer from your computer, excellent app)
- mx player (plays most videos)
- dolphin hd (best web browser, add-ons capable)
- mobo player (plays most videos)
- hacker's keyboard with english (keyboard replacement, I alternate with smart keyboard but smart is $)
- Amazon app store (new free app every day)
- Skype (xooms are awesome skype devices)

 As if I would ever skype anyone. I hate the idea of my computer listening in on my conversations.

And now I'm going to go around asking people if they've rooted their xooms so I can feel intellectually superior.

 

shop rock

I was in safeway today buying garlic powder (I just learned how to make a kick ass Greek salad dressing - I will never buy pre-made dressing again - why does store bought salad dressing taste so bad?) and, as I was trying to figure out which aisle might have garlic powder, I noticed that van halen's hot for teacher was playing.

Way, way back in the day I remember that song being banned from my elementary school because van halen was considered at the time to be obscene. Ha. And now they're playing at the grocery store?

I'm also not a fan of listening to top 40 music when I'm in a hotel lobby. Every hotel I've stayed in the past year has had some kind of top forty music playing in the lobby.

I miss the good old days when they played classical music. Or even jazz. I'm not sad that they aren't playing muzak anymore. I just don't want to listen to van halen while I'm trying to decide which grapes to buy. I don't like talking over the fray when I'm trying to check into my hotel.

when not fighting dark forces I fight myself

My friend Arthur sent me this email:

Franki,

This made me think of you.  Remember the time when you went from blond to black and did not recognize yourself in the mirror …

 

 

All because one night in Las Cruces, NM, we were getting drunk at a bar called the double eagle. I was drinking top shelf margaritas. I think it was my going away party.

 

Anyway, I had just dyed my hair black and in the course of getting drunk forgot. At some point in the evening I had to walk across a dance floor to get to the ladies. One wall of the dance floor was a mirror. I saw the reflection of the hallway to the bathroom in the mirror and tried to walk down it. When I bumped into the mirror I looked up and thought I had bumped into this bitch with black hair.

 

I said "You go that way and I'll go this way."

 

Bitch bumped into me again. I said "Stop bumping into me" and tried to walk down the hallway. 

 

Finally I started screaming and threatening to hit her. The bouncer came over and pointed out I was walking into a mirror.

 

Tres embarrassing.

 

Same night, I got up on the table and gave a speech about something.

 

Next day at work I was massively hung over and Arthur tried to get me to eat a piece of key lime pie.

 

Ick.

 

I still love key lime pie but haven't had a margarita since.

 

 

there's a first time for everything

I have a nemesis at work...another consultant who is always fucking up stuff at client sites because he comes up with the stupidest, most complex solutions to problems. Then I have to go in and clean up the mess. But, because he has seniority over me (he's worked at the company for 20 years) we end up in scenarios where he gets a 6 month engagement and I only get 2 weeks to fix all the problems after his 6 month engagement fails.

Which is insane. But, that's the way my company works.

So he's currently trying to pawn off a total disaster client on me and is only giving me 48 hours to fix a huge problem. I told him no. So he back channeled my manager and said I was refusing work even though I have nothing on my schedule. My manager (surprisingly) forwarded me the email and asked what was up.

I explained to him my take on the "assignment" and said I didn't want to get involved.

My manager called me this morning and said he wanted more details from me. I gave them to him and he said he's going to have a meeting with my upper management to call the asshole consultant on his bullshit. And then he said to me "This question is probably going to make you think I'm even stupider than you already think I am" (the question was about what one of the software tools that he sells is supposed to do). I was like whoa. Is it that obvious? Then I felt bad, even though he has, in the past, been pretty much a jerk to me.

Maybe someone told him I'm looking for a new job. But it was nice of him to call and to back me up. I resolve to try to be nicer to him.

ever wonder what a stuffed animal would look like inside out?

Wonder no more. This is a great article on NPR about creative thinking.

coincidence, chaos, and all that math jazz

I've been reading this great math book called Coincidence, Chaos, and all that Math Jazz. I just read a chapter about the golden rectangle.

But it's making me feel bad. I keep looking at examples of rectangles and can never pick the golden rectangle. I always pick the fucked up rectangle. I'm so annoyed. Like, 99% of the population can pick out the golden rectangle.

What's wrong with me?

the resolution of the class

Finally, Wednesday afternoon, I got an email from the help desk that the issue with the license and the elab availability had been resolved. I spent two hours updating license files for the 15 elab instances.

So what do you think happened on Thursday?

15 minutes before the class was supposed to start I get a phone call from the class coordinator saying the customer canceled Thursday's class because not enough people were available. FIFTEEN FUCKING MINUTES before class.

What do you think happened on Friday?

I got a call at 6 am asking why I hadn't logged on to the class yet. Turns out the training coordinator gave the people who moderate the class a different start time than the people who were taking the class (class was scheduled with the students to start at 8 am MST, moderator was told 8 am EST). Luckily I was awake.

And then the customer brought 15 new students (i.e. not in the original class) in 4 hours before the class was supposed to end. He asked me to train these 15 new students on what is essentially 24 hours of class material. Compress 24 hours into 4 hours? Nightmare.

I did my best.

And luckily have a job interview this week to work somewhere else.

Ech.

the stupidest company in the world

So, tomorrow and Friday I'm supposed to be teaching an online class. It's a makeup for an online class I taught a month ago. We have to have a make up class because the last time the lab environment wasn't available the first day (the idiot who set up the class didn't order it) and when we finally got into the lab half way through the second day (so, 16 hours into a class that is 80% lab) the license for the software the students use was expired. Meaning, of 14 hours of lab work the students ended up getting 2 hours.

Well, the idiot (same person) who set up the make up class only ordered the lab for the second day. I've been trying since last Wednesday, when I caught the error, to ensure that the lab will be available tomorrow. The "help" desk has closed the ticket twice without resolving it and the idiot I spoke to change the lab date from 2 march to 3 march (I had requested 1 & 2 march - perhaps the enterprising little fuck nut thought I meant 1 + 2 and got 3).

I still don't know if the lab is going to work tomorrow.

Oh, and the license file for the lab is STILL expired. I just received an email that the due date for the ticket I opened 24 February (which wasn't created until 27 February) has a due date of 9 March. And the notes say specifically that the class is being run 1 March.

I need a new job.

hooray! it's done! (sort of)

I just finished my book!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yea!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

EXTREME WRITING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Now I just have to edit it by Wednesday so I can send it in to the contest. Special thanks to Kevin C. from my writer's group who has done some editing for me!!!!!!!!!!!!

I've made a bunch of revisions, will try to post some sections later.

For now, here's the section (not edited yet) where the giant man, kangawrong, and croco-diamond go to deliver the mittens to the whitey biteys:

And so they embarked out onto the wharf. First the croco-diamond, in charge of the mission, went out thump thump skrrrr, swinging his tail from side to side to clear any possible splinters as to protect the kangawrong. Next the kangawrong hop hip hop hop bump. And finally the giant man, carrying all of the parts for the siege craft thum shudder thum shudder.

boom! (from when he set the parts of the siege craft down on the wharf).

The giant man helped the kangawrong set up the kangapult while the croco-diamond read off his instructions, occasionally checking by the position of the sun to be sure things were happening on time. He paced back and forth in front of the kangapult frantically consulting his papers as the giant man and the kangawrong wrapped twine, placed parts, and adjusted angles, until finally -

“If I could have your attention PLEASE!” Commanded the croco-diamond. “Is the spoon situated?”

And though he could see it was, as it was right in front of him, he insisted the kangawrong give a little HOP! that it was situation.

“And the flip flop fastened?”

HOP!

“The twine…er…twound?”

HOP!

“The mitten positioned?”

HOP!

“Then by my order, as a croco-diamond, leader of this mission, and member of the royal order of this croco-ttalion…”

He had made that up, actually, but thought it sounded official.

“…on this day, at this particular time…”

He checked the position of the sun then referred to his piece of paper to make sure they were right on time.

“…for the mission on which we’ve embarked, for the good people of the oceans, here after referred to by their formal name, of which the name is and shall be the whitey biteys, of the genus charcharodon whitemous…”

He noticed that perhaps the giant man and kangawrong were becoming a bit bored, so he decided to skip the part of his speech about the dorsality and chillianisimmi of the whitey biteys and get on with the mission.

“I hereby command, ye there forward kangawrong, the preparing for, and, ye, the commencement of…”

And with that the kangawrong hopped high up onto the flip flop (a bit early but the croco-diamond excused the poor thing for being nervous and resolved to finish his speech later, at dinner, there were at least 10 more pages left). The flip flop side of the zippy shoe skate, correction, the kangapult, hit the wharf, which shuddered with a wooden creak brrrm. The spoon shot into the air and the mitten in its bowl arced gracefully up, up in the air, flying! In flight!

And then landed rather anticlimactically on the croco-diamond’s snout.

The kangawrong’s ears fell flat. Its eyes went PLOCK PLOCK.

“One moment, I’m checking the plan…” The croco-diamond shuffled through his papers, muttering, “But, but I’m GOOD at physics.”

And suddenly an ocean wind blew across the croco-diamond’s nose, carrying the mitten off the wharf! And into the water!

“Quick! Quick!” shouted the croco-diamond. “We must…”

Just then a triangular fin broke the surface. And a rotund head with two black eyes popped up, bearing a mouth full of boy that’s a lot of teeth, and looked at all who stood on the wharf. The creature slipped a fin into the mitten and disappeared again beneath the water.

“As I was, ahem, saying, we must have included some extra steps in the plan which, in the interest of efficiency, I now think we can eliminate.”

He gestured with his front foot at the kangawrong.

 “Carry on with the plan.”

my family weighs in on my book

Tonight I was talking to my mom about a new sub-plot idea I had (which produced good results - my mom suggested that the croco-diamond develop a new product with the Italiani because it really bothered her that I didn't write anything about him getting paid for the squished termaters). I said "I think this could be like shrek" (full disclosure - I've watched about 10 minutes of shrek, which was the most I could stand before being insanely bored, but I've heard it's popular and it seems to be about a bunch of made up shit, like my book). And my mom said "this is better than shrek". Hee.

Then, in procrastination mode, trying to finish my next chapter, I sent an email to my brother Bob:

I've just put the kangawrong, who injured his feet robbing the ton-o-tap, in an adjustable zippy shoe skate with a paddle to propel it.

Am I going insane?

He responded:

probably.  but it was scientifically interesting to me to watch the Hindenburg burn.  Some of us are kinda weird.

I would have put the kangawrong in a position where it stepped in the glue and something large and heavy stuck to its feet.  Something that would have been funny in the context of the plot, like spare tires or palates of produce or something ridiculous.  Then, the croc might have to use the crutches for something like dragging the kanga inadvertently to a soap box race, where tires from the truck (stuck somehow to the kanga) made the contraption work and they won the derby.

Bizarre, yeah.  Engineering, no.  But I still think it would be funny.

Perhaps I should write my next book with my brother. For the record, I will not be gluing tires to the kangawrong.

madly writing!!!! chapter 6

I don't know if it will be possible but I'm really going to try to finish my book so I can enter it in the children's book contest in 8 days. No pressure!!!!

But I'm working away.

Chapter 6:  The Croco-diamond Behaves Badly

After finishing breakfast that morning, the giant man suggested that all go out to the barn to get the cringle crisps ready to be loaded into the ton-o-tap.

“But that’s quite impossible,” said the croco-diamond. “I’ve just had my nails done.”

“You could wear your gloves.” The giant man was surprised at the croco-diamond’s response. Usually he wanted nothing more than to be around cringle crisps.

“No, no I’m afraid that won’t work because…they’ve gone…missing.”

And the giant man saw that they were missing, as well as his new bandana, a pair of his shoes, a pot of cactar jam, the kitchen towel, and a spatula. “What would a cloud possibly want with a spatula?” he muttered to himself.

Then he noticed, that while he had been looking around, that the kangawrong and croco-diamond had gone missing too.

“I hope the clouds haven’t gotten you two!” He called out. But there was no response.

An hour later the ton-o-tap driver was leaving the giant man’s farm when he saw a curious sight. It appeared to be…a walking bandana? With very large shoes that didn’t fit?? On crutches??? And the, well, he guessed it was the head though it was covered up with the bandana, seemed to be wearing…

…a fedora????

As he slowed to get a better look, the walking bandana flagged him down with a crutch. The driver stopped and opened the door to the ton-o-tap. Just then a…sticky kitchen towel? Wielding a giant spatula?? in its gloved hands commanded “Unlock the ton-o-tap! Or I shall spat you with my spatula!”

Speechless, and, certainly confused, the driver walked to the back of the ton-o-tap. The kitchen towel waved the spatula threateningly behind him, or perhaps it was adjusting itself. The bandana clomped behind, tripping over its shoes and making a quiet HIP HIP noise as it walked.

The driver unlocked the ton-o-tap and in a sudden move the kitchen towel threw itself over the driver’s head. Due to the stickiness of the towel the driver could not get it unstuck from his head. Though, it did smell pleasantly of cactar jam, which the driver often put on his morning toast.

A ruckus seemed to be going on inside the truck. He could hear frantic munching and chaotic crunching. The driver yelled out “Help me! Help me! I’ve been attacked by a towel and now I’m all sticky!”

Well of course the giant man came. And was surprised to find his missing shoes and spatula. And puzzled to find the driver with a towel on his head. And curious as to why the tip of his bandana was hanging out of the back of the ton-o-tap. And intrigued to know what, exactly, was going on in there.

Gently swinging open the doors, he discovered…

What he had been worried to discover.

The croco-diamond was laying on baskets in a cringle crisp coma. His eyes were half shut, his mouth full of uneaten crisps, and his entire body was covered in crumbs. The fur of the kangawrong had dusty purple patches from the crushed cringle crisps, and it had nervously hopped with its extraordinarily large feet all over the back of the ton-o-tap, crushing baskets and crisps until all that now remained were teeny tiny pieces.

The giant man knew he should say something.

So he said the first thing that came to mind.

“Oh dear.”

chapter 5 of the cringle crisp book

Just finished chapter 5. A guy in my writer's group recommended I enter a children's book contest sponsored by NAESP. Which means I have to finish this book by 28 February because the submission deadline is 1 March. Yikes!

Chapter 5:  The Giant Man Makes an Announcement Which Displeases the Croco-diamond

With the three working together the production of the giant man’s farm increased tremendously. All were very happy to work and all enjoyed the evenings when they ate dinner together. The croco-diamond would often tell stories of his jewels, the kangawrong would show a new hopping step just invented, and the giant man would lecture on cultivation when the other two performers had exhausted their shows.

But, strange things still continued to happen. As an example, one morning the croco-diamond woke up to find someOne or someThing had devised a jewel cleaner from a discarded toothbrush of the giant man. The bristles had been cut perfectly to get into the crevices between the jewels and the handle was just such a length as to make sure not a single spot on the croco-diamond’s sparkling spine was missed.

Also, the cringle crisps continued to go missing. With the discovery of each empty basket the croco-diamond would stare up at sky.

“They are becoming more devious,” he would say to the giant man. “Today there was not one cloud to be seen. Yet…” He pointed to the five empty baskets of cringle crisps. “It’s quite easy for them to be sneaky because it’s so hard to catch a cloud.”

And while those were the normal strange things, one more thing was observed by the giant man. Though the kangawrong was given plates and plates of cringle crisps, it still seemed a bit underweight. And though the croco-diamond worked almost every day in the field, he was, and this is not said unkindly, getting a bit fat.

But mostly the giant man was not consumed with strange things. Instead he thought of his new plan which, when the time was right, on the evening of a day that had been particularly productive regarding the making of cringle crisps, he revealed to the kangawrong and the croco-diamond.

“I have some very exciting news!” he said as all relaxed in the courtyard. The croco-diamond stirred in his hammock and the kangawrong stopped polishing the croco-diamond’s nails. They looked at the giant man expectantly.

“Tomorrow you shall sit for a portrait,” said the giant man to the croco-diamond, who happily began to floss his teeth. “We are getting boxes for the cringle crisps.”

“Why that’s splendid!” said the croco-diamond. Finished flossing, he stretched himself out in the hammock to see how flat he could make his belly. “Success is about marketing. With pictures of me.”

“And then a ton-oh-tap-tap will come here, to the farm.”

“A ton-oh-tap-tap?”

“Yes! You see all these cringle crisps?” The giant man pointed to the baskets in the courtyard, there must have been at least 40, and then the baskets in the barn, which must have been hundreds. “They will be taken by a ton-oh-tap-tap to a distributor.”

At this news the kangawrong stopped squishing buggallies and did a celebratory hop hop where its feet slapped mid-air, making a clap. The croco-diamond, however, frowned.

“And sold in stores!” The giant man was so happy he threw his hands in the air, hitting his umbrell-ears and causing them to go askew.

“But, what do you mean…stores?” The croco-diamond asked angrily.

“Well, stores. Like the stores you shopped in. Fancy stores. With…with comestibles.”

“But, but stores are expensive.” The croco-diamond raised himself up in the hammock. “Do you propose to take cringle crisps away from the common people? I do not think we should give our supply of cringle crisps, the dietary staple of the common people, to stores.”

“But I…I thought you would be happy. Your…your picture next to other fine comestibles…” The giant man was puzzled, and the croco-diamond’s reaction to his wonderful announcement made him sad.

As for the croco-diamond, he was confused. He wanted his picture on cringle crisp boxes next to all the other fine comestibles, such as Pear-a-mon Raincoat Cookies, Heritage Nutter Sticks, and Creamy Candy Moos. But he also heard a quiet voice inside his head chanting keepy cringle crispies! Keepy cringle crispies!

“I just wonder are we being too hasty. Really, is it necessary to give away all the cringle crisps? Should we not save some for the common people? The people at the market? Whose entire life, perhaps, will be upended and, most probably, destroyed without an affordable cringle crisp?”

The giant man suddenly felt unsure of his plan. “Well, we can make more for the market. And I can’t cancel the ton-oh-tap-tap for tomorrow. It’s already paid for. We…we’ll come up with a solution.”

The croco-diamond did not seem to be listening to the giant man at all. Instead he picked up his jewel cleaner and began to polish his spine for the next day’s portrait. Though he didn’t seem to be paying attention to the polishing. And was repeating something under his breath that sounded, to the giant man, like keepy cringle crispies. Keepy cringle crispies.

Unsure what to do about the croco-diamond’s mood, the giant man asked the kangawrong to help him move the baskets in the courtyard to the barn. He locked the barn door, something rarely, to be honest never, done, just in case there were clouds nearby, waiting to steal the cringle crisps after all had gone to sleep.

But not all slept. That night, in his hammock, the croco-diamond muttered many things which made no sense to the kangawrong, who curled uneasily under the frequently shifting hammock. It did hear something like “plan, a plan, must…make…plan” and a bit later “perhaps, perhaps with crutches, oh, but where will I ever find crutches” before it fell asleep.

The next morning, on waking, the croco-diamond was surprised to find, next to his hammock, a pair of crutches fashioned out of oakal boughs cut the year before by the giant man. They were carefully wrapped with twine and by all appearances looked like official crutches.

The croco-diamond quietly hid them in the bramble shrubs at the edge of the courtyard, careful not to wake the kangawrong. Then he looked up into the sky.

“Clouds?”

The clouds, if they were listening, didn’t answer.

“It’s the only possible explanation. Yes. It must be the clouds.” A solitary tear developed in the croco-diamond’s eye. “I thank you.”

Then he stood at the edge of the courtyard, sketching something in the dirt that, to a keen observer, appeared to be a plan.

I am not a role model

My niece and nephew, turning to the dark side like me, have fallen under the spell of sharks.

Rock on sharks!

I've looked at clouds from both sides now

My brother Bob's literary criticism of my 4th chapter:

"Please don't let the croc turn into Al-Assad".

Also he included this:

don't shoot

Yesterday after my screen writing class I went to a writer's group meeting. Some of us are really starting to gel as a group and the meetings are nice when it's just us.

But, for some reason riff raff always show up to spoil the fun. There's an older guy in our group who occasionally shows up who doesn't seem to have any comprehension of what he's read. He makes the weirdest suggestions. Like:

guy: In this sentence you say croco-diamonds don't show fear. And then a few paragraphs later you say he's afraid.
me: The point being he's afraid even though he doesn't show it.
guy: Really? Because I find that contradictory. How can you be afraid if you aren't showing it?

Ummmmm...What?

Then there's a new crazy woman who just joined the group. She's writing a book/porn piece about a woman who becomes the first Navy SEAL (endearingly, she wrote "Seal") and then proceeds to kill all of her ex-boyfriends (oh, also, the protagonist is an amazing race car driver - she races a Porsche - on a military salary - riiiight - and she travels in ME countries in a burka assassinating people - when I pointed out to her that women in burkas are not allowed to travel around alone in Saudi Arabia she was like "but it's a book" - guess she never heard the rule that an author can bend reality after gaining credibility with her audience - but if I say Denver is the capital of Utah most people won't read my book). Besides being factually insane her reading included a scene recounting oral sex (soon to be dead boyfriend going down on the female protagonist, with stilted and painful conversation following the scene with lines like "how did I taste?" - I'll spare you the rest because it was disgusting and poorly written).

Besides the disturbing topic of her book, she also said 3 times that she would like to assassinate Obama. I didn't say anything as I figured, based on her book, she didn't know jack shit about guns. I just ignored everything she said, including all her stupid comments to people who had their stuff read (to me she said "page numbers are your friends!" - what????).

And then the last reading of the meeting we read my friend Kev's screen play about a kid who finds out his mom was in playboy. The crazy woman flipped out. She said, based on Kev's target audience (boys 14 - 18) that she thought he was destroying the US's morality and that his screen play represented everything wrong with the US. And then she said "I may write porn, but I write it for adults" (note: the section of Kev's screen play that we read had a boner joke and a tampon joke - in these days, who would consider that porn?). I wanted to say "can you ensure your book won't get into the hands of a 14 year old boy?" but thought she was too stupid to argue with.

After her crazy tirade, and another threat from her to shoot the president, the group broke up. I hope she doesn't come back.

chapter 4

Finally got off my lazy ass and wrote chapter 4 of the cringle crisp caper:

Chapter 4:  In Two Strange Events Things Appear and Things Disappear

Soon they arrived home and the kangawrong stepped out of the ticky tap tap with a PLOINK and a BOINK. The croco-diamond decided it needed a bath immediately so as to make the kangawrong look very nice as the croco-diamond liked all things to look nice. And, more importantly, so it would not dirty the future cringle crisps that would be made the next day. Which would be twice as many as had ever been made for the croco-diamond surely could eat a lot of cringle crisps. If they were made by hands that were clean.

The giant man lifted the kangawrong into the kitchen sink and the croco-diamond set to giving it a thorough scrub. Its soft brown fur lost tangles and mats as the croco-diamond gently washed the kangawrong. With a pile of soap bubbles on its head between its drooping wet ears it looked especially cute so the croco-diamond was moved to sing the kangawrong a song:

Oh cringle crisp, oh cringle crisp

You are so very munchy!

Oh cringle crisp, oh cringle crisp

For dinner and for lunchy!

I could eat a bunchy!

Because they are so crunchy!

At bedtime the croco-diamond climbed into the hammock and the kangawrong curled up underneath, its head resting on its enormous tail. It didn’t stir the whole night though the croco-diamond snored –

BZZZ ZZZZ HUCH ZZZZ

The next morning all awoke to find something strange had happened.

First, the old apron of the giant man (which was replaced recently with a new apron) had been made into gloves. The gloves, all agreed, fit the croco-diamond perfectly. He was immensely pleased and ticked his nails in a clicky clap of happiness.

Second, a discarded sun shade stored in the giant man’s closet for years had been transformed into a pair of umbrell-ears. The umbrella-ears fitted to the giant man’s head and would protect him from exposure to the sun.

Lastly, a felt table cloth that had sat with dust in its original packaging for a long, long time, in a drawer in the kitchen next to a rubber band ball, had been fashioned into a fedora that could be worn by the kangawrong. Seemingly it had been designed for its oversized auricles. The fedora looked quite jaunty and stylish so even the croco-diamond admired the kangawrong’s appearance.

But, none knew from where the gifts had come. It was, as said before, very strange.

Donning their new items, they set out to the field after a breakfast of bakey cakes. The croco-diamond began to fill a basket with cringle roots and to instruct the kangawrong on the fine art of picking.

However. There was a problem. The kangawrong’s arms were too short. It couldn’t bend down past its little belly to reach the earth. Its fingers went wriggle wriggle but it couldn’t grab a cringle root.

“This…this is a cringle catastrophe!” cried the croco-diamond. And in an aside to the giant man: “If it can’t do work…perhaps…we have to…eat it.”

At this the kangawrong’s overly large ears pricked up with a toink and a boink. The croco-diamond possibly did not know that kangawrongs have a highly developed sense of hearing.

“We are NOT going to eat the kangawrong,” the giant man said. “I think instead it will be perfect at peeling the cringle roots. And I will do the baking.” At this, quietly inside his head, the croco-diamond now thought crunchy cringle crummies. Cringly crispy yummy. His mouth watered and his teeth felt happier than they had ever been.

So the day went on, the croco-diamond feverishly picking and the giant man cooking with assistance from the kangawrong. The smell of freshly made cringle crisps drying in the sun carried out to the field on a mild wind and made the croco-diamond delirious with joy and anticipation for the end of his work when he could have a snack.

Which makes what happened next another strange thing.

When the croco-diamond returned from the field, delicately removing his gloves and placing them neatly next to his hammock, and polishing quickly his jeweled spine before entering the house for dinner, he found…

Mostly empty cringle crisp baskets.

And a very puzzled giant man.

And a very protective kangawrong. Which was still in its fedora.

The kangawrong hopped in place near the remaining full baskets, fists cocked as if to punch something. Occasionally it would stop hopping to stretch out one enormous foot and squish a curious buggally coming too close to the baskets.

“I don’t know what happened,” said the giant man. “I came out to get the baskets and more than half were empty. Maybe…they were stolen. I put the kangawrong on guard to protect what’s left.”

Which made the kangawrong do a few extra high hop hops. It was very proud to be a guard.

“It is quite odd. Maybe the oddest thing in all of the worlds. Who would steal the cringle crisps?”

The giant man looked at the croco-diamond. “Honestly, I can’t imagine who.”

The croco-diamond lowered its snout towards the earth, deep in thought.

“Then the question should perhaps be “what”. What could steal the cringle crisps.” The croco-diamond pondered for a moment.

“Bird monkeys? Swarming beezles?”

The giant man shook his head.

“A…a teradactalsaurus?”

“I believe those have been extinct. For quite a long time.”

The croco-diamond looked up at the sky, as if searching intently for the culprit.

“There is only one answer then. Yes, the only answer possible.”

The croco-diamond gathered himself up on his hind legs, clasped his hands in front of his belly, and looked at the giant man with such conviction as can only come from knowing an answer is the truth.

“It must have been…the clouds.”

“Clouds.”

“Yes. I believe so.” The croco-diamond began to pace back and forth, a look of serious concern on his face. “We should prepare. We need to prepare. There will surely be some odd precipitation later in the evening. When, ahem, the crisps have been…digested.”

And the croco-diamond did prepare, and prepare the kangawrong, by insisting they eat their before bedtime snack of cringle crisps under the hammock, where the giant man could not see what they were doing.

“My dear, dear creature,” said the croco-diamond, patting the kangawrong’s head and then smoothing down its recently cleaned and shiny ears so that they turned inside out and flopped down, “I would hate for anything to happen to you. You are the most beloved thing to me in all of the worlds.”

The kangawrong’s eyes went wink wink and its little muzzle twitched. It looked adoringly at the croco-diamond.

“Which is why I must tell you something. Very important.”

At this the kangawrong’s ears shot up with a poink and the plate of cringle crisps clutched in its too short arms rattled against its chest.

“You are aware, of course, about the matter regarding your stomach?”

The kangawrong, now a bit frightened, shook its head. Its ears went flap flap.

“I have studied, as you may be aware, the stomachs of many species, as I find them interesting. You are from the family Marsup Awry, genus Marsupal Oops, also, in other regions, called a jack-a-miss and boom-a-whups, first believed to have come into existence as the Phalangeri Doh!, from whom you evolved, during the mid-MioceNeu period. Other members of your family include the Eastern Goof, the Askew-lopine, the Red Unright…”

The droning voice of the croco-diamond made the kangawrong very sleepy. Its eyelids went plonk plonk and its little muzzle drooped downward. The croco-diamond whispered “I’ll just help you with this” and took the plate of cringle crisps from the kangawrong.

“You see, your species has chambers, chambers in the stomach,” continued the croco-diamond in an even more quiet, more boring tone. The kangawrong slumped into a curl next to him so the croco-diamond could more easily scratch its back. With his back foot the croco-diamond carefully pulled the plate of cringle crisps away from the about-to-be-asleep kangawrong.

“And so you see, though you have wide molars, quite nice molars, that can chop and grind, chop, grind…”

Suh. Shuh. The kangawrong was almost asleep.

“I’m just not sure, given your origins, genus, family, appearance and existence based on this period of history, the chambers, the chambers of your stomach, I just can’t be sure…”

Tock. The kangawrong’s eyes fell shut.

“…that cringle crisps are right for you.”

And though some may have thought it awful, selfish, or greedy, the croco-diamond had to eat the kangawrong’s cringle crisps.

So he ate them. Very quietly.