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.
Friday, December 10, 2010
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!!!!
Monday, October 11, 2010
sauced balls
Well, my dinner party went really well on Friday, except, of course, for the food.
My friend Carol complimented me on the artistic presentation of the salad (chose the salad vegetables more for their colors than their taste compatibility). And the meat balls, and sauce...well...I paid for taking advice from my mom.
First, things didn't taste exactly right because I didn't follow the cooking directions. Second, I learned not to dump the remains of a bottle of cab into spaghetti sauce cooling in the fridge because it doesn't get absorbed right. Third, I made too many meatballs and followed my mom's advice to put them in the sauce directly after frying them, and those little bastards sucked up all the sauce by the time my guests arrived (24 hours after I put them in the sauce). The final dinner was more like "off colored meat balls (from the wine) with a few tomato skins stuck to them" rather than being a sauce with some meat balls. Carol and Camile both said "I've never had sauce with such an...interesting flavor."
I'm going to try my sauce again, but not put meat balls in it. I wonder if I invite Carol and Camile over again, if they will come back.
The good news is I used three of my new pots.
And, we all had a great time. Even poor James, who's only 12. We hit it off after discovering a mutual admiration for Travis Pastrana. I accidentally said the F word a few times around him but Camile said it was okay and he promised not to say it (at least while his mom is around :)
It was a nice break from the emotional slog I've been going through trying to finish my book. Ech. I'm having nightmares about my ex-boyfriends (except for Mayo, whom I'm still friends with and who came by to see my on Friday on his way to Vermont).
I bet you thought this post was going to be about something more interesting, didn't you?
You'll forgive my lethargic writing because you know I wrote 12,000 words last week for my book, and I am currently in Ft. Worth with the flu but having to teach class. I am about to get into bed and take a double dose of nyquil even though it's only 6 PM because I feel like schmata but have to get up at 530 tomorrow morning to be to my class in time. Which I don't feel like teaching. I'd rather lay in bed coughing up a lung which is what I've been doing since Saturday. I think writing about my ex-boyfriends has made me sick. I'm usually impervious to every germ.
My sad little life...
My friend Carol complimented me on the artistic presentation of the salad (chose the salad vegetables more for their colors than their taste compatibility). And the meat balls, and sauce...well...I paid for taking advice from my mom.
First, things didn't taste exactly right because I didn't follow the cooking directions. Second, I learned not to dump the remains of a bottle of cab into spaghetti sauce cooling in the fridge because it doesn't get absorbed right. Third, I made too many meatballs and followed my mom's advice to put them in the sauce directly after frying them, and those little bastards sucked up all the sauce by the time my guests arrived (24 hours after I put them in the sauce). The final dinner was more like "off colored meat balls (from the wine) with a few tomato skins stuck to them" rather than being a sauce with some meat balls. Carol and Camile both said "I've never had sauce with such an...interesting flavor."
I'm going to try my sauce again, but not put meat balls in it. I wonder if I invite Carol and Camile over again, if they will come back.
The good news is I used three of my new pots.
And, we all had a great time. Even poor James, who's only 12. We hit it off after discovering a mutual admiration for Travis Pastrana. I accidentally said the F word a few times around him but Camile said it was okay and he promised not to say it (at least while his mom is around :)
It was a nice break from the emotional slog I've been going through trying to finish my book. Ech. I'm having nightmares about my ex-boyfriends (except for Mayo, whom I'm still friends with and who came by to see my on Friday on his way to Vermont).
I bet you thought this post was going to be about something more interesting, didn't you?
You'll forgive my lethargic writing because you know I wrote 12,000 words last week for my book, and I am currently in Ft. Worth with the flu but having to teach class. I am about to get into bed and take a double dose of nyquil even though it's only 6 PM because I feel like schmata but have to get up at 530 tomorrow morning to be to my class in time. Which I don't feel like teaching. I'd rather lay in bed coughing up a lung which is what I've been doing since Saturday. I think writing about my ex-boyfriends has made me sick. I'm usually impervious to every germ.
My sad little life...
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