Naturally, after my last feline rant I find myself in the position where I have to take the reverse point of view.
Damn that collegiate debate program. Granted, it did pay for most of my college education, but now I am fundamentally incapable of sticking to one point of view.
The kitten (whose name is Asphodel) is now my hero. All the bad things aside, she is pretty damned cute. Adorable, really. She's learned to beg for milk, which is quite humorous particularly since everytime the refrigerator is opened she associates it with food. She flies around the corner into the kitchen, her tail curled like a shepherd's crook, and when she gives that pitiful little 'meow' I can't help but give her milk.
Then, when it's nap time there are only two places she likes: the top of the monitor or my lap. That's irresistible.
Then, when I go to bed, she knows it's bedtime. God love a kitten that knows when to go to sleep.
But, most importantly, a story that Asphodel inspired (she was chewing on my ankles, as I recollect) was sold today to Jupiter World Press.
ALL HAIL THE MIGHTY KITTEN MESSIAH.
In the name of the Kitten, the Cat Toy, and the holy LIttle Friskies.
Amen.
Sunday, July 16, 2006
Thursday, July 13, 2006
The Antichrist Has Fur
Okay, I have offically decided: the kitten is really the Antichrist. The mark of the beast? Calico striping. The number of the beast? The 666 times that the kitten has begged for milk, misbehaved, broken something, chewed on a cord, decided to help my writing by walking randomly across the keyboard while I'm getting a glass of milk, attacked the bigger cats, got stuck in the kitchen cabinet, decided that keeping my car keys from me was a fabulous joke, or climbed the vacuum cleaner bag and yelled at me.
All this is today.
At the moment, she's sitting almost directly in front of the monitor swatting at the amazing line of little black things that just keeps growing and growing....
No, kitten. Bad kitten. Do not jump at the monitor. It hurts when you hit your head on glass.
Why fear the Antichrist when it's six inches long, fuzzy, and has an annoying habit of purring at you when you extricate it from someplace it shouldn't be? For some reason, generations of the faithful have dreaded the advent of the Antichrist. Little did they know that a bowl of kitten milk and a can of Little Friskies would decide the fate of their souls.
No, kitten. Bad kitten! Do not sharpen your claws on books!
I think the favorite of the day, however, has to be the 'trapped under the bed' moment. My bed has one of those storage units under it, with drawers and doors that lead into the fascinating cave known as 'Celina's junk pile.' This morning, the kitten (while I was asleep) learned how to open the door and crawl inside, where she somehow shut the door. After her exploration was completed (and she got hungry), she realized she was trapped.
Trust me: only the emissary of Satan could make such a noise at 6:15 a.m.
Speaking of which, her grandmother is sitting across the room glaring at me. Her name? Satan.
Go figure.
All this is today.
At the moment, she's sitting almost directly in front of the monitor swatting at the amazing line of little black things that just keeps growing and growing....
No, kitten. Bad kitten. Do not jump at the monitor. It hurts when you hit your head on glass.
Why fear the Antichrist when it's six inches long, fuzzy, and has an annoying habit of purring at you when you extricate it from someplace it shouldn't be? For some reason, generations of the faithful have dreaded the advent of the Antichrist. Little did they know that a bowl of kitten milk and a can of Little Friskies would decide the fate of their souls.
No, kitten. Bad kitten! Do not sharpen your claws on books!
I think the favorite of the day, however, has to be the 'trapped under the bed' moment. My bed has one of those storage units under it, with drawers and doors that lead into the fascinating cave known as 'Celina's junk pile.' This morning, the kitten (while I was asleep) learned how to open the door and crawl inside, where she somehow shut the door. After her exploration was completed (and she got hungry), she realized she was trapped.
Trust me: only the emissary of Satan could make such a noise at 6:15 a.m.
Speaking of which, her grandmother is sitting across the room glaring at me. Her name? Satan.
Go figure.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Shoot the Muse
Why is it that my muse and I are never on the same page?
Literally?
As of late, whenever I set aside time to work on a specific project, I find myself compelled to write about something completely different. For example, I am trying very hard to get Coils completed. I'm almost desperate to whip the plot into shape for the last half of the book (mostly so I can find out what happens); I've worked and reworked the story line for three months but so far it hasn't become what I want for it to be. So, having some involuntary time off from work this week, I set aside five hours a day to work on it and try to get the damn thing done.
The result? Well, I finished my new erotica novella The Stone Table, wrote a new short story, and have developed the Dragon's Den anthology story beyond my original expectations. How many words have I written on Coils?
Two sentences. Twenty seven words --and that's counting articles.
Even my old stand-by, music, hasn't helped. I develop playlists for each project I'm working on. I use specific music to work on specific projects--kind of like a jumpstart, if you will. Now, all of a sudden, my project-specific playlists are interchangeable. Hmmph! I'm writing erotica to "Star Wars" battle music, and I'm NOT happy about it.
As soon as I figure out a solution, I'll let you guys know.
Literally?
As of late, whenever I set aside time to work on a specific project, I find myself compelled to write about something completely different. For example, I am trying very hard to get Coils completed. I'm almost desperate to whip the plot into shape for the last half of the book (mostly so I can find out what happens); I've worked and reworked the story line for three months but so far it hasn't become what I want for it to be. So, having some involuntary time off from work this week, I set aside five hours a day to work on it and try to get the damn thing done.
The result? Well, I finished my new erotica novella The Stone Table, wrote a new short story, and have developed the Dragon's Den anthology story beyond my original expectations. How many words have I written on Coils?
Two sentences. Twenty seven words --and that's counting articles.
Even my old stand-by, music, hasn't helped. I develop playlists for each project I'm working on. I use specific music to work on specific projects--kind of like a jumpstart, if you will. Now, all of a sudden, my project-specific playlists are interchangeable. Hmmph! I'm writing erotica to "Star Wars" battle music, and I'm NOT happy about it.
As soon as I figure out a solution, I'll let you guys know.
Saturday, July 08, 2006
Drunkenese
Y'know itsh vewwy hawd to bwog when yer dwunk. Speling goes away. So doesh coeherintsy. For that matter, I'm not shur I had a bwan at th momen. For shome reashon, my fwendsh *not sharcashm* thought I desirved shampain lasht night.
Bastaruds.
(whew! this is hard to do when you're hung over!)
Drunken lingo aside, needless to say today I feel like (an) ass. It's not that I can't hold my licquor, it's just that two bottles of Moet Chandon champagne is too much even for one of my vaunted alcholic professionalism. it's not that I have a hangover, really--more like a 24 hour period of brain farting. *sigh* What fun.
And, of course, tonight I get to g0 into work and listen to everyone tell me how much fun I had.
Cretins. I think tonight it's time to break out my old-standby punishment shot: a German Taco. This is usually the drink I give to people who think I *owe* them a shot because it's their birthday--whether I've ever seen them before or not. The recipe is quite simple: Float 1/2 oz of cold Jagermeister over 1/2 ox of warm Cuervo. So far, I've only ever met one person who liked the damn drink and he was weird. Pretty much everyone else hurls.
Mwahahahaha!
Bet you this is the last time that they ignore me when I say "No, thank you, I don't want any more."
I should be ashamed. *grin*
Bastaruds.
(whew! this is hard to do when you're hung over!)
Drunken lingo aside, needless to say today I feel like (an) ass. It's not that I can't hold my licquor, it's just that two bottles of Moet Chandon champagne is too much even for one of my vaunted alcholic professionalism. it's not that I have a hangover, really--more like a 24 hour period of brain farting. *sigh* What fun.
And, of course, tonight I get to g0 into work and listen to everyone tell me how much fun I had.
Cretins. I think tonight it's time to break out my old-standby punishment shot: a German Taco. This is usually the drink I give to people who think I *owe* them a shot because it's their birthday--whether I've ever seen them before or not. The recipe is quite simple: Float 1/2 oz of cold Jagermeister over 1/2 ox of warm Cuervo. So far, I've only ever met one person who liked the damn drink and he was weird. Pretty much everyone else hurls.
Mwahahahaha!
Bet you this is the last time that they ignore me when I say "No, thank you, I don't want any more."
I should be ashamed. *grin*
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Um.....You're Kidding, Right?
Believe it or not, I actually got more than five hours of sleep last night.
It was completely unintentional; I intended to get up at 7 as I always do, but for some reason my body demanded more shut-eye. How long has it been since I slept until noon? Probably ten years, if not more. Post-back-surgery-days don't count.
At any rate, I finally drag my lazy ass out of bed and discover that the cats, taking advantage of my unusual inattention, have decided to destroy the house. After cleaning up shards of broken glass, replacing paperbacks in the bookshelf, finding a very unpleasant surprise in the middle of my rug, and returning various food boxes to the cabinets that only Muggle can open, I relented and fed the little bastards.
Seems that they want their breakfast on time.
The kitten, of course, got fed first. She still gets her kitten milk a couple of times a day. So far she has not graduated to num-nums (celinaese for canned food), but the other vagrants lined up, as usual for their daily tablespoon treat.
Then the phone rang.
"Hello?"
"I have an important message about personal business for Celina..."
Slam! I'm not listening to a business bot when I cleaned up a hairball before my first cup of coffee.
I went outside to water my flowers. I think I'm going to switch to cacti as my plant of choice; I forgot to water the flowers the last couple of days, thinking *Gee, on the third we had an inch and a half of rain in a half-hour. They'll be all right.*
Apparently not.
Wilting countermanded, it's time to check my email. Despite the innumerable "You have won!" and horoscope emails (apparently this is a lucky day for Libras), some yabbo made me an offer for a piece of goofus glass on my antiques website. I priced it at $100, since it has a book value of 130. He offered me 40.
Forty dollars???? He offered me one-third of the value of the piece? For goofus glass? For those of you who don't know, goofus glass is very rare. They call it goofus glass because the paint treatment comes off in water. You can't wash the crap without losing paint. Since these pieces were made primarily in th 1920s and 30s, needless to say, it's almost impossible to come by.
Resisting the inevitable scathing, "Are you on crack, aasshole?" email, I replied that 40 dollars was unacceptable.
Then I looked at my calendar. Today is July 6th. Goddess' Revenge comes out on August 18th. *frowns and rechecks email.* Nope. No rewrites back yet. My editor must still be on vacation. I did have a request for an interview *gasp!* with another erotica site, however, and that brightened things up.
Now I'm listening to Mozart and deliberating my work choices for the afternoon. I have a feeling, however, that my Dragon's Den story is going to win. I like the way it's going, for one thing, and for another there's something delightfully evil about getting the last story done first, posting in the story threads that *My story is finished, will you guys PLEASE hurry up???* and then chuckling through the whole rest of the month.
Okay. Obviously I'm awake now and back to my normal self. Time to go write.
It was completely unintentional; I intended to get up at 7 as I always do, but for some reason my body demanded more shut-eye. How long has it been since I slept until noon? Probably ten years, if not more. Post-back-surgery-days don't count.
At any rate, I finally drag my lazy ass out of bed and discover that the cats, taking advantage of my unusual inattention, have decided to destroy the house. After cleaning up shards of broken glass, replacing paperbacks in the bookshelf, finding a very unpleasant surprise in the middle of my rug, and returning various food boxes to the cabinets that only Muggle can open, I relented and fed the little bastards.
Seems that they want their breakfast on time.
The kitten, of course, got fed first. She still gets her kitten milk a couple of times a day. So far she has not graduated to num-nums (celinaese for canned food), but the other vagrants lined up, as usual for their daily tablespoon treat.
Then the phone rang.
"Hello?"
"I have an important message about personal business for Celina..."
Slam! I'm not listening to a business bot when I cleaned up a hairball before my first cup of coffee.
I went outside to water my flowers. I think I'm going to switch to cacti as my plant of choice; I forgot to water the flowers the last couple of days, thinking *Gee, on the third we had an inch and a half of rain in a half-hour. They'll be all right.*
Apparently not.
Wilting countermanded, it's time to check my email. Despite the innumerable "You have won!" and horoscope emails (apparently this is a lucky day for Libras), some yabbo made me an offer for a piece of goofus glass on my antiques website. I priced it at $100, since it has a book value of 130. He offered me 40.
Forty dollars???? He offered me one-third of the value of the piece? For goofus glass? For those of you who don't know, goofus glass is very rare. They call it goofus glass because the paint treatment comes off in water. You can't wash the crap without losing paint. Since these pieces were made primarily in th 1920s and 30s, needless to say, it's almost impossible to come by.
Resisting the inevitable scathing, "Are you on crack, aasshole?" email, I replied that 40 dollars was unacceptable.
Then I looked at my calendar. Today is July 6th. Goddess' Revenge comes out on August 18th. *frowns and rechecks email.* Nope. No rewrites back yet. My editor must still be on vacation. I did have a request for an interview *gasp!* with another erotica site, however, and that brightened things up.
Now I'm listening to Mozart and deliberating my work choices for the afternoon. I have a feeling, however, that my Dragon's Den story is going to win. I like the way it's going, for one thing, and for another there's something delightfully evil about getting the last story done first, posting in the story threads that *My story is finished, will you guys PLEASE hurry up???* and then chuckling through the whole rest of the month.
Okay. Obviously I'm awake now and back to my normal self. Time to go write.
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
Technicalities
I've been thinking a lot about writer techniques lately.
You know, writing is not an easy craft. There are definite rules and regulations involved, particularly if publishing is a writer's goal. The English language is inherently a pain in the ass, because there are so many rules with so many exceptions. It's very easy to get sloppy.
I try -- note the word try -- to write even my first drafts in as grammatically correct a mode as possible. Then, my writing critique group gets it and rips it to shreds, which is good. I listen to them. I trust their opinions and expertise. For the most part, my storylines seem to be okay. It's the damn commas and adverbs that kick my ass.
Literally.
So now, when I review, I turn into a fiend on that. *sigh* Absolutely retarded.
Last week, my story about a cross-dressing dwarf was accepted for publication by Jupiter World Press. I was pretty excited about it--still am, actually. "Free Willy" has been a mantra for the Dragon's Den critiquers, mostly because I think Willy is so damn funny. It doesn't take a lot to amuse myself, apparently. So, high off this unexpected and entirely ridiculous ego boost, I've jumped straight into the anthology pool in our forum. We have a month to write our stories, mine is the last one, and it's already running at 16k.
SIXTEEN????
Holy shit.
Then I went back and checked out my adverbs.
Make that 15k.
Since I'm already about 5k over limit, I think I may be in trouble. So, in the interests of preserving the sanity of my peers (who will, after all, have to critique the damn thing), I got up this morning and deleted it. I'm starting over from scratch. Hopefully, that will work.
(see? only one adverb in that last paragraph. I'm learning.)
You know, writing is not an easy craft. There are definite rules and regulations involved, particularly if publishing is a writer's goal. The English language is inherently a pain in the ass, because there are so many rules with so many exceptions. It's very easy to get sloppy.
I try -- note the word try -- to write even my first drafts in as grammatically correct a mode as possible. Then, my writing critique group gets it and rips it to shreds, which is good. I listen to them. I trust their opinions and expertise. For the most part, my storylines seem to be okay. It's the damn commas and adverbs that kick my ass.
Literally.
So now, when I review, I turn into a fiend on that. *sigh* Absolutely retarded.
Last week, my story about a cross-dressing dwarf was accepted for publication by Jupiter World Press. I was pretty excited about it--still am, actually. "Free Willy" has been a mantra for the Dragon's Den critiquers, mostly because I think Willy is so damn funny. It doesn't take a lot to amuse myself, apparently. So, high off this unexpected and entirely ridiculous ego boost, I've jumped straight into the anthology pool in our forum. We have a month to write our stories, mine is the last one, and it's already running at 16k.
SIXTEEN????
Holy shit.
Then I went back and checked out my adverbs.
Make that 15k.
Since I'm already about 5k over limit, I think I may be in trouble. So, in the interests of preserving the sanity of my peers (who will, after all, have to critique the damn thing), I got up this morning and deleted it. I'm starting over from scratch. Hopefully, that will work.
(see? only one adverb in that last paragraph. I'm learning.)
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Insomnia
Ah, the joys of getting no damn sleep.
So, I worked until 3 a.m. last night. Great fun to be had by all, including bouncing about 30 drunks under the age of 25 (above 21, duh!) about fifteen minutes before closing. Then--hooray! Home to go to sleep.
Not.
I decided to write for a few minutes to try and wind down. That was four hours ago. The Muses are slavedrivers these days, forcing me to crank out new material at the rate of 8-12k per day. Absolutely ridiculous! On top of that, one of my cats has discovered a new game- yell at the kitten. He's been running around squalling at her for two hours. It doesn't matter how many shoes I throw at the little bastard, he's just not happy unless he's pissing me off.
Now, I'm too exhausted to write and relegated to playing Snood and ranting about life in my blog. Oh, happy happy joy joy (sorry Ren and Stimpy!)
The good news is that for the first time in three weeks, I have two days off back to back. Good god! What will I do?
um.....write. duh.
The deadline is approaching on the Dragon's Den material. I might churn out a bit more of it this morning before I go back to bed for the fourth time and try to catch some shut eye. The sooner that gets done, the sooner I can relax.
Hell. Maybe I'll have a beer later.
So, I worked until 3 a.m. last night. Great fun to be had by all, including bouncing about 30 drunks under the age of 25 (above 21, duh!) about fifteen minutes before closing. Then--hooray! Home to go to sleep.
Not.
I decided to write for a few minutes to try and wind down. That was four hours ago. The Muses are slavedrivers these days, forcing me to crank out new material at the rate of 8-12k per day. Absolutely ridiculous! On top of that, one of my cats has discovered a new game- yell at the kitten. He's been running around squalling at her for two hours. It doesn't matter how many shoes I throw at the little bastard, he's just not happy unless he's pissing me off.
Now, I'm too exhausted to write and relegated to playing Snood and ranting about life in my blog. Oh, happy happy joy joy (sorry Ren and Stimpy!)
The good news is that for the first time in three weeks, I have two days off back to back. Good god! What will I do?
um.....write. duh.
The deadline is approaching on the Dragon's Den material. I might churn out a bit more of it this morning before I go back to bed for the fourth time and try to catch some shut eye. The sooner that gets done, the sooner I can relax.
Hell. Maybe I'll have a beer later.
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Whew! Of Books, Magic, and Bitches
Wow, is my life busy these days! Too busy even to blog, which is quite odd since I rarely resist the opportunity to blow off steam.
The release date of Goddess' Revenge is September 15. I'm kind of glad it's a few months away (commitments piling up here) but then again I'm a little peeved as well. September 15th????? I have to go to the Tennessee-Florida football game that weekend! Damnit, now writing is going to interfere with FOOTBALL? No one warned me about THAT.
Plus, over at the Dragon's Den (my writing group), Chum had to pull out of developing the magic system so I took it on. I took his admittedly brilliant concept and developed the religion, mythology, and magic limitations from it. You know what? I LOVED IT! I've not had this much fun (creatively) in a long time. I may pay him to conceptualize my magic systems from now on--his ideas are so much more creative than mine that working with them was pure pleasure.
Then, to top it all off, there's been a kerfuffle involving Changeling Press. A huge blog war has commenced which I must admit I considered getting involved in just for the sheer bitchiness of it. After all, we authors are whiny bitches who look down upon our readers....oh, wait. Is that true? *looks down at her readers--all two of them* Check out http://karenscottworld.blogspot.com/2006/06/changeling-press-when-authors-attack.html if you want to see how a blogger can start and rumor, scotch it bitchily, and then manage to offend all sorts of people all across the globe. yep, she thrives on it, obviously, not really giving a rat's ass about whose feeling she might hurt or what-have-you. Personally, I find the whole thing kind of ridiculous. It is very easy to criticize something or someone when you have no real knowledge of what it is they do or how they feel. And, of course, I'm sure that all the authors out there are whiny bitches who look down upon their readers -- after all, I'm guilty of that, aren't I? In point of fact, it's easy for any self-proclaimed expert to babble on endlessly about their perceived wrongs and insults paid them. After all, there's no degree quite so satisfying as the one you give yourself, is there? After all, if you need proof, check this out--it's fallout from the same blog: http://indida.blogspot.com/ -- more total retardedness on MANY parts. Do I solely blame the bloggers? No, I don't, although I think it's much easier to spout off your mouth about something than to try to do it yourself. Do I blame the authors for getting into an uproar? No, I don't. First, the rumor spreads that their publishing company is going under (which it is NOT), then material is posted without permission (do that to anything but this blog and my attorney will call you!), then their products are called everything from donkey's balls to unadulterated shit.
Very mature, ladies. Very mature.
Of course they're pissed. I'm pissed for them. BUT, I can't help but think that the bloggers have every right to their (admittedly biased and bullshit) opinions. Let 'em rant! Who gives a fuck? I don't. Does some bitchy wannabe in England affect my self-esteen as a writer. *snort!* Hell, no. Does a camp follower from California make sit up and question what it is that I do? Are you kidding me? My MOM couldn't make me do that!
The fact of the matter is that there are those who DO and those who WISH THEY DID. I know what category I fall into. Do you? Grow up, already. Oh, and please--comment on this blog. I'd appreciate it if you directed your insipidity at me--who am not involved - rather than people whose hard work and creative effort you evidently despise. There are no self-proclaimed oracles here--particularly not ones who misspell contractions without effort and can't be bothered to worry about what their idiocy leads to.
If people would get paid for stupidity, they would be a lot of very wealthy people with blogs.
The release date of Goddess' Revenge is September 15. I'm kind of glad it's a few months away (commitments piling up here) but then again I'm a little peeved as well. September 15th????? I have to go to the Tennessee-Florida football game that weekend! Damnit, now writing is going to interfere with FOOTBALL? No one warned me about THAT.
Plus, over at the Dragon's Den (my writing group), Chum had to pull out of developing the magic system so I took it on. I took his admittedly brilliant concept and developed the religion, mythology, and magic limitations from it. You know what? I LOVED IT! I've not had this much fun (creatively) in a long time. I may pay him to conceptualize my magic systems from now on--his ideas are so much more creative than mine that working with them was pure pleasure.
Then, to top it all off, there's been a kerfuffle involving Changeling Press. A huge blog war has commenced which I must admit I considered getting involved in just for the sheer bitchiness of it. After all, we authors are whiny bitches who look down upon our readers....oh, wait. Is that true? *looks down at her readers--all two of them* Check out http://karenscottworld.blogspot.com/2006/06/changeling-press-when-authors-attack.html if you want to see how a blogger can start and rumor, scotch it bitchily, and then manage to offend all sorts of people all across the globe. yep, she thrives on it, obviously, not really giving a rat's ass about whose feeling she might hurt or what-have-you. Personally, I find the whole thing kind of ridiculous. It is very easy to criticize something or someone when you have no real knowledge of what it is they do or how they feel. And, of course, I'm sure that all the authors out there are whiny bitches who look down upon their readers -- after all, I'm guilty of that, aren't I? In point of fact, it's easy for any self-proclaimed expert to babble on endlessly about their perceived wrongs and insults paid them. After all, there's no degree quite so satisfying as the one you give yourself, is there? After all, if you need proof, check this out--it's fallout from the same blog: http://indida.blogspot.com/ -- more total retardedness on MANY parts. Do I solely blame the bloggers? No, I don't, although I think it's much easier to spout off your mouth about something than to try to do it yourself. Do I blame the authors for getting into an uproar? No, I don't. First, the rumor spreads that their publishing company is going under (which it is NOT), then material is posted without permission (do that to anything but this blog and my attorney will call you!), then their products are called everything from donkey's balls to unadulterated shit.
Very mature, ladies. Very mature.
Of course they're pissed. I'm pissed for them. BUT, I can't help but think that the bloggers have every right to their (admittedly biased and bullshit) opinions. Let 'em rant! Who gives a fuck? I don't. Does some bitchy wannabe in England affect my self-esteen as a writer. *snort!* Hell, no. Does a camp follower from California make sit up and question what it is that I do? Are you kidding me? My MOM couldn't make me do that!
The fact of the matter is that there are those who DO and those who WISH THEY DID. I know what category I fall into. Do you? Grow up, already. Oh, and please--comment on this blog. I'd appreciate it if you directed your insipidity at me--who am not involved - rather than people whose hard work and creative effort you evidently despise. There are no self-proclaimed oracles here--particularly not ones who misspell contractions without effort and can't be bothered to worry about what their idiocy leads to.
If people would get paid for stupidity, they would be a lot of very wealthy people with blogs.
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
The Word For The Day is "Ack!"
Well, hell. After the Titanic (otherwise known as my computer) crashed, I have been operating on less-than-acceptable levels. For one thing, I now only have 40 gig of uncorrupted memory. (Thank god my books are stored on flash memory!) For another, unimportant little programs like Java are currently non-operational (gasp! how in the hell am I supposed to live without chat?) and I can't even get any of my messenger programs to work. I've had to downgrade to dialup (damn modem fried too) so everything is slllllllooooooooooooooooowwwwwwwww.
Could this have happened at a worse time? I don't think so.
So now, I'm trying to build a website, maintain the one I have already, and keep up with my mountains of daily correspondence while piecing together what remains of the hard drive and ordering the things I need to fix it. Jesus H. Christ! What else could happen?
(A word to the wise: never ask that question. It's like dangling a margarita in front of karma after it's left an AA meeting.)
The answer: a new deadline.
Could this have happened at a worse time? I don't think so.
So now, I'm trying to build a website, maintain the one I have already, and keep up with my mountains of daily correspondence while piecing together what remains of the hard drive and ordering the things I need to fix it. Jesus H. Christ! What else could happen?
(A word to the wise: never ask that question. It's like dangling a margarita in front of karma after it's left an AA meeting.)
The answer: a new deadline.
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Let Sleeping Cats Lie
So, I'm in the process of restoring a fairly catastrophic loss on my computer. Thank god I have a flash memory stick because one of my hard drives completely FRIED.
Literally.
So far, I've had to get a new hard drive, new RAM, a new sound card *grumble*, a new mouse (why I don't know) and I've had to reinstall unimportant little programs like, oh, I don't know-AOL, Java, Adobe, all the anti-virus crap, Wordperfect (are you freaking kidding me?) ad nauseum. It's a colossal mess and my mood reflects that.
Until now.
The kitten, who has been running at top speed since 3 a.m. has finally decided to take a nap. So, she crawled up into my lap and curled into a tiny purring ball, where I thought she might remain content for a while. Naturally, she didn't. After amusing herself for a while by gnawing on my wrists while I typed, she finally decided that of all the places in my office for a kitten to nap, the open lid of the printer was the most favorable. Of course, since one of my plans for the morning is to print out hard copies of some work I have to edit, this nap place didn't meet with my favor. At the moment, however, she's just too adorable to move so I think I'll have to have a cup of coffee and wait until she wakes up.
Besides, I can't put the new print cartridge in. *sigh* I think I'm turning into a softie. Be afraid; be very afraid.
Literally.
So far, I've had to get a new hard drive, new RAM, a new sound card *grumble*, a new mouse (why I don't know) and I've had to reinstall unimportant little programs like, oh, I don't know-AOL, Java, Adobe, all the anti-virus crap, Wordperfect (are you freaking kidding me?) ad nauseum. It's a colossal mess and my mood reflects that.
Until now.
The kitten, who has been running at top speed since 3 a.m. has finally decided to take a nap. So, she crawled up into my lap and curled into a tiny purring ball, where I thought she might remain content for a while. Naturally, she didn't. After amusing herself for a while by gnawing on my wrists while I typed, she finally decided that of all the places in my office for a kitten to nap, the open lid of the printer was the most favorable. Of course, since one of my plans for the morning is to print out hard copies of some work I have to edit, this nap place didn't meet with my favor. At the moment, however, she's just too adorable to move so I think I'll have to have a cup of coffee and wait until she wakes up.
Besides, I can't put the new print cartridge in. *sigh* I think I'm turning into a softie. Be afraid; be very afraid.
Friday, June 09, 2006
Waxing Philosophical
What a lovely day.
It's beautiful outside, a very comfortable 78 degrees with a nice breeze, and I actually took the afternoon off to work in my garden. It is small (but growing) and now that there is no apparent danger of frost (although this is Ohio so you never can tell) I decided to plant my summer flowers. A couple of years ago, I thought I could end all my gardening woes and just sow the whole thing with wildflower seeds.
The poppies were pretty. The thistles were not, once they grew to eight feet tall with spiky leaves.
So, a bottle of Roundup later, I opted for old-fashioned flowers like sweet peas and roses. I thought, if nothing else, it would smell good and still be kind of pretty. The result? A sweet-smelling bed of thistles, which miraculously survived the Roundup.
This year, I hired someone to clear the thistles from my flowerbed.
So, this morning, armed with little pots of flowers and seeds and *gasp!* even some mulch, I descended into my garden for some relaxing excursions into horticulture. The result?
Ozzie and Harriet divebombed me.
After spraying said birds with the garden hose, I managed to toss a few wilted-looking seedlings into the dirt, prune my hopelessly tangled rosebushes back (I have some of the gathered blooms on my desk at the moment, and work to train my clematis and morning glories through their trellis.
Even I have a nice afternoon sometimes. It is distressing, however, that the high point of the whole day was not the well-ordered end result of my garden, but the fact that I blasted two murderous swallows from the sky with a stream of water.
I should be ashamed of myself.
It's beautiful outside, a very comfortable 78 degrees with a nice breeze, and I actually took the afternoon off to work in my garden. It is small (but growing) and now that there is no apparent danger of frost (although this is Ohio so you never can tell) I decided to plant my summer flowers. A couple of years ago, I thought I could end all my gardening woes and just sow the whole thing with wildflower seeds.
The poppies were pretty. The thistles were not, once they grew to eight feet tall with spiky leaves.
So, a bottle of Roundup later, I opted for old-fashioned flowers like sweet peas and roses. I thought, if nothing else, it would smell good and still be kind of pretty. The result? A sweet-smelling bed of thistles, which miraculously survived the Roundup.
This year, I hired someone to clear the thistles from my flowerbed.
So, this morning, armed with little pots of flowers and seeds and *gasp!* even some mulch, I descended into my garden for some relaxing excursions into horticulture. The result?
Ozzie and Harriet divebombed me.
After spraying said birds with the garden hose, I managed to toss a few wilted-looking seedlings into the dirt, prune my hopelessly tangled rosebushes back (I have some of the gathered blooms on my desk at the moment, and work to train my clematis and morning glories through their trellis.
Even I have a nice afternoon sometimes. It is distressing, however, that the high point of the whole day was not the well-ordered end result of my garden, but the fact that I blasted two murderous swallows from the sky with a stream of water.
I should be ashamed of myself.
Thursday, June 08, 2006
The Apocalypse--A Couple of Days Late
Okay, I can now freely admit that I have been laughing for weeks over 06-06-06. Everytime I saw a fundamentalist Christian expounding their views on the coming of the Antichrist and the aproach of Armageddon because of a date it was difficult for me to restrain my all-too-audible laughter. I distinctly remember a few years ago (about 20, actually) when a friend of mine was convinced that the Rapture was coming. She spent all day in a field waiting to ascend into Heaven with the rest of the righteous and was quite shocked that she had to creep back into the house, thoroughly chilled from a soaking rain, and continue life with all the rest of us sinners. I told her at the time that her greatest sin was presuming to know the will of God.
She didn't speak to me for six months, during which time I continued to sin quite happily and quite proficiently as an example to her holier-than-thouness.
At any rate, yesterday I was quite cheerfully occupied with laughing at the near-miss of the Apocalypse. Now, I'm not quite as sure.
The news that Al-Zarqawi was killed yesterday has changed my perspective a little. Granted, on the surface this has very little to do with 666 or 06-06-06 but bear with me a minute. Is this death good news? Of course it is. It's very good news for the coalition forces and the people of Iraq. This is at least one major cog gone from the wheels of the insurgency; and really gone, judging from the fact that we dropped two 500 lb bombs on his head. (all I can say about that is- ewwwwwwwwwwwww!)
However, the chain-reaction that will follow this is disconcerting. To think that Al-Zarqawi's death will effectively 'end' terrorism in the Middle East and particularly Iraq is naive. Granted, it will send it into disarray, but the organizations are still there. This might send Bin Laden out from whatever spider hole he's been hiding in with his dialysis machine, but I doubt that as well. One thing you can say about cowards--they are consistent. If you actually read the book of Revelations (which, I've noticed, most Christians really don't) then you know that Armageddon refers to a town in the Middle East, where the earthly armies of the Antichrist meet with the forces of good.
But something happens before the war actually takes place. There is no conclusive victory or defeat, although the valley of Armageddon fills up to a horse's knees with blood. Sound familiar? Does it sound, perhaps, like our war on terror?
Now, I'm not really a conspiracy theorist. (no, really, I'm not!) The death of a terrorist who orchestrates and revels in the deaths of innocents can only be a good thing. I have to admit, however, that I think this event may lead to an escalating spiral of renewed violence in the Middle East. Sometimes, when a group loses its head it retaliates with random, unplanned, scattered attacks that are impossible to track. And while I watch video of Iraqis dancing in the streets for joy at Al-Zarqawi's death, I keep in mind the fact that they are dancing with guns. If someone tried that in the States they'd end up in jail. In the Middle East, however, it is a fact of life; they all have guns, have to have guns if they are to survive. Those guns, I fear, will be used more rather than less in the weeks ahead.
So is Al-Zarqawi's death the harbinger for a true Apocalypse? Nah. He wasn't a viable candidate for the Antichrist, after all. He was nothing more than a two-bit, cowardly, hiding in a safe house with a woman and a child thinking that would keep him alive sort of jackass who had nothing better to do than to kill his own people to prove some obscure point about how he had a direct line to Allah. As a matter of fact, he was really just an idiot with a gun.
Let's not make more out of this than it is.
She didn't speak to me for six months, during which time I continued to sin quite happily and quite proficiently as an example to her holier-than-thouness.
At any rate, yesterday I was quite cheerfully occupied with laughing at the near-miss of the Apocalypse. Now, I'm not quite as sure.
The news that Al-Zarqawi was killed yesterday has changed my perspective a little. Granted, on the surface this has very little to do with 666 or 06-06-06 but bear with me a minute. Is this death good news? Of course it is. It's very good news for the coalition forces and the people of Iraq. This is at least one major cog gone from the wheels of the insurgency; and really gone, judging from the fact that we dropped two 500 lb bombs on his head. (all I can say about that is- ewwwwwwwwwwwww!)
However, the chain-reaction that will follow this is disconcerting. To think that Al-Zarqawi's death will effectively 'end' terrorism in the Middle East and particularly Iraq is naive. Granted, it will send it into disarray, but the organizations are still there. This might send Bin Laden out from whatever spider hole he's been hiding in with his dialysis machine, but I doubt that as well. One thing you can say about cowards--they are consistent. If you actually read the book of Revelations (which, I've noticed, most Christians really don't) then you know that Armageddon refers to a town in the Middle East, where the earthly armies of the Antichrist meet with the forces of good.
But something happens before the war actually takes place. There is no conclusive victory or defeat, although the valley of Armageddon fills up to a horse's knees with blood. Sound familiar? Does it sound, perhaps, like our war on terror?
Now, I'm not really a conspiracy theorist. (no, really, I'm not!) The death of a terrorist who orchestrates and revels in the deaths of innocents can only be a good thing. I have to admit, however, that I think this event may lead to an escalating spiral of renewed violence in the Middle East. Sometimes, when a group loses its head it retaliates with random, unplanned, scattered attacks that are impossible to track. And while I watch video of Iraqis dancing in the streets for joy at Al-Zarqawi's death, I keep in mind the fact that they are dancing with guns. If someone tried that in the States they'd end up in jail. In the Middle East, however, it is a fact of life; they all have guns, have to have guns if they are to survive. Those guns, I fear, will be used more rather than less in the weeks ahead.
So is Al-Zarqawi's death the harbinger for a true Apocalypse? Nah. He wasn't a viable candidate for the Antichrist, after all. He was nothing more than a two-bit, cowardly, hiding in a safe house with a woman and a child thinking that would keep him alive sort of jackass who had nothing better to do than to kill his own people to prove some obscure point about how he had a direct line to Allah. As a matter of fact, he was really just an idiot with a gun.
Let's not make more out of this than it is.
Sunday, June 04, 2006
Of Bird Poop and Other Things
There's a pair of swallows living in my garage.
They've come back every spring for three consecutive years. I named them Ozzie and Harriet just for giggles. When they turn up, they build their nest in the same spot: the corner right above the rail to the garage door. Last year, they hatched two sets of eggs over the course of the summer. It was kind of cool to look out when the baby birds were bigger and see five of them lined up on the garage door rail waiting patiently for their dinner.
This, year, however, the birds seem to have a poo problem.
I can't park my car in my own garage any more. On top of that, if I go into the garage to get relatively unimportant things like the lawn mower or flower pots, I am dive-bombed by Ozzie and Harriet. Yeah, I know: the mental image of me beating away a pair of swallows while fleeing from my own garage is humorous. It's like The Birds was cast by Hitchcock with midgets playing the birds. Last weekend, the great garage scrubout commenced; this weekend, it looks like it was never touched.
I don't have it in me to evict the birds. I guess my car will have to stay outside until the fall, when Ozzie and Harriet travel to Florida to poo on cars there.
They've come back every spring for three consecutive years. I named them Ozzie and Harriet just for giggles. When they turn up, they build their nest in the same spot: the corner right above the rail to the garage door. Last year, they hatched two sets of eggs over the course of the summer. It was kind of cool to look out when the baby birds were bigger and see five of them lined up on the garage door rail waiting patiently for their dinner.
This, year, however, the birds seem to have a poo problem.
I can't park my car in my own garage any more. On top of that, if I go into the garage to get relatively unimportant things like the lawn mower or flower pots, I am dive-bombed by Ozzie and Harriet. Yeah, I know: the mental image of me beating away a pair of swallows while fleeing from my own garage is humorous. It's like The Birds was cast by Hitchcock with midgets playing the birds. Last weekend, the great garage scrubout commenced; this weekend, it looks like it was never touched.
I don't have it in me to evict the birds. I guess my car will have to stay outside until the fall, when Ozzie and Harriet travel to Florida to poo on cars there.
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