Archive for category Pictures
I swear I’m not dead. I just had to do some traveling this week. I spent two more wonderful days in lovely Wallingford, Connecticut. But I’m happy to say that by the time this post is publish, I’ll be at 29,000 feet or something, winging my way home after a brief stopover in Charlotte, North Carolina. Then again, can you really say you’ve been in and/or to a place if you’ve only spent a few hours in their airport?
Now that I really consider it, I think maybe not. I mean, I didn’t even have any pulled pork or sweet tea while I was here. Oh sure, I thought about hiking all over the terminal in search of some, but I hardly think the citizens of Charlotte would want me to judge their prowess at barbecuing pork butt by airport terminal kiosk purveyor.
No time for a good, old fashioned ramble today. Kids to feed, words to make, yadda yadda yadda, etc, etc.
Instead, I offer you this seemingly random image.
A week ago today, I was in Wallingford, Connecticut for reasons. While I was there, I had dinner at the Old Dublin pub, which might just be the most awesome craft beer pub I’ve ever personally set foot in. But that’s a different — much longer — post. One I imagine you’ll see on Hoperatives before too long.
As for the image above, well, as is typical in most of your better beer-drinking establishments, there was a bounty of random things scrawled on the walls, etc. Normal I ignore all such nonsense because, believe it or not, I’m not ever really in need of knowing whom to call for the proverbial entertaining time.
For whatever reason, though, someone had taken a moment to leave their mark on the door of the Old Dublin by invoking the name of Aquaman, who I think we can all agree is the least super of the super heroes of our youth.
And if that isn’t the most ironically awesome piece of public bathroom graffiti ever, I don’t think I even know you any more.
I’ve had too much on my mind all day today to produce a post that isn’t total, incessant, rambling drivel, although how that would differ from a typical post isn’t, um, completely clear. You know what? Quit asking so many questions. What is this, the Spanish Inquision? I don’t have to answer to you. I want my phone call.
Anyway, I spent all day at work trying to track down a memory leak (no, I’m not going senile; it’s something you get in software programs) large enough to float that nightmare Carnival cruise ship through. On top of that, I’m mulling a decision that’s been nipping at the back of my mind like a bored puppy for the better part of six months now.
In other words, I’ve used up all my brain today. If I tried to write a real post, it’d look something like:
Yarn, biscuit finger! PLllthalth. Been tango inta WOOP! Poop tangles seen a toad dolphin speak howzit? Ughhhhhh. *sigh* Pbbthlhtlhbbppbpbphtht. Eyewear, you know?
Thus, I give you instead the ultimate in filler blog posting: a haiku about filler blog posts (with a Bonus! Cute! Animal! Pic!)
A post should go here
But today was thinks, not words
Instead, here’s my dog.
Hope you had a great day! Tomorrow the words will make sense.
Well, or at least more sense.
But this isn’t one of those. I mean, it is. A post, that is. But interesting? Well, in the immortal (nearly immortal? somebody check into that for me) words of Bob Barker, “Survey says?! Oh, I’m so sorry, you’re answer is just not on the board.”
Well, that might be more of a paraphrase.
Anyway, unfortunately, I can’t give you the post you deserve today because I have other pressing tasks to accomplish with the word-making skills. I’ve got a brand spanking new query letter to polish until it gleams light the sun I saw shining earlier today (pictured above). And if that isn’t enough, before I get any sleep tonight I have to produce a (blessedly) short synopsis for my new novel, Longshots. Yes, the one currently being considered in The Contest. Which, not coincidentally, ends tomorrow.
It’s possible these two things are related. I’ll never tell. (Pssst…here’s my entry).
At any rate, the query letter isn’t too scary, although I’ll probably end up rewriting it 3 or 4 times between now and then end of the month. The synopsis, on the other hand, is nothing to be sneezed at. The dreaded Novel Synopsis has been known to even bring the most seasoned of A-list authors to their knees, all weepy and beaten.
Now, I see you there, looking all smug and thinking, “Oh, sure, a synopsis. Whatever, loser. I wrote, like, three of those back in grade school for Mrs. Droopynecklace. And I got at least a ‘C’ on all of them. We called them ‘book reports, remember, Whiny McWhinerson?”
Yeah, look: writing a novel synopsis is not exactly that same thing as slapping together that report on “Flowers for Algernon” in 4th grade. For one thing, your novel synopsis has to sell your story to someone thinking about representing or publishing it. And let me tell you, the report you wrote when you were 10 years old couldn’t convince Inuit Native Americans to buy space heaters. For another thing, a ‘C’? Really? Below average? Go look at the nearest book store or open up the Books heading on Amazon.com and start browsing. Last time I checked, there were roughly eleventy quatrillion galactic crap-tons of books available for purchase in the world. If you want yours to be one of those, you’re damn sure going to do better than writing a C-average synopsis.
In fact, if there was any way you could make your synopsis, like, readable crack or something, that’d probably be a good start.
So, as you can see, producing a quality synopsis is tricky. Like, giving birth an entire living room of fully-assembled IKEA furniture by putting it together via the birth canal without using your hands, tricky.
Which is why I need to get started on that, and stop rambling here about this.
Instead of an interesting post, though, I did think to take a picture of the first sunlight since spring theoretically arrived last week requiring me to don my sunglasses. Yes, that’s the same picture above. Isn’t it pretty? I hope the suns sticks around for a while this time.
Now, if I can just write a synopsis that pretty, everyone will be happy.
I suppose the title of this post is, among other things, terribly misleading. While I did go on quite the day trip on Thursday, calling it a trip to New York City is about as accurate as saying spring is mostly here. I mean, spring is almost here but that “almost” ignores about a month of calendar time and the fact the central US is either getting or is about to get slammed with some hot winter storm action.
Red sky at night, Sailor’s delight
Red sky at morn, Sailors be warned.
I’m not sure why the old adage has always stuck with me. I’m about as much sailor as Popeye* is a software engineer. But for whatever reason, every time the sky gets a reddish tint on my way from work, the saying immediately comes to mind.
Considering that’s the sky that greeted me when I pulled into the driveway tonight, then, I imagine you can see why that would be rattling around in my head this evening. But you know what? That’s just fine. You might even say I actually do have a little sense of that delight with me this evening.
Indeed, I’m in a fine mood. I had a pretty good day today, internet. How was yours?
*You whippersnappers probably won’t remember, but Popeye was a cartoon sailor lo, the many years ago. Back when people ate spinach out of cans.
It’s early afternoon on January 1, 2013. After another raucous celebration to usher in the next 365 days, people everywhere are a slowly, determinedly getting themselves into motion, while trying very hard to ignore that splitting headache and the fact that vampires have, in fact, been correct about that annoying daylight all this time.
Luckily, I managed to avoid the dreaded New Year’s Hangover myself. I didn’t it the sauce too hard with the kids last night, but maintained myself in a mature, dignified manner. Well, or as mature and dignified as one can be wearing his pjs and a bluish, sparkly hat.
Since we’re all slowly getting started along the path of a whole new calendar, in keeping with tradition, I figured today for a good time to take a quick look back and a somewhat more detailed look ahead. To sort of get our bearings before we stomp off into the uncharted wilds of 2013 like a drunken mountain dwarf with a bad eye.
I probably don’t need to say to much in the way for review, though, of course. Since this is a blog and all, the point of which being to chronicle my daily adventures (or lack thereof), the archives can provide plenty of review of 2012 without much intervention from yours truly. Last year, I learned a pretty important lesson S.C.U.B.A diving for the first time, starting sending out queries for my first novel, Famine, did a piss-poor job of getting started on the next Big Project: a non-fiction book, reconsidered (and revised and revised and revised) my query letter, turned 40-1 years old, learned quite a few things from little league baseball, started the ridiculous Weekend Debate feature around here (which I’ve grown to love), also started the equally ridiculous practice of writing movie reviews in 100 words or less, took a vacation to the beach, had a bad day, decided it was time to start running, learned quite a lot about querying over the course of a few months, decided I want an agent who really does love my work, and spent November writing a second novel as part of NaNoWriMo, and (finally), paid good money to see a Bengals’ game, because I’m a parent, which apparently is equivalent to “sucker”.
Whew, what a year!
Oh, and what was the most visited post of the year? You’ll never guess. Hands down, it was this one, a REPOST of the Green, Tasteless Beer poem I originally wrote and posted in 2011. Since St. Patrick’s Day, it’s gotten more than 10% of this blog’s total number of hits in 2012. Which just goes to show you, you never know what the Hell the internet is going to do.
So, what on tap for 2013? Well, more writing and more querying. In the next month or two I’m going finally start revising my NaNo novel in hopes of having it ready to query come spring. Also, remember that non-fiction book? Yeah, it’s still not done, and it’s blocking me up worse than a four-person dinner at The Melting Pot. That’s got to be finished soon, because I’ve got ideas for two more adult novels that I’d like to write, this year if possible.
I’m also going to extend my experience running in the coming year. On November 2, 2012, I ran 5 kilometers, on purpose, at all once, without stopping to die or suck oxygen like a lineman after running back a fumble. Running has been difficult to get in consistently since NaNo, then the holidays, and now winter arrived in devious succession, but one way or the other, I intend to run a 10k in the spring. And then it’ll be time to seriously start work on the that half marathon.
My feet are going to take quite a betting this year.
My liver, however, is going to get a bit of a reprieve. Now, don’t get silly, I’m not planning to give up the sauce altogether. Where’s the fun in that? I am, however, going to change how I consume it a little bit. See, over the past few years, I’ve been drinking out of these quite a bit:
In case you don’t immediately recognized that, it’s a 22-oz beer glass. I use them frequently because, well, I often find myself cracking open a bottle like this:
No, I don’t mean a Bastard, necessarily, but a 22-oz bomber full of beer. The thing is, though, I really don’t need to be drinking 22 oz of beer at a time. Kind of the same way no one really needs to eat at the Chinese Buffet, and doing so will inevitably lead to shame and self-loathing. Luckily, though, through a happy accident, I just happened to receive a box of brand new glasses for Christmas. To be more specific, 17-oz pilsners. If you ask me, a 16- or 17-oz glass is just about perfect for filling with 12-oz of beer and leaving just the proper space for an inch or two of frothy head. See? So for 2013, I’m going to be drinking from the somewhat more reserved smaller glasses.
And that means no more 22-oz bombers for me, at least not on a regular basis. Bottles of that size should be shared, so unless I plan on sharing, I’m going to leave them right where they are on the shelf.
I fully expect my liver, by midsection, and my head to thank me come Jan 1, 2014.
That’s my look ahead. What are you looking forward to in 2013? You know I’d love to hear it. Oh, and if you happen to be a writer trying to find your way into an agent’s good graces, drop me a line and say, ‘Hello!’ We’re all in this together, I’d like to get to know as many of you as I can.
Happy New Year, my fine readerly folk! Now, get out there, kick some ass and take some names.
As I said on twitter last night, I plan to kill it for the next 365 days. So let’s all crush it, together!
Today your typically affable, witty Puddin will be played a little bit more Walter Matthau than usual. I’m feeling more than just a tad cantankerous today. Partly because a peek out the window is currently yielding lovely visions like this:
Okay, so it’s not exactly a peek out the window. This is the internet age, datgumbit! Nobody actually gets up and looks out to check the weather anymore. That’s like, a sucker’s play. That’s why we have widgets in the first place. You know, because of Teh Laziness.
Anyway, so it’s again with the cold and rain today. As you lovely reader-types undoubtedly know – and are surely quite tired of hearing about already – this cold rainy business just a smattering of days away from Christmas gives me a case of the Whine-ys worse than Santa Clause initiating an arbitrary ban on ponies in your kid’s annual Christmas Letters**.
Don’t worry, though, I’m not going to subject you to a reference to a certain band with a certain song that I always seem to bring up when the sky opens up and releases cold drops of moisture. I’m moving ahead, see, with new material.
Ah…if only that “new material” wasn’t just an urban myth, similar to, say, the pod people or a nice, cheery interaction at the DMV.
But! But! While I don’t have any of that, I do have an irritating case of the Ick. And yes, in case you’re keeping score at home, that’s two cases of the Ick in as many months. With all the crud in my chest at the moment, I sound like one of those raspy, sassy lifelong waitresses at the coffee shop that have been slinging hash along with cups o’ cold joe since before you were even a twinkle in your Daddy’s eye.
It was pretty much inevitable that I’d get the crud again, I’m afraid. The kids have been trying to fend it off all week. Tuesday night they all did a round of shots at the bar before bed. These kinds of shots:
I shouldn’t complain, though. Pretty much everyone else I know has been coping with a type of sinister digestive bug that leads to unpleasant things happening at both ends of a body – occasionally at the same time. Multiply that by six people in my household, and you’ve got yourself a recipe for calamity. With that in mind, I’ll take my Icky Crud and be happy about it, thangyaverymuch.
That’s said, let’s not forget that in addition to the bone-chilling-yet-not-white-and-pleasantly-holiday-like precipitation we’re getting today as a side dish to the deep-chest hacking that makes me sounds like I’ve got a family of garden slugs living in my lungs, tomorrow is that, um, Mayan End of Time thingee.
Which brings me to the question du jour: What are you plans to prepare for Mayan Main Event? Are you going to spend this evening stocking up on water and toilet paper in preparation for The Worst, or is that just what you happen to call “Thursday Night?” Me, I think I’m going to get myself a nice hoppy beer (something to cut the cruddy congestion) and watch Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter. Hopefully it’s so stupidly ridiculous that it’s entertaining, otherwise I expect there’ll be more groans coming out of my basement than from that octogenarian yoga in the strip mall.
Anyway, that’s my plan for getting over my grouchies and preparing to face yet another End of the World. What’s your plan?
*Why, yes, that would make a sweet band name, wouldn’t it? Or, better yet, maybe a middle grade adventure novel?
**Or, if you don’t have a pony-aged child, substitute the following: “worse than telling your nine year-old No More Minecraft until he/she eats some vegetables and cleans up that hurricane-trashed pigsty of a room”***
*** If you don’t have any children, substitute “worse than showing up to work on Monday morning and finding out the office Keurig machine is broken, and there’s No. Coffee. Anywhere.”****
**** If you don’t drink coffee, well, Good Lawd! What kind of shiny, happy, person are you, anyway?